83 is the sort of movie that knows it’s won by simply existing. There is no force on earth – not even a new variant of an old virus – that will deter Indians from flocking to the theatres to enjoy a high-profile cricket film. Especially this one. The story of India’s 1983 World Cup victory is so inherently mythical and miraculous that even a blank screen featuring Ranveer Singh’s voice might have run to packed houses. It’s all there. The class of ‘83 have since woven their experience into the cultural fabric of this country. And in these times of privatized nostalgia, there’s nothing more potent than the origin story of a religion; Indian cricket, as we know and love-hate it, was reborn on June 25th, 1983. Yet, as I watched the Amar-Chitra-Katha-eques spirit of 83, I couldn’t help but wonder: When you have nothing to lose, why not try to play?
The Kapil Dev of 83 gets peeved when fans tell him they’re content with India winning just one game; that it’s “enough.” Nobody expects more. He wants more. The film itself remains at odds with the ambition of its protagonist – it wins a few matches (securing rights to a classic underdog tale, casting Ranveer Singh), and then basks in the adulation of existing. It wants nothing more. The screenplay is so simplistic that it stops short of being typed on screen. Half the film is a simulation of history; the other half is a giant reaction shot. In between, there’s some basic brown-person-in-England roleplay. The tragedy of readymade triumphs is that I lapped it all up even as I was cringing. Wistful memories of watching my father’s video cassettes of the Prudential World Cup on loop were being serviced. His Nirlon tales about Sunil Gavaskar echoed in my ears. My mediocre imagination of how it must have felt to be alive in 1983 was being validated.
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