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Director: Imtiaz Ali
Writers: Sajid Ali, Imtiaz Ali
Cast: Diljit Dosanjh, Parineeti Chopra, Anjum Batra, Apinderdeep Singh, Anuraag Arora, Udaybir Sandhu
Duration: 146 minutes
Streaming on: Netflix
Most Indian biopics are shackled by their relationship with history. Reverence becomes the default lens; stories are chosen to educate, not excavate. There is no room for opinion, and film-making is reduced to a medium of adulatory bullet points. In that sense, Amar Singh Chamkila is a rare cocktail of legend and legacy. The life of the slain Punjabi musician – his star-crossed rise in the 1980s; his alliances and duets; his ambitions and apprehensions – is defined by the very language of opinion. His popularity exposes the dualities of grassroots fame – a blinding mirror of a state as well as its cracked glass ceiling. He was at once loved and hated, criticised and glorified, silenced and quoted, killed and immortalised. So it’s fitting that the biopic about him is inventive, freewheeling and curious – constantly mining the connective tissue between not just art and artist, but also between the worlds that make and break them. After all, the “Elvis of Punjab” didn’t fly too close to the sun; he became the sun.
To its credit, the film sings in the past but speaks to the present. Chamkila’s career – his rash compositions; snapshots of his surroundings disguised as crude exaltations; high-pitched vocals and low-pitched reflections; his tumbƒrahi and his tenacity – manages to offend all fractions of society. It reveals the hypocrisy of a people who thrive on private escapism and public virtue. Unlike the rest, he (Diljit Dosanjh) creates from what he’s seen – misogyny, abuse, violence, adultery, addiction – rather than what he aspires to see. His work remains a function of observation, not romanticisation; there’s no filter between head and heart. As a result, his detractors view him as more of a blunt reporter than a cheap musician. He is threatened by both establishment and anti-establishment elements: By godmen and militants, cops and rivals, lovers and loafers. There is no winning, not even when he caves under pressure and changes his image from provocateur to devotional singer. Either the classes have a problem or the masses.
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