The film Aag did not achieve significant commercial success, but it was Raj Kapoor's subsequent project, Barsaat (Rain, 1949), that truly catapulted him to fame. Nonetheless, Aag showcases his innovative approach to visual storytelling, effectively conveying the protagonist's intense emotions.
In Kapoor's later films, the imagery often serves to advance the narrative of either unfulfilled or realized passion, contrasting with the more experimental visual style seen in Aag. The unique proscenium arch design reappears in Barsaat, particularly in the picturesque lake-house setting in Kashmir, where the protagonist resides.
In Barsaat, Kapoor embodies the character of Pran, a city dweller, while Nargis plays his love interest, the caretaker's daughter. The studio space is crafted to mimic the grandeur and verticality of a theatrical set, featuring two levels, a distinct watery foreground, and clear pathways for character movement. Pran is frequently depicted playing his violin on the balcony, reminiscent of a theatrical setting, with the elegant pillars and sloping roof inviting viewers into a proscenium-like space. Many pivotal moments between the lovers unfold here, resembling a Shakespearean balcony where class and familial divides momentarily dissolve.
In a particularly charged scene, Nargis sneaks to Pran in the night, drawn by the ebb and flow of his music. As she rushes to him, she inadvertently knocks the violin from his grasp. The proscenium arch is disrupted as the camera closes in on the couple, capturing their physical entanglement.
The camera angles shift to a top-down view, giving the violin a phallic appearance. Pran expresses his desire to play her like a violin until she trembles with pleasure, to which she admits that such sensations have already occurred, but he has not perceived them. This moment reveals that his violin playing serves as an outlet for his unfulfilled sexual desires, with his fingers bloodied from constant playing. As the tension escalates, she presses her lips against his fingers.
This scene begins with a full-frontal view of the proscenium balcony but transforms into an intimate exploration of emotion and sexuality as the violin is lost and bodies draw closer. The transition from a theatrical to a cinematic perspective allows for a new intimacy with sexual imagery.
Up until this moment, the film has only hinted at the woman's sexual passion, lacking a substantial backstory and offering minimal parental commentary. The portrayal of passion and sexual love in this 1949 film stands out as a unique representation in Indian cinema.
Raj Kapoor, often seen as a one-man industry, likely recognized the significance of this moment, as it became an emblem for his production company, R.K. Films. The real-life couple, Kapoor and Nargis, symbolized modern freedom and a lack of inhibition, reflecting shifts in societal views on scandal and privacy, while their on-screen representations crafted a new visual language of desire and sexual fulfillment.
In his next directorial work, Awaara, the same scene is echoed in the opening credits, featuring recognizable figures of Kapoor and Nargis. The violin, previously knocked away, is now restored in his hands, with Nargis draped over him, and the perspective shifts from a top view to a low angle, emphasizing their connection.
This iconography evolves further in Shree 420, where it becomes more abstract against a dramatic sky backdrop. This change may hint at the impending personal and professional separation between Kapoor and Nargis, or perhaps it signifies that the roles he created for lovers have come to represent a broader generation, becoming generic and anonymous rather than tied to specific stars.
Raj Kapoor's fascination with faces is evident in Mera Naam Joker (My Name is Joker, 1970), which he regarded as his most autobiographical work. The film, featuring a circus clown as the protagonist, did not meet box office expectations, leading Kapoor to refrain from acting in his directorial projects thereafter. Notably, his career began with a focus on the human face and concluded with it obscured beneath the heavy makeup of a clown.
A later film, Satyam Shivam Sundaram (Truth, God, Beauty, 1978), revisits themes from Aag, centering on a character with a half-burnt face, paralleling Kewal's story. This time, the narrative involves a beautiful woman whose relationship with her superficial lover necessitates a division into two identities: the burnt side associated with the wife and the unburnt side with the lover.
Excerpted with permission from Shadow Craft – Visual Aesthetics of Black and White Hindi Cinema, Gayathri Prabhu and Nikhil Govind, Bloomsbury India.
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