Gustaakh Ishq movie review: When poetry becomes verbose

An ageing poet, his stoic daughter and a cunning publisher make the subjects of filmmaker Vibhu Puri’s student film, Chabiwali Pocket Watch (2006). Set in the ruins of old Delhi at an unspecified time, there are signs of an impressionistic, young mind in its eerie romanticism. The high contrast visuals, filled with meticulously designed frames, garner too much attention and there’s little sign of life infused in the characters. While there seems to be some potency to the idea, the short film just allows a glimpse and fades away. Maybe that’s why Puri returns to the same world with a refurbished feature almost 19 years later. This time, though the canvas is vast, the vision remains obscure, and the poetry is lost in excess

Gustaakh Ishq takes the seed of the short film and just expands it without much revision. The story is now anchored from the perspective of Nawabuddin Saifuddin Rehman Rizvi (Vijay Varma), who finds it difficult to make a living with his dying printing press. Living with his argumentative young brother and a weepy mother, Nawab finds purpose when he hears stories of a poet who once enchanted everyone, but was never published. Nawab decides to seek him out and strike a deal for his poems. However, Aziz Beg (Naseeruddin Shah), the ageing poet, has been living a life of anonymity in Punjab’s Malerkotla with his recently divorced daughter, Mannat (Fatima Sana Shaikh). Not disclosing his intentions right away, Nawab decides to win Aziz over by becoming his shagird (disciple).

The film is said to be set around 1998 but is perpetually lost in time. The overworked production design and heavily refined costumes seem to replicate the ‘60s more. Producer and costume designer Manish Malhotra leaves his stylised signature in the robes (even a cat has an outfit to carry), taking away the realism from the tale. However, Puri is not particularly interested in subtlety. Even his debut directorial, Hawaizaada (2015) was filled with sturdy fantastical elements which didn’t quite find a justified release. The filmmaking in Gustaakh Ishq too, hovers around with superfluous sentimentality, especially in the second half where we see the repetitive blend of rain and lightning to depict melancholy. There is little sense of formal rhythm in the aesthetics. At the interval point, a major tonal shift takes away the charming effect of the illuminating title track as Aziz has to be suddenly hospitalised just to create a sense of reversal.

The film loses its plot after the mid-point. Before that, it still has a breezy, old-school romantic feel when Nawab takes his poetry lessons from Aziz. Their conversations retain an allure, even as heavy Urdu words slip forcefully into the dialogue, again invoking a bygone era. The writing is almost too proud of its poetic capability. It often becomes the sole focus of scenes when Aziz has a philosophical explanation for everything. The effect isn’t as reflective, as the situations surrounding the characters never grow dense enough to give the poetry meaning. The budding love between Nawab and Mannat fizzles out too soon for it to ever register as evocative.

There is a lack of spark in the pairing of Vijay Varma and Fatima Sana Shaikh. Bereft of complexity in the writing, the two are left to discover on their own. Vijay is more believable as the cunning publisher than the newbie poet. He endeavours to be calm and composed while the framing and insistent background score present him several notches higher. Naseeruddin Shah comes of his own as he plays the Urdu poet with flair. He remains the film’s charm, with his husky, baritone voice giving life to the metaphorical couplets.

It was in 1988 that the veteran actor essayed the role of legendary poet, Mirza Ghalib in Gulzar’s minimalistic television serial. Shah’s portrayal humanised Ghalib as Gulzar worked along to demystify the 18th century poet. It was as much a celebration of Ghalib’s remarkable poetry as a study of his trampled life. Perhaps, Puri pays tribute to the show when he introduces Shah’s character in Gustaakh Ishq as, “Poorane Delhi ka naya Ghalib (The new Ghalib of old Delhi)”. However, his portrayal of an ageing poet focuses more on what remains on the surface, where words reign and poetry becomes a prisoner. The director’s hefty expression of love finds a stark contrast in a tender line in the film’s song where Gulzar writes, “Adhjagi si aankho me soorma hai ishq (Love is the kohl in half-opened eyes)”. That’s what the film doesn’t get. The stillness, the composure, the innocence.