Mississippi Masala

Funny how watching one film, (Ballet Russes, this evening, with Bill and Laura) clarifies your thoughts about another. In this case, Mississipi Masala, which Laura asked my opinion on a few weeks ago.

I found Mississipi Masala a brave original attempt to tell a story that hasn’t been touched by other filmmakers, black or South Asian. And to expose the racism and class-identity-torments of South Asian immigrants to the US.

Unfortunately, I’ve never seen less chemistry on screen between any two romantic leads, than there was between Denzel Washington and Sarita Choudhury. Beyond their shared affinity for amusement park rides, it was hard to see what brought them together, let alone imagine what they'd talk about once they'd crossed the stateline. I could buy them as each other’s escape route, but not as each other’s journey, or ultimate destination.

The most convincing and fully realized relationship in the film was actually between the parents – the bitter exiled Ugandan-Asian lawyer (Roshan Seth), and his pragmatic wife (Sharmila Tagore) who ran a liquor store to feed the family. She managed to seep love and anguish for both husband and daughter, through her efficient, hold-it-all-together exterior, without ever appearing mawkish.

There was a moment that made me cry. When Mina, the main character, is confronted by her parents over her relationship with a black man, and shouts: “This is America! No one cares!” Her mother says quietly: “We are your parents. If we don’t care – who will?” The line captures perfectly the tragic interweaving of parental love with fear, ignorance, prejudice, the survival imperative to preserve and control. And the damage done all round when the tightly-woven strands are not identified for what they are, and separated.