Based on Dominique Lapierre's novel of the same name, "City of Joy" was directed by Roland Joffe, the man behind "The Mission" and "The Killing Fields" and maybe trying to emulate his previous masterpieces was the mistake that prevented the film to be one.
Don't get me wrong, I believe this is one of Patrick Swayze's most endearing roles but by trying to retell the old story of "fraternal love that transcends cultural barriers", Joffe made an enchanting fable that merely avoids the 'white saviour trope' but still deprives the film from that touch of authenticity guaranteed by the story of Hazari (Om Puri). Maybe I'm overthinking it and while Max Lowe (Swayze) learns just as much about himself from the contact with the local population of the 'City of Joy' -the name given to a slum in Calcultta- there's an invisible pedestal built out of his status as the main provider of medical services... alone with Joan, the Irishwoman, played by Pauline Collins, who came to India and never left. By the way, if one should credit screenwriter Mark Medoff for not turning Collins into a love interest, I wouldn't have minded if the second-in-charge was re-written as an Indian, to avoid the improbable implication that it would take an Occidental heart to care for the poor people of India.
But now that I've established what doesn't go right in the film, let's get to the good stuff, which is the story of Hazari, a brave father of three, married with the beautiful Kabna (Shabana Azmi), forced by circumstances to leave the farm he worked in and find a job in Calcultta. Puri plays the kind of father-figure whose decency and honor make up for his lack of resources, money and even shoes (as he walks bare feet all throughout the film). Hazari feels as a duty to provide for his family and earn enough money to afford the dowry in case his daughter would find a husband. He's not much traditional as he's practical, his arms are solid enough to handle the toughest jobs but even the broadest shoulders can't change traditions that perdured for centuries. And naturally, the responsibility he's assigned himself is proportional to his guilt after his family is thrown off a house after he had naively paid the monthly rent to the sneaky swindler.
But as if one strike of luck was hiding behind every misfortune (I'm sure there's an Indian proverb for that) he eventually becomes a rickshaw driver working for the local Godfather Ghatak (Shyamanand Jalan) whose son Ashok (Art Malik) harasses workers and act as a master of extortion in the neighborhood. To use an imagery that will content "The Godfather" fans, imagine trucks unions, replace them by the rickshaws, then have the local Hoffa as a Vito Corleone-figure and imagine his son, who strangely resembles Fredo Corleone but act more like Fanucci, and you'll get the picture.
It's in the "City of Joy" where Hazari crosses Max' path, after the American was also victim of a petty robbery orchestrated by Ashok and using a young prostitute named Poomina (Suneeta Sengupta) as a bait. It's a good start but then the plot derives again into contrivance. When we first see Max, he's just lost a child patient and decides to give up medicine and move to Calcultta to give a new start for his life. So far, so good. When he's attacked and then healed by Joan, the least we'd expect from him was to decline the offer to stay and help. If he didn't come for tourism but seeking a meaning to his life and if he's a man with the heart at the right place, why would he be so reluctant to give a try? The film pushes it a tad further when after helping a young leper woman to have a baby, he's still playing 'hard to get' with Joan who's forced to deliver the kind of pep-monologue that is too well-written not to make you grunt and think "oh, brother, how much time do we need till we get to the real stuff".
So the problem isn't much that the material is familiar but that Joffe treats it as if it was fresh, since it's a foregone conclusion that Max will adopt the people of the City as a new family, why not get to the point and then let the adversity come from outsiders. Swayze was a terrific actor and a great loss for cinema but Max was written in such a typical character-arc fashion that it made not only the story hackneyed but even the interactions between Max and the locals felt artificial. The whole sentimentalism might be well-intentioned but it doesn't always ring true.. Take another scene when Max and Joan visit Ghatak Sr. And his smooth talking doesn't fool him. Yes, the bribe was obvious, but did Max need to put such a tantrum? Even the old man was asking his bodyguards to stay calm. Even with good intentions, there's Max' quickness to react might trigger the impression of arrogant self-entitlement.
Now I have fond memories of "City of Joy", a film I saw more than twenty years ago with my Dad and my brother and I feel partially guilty to be so critical but then I remember the scenes that impacted me the most: I remember my horror when Ashok slashed Poomina's cheeks with his razor blade, or cheering when the rickshaw drivers paid Hazari's bail, I remembered many scenes and oddly enough, they could work without a white character, and the film could have been a new "Bicycle Thief".
"City of Joy" is still an inspirational feel-good film and the sight of two deceased actors walking side by side at the end is retrospectively poignant, I just wish Max was written as a more capable for listening person, who could learn as much as he taught.
Don't get me wrong, I believe this is one of Patrick Swayze's most endearing roles but by trying to retell the old story of "fraternal love that transcends cultural barriers", Joffe made an enchanting fable that merely avoids the 'white saviour trope' but still deprives the film from that touch of authenticity guaranteed by the story of Hazari (Om Puri). Maybe I'm overthinking it and while Max Lowe (Swayze) learns just as much about himself from the contact with the local population of the 'City of Joy' -the name given to a slum in Calcultta- there's an invisible pedestal built out of his status as the main provider of medical services... alone with Joan, the Irishwoman, played by Pauline Collins, who came to India and never left. By the way, if one should credit screenwriter Mark Medoff for not turning Collins into a love interest, I wouldn't have minded if the second-in-charge was re-written as an Indian, to avoid the improbable implication that it would take an Occidental heart to care for the poor people of India.
But now that I've established what doesn't go right in the film, let's get to the good stuff, which is the story of Hazari, a brave father of three, married with the beautiful Kabna (Shabana Azmi), forced by circumstances to leave the farm he worked in and find a job in Calcultta. Puri plays the kind of father-figure whose decency and honor make up for his lack of resources, money and even shoes (as he walks bare feet all throughout the film). Hazari feels as a duty to provide for his family and earn enough money to afford the dowry in case his daughter would find a husband. He's not much traditional as he's practical, his arms are solid enough to handle the toughest jobs but even the broadest shoulders can't change traditions that perdured for centuries. And naturally, the responsibility he's assigned himself is proportional to his guilt after his family is thrown off a house after he had naively paid the monthly rent to the sneaky swindler.
But as if one strike of luck was hiding behind every misfortune (I'm sure there's an Indian proverb for that) he eventually becomes a rickshaw driver working for the local Godfather Ghatak (Shyamanand Jalan) whose son Ashok (Art Malik) harasses workers and act as a master of extortion in the neighborhood. To use an imagery that will content "The Godfather" fans, imagine trucks unions, replace them by the rickshaws, then have the local Hoffa as a Vito Corleone-figure and imagine his son, who strangely resembles Fredo Corleone but act more like Fanucci, and you'll get the picture.
It's in the "City of Joy" where Hazari crosses Max' path, after the American was also victim of a petty robbery orchestrated by Ashok and using a young prostitute named Poomina (Suneeta Sengupta) as a bait. It's a good start but then the plot derives again into contrivance. When we first see Max, he's just lost a child patient and decides to give up medicine and move to Calcultta to give a new start for his life. So far, so good. When he's attacked and then healed by Joan, the least we'd expect from him was to decline the offer to stay and help. If he didn't come for tourism but seeking a meaning to his life and if he's a man with the heart at the right place, why would he be so reluctant to give a try? The film pushes it a tad further when after helping a young leper woman to have a baby, he's still playing 'hard to get' with Joan who's forced to deliver the kind of pep-monologue that is too well-written not to make you grunt and think "oh, brother, how much time do we need till we get to the real stuff".
So the problem isn't much that the material is familiar but that Joffe treats it as if it was fresh, since it's a foregone conclusion that Max will adopt the people of the City as a new family, why not get to the point and then let the adversity come from outsiders. Swayze was a terrific actor and a great loss for cinema but Max was written in such a typical character-arc fashion that it made not only the story hackneyed but even the interactions between Max and the locals felt artificial. The whole sentimentalism might be well-intentioned but it doesn't always ring true.. Take another scene when Max and Joan visit Ghatak Sr. And his smooth talking doesn't fool him. Yes, the bribe was obvious, but did Max need to put such a tantrum? Even the old man was asking his bodyguards to stay calm. Even with good intentions, there's Max' quickness to react might trigger the impression of arrogant self-entitlement.
Now I have fond memories of "City of Joy", a film I saw more than twenty years ago with my Dad and my brother and I feel partially guilty to be so critical but then I remember the scenes that impacted me the most: I remember my horror when Ashok slashed Poomina's cheeks with his razor blade, or cheering when the rickshaw drivers paid Hazari's bail, I remembered many scenes and oddly enough, they could work without a white character, and the film could have been a new "Bicycle Thief".
"City of Joy" is still an inspirational feel-good film and the sight of two deceased actors walking side by side at the end is retrospectively poignant, I just wish Max was written as a more capable for listening person, who could learn as much as he taught.