What’s Wrong With Thappad?

I read a bunch of reviews before watching this film, and each and every one of them hailed Thappad as a technically sound, well-acted, and feminist film (Rajeev Masand). I am not going to look at the technical aspects of the movie, of which there are already many reviews. Instead, I am going to explore whether or not this is a feminist film, by focusing on some of the overlooked tropes and details because that’s where the devil hides.

An easy—although not comprehensive—way to determining whether a film is feminist or not is putting it through the Bechdel test. This test asks whether a work of fiction (stress on the word fiction) features at least two women who talk to each other about something other than a man/love/marriage. It should be pretty easy to pass this test, right? Wrong. Because Bollywood films are primarily made for the male audience, even the ones that are about women or claim to be feminist.

As the opening credits of Thappad roll, we get a glimpse of all the couples talking to each other. The trope of orange candy uniting the couples seems redundant because the couples are already united by a common agenda: marriage. Swati and Karan talk about marriage; Netra and boyfriend talk about marriage; Sunita and husband talk about marriage; Sachin and Sandhya talk about marriage; and even Shivani and her 13-year-old daughter talk about marriage. For the rest of the movie, everyone will only talk about marriage and men. For example, we know that Shivani drives a Mercedes bigger than Vikram’s, but we learn nothing about her profession. All we ever hear Shivani talk about is how good her husband was, how she doesn’t want to remarry, and how he never hit her. We also learn that Shivani’s 13-year-old daughter has found a “cute” boy. Remember, this is fiction and this detail was entirely unnecessary.

The Bechdel test also requires that the female characters have names. It is true that all the women characters in Thappad have names, but do they have any agency? Are they strong characters? Do they drive the plot? Do they take their own decisions? Let’s explore.

The movie establishes that Amrita is a very good wife with painstaking details by having her perform rituals of domesticity over and over. She wakes up at the crack of dawn, picks up newspaper and milk from outside her door, which only has her husband’s name on it. She cuts lemon grass, makes tea, brings it to the husband, turns the water heater on, makes food, takes care of the mother-in-law, runs after Vikram with said food, files and other official parapherNAlia. In an interview with Anubhav Sinha, Anupama Chopra asks why the character of Amrita was made so submissive and Sinha explains:

According to Sinha, the “one with the paycheck” is the superior one. And the housewife, just by virtue of not having an income is “the second one” and automatically submissive. Sinha goes on to explain that even when a woman devotes herself to the husband, even then it’s not okay to hit her. But this argument is redundant. Because even as kids we knew that it was the unruly, disoBEdient kids who got beaten up. The movie then, ironically, seems to suggest that Amrita doesn’t deserve to be slapped because she is such a good wife. The question then naturally arises if it would it be okay to slap Amrita if she were not such a good wife.

Unfortunately, Bollywood has answered that question repeatedly. And we have been comfortable with the answer. Therefore, this movie doesn’t do anything radical. It only reiterates what we already know.

It’s not just Amrita. Even Netra, the lawyer, who has been a victim of marital rape, is seen packing her wedding photos when in the end she decides to leave the husband. Think about it for a second. She could be packing anything here. Books, pens, files, flower pots, ANYTHNG, but no, they went through the trouble of Photoshopping pictures of their wedding, frame them, hang them on the wall and then have her pack those frames. And why did Amrita need to be made pregnant? Why? Because the underlying message is that these women may be leaving their husbands, but they are still dutiful, they will still not remarry, they will stay loyal, just like Shivani. Remember, this is a fiction, and they could have written these characters however they wanted, but they chose to do this.

Amrita’s character appears stronger the second she decides to leave her husband after that “one slap”, but a closer look reveals that when Vikram says, “what will people think of me”, is the exact moment it dawns on Amrita that she has to respect herself, too, just like Vikram respects himself. Amrita decides to leave after hearing Vikram say, “I don’t want to live at a place where I am not valued” Take a look at this scene. Notice the exact moment the background music changes to suggest Amrita’s awakening. 

So, although Amrita’s character is a feminist, putting the solution to her problem in the mouth of her abusive husband, even though indirectly, actually reinforces patriarchal norms. The biggest thing Amrita accomplishes in the film is actually leaving the husband, which though commendable is just not enough.

What is more problematic is the portrayal of Amrita’s lawyer, Netra’s character. Netra Jaisingh is an accomplished lawyer and a women’s rights advocate who has won a high profile rape case against a high profile male lawyer. Yet, in one discussion with her husband, we learn that she is the daughter-in-law of Justice Jaisingh and wife of high profile TV journalist, Rohit Jaisingh:

This scene leaves a cloud of doubt hanging over Netra as the audience is made to wonder, even if slightly if she is successful only because of her privilege. It takes away her agency. Clearly, this character was written to show that it doesn’t matter how accomplished and powerful a woman is in public life, domestic violence can affect anyone. But this was still unnecessary. Remember this is fiction and this character could have been written differently. She could have been a drunken lawyer, like Sunny Deol in Damini, who uses this case to redeem herself, but she doesn’t.

And this brings me to the last and most important question that Thappad sets forth, the thappad itself.

Review after review calls Vikram a (Rajeev Masand and Chopra) “good guy”, who loves his wife. The reviewers suggest that the slap was “a random, impulsive act“ and it was “just a slap”. One reviewer says, “The intensity of that one slap goes deeper than one can imagine”. Anupama Chopra goes so far as to ask Tapsi Pannu and Anubhav Sinha this:

The title of the film, its dialogues, and its many reviews seem to trivialize the thappad incident, suggesting that Amrita might be taking the incident too far. Let’s review the Thappad again.

As Vikram starts to fight with Rajhans, three men come to break the fight: Vikram’s colleague, brother, and brother in law. Amrita is the fourth person to come to help Vikram and the first to get slapped. And this is not JUST ONE SLAP by any measure. Amrita had just spent the whole day preparing for Vikram’s party. There were forty guests including Vikram’s colleagues, friends, family, and neighbors. The movie and reviews try to trivialize the slap by excusing Vikram’s anger, but no one talks about Amrita’s physical and emotional state. This was NOT just one slap. This was the most public humiliation that could have been.

So Anubhav Sinha can call Vikram “a poor guy” all he wants, but there is enough material in the movie to prove Vikram’s misogyny. 

• He Orders his wife around
• Makes a comment on women’s driving
• Asks wife to learn to make parantha before learning to drive
• Does not apologize to his wife.
• Comments on Swati’s smoking and asks if Karan knows about her smoking.
• When Shivani drives off in her big car, he asks “yeh karti kya hai”?
• Tries to take away the child from Amrita.
• Tries to project Amrita as a liar and tries to persuade/buy others into lying.

And on the question of whether or not Vikram loved his wife, there is not one scene in the movie that suggests he misses Amrita for emotional reasons. The only reason he wants her back is that his life is inconvenient without another help in the house. And yet, the movie redeems Vikram’s character in the end and leaves a possibility of reconciliation open.

Rajeev Masand thinks, “The husband is no villain. Vikram is selfish, entitled, conditioned to put himself and his own pride before his wife, but he’s not a bad guy. He’s just every other Indian man.” But just because Vikram is like every other Indian man doesn’t mean he is not a bad guy. Perhaps we should change the definition of a good Indian man.

Thappad is not a feminist movie. These nods to feminism mean nothing for gender equality. There are more sexist movies out there, for sure. But what makes Thappad particularly egregious is the insincere and flimsy “feminist” dressing it comes in.

Such additions aren’t real feminism, but rather a clever disguise, and one that will allow moviemakers to continue churning out under-developed female characters and sexist storylines for as long as we let them. If we want real gender equality, let’s demand complex female characters and stories, not simply updated versions of sexist tropes. After all, misogyny has always had the remarkable ability to adapt across political ideologies, countries, and centuries, by changing its face while retaining its key sexist principles.