Set amid the 1962 Sino-India war, Razneesh ‘Razy’ Ghai’s film, led by Farhan Akhtar, wavers between a clichéd, overlong emotional stretch and a sharp, visually driven retelling of the Chushul-Rezang La stand
There are two starkly different films within Razneesh ‘Razy’ Ghai’s 120 Bahadur. The first one is a plodding, over-sentimental affair riddled with so many cliches that you can pre-empt each of its dialogues and untimely cinematic moments. The second is a technically brilliant, rousing war epic that is contrastingly understated and purposeful, nearly setting a new bar for storytelling through visuals and action. What you feel about the overall film, as the end credits roll up, could depend on which of the two sides impresses and stays with you more.
The contours of 120 Bahadur are easily traceable. During the Sino-India war in 1962, a battalion of 120 Indian soldiers took on thousands of bullish Chinese counterparts who were marching towards the Chushul sector of Ladakh to conquer the Aksai Chin desert. The Chinese claimed that the area was part of their larger Xinjiang/Tibet annexure, while India believed firmly that it was a consummate part of Jammu & Kashmir.
Shift in India-China relations
The regional boundaries between the two countries were blurred because of their brotherly ties until a few years prior (as Amitabh Bachchan’s opening voiceover tells us), and the Dalai Lama being granted asylum by India after the failed Tibet uprising in ’59 is seen as the first big shift in relations. The history and its intricacies don’t matter as much to the film as the simple man-to-man equation does, and the proceedings kick off right at the cusp of the Battle of Rezang La.
The battlefield is technically the only terrain for the story to unfold on, but 120 Bahadur prefers to familiarise us with the characters before getting into the thick of things. It’s a way of stalling itself for Rajiv G. Menon’s script, which feels reluctant for a passage of time as long as the entire first half to realise that its essence lies in the present and nowhere else. Instead, it attempts to emotionally anchor us by laboriously offering glimpses of the personal lives of the soldiers, starting with the leader and talisman of the 13 Kumaon Regiment’s Charlie Company, Major Shaitan Singh Bhati (Farhan Akhtar).
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There’s a glossy song sequence dedicated to the innocent romance between him and his would-be wife Shagun (Raashi Khanna), which not only causes a lull in energy but also feels like it’s designed to show off a new TV’s sharp picture quality. Another song crops up in an obligatory Sandese Aate Hai fashion that takes us into the homes of some of the principal characters, as they each shed a tear or two, reminiscing about a simpler life.
Cinema has often told us that soldiers fill the uneasy hours before war with all kinds of distractions, but the problem is 120 Bahadur feeling unsure of what to do with its own downtime. It speaks in platitudes (Sunit Arora), dispenses stirring speeches prematurely and simply forgoes the opportunity to build a lived-in setting that truly evokes the time, mood and place of its story.
A disabling concern for the Indian army during the battle wasn’t the numerical disadvantage alone, but also the lack of proper winter clothing, ammunition and reinforcements at an altitude of 18000 feet. Had the writing chosen to lay focus on these elements instead of the sappiness of the background, 120 Bahadur would have managed to create a narrative that’s much more cohesive, effective.
Occasionally engaging
The performances, too, are pitched to a metre that doesn’t resonate. Farhan Akhtar is earnest in these portions, but the unevenness in the tone infuses artifice into his portrayal. Ankit Siwach, Vivek Bhatena, Dhanveer Singh, Sahib Verma and other proud Ahir members of the 13 Kumaon Regiment form a neat ensemble, although their saccharine personalities feel indistinguishable from one another.
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The Chinese side of things isn’t different either, in that these scenes are underlined with a pensive score that falls only just short of caricaturisation. It is perhaps a matter of our good fortune that the villainy is less bloated compared to the banality we are now used to seeing in Hindi cinema in the name of foreign evil. China, here, is afforded at least a small moment of dignity, which feels like a big win for India in its own right.
Nevertheless, the curtailed creativity begins to find its groove close to the halfway mark. Once Razneesh Ghai steps into a terrain that clearly plays to his strengths, his confidence spikes, and that sudden surge reflects in the lucidity with which the battle portions get staged. The clutter ends when Tetsuo Nagata’s camera becomes one with the atmosphere and handholds us onto the snowcapped mountains, where a couple of action blocks unfold with invigorating conviction.
The war cry of Dada Kishan ki Jai among Major Bhati’s men echoes loud and proud, but its repetitiveness doesn’t bother as much because the valour is no longer verbally pronounced and only suggested through the visceral storytelling. Ghai’s restraint creates a convincingly real battlefield on the screen, and he makes sure that nothing intrudes on the drama taking place at full scale. It is here that the film realises its intent, and as long as these portions last, the lacklustre first half feels like a distant, forgettable occurrence.
Another fascinating facet of the story involves the regiment’s radio operator Ram Chander Yadav, who comes of age during the battle. A subplot sees Yadav recounting the entire tale to the senior men of the Indian army, but the pelting snow could have easily submerged the glorious feat under its vastness. The film could have lent a bigger platform to this bit to enhance the mystique that the audience in 2025 ought to experience, but it passes up that chance in favour of more sentimentality.
No doubt, 120 Bahadur brims with possibilities, and Razneesh Ghai & co grab some of them, letting many slip from their hands as well. It takes too long to realise its strengths and meanders to a point that it almost undermines its narrative’s inherent power. A lot more pruning in the writing would have delivered something truly worth the promise, but this one still engages whenever it can.
