Satyam shivam sundaram (1978)

सत्यम शिवम सुन्दरम

Beauty isn't skin deep - it isn't in the skin at all, but comes from somewhere else, someplace within.   It isn't merely a matter of physical appearance, but finds its source in the goodness of the soul, the mind, the heart.  This moral - one that most everyone believes, even if it's a challenge to live by -  is the message of Raj Kapoor's Satyam shivam sundaram ("Truth, godliness, beauty"), served up in a package that is sometimes alluring, sometimes confusing, and occasionally nearly beautiful.

Rupa (Zeenat Aman) is star-crossed.  Born on Krishna's birthday to a mother who died in childbirth, Rupa's bad-luck curse takes physical form when as a child her face is scarred with scalding oil.  She grows up a lonely temple servant, shunned by the other girls of her village and lamented by her father.  One day a dashing engineer Ranjeev (Shashi Kapoor) comes to the village to work on a dam project and all the village girls are in his thrall.  The one thing Rupa has that the rest of them lack is a heavenly singing voice, and when Ranjeev hears her he falls madly in love.  Though she hides her face - and her disfigurement - beneath a chunari, Ranjeev is sure that a voice so perfect must come from something equally beautiful, and so he asks for Rupa's hand.  Unveiling her on his wedding night, Ranjeev is horrified by what he sees; he is convinced he has been duped, that another Rupa is out in the village waiting for him.  Though his family prevails on him to let the disfigured bride remain in his home, he rejects her completely and wanders in search of "his" Rupa. Rupa sneaks out of the house to rendezvous with him, continuing to hide her face.  Eventually, though, Ranjeev may have to accept that there is only one Rupa. 

Satyam shivam sundaram's "it's what's on the inside that counts" message is obscured a bit by the broad strokes with which Ranjeev is drawn.  "I cannot tolerate any form of ugliness," he declares, planting him firmly in the realm of peculiar and extreme characters.  Indeed, his aversion seems to be more pathology than mere preference; when he gazes on Rupa's scars, he perceives not just her minor disfigurement - not all that repulsive on the scale of things - but a horrible sight of deeply torn and rotting flesh. And his mistreatment of Rupa after their marriage solidifies him as a very unsympathetic character.  I can't help but think the film would have done better to present, instead of someone to dislike, a hero in whom the audience can see themselves reflected.  That would have forced viewers to face their own prejudices, rather than giving them the reassurance that whatever their particular bigotry might be, they are not as intolerant as all that.

Pairing the supposedly unbearably damaged face with Zeenat Aman in all her shapely, wet, clingy-clothed glory is another odd choice.  Raj Kapoor gives us a very sexy and sensual Rupa, clad in skimpy and thin temple cottons, perhaps unaware of just how hot she is - but then, no one else seems to notice either.  It strains credulity that there is no man who would want a wife who is that sexy from the neck down (not to mention all of Rupa's other gifts), even if someone as weird as Ranjeev finds her scars repugnant.   Still, Zeenat's va-va-voom certainly contributes to the visual sumptuousness of the film.  And Zeenat plays Rupa with a subtle and sympathetic touch, now fragile and insecure, now instinctively protecting herself.  Her best moments come in Rupa's girl power turning point toward the end of the film, and what a turning point it is - Rupa seems to command the forces of nature to teach Ranjeev his lesson.

The best use of all the pretty - and between Zeenat and Shashi there's plenty of pretty to go around - comes in the gorgeous songs of the unusually classical-style Laxmikant-Pyarelal soundtrack.  The songs are lushly picturized with trippy visuals - the fabulous "Chanchal sheetal nirmal komal," Rupa's fantasy, is a particular standout, with its outlandish multicolored abstract sets, giant mushrooms, moonscapes, and other acid-trip accoutrements.  Somewhat more down to earth but still lovely is "Bhor bhaye panghat pe," shot in pink filters to evoke the light of dawn.

Comments

[Maajhi]

Nice review. I don't know, I prefer negative characters that are broadly drawn when I'm watching an epic. In a movie that looks everyday, perhaps more subtle prejudice would be preferred.

Also, it's komal, not gomal in "Chanchal sheetal nirmal komal".

[shakti]

I was laughing with scorn in the first half of the movie, at the ludicrous characterization as well as the clumsy twists (for example, how on earth did the girl manage to hide her scarred half face with such dexterity?). However the irony in the presentation gradually dawned on me -- this fetish for physical beauty to the extreme of cruelty, this dichotomy between inner beauty and a sexy, hot figure of Zeenat Aman -- isn't it also a mockery on audience's hungry consumption of celluloid/fake glamour? In this case, the depiction of a disfigured poor girl does not necessarily lower our (or 'their'? I mean, Bollywood fans in general) expectation toward her overall, even exotic, gorgeousness. It verges on the cult level.

A friend whose opinion I value suggested viewing this as part of a diptych with Aag, to compare them and note the way that Kapoor's approach to a similar theme shifted from the very beginning of his career to the latter end. Of course, here in NZ getting hold of Satyam Shivam Sundaram was MUCH easier than getting hold of Aag (even many of my desi friends have never seen or even heard of that 1948 gem). So I saw the two in reverse order. I saw Satyam Shivam Sundaram a year or so ago, and my initial reaction was very much like Carla's, that the pathological nature of Ranjeev's aversion was difficult to swallow. A western predisposition, perhaps? After accepting that though, I found the film very interesting, and relevant for the commentary it made about the "audience's hungry consumption of celluloid/fake glamour" (lovely phrase, shakti!) I think it went a little further though, because RK certainly seems to have been an aesthete himself. Having now obtained a copy of Aag, I can say that while the leitmotif is nearly identical, the handling and tone are very different. Of the two, I would say that Aag is the more upbeat (as in the bright, breezy and somewhat cheeky "solah baras ki) while SSS is the work of a older, more experienced and thus more cynical and disillusioned auteur. I mean "disillusioned" literally, in that the film is the product of a man whose entire creative output was all about creating illusions, but who had been thoroughly dis-illusioned himself as to the nature of beauty and truth. I also wonder if the very title was another RK nod to the universality of the themes he chose, embracing an allusion to Keats' famous line. This would mirror the Shakespearian references in Aag, and would be another example of his showing that great art tends to address themes which are quite literally universal.

Anyway, I enjoyed Satyam, and very much enjoyed reading the review and comments here. I look forward to your review of Aag, carla, whenever you get the chance.

[Memsaab]

Great analysis of the film, Carla! I totally agree with you that the film would have been much stronger had Shashi's character been less extreme. I think I didn't enjoy this as much as I might have if I hadn't gotten annoyed by so many little things early on. Rupa's bad luck reputation seemed contrived and the scar was not really that bad, as you say, considering everything else Zeenat has to offer!

[carla]

Thanks, everyone, for such thoughtful comments, what a great thing to see here! I don't have much to add to such great analyses. One phenomenon on this blog is that I rarely discuss my views with anyone before publishing. So my reviews are somewhat unrefined, initial impressions, which can be challenged and shaped by the comments of others. Your comments - especially those of shakti and the unnamed poster who I can only conclude is my old friend maxqnz, have given me a lot to think about vis-a-vis what seemed on first blush to be the peculiar directorial choices of Raj Kapoor in this film.

[maxqnz]

Sorry about that slip, Carla. It was I!