Slumdog Millionaire

(2008)

Directed by

Danny Boyle

Review by Zach Saltz

Danny Boyle’s Slumdog Millionaire comes nicely-wrapped in stupefying critical and commercial praise as the “feel-good movie event of the year;” why, then, does the “feel-good event of the year” open with a sequence of graphic brutality featuring its likable young protagonist being beaten into submission by the Mumbai police, on phony charges that he rigged his correct answers during his appearance of the Indian version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?  Wasn’t Die Another Day proof enough that it’s better to make opening sequences that set a happy and upbeat tone for the rest of the motion picture?  And with Slumdog Millionaire operating at a similar level of realism as a throwaway Bond flick, the film better hope to leave its audience happy, because “originality” and “unpredictability” are two things this film is not.  The opening sequence is neither realistic nor all that necessary to the story, if one really thinks about it.  And finally, and most crucially, it takes the suspense out of the remainder of the story.  Jamal is indeed the “genius” whose supernatural intelligence of course lands him the top prize of 20 million rupees . . . or else why would he be under such warped interrogation?  The only thing more predictable at the end of the first sequence is that the movie will inevitably end in a great big kiss, with everyone clapping in boundless joy (which it does).  Oy vay.

Excuse my negative vibes toward this motion picture.  I understand Danny Boyle’s intent in making it: he wants to make a lavish, opulent vision of Mumbai to counter the daily images of gang violence and rampant poverty we see each evening on the nightly news (read: escapist entertainment).  It’s no secret that the story is plagiarized Dickens redux, with the orphan Twist as its centerpiece, a cartoonish variation of Fagin corrupting his innocent childhood, and the beautiful Estella barely escaping a perilous fate through heroic Oliver intervening at precisely the right moment.  Formulaic films like this can work as long as there is some level of sustained realism or poignancy in either the performances, characterizations, or setting of the story.  But Slumdog Millionaire is about as unrealistic, unfulfilling, and contrived material as has been made all year.  The fact that it seems to be universally lauded as one of the year’s best pictures is stunning.  Have people really seen this movie?  I can only think that it appeals to viewers as a result of its undeniably colorful, fast-paced style, and employment of the very same nauseatingly rapid types of camera movements Boyle used in his breakthrough 1995 feature, Trainspotting.  But being colorful and lively is an explanation for why children would like the Power Rangers and Ninja Turtles; I would expect the tastes of adult audiences to be more sophisticated.

The film stars Dev Patel as Jamal, the boy genius whose success on the Indian version of Millionaire is actually the result of dumb luck (Dickens at least explicitly characterized Twist as unnaturally gifted).  While Patel is likable enough as The Plucky Unlikely Hero, there is very little range in his role, as he seems content to frown pensively whenever possible.  Other significant players include Salim (Madhur Mittal), The Good-Brother-Turned-Evil, and The Love Interest, Latika (the Indian model Freida Pinto) who Jamal pines after because . . . well, no real explanation is given except that the three were somehow “musketeers” earlier in life (but as the film so symbolically states, Jamal cannot remember the name of the third; foreshadowing, anyone?)  The mob is of course who Jamal is fighting against, though their semblance seems thrown-together, without very much time devoted to nuanced character development within its ranks (only that Salim eventually ascends to the top, no real surprise there.)  The only instance of the infamous real-life ethnic warfare actually plaguing the streets of Mumbai comes at the most convenient of times (when Jamal and Salim’s mother is killed off) and when Jamal and Salim begin scheming at the Taj Mahal, it comes off less as cute and more as disappointingly laugh-seeking (besides, what western-made movie could be shot in India and not feature the Taj Mahal, right?)  Oh, and did I forget to mention that the movie is told in a wildly contrived nonlinear fashion of showing how each question on the show being posed to Jamal relates to some significant earlier event in his life (sometimes through the most slippery of circumstances, like the questionable relationship of the Rinku Kikuchi subplot in Babel to the rest of the movie.)

One final disturbing element in the picture is the obvious level of American influence in how Slumdog Millionaire is constructed.  Instead of using authentic Indian music, Boyle uses wildly inappropriate pop-infused songs such, as “Paper Planes” by M.I.A.(used to far better effect in Pineapple Express).  Besides the obvious significance of the Millionaire game show (apparently hosted in India by a man bearing a suspicious resemblance to Regis Philbin), the actors speak in English using thinly-veiled Hindi accents, and the only real evidence of uniquely Indian attributes is the crowd-pleasing dance number at the end of the feature.  Is this truly reflective of an Americanized third world, or is it merely a device not-so-tactfully employed by the filmmakers to make the movie more palatable to American, western audiences?  Not that it really needs to be, since any half-educated filmgoer can see a mile away that the story a formulaic cross between Good Will Hunting and Quiz Show in shameless Hindi drag.

I may be criticizing Slumdog Millionaire too heavily.  It was admittedly never really boring and was technically proficient for the most part.  The story suffers from the cardinal cinematic sin of being completely and utterly predictable, but then again, so does most affecting Bollywood entertainment, such as Lagaan and the films of Satyajit Ray.  What bothers me is the level of ingenuity and resonance lovers of the film are unduly bestowing on it simply because its half-realized story has been transplanted halfway across the world.  Films like Tsotsi and Hotel Rwanda dared to incorporate the realities of their poverty-stricken settings as a central dynamic in the framework of their stories.  Slumdog Millionaire is eye candy to be sure, but a realistic look at the changing face of India (as well as substantive Oscar-worthy material) it is most assuredly not.

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