In the blue corner, however, is an actor at the peak of his abilities, playing a character who seems different – and deeper – in his hands. Bajpayee adds his quirky Family-Man-esque tics to Solanki, especially in the way he reacts – speaking chaste Hindi in a thick Marwadi accent – to the more performative lawyers in court. In one instance, he tries to imitate the Jethmalani stand-in by banging his fists on the table to punctuate his point, but only hurts his fingers in the process. In another, he mumbles “gadha ka baccha” under his breath, referring to his son whose safety he gets paranoid about. From the manner he reacts to death threats and violence on the streets, Bajpayee manages to frame Solanki as more than just a heroic portrait of middle-class posturing. I like that there’s genuine fear in his eyes when a witness is stabbed in front of him, or when he notices a shady bike following him. His bravery emerges when he speaks in his own habitat, where facts become his refuge from the rashness of reality.
Perhaps the best aspect of Bajpayee’s role is that he lends fresh nuance to the characterization of Solanki. The writing deserves credit for not viewing the hero as a closet liberal, social rebel or urban misfit in his environment. That would have been too easy. It’s disarming to see that Solanki is very much a product of his setting. He is a religious and God-fearing Hindu man, an ardent Lord Shiva devotee who uses “Har Har Mahadev” as both a proud greeting and chant of strength. He cites a Ramayana story in his closing statement, and readily compares the survivor to Goddess Durga. He probably voted for the same right-wing government as the others around him, but that doesn’t discount him from the capacity to know better. His moral compass is strong, not because he’s a protagonist, but because Solanki is the sort of educated observer who has noticed how modern religion has been reduced to a medium of politics and power. It’s almost like he’s trying to reclaim the essence of “dharma” and mythology from those (like self-styled gurus) who’ve turned it into a vulgar business. In a conversation with Nu on his terrace, his remarks are perceptive. He tells her that, in the eyes of society, she is the criminal for shattering their illusion of God and purity. The hostility towards a victim is a projection of personal fear; she is only blamed for disturbing the equilibrium between superstition and living.
Of course Solanki spells all this out, because a Hindi film lawyer is a ready-made ‘advocate’ for truth and courage. But Bajpayee has this uncanny gift of turning the most basic exposition into an emotional weapon. As a result, Solanki’s outlook looks more pragmatic than progressive; it goes hand in hand with his balanced sense of faith. He is just being sensible, while protecting the part of himself that still believes in the integrity of religion. It’s not an easy role, particularly the bargaining between volume and sharpness. It’s not even in the top five of Manoj Bajpayee’s finest, but in terms of what he represents, it’s a valuable reminder of an India that’s too often lost in translation. Eventually, I’d say he defeats the film, subduing its shallow arguments and transcending its noise. He becomes the difference between a sinking ship and a shipwreck enclosure in a history museum. The former is a tragedy; the latter is a watchable story. The title is fitting after all: Sometimes, one man is really all it takes.