It’s 2016 BC and basic Sarman (Hrithik) from ‘hamri Amri gaon’ is attracted to the city lights of Mohenjo Daro where he meets Chaani (Pooja), the beautiful city mascot. Sarman and Chaani begin to look all starry eyed at – however Chaani must wed brutish Munja (Arunoday, persuading as native stone age man), child of Mohenjo Daro’s pradhan Maham (Kabir, enough overflowing eagerness). While battling for Chaani, Sarman finds a great deal more in Mohenjo Daro. Why is its stream Sindhu dammed? What is Maham exchanging with Sumer? Why does Sarman dream of a mysterious creature? What’s more, what will happen to Mohenjo Daro when waterway and rain join?
Hrithik is battling fit in Mohenjo Daro – as Sarman, he passes on effortlessness and quality, enthusiasm and virtue without hardly lifting a finger. Albeit controlled, his execution demonstrates looks of the whiz panache that once had everybody singing, kaha na pyaar hai. Yet, interestingly, Pooja seems boring and Chaani pitifully composed – in a part that to a great extent includes quills and flashes of leg, a vacant Chaani winds up plainly forgettable and not at all like Gowarikar’s more grounded courageous women (think Radha to Jodhaa) whose exhibitions fueled his plots. Here, Chaani is another feeble column in a precarious story that components steeds in the Harappan period (generally accepted to have arrived later with the Aryans), Maham wearing a protective cap bringing out Asterix funnies, a Gladiator-like battle including a trishul and a few distinct articulations of Sarman’s dad’s name.
The ideas degrade Mohenjo Daro – yet its second half ascents, points of interest becoming all-good. One specific tempest grouping raises the whole film, its visual impacts, pace and power summoning Hollywood works of art like The Ten Commandments. Snapshots of such creative ability grandstand Ashutosh Gowarikar’s capacity to traverse time and discover stories of mankind opposing constrained lagans and lagaans, battling to survive another age.
Mohenjo Daro should’ve had numerous more excellent minutes. As it seems to be, it’s less Ben Hur and more Amrapali – sans the sex interest of Vyjanthimala’s bustiers. In any case, its scale and creative energy make it a fascinating watch – as does the charming thought of Hrithik as India’s first pratham sevak.
That is sufficiently epic.
