Era of Anti-Heroines

‘Yes, I partnered with Chavan because I enjoyed it. It was exciting. I felt like I was alive again’ blurted out Sheila, the feisty queenpin of Dabba Cartel. There wasn’t a speck of remorse in her eyes. Instead, it was an assertive refrain. Shabana Azmi’s Sheila does not bat an eyelid in sealing deals with molly peddlers or captaining an all-women team of diffident homemaker, gutsy housemaid, dippy mid-level property broker and grumbling former corporate bigwig. The ‘Narcos Thane’ rookies are key cogs in the rising cartel of anti-heroines in the Indian film stable. While individualistic consumption patterns emerge through streaming platforms, the female protagonists are redrawn with definitive grey strokes, broad and bold.

The exasperatingly monochromatic binary of virtuous unravished damsels or scheming malevolent dames is stepping aside for characters which are pragmatically woke, sex-positive, opinionated and unapologetic. They are flawed, complicated, profane and selfish as the habitual human arc is. They are not impermeable black-and-white, but permeable grey. The Lady Macbeth-esque Tabu in Andhadhun comes close to a lethal fusion of sexually aggressive and emotionally sufficient woman who murders her husband and does not dither in eliminating witnesses. The storyline neither has an overbearing urge to justify Tabu’s nasty act and portray her as a virtuous killer nor does it impose moral slaps. As is Rosamund Pike’s Amy in Gone Girl. A ruthlessly amoral psychopath and con woman who conjures charges of rape and murder to negotiate conjugal maze. Amy’s famed monologue tears asunder filmy archetypes with icy wickedness, ‘Cool girl. Men always use that, don’t they? As their defining compliment. She’s a Cool girl. Cool girl is hot. Cool girl is game. Cool girl is fun. Cool girl never gets angry at her man. She only smiles in a chagrin, loving manner and then presents her mouth for fucking. She likes what he likes.’ No regret whatsoever. These characters are markedly divergent from Rekha’s Aarti in Khoon Bhari Maang whose killings are vindicated by smears of torturous past and smudges of revenge.

Humans are complex compounds. A female protagonist is neither a simpering virgin wallowing in love for a knight or a reigning figment of desire with breathy voice and bedroom eyes. These are tropes of tiresome interpretations of a gender. A character, male or female, cannot be absolute in virtuosity or abhorrence. A character is essentially a microcosm of a city which revels in sky-scraping pomp and dust-biting plight. The fascinating Mala deliciously brought to life by Nimisha Sajayan in Dabba Cartel is a simmering broth of drudgery, coquetry, dreams, connivance, dare and care. Shahida’s portrayal with brimming potential of Anjali Anand is a stream of contradictory narratives in pragmatism, escapism, despair and desire. The portrayal of a woman burdened with ideals of womanhood clips the wings of art. Art is to explore and expound the embedded mines of unattractive realities and not conform to ideological assumptions.

Indian cinema over the ages has portrayed women as innately good and instinctively nurturing. When globalisation started to leave paw prints on the Indian cultural landscape, tomboyish heroines, spirited fashionistas and dismissible vamps started to populate screens. These characters tried to break away from the goodness mould but ended up being poor templates for mindless cut-copy-paste in the future. But, were there irrepressibly and irredeemably badass characters without moral strains? Tapsee Pannu’s Naina Sethi in Badla is, perhaps, right on the button in playing a corporate hotshot with layers of deceit and manipulation. There must be few and far between, but not enough to draw the contours of a genre.

Humans are not perfect. Men aren’t. Women aren’t too. The famed American writer Gillian Flynn who created Gone Girl has always been upfront of her philosophy, ‘Dark sides are important. They should be nurtured like nasty black orchids’. Women nurse wounds as men do. Women nurture ambitions as men do. Women nest desires as men do. Women manipulate as men do. Women sin as men do. No character can be tediously linear. Outright good women are scandalous. Reality itself is a convoluted curve. With films growing into adulthood, women characters should be allowed to mercilessly reject virtues and responsibilities. Women characters should be freed from dreadful conformity. As Priyanka Chopra’s Sonia was in Aitraaz when she whispered and screamed, ‘Show me you are an animal. I'm not asking you to leave your wife. I just want a physical relationship. If I don't have an objection, why should you?'. The sexual urge is blunt and brazen uttered with unequivocal urgency. This is an unthinkable proposition even for the bravest souls penning bland blockbusters which rely heavily on family viewership. But times are unwrapping realities as never before. Dabba Cartel and a few daring offenders of the so-called goodness are establishing the new truth. Likeability is an illustrious lie. Sharon Stone crossed and uncrossed it aeons ago.

The writer is an award-winning corporate communication professional. Views expressed are personal