Is a hero allowed to be unlikeable? Irredeemable? Shahid Kapoor as Kabir Singh portrays a man so cartoonishly aggressive and pathetic, that you resort to feeling sympathetic towards him. There is an overbearing brashness that seeps into the entirety of the film. The director, Sandeep Reddy Vanga, has explicitly chosen a tone that is meant to repulse and varnish the film consistently with it.
The characters in this film speak to a more visceral part of the human psyche, perhaps the ID, wherein one seeks instant pleasure by jeopardising their impulses and values. The absurd primordiality of it all seems to be Vanga’s forte, as the Freudian overtones get carried forward in Animal as well. The protagonist carries the heavy weight of his masculinity with a sense of freedom that most people aren’t allowed to have. This contextualises the importance of a film like Kabir Singh, which is presented as an outlet of expression for Indian men.
For generations, these men have been stifled from healthily expressing their emotions. They’re encouraged by their mothers and grandmothers to be patronising towards the women around them. Imagine what the popularisation of feminism in India must have done to them! Where do they unpack all of this? It isn't surprising that the infamous slap scene was generally well-received by the male audience. Internationally too, ‘The alpha of the pack’ mindset is at an all-time rise. Especially when it comes to influencers like Andrew Tate, who urge their audiences to regress, and be protectors of their families.
The Kabir Singh Phenomenon was preceded by its American counterpart, Fight Club. The overtly male landscape and the hyper-aggressiveness played up, and the satire of the film was lost on its audience. Instead, it cultivated a loyal fanbase of men who found the film so deeply relatable, that they haven’t shut up about it. Since 1999. Coming back to Kabir Singh, his actions never end up having consequences. And even when they do, like in the case of his medical licence getting revoked, it’s played out with a nonchalance that makes his ruinous lifestyle desirable, rather than a glaring warning sign.
My major gripe in the film is with Preeti played by Kiara Advani, who probably strings together two coherent sentences throughout the (almost) three-hour runtime. Mum and subservient, her character is an extension of this dystopian, yet oddly believable patriarchal Vanga universe. She’s not given much to work with and merely acts as a plot device to get Kabir moving. It’s so easy to draw parallels between her and Marta from Fight Club. The characters are poles apart, Marta possessing a bite that Preeti lacks. Yet, in this world, they’re mere objects of desire, and vulnerable puppies that seek shelter under the safe arms of their men. His best friend Shiva, played by Sohum Majumdar, receives a similar treatment. It’s wildly fascinating to witness how his sole purpose in life is to be loyal to Kabir. The dimensionality of this character is lost on me, and like Preeti, he lacks the nuance to justify most of his actions. Does this make the film any less enjoyable? Absolutely not.
There’s a sense of schadenfreude attached to it, like a trainwreck is happening right in front of you, and you just cannot look away. Now onto the cause of the trainwreck. When it comes to the technical aspects, Kabir Singh fails spectacularly. The background score is overbearing, and while it works with the tone of the film, sometimes it entirely loses its footing. Who thought that littering the film with misplaced royalty-free music was going to do anything but significantly reduce the quality of the movie? Especially when it is juxtaposed with the excellent original music album.
Every single song in the film has effectively bottled up the rage and rawness that the film wants to portray. Bekhayali by Sachet Tandon is biting, his syllables almost drawling before they cut into the chorus. At the opposite end of the spectrum, there’s Tujhe Kitna Chahne Lage Hum by Jubin Nautiyal. The song is sweet, yet passion flows through the cracks. Nautiyal sings it with a restraint that seems fitting for Kabir, someone who suppresses once in love, rather than change. But, the song that perfectly encapsulates Kabir Singh’s essence, is Kaise Hua, by Vishal Mishra. It’s loud and overbrimming with angst. It’s almost comical when Mishra yells into the abyss about how Kabir is so deeply in love, yet it makes perfect sense for him.
In an interview, Vanga lamented about why the film is not recognised for its cinematography. Well, simple. It’s not good. Sure, the framing is commendable and the lighting is okay. But, Kabir Singh is not a film that demands innovative cinematography. It’s a simple plot that deserves tight, efficient camerawork. The interval scene holds a special place in my heart solely because of how unnecessary it is. The camera slowly zooms into his pants, crotch area, wet. Then! Almost abruptly cutting to a long shot of his bed levitating. It’s choppy at best, like most of the film’s editing. The costume design is okay, the whites and pinks show Preeti’s emotional variation quite nicely.
Kabir’s transformation via his beard works is further bolstered by his remarkable performance. Probably one of his best. The ending leaves much to be desired. Spoiler Alert! (four years too late), how does it make sense for them to end up together? Then again, it is important to remember that we are in a hyper-patriarchal-yet-supremely-optimistic world of Vanga where they’re just meant to be! Kabir Singh doesn’t deserve to be dismissed. It is what Bollywood was craving for at that particular moment in time. Some devoured it raw, while others ripped it to shreds. Watch the film to gain the catharsis of watching a super-good-bad movie. Two stars.