Where 12th Fail Failed (For me) (and slightly) (so sorry for the spoilers)(but what did you expect?)
I heard the tag “Manic Pixie Dream Girl” last night, and the world started re-arranging itself to make further sense to me: All of those co-leads opposite Ranbir Kapoor in Bollywood characters are not just badly written characters, or characters that served no purpose except for Ranbir to hang his coat up after a bad day, feel wanted and supported, and jump back into action, but they have a name; they are his Manic Pixie Dream Girls. Here to blow his mind with how “different” they are every other girl — Sometimes, they don’t even need to be different, but just fitting the definition of a dream girl only he knows about — and when they have served their purpose, vanish from the screen so we can quickly forget about them.
Also, there’s no need to thank them. What else we here for?
I watched 12th Fail today, and before you start rolling your eyes or place a hand on your pitchforks ’cause here we go, another feminist rant, I need to inform you: this piece is about how it failed when it comes to the actor who plays his co-lead, his love interest and just that. 12th Fail failed in that one part where this woman character exists only as that Manic Pixie coat hanger — maybe less manic, or even pixie, but very dream girl according to the protagonist— and do not tell me we cannot expect anything more from a film that was set in 1997 and for specific purpose: it’s the story of Manoj Kumar Sharma, who failed his 12th grade ‘cause nobody allowed the students of his school to cheat that year, and how he became an officer of the Indian Police Service. I want to expect more. I was expecting more. Hear me out.
This character, who he meets while contemplating joining a coaching institute in Delhi, first draws your attention because she is fair, and classy, unlike any of the other women characters. I forgive your judgmental eye. Then she draws closer attention because our man, Manoj Kumar Sharma, has visibly fallen head over heels in love with her, enough to lie to her face that he is an engineer — an aeronautical engineer, no less — who’s from Gwalior, instead of a 12th fail, BA pass from Bilgaon, Chambal.
“He’s gone now. I’m telling you he’s gone,” muttered my mother the moment this character walked into the frame, ’cause poor Manoj Kumar Sharma, who had dreams, and ambition, and responsibilities — he comes from a remote village in Chambal district, his mother is a cowherd, his father is circling courts for lifting his unjust suspension from services for being too honest, he has two brothers who are laborers, and a younger sister who probably needs to be married off — cannot afford to be “distracted” by this character. That’s right.
She draws your attention next because you are terrified Manoj Kumar Sharma behek jaega. Kyun, bhai? Behkane ke liye hi bani hai kya ye sabb characters? And when you feel this way, what sets you apart, dear viewer, from a retired uncle (or Advocate M. L. Sharma) from the 70s who believes women are useful only as a distraction when you’re young, for sex when you’re older, and as a caretaker for your house and your kids when you’re much older? Why do you think you deserve to be forgiven for the crime of immediately reducing this character into the conflict of the story, the hurdle that Manoj Kumar Sharma needs to conquer in order to become an IPS officer, the minute you spot her?
I give you the benefit of doubt. Let’s say you did not feel that way. Let’s look at what happened next. This character, I won’t bother naming her ‘cause she’s clearly not that relevant, or relevant only for a specific purpose, finds out in class — after months, mind you — that Manoj Kumar Sharma lied about his educational credentials, and in front of everyone too (they join the same coaching institute), for no fault of hers. She tears up in class at his betrayal and goes quiet, but does not confront him or anything about this. She leaves the city for a while to go back to her hometown to write her exams. But he is heartbroken, drops out of class, and flunks his exams — his second attempt. “I TOLD you he was gone. Now look at what she’s done, this pisaachi (witch),” wailed my mother after he failed. Of course it was her fault.
Distraught, Manoj Kumar Sharma travels to her hometown and just rings her doorbell, and upon finding out she isn’t home, speaks to her on the phone and confesses that he’s in love with her. “I love you. And tum bhi bol do (you also tell me), phir mai tumhare liye duniya ulat pulat kar dunga (I will turn the world upside down for you)”, he says, second word out of his mouth after an apology for lying, and when she doesn’t say it back and hangs up and asks him to leave — and go back and study, mind you — he decides this love is his unraveling, and gets back to work.
Readers may note that as we watched him climb the steep route up to the character’s house in her hometown, I mumbled “she probably got married”, because what else could happen to such characters? They get married in order for the man to get his head back in the game. Or they get cancer. Or they break up with the guy. They mostly get married though. The director — I cannot tell if this was him being deliberately cheeky, or it was a mistake — has the caretaker of her house inform Manoj at the entrance that the character and her parents are not at home and “shaadi pe gaye hain (they are away at the wedding)” when he asks after her. My mother and I laugh instantly ’cause of course. Of course she was getting married. What else can this character do?
Also, why did Manoj Kumar Sharma fall in love with her, when she barely has any dialogue, or back story, or incidents that show she has a brain cell maybe? Or enough incidents? What made him fall in love with her? And when you don’t tell me why, should I assume it’s because she’s pretty, classy, rich, and English-speaking? His dream girl, apparently.
In any case, we don’t hear anything about her at all after that. A month or two in, Manoj Kumar is back on track and focusing on his classes, and working his way back up the race, and we forget all about her… and she swoops right back into class. “Not again! God! Why does she keep ruining his life!” my mother burst out, and I felt a flicker of annoyance then— my hypocrisy — and I said, “I’m sorry, but how’s any of this her fault? He’s the one who fell in love with her, he’s the one who lied, and for months, too. He’s the one who got distracted and failed his papers. What did she do?”.
See. That’s the thing. Sometimes, these girls do not even the bare minimum, they do absolutely nothing at all. They merely exist. They are the catalyst, the conflict, whatever you call them, only because they exist. In some cases, the manic comes out where the character is very quirky and attractive because of how odd she is, how unusual she is, but in most cases, her existence takes the story forward.
Now the character, I am exhausted by this invisibility of this person in my own narration here but I am trying to make a point, immediately approaches Manoj Kumar and apologizes for hanging up, and tells him that she tried reaching him after that phone call but couldn’t. But our Manoj Kumar thinks exactly the way you and I do. He tells her he can’t afford being distracted by her, he has responsibilities yada yada, and asks her to not bother him until he’s cleared his preliminary papers. And she… agrees, cementing the concept that she was just a conflict for him, and he’s removing her to win those exams. And that she needn’t even bother defending herself. In fact, Manoj “thanks” her for not reciprocating his love. This dream girl of his exists to make him win, and exits to make him win, too.
She’s so terribly written in this one, much worse than other movies, because she barely has any dialogue that has fire or weight in it, it’s only her existence, and the pain flashing across her face from time to time with Manoj’s own antics, that is required for the story.
At some point, we hear her own reasons for wanting to crack these exams: she was studying to be a doctor, and upon repeatedly seeing dowry death cases in the hospital that were being disguised as “accidents”, she had decided she wanted power, the sort of power that’d rectify this grave wrong. But why do we care about that? She’s upper middle class, and good looking, with a family that speaks in English; her having a cause is laughable, and her having a cause is nothing compared to his having a cause. His cause is everything; she’s just someone who happens to be nice, and maybe, if you step aside for a second, she’s even worth investing in theoretically. But we are not concerned with that. Middle class causes are always a sham, especially if you’re a woman, so please get married abruptly and stop distracting us from the actual story, which is Manoj Kumar Sharma’s journey to becoming an IPS officer.
In Scene III, as Manoj fails his third attempt at his papers, we have one of his acquaintances yell at him that as long as this character holds his hand and has his love, he’s never going to clear the papers. Tearing up, the character turns to Manoj says “I love you. Duniya ulat pulat kar do (turn the world upside down for me)”, and that is what sets clockwork Manoj into motion again, he starts running like his paper is tomorrow and he’ll crack it. The next year goes by in a blur; the character prints out papers for him, sets a timer and makes him study for sixteen hours a day, her love fuels him forward. Even in a strange scene where someone calls the character’s house and informs her parents that she is sleeping with Manoj, and her parents confront her, an absolutely useless, and a scene so painful to watch for how unrealistic it is, has Dream Girl character inform her parents in a dead voice that they need to trust her, and that’s that. Oh, and one more thing. She’s also cleared all of her papers, and interviews, and gotten the position she was vying for, the power, for who cares, really. Let’s focus on Manoj, please.
In Scene IV, being the final scene, right before Manoj is about to walk into his interview room — he’s cleared all his papers, too — she hands him a letter that informs him that she wants to spend the rest of her life with him, whether he becomes an IPS officer, or becomes a laborer, and she asks him to marry her. And that letter ensures he faces his interviewers confidently.
And he gets the position.
We don’t hear from her after the results.
They get married, obviously.
The film ends with the wedding.
Nothing else for her.
Nothing.
I know. I know. We cannot expect anything more from a film that was set in 1997 and for specific purpose: it’s the story of Manoj Kumar Sharma, who failed his 12th grade ’cause nobody allowed the students of his school to cheat that year, and how he became an officer of the Indian Police Service. The film is great, otherwise. Nothing too extraordinary, but touching in specific ways. Written to evoke sadness, poignant from the first second, and very noticeably innocent. The film delivers in what it promised to deliver. We walk away with tears in our eyes, and a fresh enthusiasm in our hearts for causes, and goals, and purposes etc.
But to all the SHRADDHAS (I name the character now) out there, whose causes are irrelevant ’cause you’re pretty, and upper middle class, and speak in English; who barely have any scripts— and sometimes, such terrible scripts, scripts that tell you nobody cares if you got the job you were vying for a noble reason, nobody cares if a man confessed he loves you by showing up unannounced and frankly creepily at your doorstep after having lied to you after his background, nobody cares if someone named you as the reason why he’s failed his exams, nobody cares if someone called your parents and told them you are having sex with someone IN 1997, nobody cares, don’t bother defending yourself ’cause these are slights to your character and your story that exist only to mark the passage of time, they are not really slights, nothing about your character and your story is worth registering; who exist… and that seems to be enough.
I see you. I know you’re out there. One of these days, the film won’t fail you. One of these days, you will matter even if the film has someone else having something else going on for them. And as long as that doesn’t happen, movies like 12th Fail, while succeeding in every way they wanted to, will still fail in that one way to reach me, that upper middle class, English-speaking girl who has a cause nobody believes in.
