(Most of the male support, including Vijay Crishna as Devdas’ father and Tiku Talsania as his faithful servant, pales in comparison.) Aishwarya, presented beautifully, does some of her best work as her dewy freshness gives way to aristocratic hauteur. The actresses dominate Devdas with the most elaborate costumes, the best lines and the juiciest dramatic bits. And, despite all failings, the unconditional love he evokes in his grandmother. The playful disregard of Kumud that will cost him dearly. The affection and sympathy he invokes in Sumitra, who would willingly let her daughter sleep with him and regrets his loss of Paro. The selfish streak that makes him visit Paro first in the face of Kaushalya’s breathless ten-year anticipation of him. He expands the other female roles around Devdas – his mother Kaushalya (Smita Jayakar), Paro’s mother Sumitra (Kiron Kher), the Kaikeyi-like mischief monger sister-in-law Kumud (Ananya Khare), his grandmother (Abha Mukherjee) – and brings across more facets of the man. This much we’ve always known, but Bhansali goes further. Through Chandramukhi, he’s the emotional masochist opting to wallow in self-destructive, unattainable love instead of accepting her willing affection. Through Paro, we see the emotional sadist who teases her with pain, making her wait before removing a thorn in her foot, and later scorns her childish faith in him. She marries Zamindar Bhuvan (Vijayendra Ghatge), while he turns to alcohol and courtesan Chandramukhi and meets a tragic end.Īs always, the two women show us the two extremes of Devdas. Zamindar’s son Devdas loves not-so-rich neighbour Paro, but can’t stand up to his parents’ opposition of this match. The story is the same, albeit with updated physical trappings. But there’s certainly a place in our cinema for Bhansali’s sumptuous, melodramatic reimagining of the tale, which stands proudly on its own take-it-or-leave-it terms. We’ve seen these themes over and over, and don’t really need just another remake. The older version may be closer to Sarat Chandra Chatterjee’s writings, but parts of it – the prostitute with a heart of gold, the love triangle, the emphasis on social status – are now beyond cliché. Vyjayanthimala’s submissive Chandramukhi versus Madhuri Dixit’s feminist siren. Suchitra Sen’s silent, docile Paro versus Aishwarya Rai’s force-of-nature reinterpretation.
Dilip Kumar’s studied restraint as Devdas versus Shah Rukh Khan’s instinctive, flamboyant characterisation. SD Burman’s simple melodies versus Ismail Darbar’s thunderous, chorus-backed, intricately arranged songs. The former’s minimalist look versus the gargantuan audiovisual design of the latter. JULY 2002 – IF YOUR POINT OF REFERENCE FOR THE DEVDAS STORY is the 1950s film by Bimal Roy, you’ll find Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s version the diametric opposite in every imaginable way. Unable to defy his parents, a heartbroken Shah Rukh seeks solace in alcohol and self-pity in the magnificent ‘Devdas’.
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