Jism

One would, perhaps, have had little problem with Jism had the Bhatt clan not shouted from the rooftops that their film breaks new ground in the portrayal of the Hindi film heroine, that the film's all about the New Indian Woman who is modern, self-assured and unapologetic about her sexuality. We protest. Okay, Sonia (Bipasha) might be self-obsessed, driven by money, lust and power. She might prowl like an aggressive cat on her rather pliant lover (Abraham). She might feel no pang of guilt in making him bump off her harmless husband (Grover). However, she still does not manage to score any major, progressive points because Sonia never really comes across as a representation of the confident, assertive, independent woman-next-door. She is plain and simple Evil, an anomaly rather than a rule, an aberrant in the tradition of Norman Bates who just happens to be a sexy, desirable woman.

Instead of examining the complex and ambivalent shades of grey, the film paints Sonia as an out-and-out bad girl. And as the rules of Hindi cinema would have it, bad girls will eventually have to land up in hell. Jism firmly stands by these outdated notions of morality. And makes you question why a sexy woman can't be shown as normal? Conversely why can't a good girl be sexy? Jism, then, is far from an in-your-face feminist cinematic statement that it claims to be. It pushes the envelope only to seal it firmly with the conventional glue and shows that we still have a long way to go before getting truly adult, bold and daring in our perceptions. Let's be honest. All Bhatt, sorry Saxena, has done is given a steamy, C-Grade erotica a sophisticated veneer, to pull in the classes without antagonising the masses.

As for the key players, well, Bipasha languorously catwalks from one frame to the next. Abraham, when he finds time away from taking his shirt off (Salman must be feeling rather insecure), wears a look that's a queer mix of the hangdog and the smirk. The two lock lips with abandon but the feeling of forbidden desire never manages to heat up the screen. Unless flaring nostrils, heaving bosoms and endless sighing is your idea of scorching passion. As a natty lawyer, Abraham gets to mouth the most insufferable inanities like "yeh jism ki bhookh hai; pyaar ek anbhooji paheli hai..." In fact, the film has some of the worst dialogues heard in recent times. There's a particularly tacky exchange wherein the lover and the husband refer to the woman as a property. Sign enough of how Bhatt's radicalism is just a token gesture. The only thing different about Jism is the lovely Pondicherry landscape. It should now figure high in many a cineaste's travel plans.