Move
aside.
There
is
no
room
for
artifice
in
Mahesh
Manjrekar's
latest
work.
A
raw
guttural
gritty
intense
edgy
mordant
and
finally
devastating
look
at
the
world
of
the
damaged
and
the
ravaged;
City
Of
Gold
is
as
powerful
in
portraying
a
bereft
working
class
as
Molly
Maguires
was
about
Irish
mine-workers.
Except
for
the
fact
that
there
is
no
room
for
pretty
visuals
in
City
Of
Gold.
Manjrekar
portrays
the
opposite
of
the
beau
monde.
That
murky
end
of
the
spectrum
where
the
shenanigans
of
the
IPL
brigade
seem
as
distant
as
the
promise
of
that
pot
of
Gold
at
the
end
of
the
rainbow.
Manjrekar's
chawl-life,
captured
on
camera
with
merciless
frankness
by
Ajit
Reddy,
is
a
bleak
world
of
dreamers
and
losers
who
are
often
the
one
and
the
same.
His
heroes
(if
we
may
call
the
young
characters
that)
are
offered
no
hope
of
solace
or
redemption.
This
is
the
side
of
the
slum
that
Danny
Boyle
missed
when
he
made
that
clever
adrenaline
rush
of
splendid
squalor
in
Slumdog
Millionaire.
City
Of
Gold
is
neither
stylish
nor
swanky
enough
to
attract
elitist
readings
of
poverty.
Fiercely
radical
in
thought
and
intensely
socialistic
in
execution,
the
film
plunges
beneath
the
poverty
line
to
emerge
with
characters
whose
despair
is
not
an
act
for
the
camera.
The
sweat
and
grime,
the
corruption
and
crime
are
characters
of
their
own
in
Manjrekar's
teeming
jostling
chaotic
world
of
abysmal
nullity.
Mumbai
never
looked
murkier
and
less
inviting.
Taking
a
panoramic
look
at
the
lives
of
thousands
of
mill-workers
in
Mumbai,
who
went
on
an
indefinite
strike
in
1982,
is
like
trying
to
hold
the
ocean
in
a
teacup.
Manjrekar
in
what
could
easily
be
rated
as
his
finest
most
cogent
work
to
date
does
just
that.
He
holds
a
universe
in
the
eye
of
the
camera.
Its
world
of
the
doomed
and
damned,
no
frills
attached.
His
return
to
fine
form
and
the
enrapturing
energy
level
that
sweeps
across
a
multitude
of
lives
without
trivializing
or
sidelining
any
of
the
characters
who
come
into
camera
range,
are
reasons
enough
to
celebrate
the
joys
of
neo-realistic
cinema.
This
cinema
in
all
its
grime
and
glory.
But
wait,
wait...City
Of
Gold
not
only
marks
the
return
of
a
storyteller
who
tells
it
like
it
is,
without
the
comfort
of
shortcuts
and
shallow
shindigs.
It's
also
a
macroscopic
look
at
people
who
populate
the
fringes.
Their
silent
screams
of
protest
are
seldom
heard
in
cinema
without
their
sounds
being
converted
into
some
kind
of
vicarious
relief
and
comfort
for
the
audience.
Not
for
a
second
do
we
feel
any
comforting
distance
from
the
misery
of
Manjrekar's
characters.
The
smells
of
scant
cooking
in
the
kitchen
and
the
soundless
noise
of
hearts
and
ribs
breaking
at
given
intervals
swamp
our
senses
creating
an
overpowering
and
riveting
world
of
inequality
and
resentment.
Manjrekar
shoots
his
characters' emotions
in
tight
comprehensive
close-ups
but
wastes
no
time
shedding
excessive
tears
over
their
lives.
The
editor
(Sarvesh
Parab)
cuts
the
raw
material
with
ruthless
economy,
leaving
no
room
for
humbug
and
certainly
no
space
for
commercial
embellishments.
So
the
question,
what
happened
to
those
thousands
of
mill
workers
who
were
overnight
rendered
bankrupt
after
the
mills
closed
down?
You
will
find
some
uncomfortable
answers
in
City
Of
Gold.
But
most
of
the
time
you
will
be
faced
with
questions
about
the
quality
of
life
we
choose
to
hand
over
to
those
who
are
economically
and
emotionally
weak.
Welcome
back,
Mr
Manjrekar.
Would
this
film
have
worked
without
the
actors
who
don't
look
like
they
are
facing
a
camera?
The
whole
battalion
of
characters
flicker
to
life
as
though
they
were
a
part
of
an
extended
family
shot
by
hidden
cameras
for
a
reality
show
to
be
aired
at
'grime'
time.
Television
actor
Karan
Patel
as
the
youngest
scion
of
Manjrekar's
troubled
family
is
a
revelation.
He
portrays
pain
hurt
humiliation
angst
compromise
and
anger
with
complete
authority.
A
scar
is
born.
Story first published: Tuesday, April 27, 2010, 14:41 [IST]