What would be the essential ingredients of a modern day screenplay of a Bollywood blockbuster? A murder mystery with recursive double-crossing twists-and-turns set in the maximum city. A powerful and corrupt government officer with the split personality (aka chemical locha) of Gandhi enacting the scenes of Munnabhai part 2 version 2. A leading Bollywood actress in double role satiating your need for voyeurism into more than a pound of flesh of Mumbai high society (ala Madhur Bhandarkar). A tribal from the forgotten India navigating the class biases of a shallow and racist society. A rags-to-riches story of an average slumdweller with high aspirations and less-than-ethical, yet justifiable actions (ala Manmohan Desai). A rich-girl-poor-boy love affair between Mr. Rangeela and an innocent girl trying to free herself from the clutches and ironies of her affluent family. A criminal politician whose blind ambition justifies all means to the end, even if that means the murder of his bratty son engaged in a re-enactment of multiple high-profile cases that the media has over-covered in the last decade. A mid-Western American with a southern drawl caught in the chaos of a country where call centers, terrorism, xeno-sychophancy and underdeveloped infrastructure are an obvious reality. A fast-paced action-packed sequence leaving ample scope for songs in rains with a wet saree, in a disco with an entry requirement of low necklines, around trees with euphemistic flowers with euphemistic bees on it, with angry close-ups and high-bass anthem humming, with intense sarod and sarangi crescendos forcing a tear by brute force, and a secular all-inclusive dance number at the end when everyone lives happily ever after and karmic justice prevails. A story with vendetta, violence, variety, vainglory, venality and finally the big V, victory that a Bollywood story must have at the end. A resounding thunderous clap would buzz in your ears as you walk out of the cinema hall after consuming 1,000 deep-fried calories purchased at one rupee per calorie.
In India, you do not find stereotypes on the main street. You find them in mainstream movies. What you see on the street is only translated by the reflexes in your brain to that character you saw in that movie, whom your cousin ferociously described as "oh he was sooo funny". Six Suspects has 100% coverage on all relevant stereotypes needed by the superset of urban Indian society. Politicians, movie stars, slum dwellers, media reporters, religious gurus, businessmen, hooligans, street vendors, private eyes, beggars, servants, private assistants, rich sons and daughters, jugaad brokers, contrarian op-ed writers, armchair philosophers, conservative mothers, blind sisters, rapists, murderers, landlords, policemen, call center agents, actors, models, US immigration officers, Indian immigration officers, and oh I-kid-you-not, Al Qaeda terrorists. It takes a thorough act of research to cover such a comprehensive set that you would have to fire 100 Google searches to come up with one stereotype that was missed.
Q&A had two essential elements: an in-depth characterization of the urban poor and a fairy-tale cleverly spun into a believable saga of hope. With Six Suspects, Swarup has relinquished the need for any depth (element #1) and has gone straight for the big prize (element #2). If you could pick a tenth of the themes above and create a three hour movie that a producer would lap up after two rounds of single malt, Swarup has gone all-in pre-flop (no pun intended) after winning big on his first hand. Don't be surprised if one of the Screwvala's call.
If you are looking for insights into a part of India that you had chosen to abstract out during your upbringing or never heard of in the tweets from World Economic Forum in Davos, you would be well advised to pick up a book by VS Naipaul or Shashi Tharoor. Because, my friends, Vikas Swarup has quickly swerved into the camp of Chetan Bhagat and the smokers outside Mehboob studios. After Slumdog Millionaire, it is not surprising to see Swarup write a novel that may not need an adaptation to transform it to a screenplay. However, one would expect the freshness, depth and originality of a Vikram Chandra (say), whose book would pleasure the literary minded and adapted screenplays would provoke viewers to question the way they think about mainstream issues in Indian society. Am sorry to say, Six Suspects does not meet that expectation. Ironically, you see a trailer of Swarup's literary talent in the pages with Larry Page (the American co-incidentally sharing his name with the young billionaire). It was hard not to laugh at the clever wit every time Mr. Page opens his mouth. He is funny as hell, and my wife had to slap me for bursting into chuckles after hours of silence.
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