Chhaava, a puff biography of Maratha warrior Chhatrapati Sambhaji, who battled the power of Mughal emperor Aurangzeb for nearly eight years in the 17th century, is a translation of best-selling novel by Shivaji Sawant. He followed his father Chhatrapati Shivaji's policy of resistance by locking horns with Aurangzeb in the Deccan in the latter half of his rule. With his unparalleled bravery and guerilla warfare, he severely dented Aurangzeb's humongous army and ego before his brother-in-law betrayed him.
The heavy responsibility that the film lays upon itself during this period takes an enormous toll on how things pan out eventually. Both the lead actor Vicky Kaushal and antagonist Akshaye Khanna deliver good performances, but apart from its tacky obsession with excess, the film has nothing coherent and disintegrates at the seams. We do concur that it is understandable that the title is taken by the creators literally since it means "lion cub." But to take that as a premise to release an endless procession of scowls and growls in favour of endless battle scenarios does not make sense. The playing with mythology and history as pieces to respond to conventional notions of secularism is clear.
Extremism in Bigotry and Jingoism
The starring actor is handed a free pass to roar and fly in the five-member crew-written screenplay, including the director. He does not let go of the opportunity with both hands and works assiduously to regain the faith reposed in him. When the title hero screams out "Jai Bhavani" to get the Maratha soldiers rousing, you can almost hear choruses of "How's the Josh?" being screamed back at him even when Kaushal is not attired in fatigues. No matter how compelling the acting may be, it cannot completely mask the movie's glaring flaw, which is its inability to tell unapologetic 'heroic' showboating from genuine historicity. The delicacy and poise of a literary piece that summarized an era with a profound impact and a leader who fortified the root base of the Maratha Dynasty.
That Shivaji jailed his son for his thoughtless acts or that Sambhaji started as a mansab of Aurangzeb is not included in the syllabus. That he also fought the Siddhis and Wodeyars is not worth a mention. When Sambhaji (Vicky Kaushal) razes the critical Mughal garrison at Burhanpur, Aurganzeb (Akshaye Khanna), who has refused to be a vassal of the Mughal empire, knows that the Maratha resistance is not over with Shivaji's demise.
The betrayal of family members affects the Marathas and the Mughals during a protracted battle of attrition, as Sambhaji and Aurangzeb struggle with internal conflict within their respective families. The irony is that these films are so essentially flawed that no one wins, in contrast to the cyclists. It is made an equal opportunity for mediocrity and illusion by cultural doping. It is as if seeing them run headlong to the top of a mountain instead of to the end line. Chhaava does imply, faintly, that it was not essentially a religious war and that rulers have employed religion to cross political boundaries. In the final act, Sambhaji's sacrifice and suffering are drained dry after cosmetic blood is spilt on designer scenes of guerilla warfare. If propaganda culture teaches us anything, it is that we don't have to bury the past to preserve the present.
Faltering sense of immortality - lack of vulnerability and nuance in the characters
The issue with Chhaava is that similar to its contemporaries, its filmmaking is motivated by crippling fear rather than curiosity. This fear includes the fear of offending people, groups, locations, communities, names, surnames, animals, insects, and the air we breathe. And reverence comes from fear. Here, the reverence is paralyzing. There is no space for originality, imagination, staging, interpretation, or genuine feelings. Vicky Kaushal, an uid star, is reduced to a single, loud note. The viewer is tortured in the torture sequence. The Mughals have got to be awed by his determination, even by the digging out of fingernails. Salt is used on every wound, therefore. Hot rods are used to excise the eyes. He may still get one good line out, however.
When a story makes humans the nature of its world, its magnificence lasts. How I wish here in this movie they were at least allowed to be weak and likely to err, not to say defeatable. From Sambhaji's call to Swarajya to Aurangzeb's massacres, every moment in the film is presented with elaborate detail without regard to subtlety. Chhaava groans under the pressure of its overindulgence. Forebodingly garish, melodramatic loud, and unnecessary graphic. Even though the action scenes, camera work (DOP: Saurabh Goswami), and set decoration are all top-notch, they do not serve the same purpose for a less clunky period drama. Chhaava's story is declamatory, removing the human element that could have greatly increased its emotional impact.
Despite all the threats he spits out, Aurangzeb is a sitting duck since he is old and despondent, and this makes him even more cruel. Although assigned a few very significant scenes, the women in Chhaava never quite sparkle. They are headed by Sambhaji's wife, Yesubai (Rashmika Mandanna), and feature Rajmata Soyrabai, Sambhaji's stepmother, who harbours the wish to have her biological son be the Chhatrapati, and Aurangzeb's daughter Zeenat (Diana Penty), who now and then pipes up to demonstrate that she exists. A cheesy mix of Hindi and Urdu, the dialogue is meaningless as it only restates the self-evident, while AR Rahman's music is discordant with the overall texture of the film and the elaborate Marathi nuances of the production design.
The film’s allure is lost amidst the dreariness of high dramatism
Both lead actor Vicky Kaushal and antagonist Akshaye Khanna give strong performances, but aside from its shameless fixation with excess, the movie lacks any cohesive elements and falls apart at the seams. Vicky's enthusiasm and engaging nature keep the old car running. Vicky keeps Sambhaji from ever being a cardboard cutout, though his sloppy writing and physics-defying acrobatics prevent him from being human for more than a few poorly thought-out nightmares. Chhaava gives up any possibility of finding itself within plausible ground with the temptation of melodrama at a high pitch. It is difficult to distinguish between the adventures of a heroic warrior-king fighting for what he holds dear and an acrobatic swordsman and stunt performer entertaining the masses. The title is made clear at the start of the film when Sambhaji fights a lion, defeats it, and escapes the battle unscathed. He screams, "Go tell Aurangzeb that the cub is safe because the lion (who is Shivaji) can be slain." Because it lacks depth, Chhaava is a dull film. It is a one-note narrative that never deviates from the register of greed versus glory or brutality versus righteousness in two hours and ten minutes. But no complaints. Sambhaji leaps over a huge wall on horseback and descends among the Mughal soldiers.
They stand and cheer his courage, the same as the members of the audience who are cheering the mighty warrior. Moreover, they attack him individually, as is traditional in these types of films. And unopposed, Sambhaji pierces torsos, cuts necks, and lops off limbs. Also, the action pauses for a moment on the way to rescue a kid who has been swept up in the battle and to hand him over to his aai (mother). All that happens on screen is extreme, and this is a larger-than-life country. In purely visual (and thus surface) terms, Chhaava, though monochromatic in its predominance of one colour, is a lot deeper than the top-heavy handling it accords to pay tribute to Chhatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj. The fights are always one-sided.
Conclusion
Late in the second half, when Sambhaji transforms into a beast and scenes of unending torture ensue, the movie finds its direction and emotional hold. The finer points of the cinematic art of compiling hardly remembered anecdotes for general audiences are as elusive as the granules of history. The two main actors are the only reason it isn't an outright disaster.
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