“Devdas” and the Enduring Appeal of the Melodrama

Words: Maia Wyman

Around the turn of the millennium, critics were declaring that Indian films had finally crossed over into the West. Of those to find appeal in the West, like the realist, mid-century art films of Satyajit Ray, or the non-Indian productions of Mira Nair and Deepa Mehta, the 2001 sports epic Lagaan was the first to introduce a full blown Bollywood sensibility to the world. As of today, Lagaan is the last Indian film to be nominated for an Academy Award, despite the unparalleled, worldwide financial success of Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Devdas only a year later. 

Devdas premiered at Cannes in 2002 and, being the most expensive Indian film ever made at the time, was met with massive box office success both within India and outside of it. But despite the love from audiences, critics were less sure. While there were some who praised Bhansali’s meticulous attention to detail, many, both in India and overseas, also felt that the film was too melodramatic. Journalist Madhu Trehan even remarked in Outlook that Bhansali and his co-writer Prakash Ranjit Kapadia had turned Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay’s beloved 1917 novel into a “chick film.”

The third adaptation of Chattopadhyay’s novel to hit celluloid, Devdas is as Bollywood as they come. It’s hyper-saturated, large in scale, elaborate in sets and costumes, long, chock full of musical numbers, low in realism, and, importantly, high in pathos. If melodrama is endemic to the typical Bollywood film, Devdas manages to fill its cup so full as to runneth over into total emotional excess. It’s gleeful leaning into the distinctive sensibilities of Indian cinema, even more so than Lagaan, made it so that Devdas was easily embraced by the Indian diaspora and even a festival like Cannes, but not enough to be recognised by a Western industry that has a historical aversion to the abject sadness of melodrama. As Priyanka Nair observed in 2003, unlike the triumphant David and Goliath story of Lagaan, Devdas “had grandeur but it was still the story of a loser.” 

Melodrama, or “music drama,” which has existed since the pre-cinema days of Pygmalion, is designed to provide audiences with the pleasure of catharsis. Where pre-cinematic melodrama is more black and white in its morals, film melodrama is more complicated in nature (Singer). It still has that classical trademark of overwrought emotion, but unlike its predecessors which have heroes and villains, focuses instead on the problem of a society which no longer has a clear moral order. (Brooks) Usually, film melodramas would situate the problems of this society within the private, “emotionally primal sphere” of the home. (Williams) For example, the films of Douglas Sirk, a pioneer of the film melodrama, are often about familial dysfunction. All That Heaven Allows (1955) and Imitation of Life (1959), are drenched in technicolour tears, but apply a political angle, be that class consciousness or racial tensions, to their small settings. In his review of Written on the Wind, David Kehr noted that the hyper-emotional, heavily stylised elements of the film resulted in “a screaming Brechtian essay on the shared impotence of American family and business life that draws attention to the artificiality of the film medium, in turn commenting on the hollowness of middle-class American life.” Yet while Sirk’s films contain this edge of satire, they are played entirely straight. 

“The primal emotions felt by characters like Cathy in Far From Heaven (2002) or Laura in Brief Encounter (1945) elicit, for Williams, a form of cathartic masochism on the part of the female viewer. Tears spilled during these movies are spasmodic, and designed explicitly by the filmmaker.”

The melodrama may be a staple of Western cinema and a ripe box office fruit, but it is not well respected. Criticism towards these films has historically taken on a gendered tone, wherein many of these melodramas, like Seventh Heaven (1927) or The Wicked Lady (1945) have been relegated to the category of “women’s films.” Given the fact that so many are centred within the women’s domain of the home, men in these films tend to take a backseat to active and strong-willed female protagonists. A classic example is King Vidor’s heartwrenching 1936 film Stella Dallas. The low caste, free spirit, and singleness of the protagonist Stella become an obstacle for her daughter as she grows older. Through her struggle between selfhood and motherhood, it’s women who are more likely to identify with Stella, who will weep openly as they watch her standing outside the window in the rain watching her daughter’s wedding.

Film scholar Linda Williams says that the reason these melodramas are so “gross” to the mainstream public is because of their very excess. The primal emotions felt by characters like Cathy in Far From Heaven (2002) or Laura in Brief Encounter (1945) elicit, for Williams, a form of cathartic masochism on the part of the female viewer. Tears spilled during these movies are spasmodic, and designed explicitly by the filmmaker. Thus, the unflinching emotional extremes of their characters position these films as difficult fodder for the post-Enlightenment West, which is predisposed towards logic, reason, and restraint. 

On the flip side, emotional excess, sensationalism, and a preoccupation with family life are endemic to Bollywood cinema. The films of Bollywood, which is a portmanteau of “Bombay” and “Hollywood,” are also known as “masala films” for their varied combination of Parsi plays, Urdu poetry, and melodrama. Masala films are often operatic in tone and scale, and they play to an Indian culture which prioritises ensemble casts of intricate family networks over the more individualised hero-driven stories of the West. Based on well known folkloric tales from the Mahabharata and Ramayana, audiences can easily predict how masala films will end, but as scholar Thessa Mooij finds, “they come for the artistry with which it is told.” 

Devdas is rooted firmly in Indian tradition. On top of the historical accuracy of its costumes and sets, and the traditional composition of its score (which stood out among a rapidly Westernising Bollywood), the film is archetypal in its story and characters. Devdas, a wealthy Brahmin from the landed gentry of colonial India is in love with his lower-caste childhood sweetheart, Paro, but his family forbids their union. Paro’s mother is publicly humiliated by Devdas’s mother and sister-law and, in turn, arranges a loveless marriage between Paro and a wealthy older gentleman. In despair, Devdas intentionally sinks deeper and deeper into an alcoholic fugue, and seeks refuge at a brothel with Chandramukhi, a courtesan with a heart of gold. The film ends with Devdas losing contact with his family and dying penniless on Paro’s doorstep, before she can reach him. 

All the classical markers of melodrama are present here. By this time Bhansali was known for being a decadent filmmaker, and Devdas was no different. Style is integral to the melodrama, and Bhansali uses artful colour blocking; billowing red curtains, jewel-toned manors, and the yellow glow of diyas, to evoke the feeling of each moment. Shots, like Devdas’ hand and Paro’s shawl falling at the same time, are syncopated. Objects, like a mirror shattering from the whip of Chandramukhi’s hair, are living. Like the classic melodrama, dialogue is accompanied by an ongoing melody to illustrate the mood. There are the typical issues of the day: class consciousness, fall of the prodigal son, alcoholism, the disenfranchisement of sex workers. Everyone and everything in this movie weeps. If it’s the rain pouring from above during moments of anguish, or wet faces being present in both tragic and mirthful scenes, every pixel in Devdas is a vehicle for affect. 

Lastly, the protagonist of the film may be a man, but the emotions of Devdas are encased within the women who know him. We as viewers experience Devdas’ suffering not through him, but through the subjectivities of his childhood sweetheart, his caretaking courtesan, his mother, and his grandmother. Again, Indian cinema is less interested in the singular mind of the hero but rather what his family thinks of him. 

With the elevation of Paro and Chandramukhi as the identifying figures of the film, Bhansali finds kinship with the Western melodrama. In its female-driven excess, Devdas alienated both Indian and Western critics and failed to be recognised by the Academy Awards. But it proved with its box office numbers that audiences are still looking for a good cry, a great spectacle. In revenge for her humiliation, Paro’s mother, Chunnilal, warns to Devdas’ family: “It’s your pride that he sets on fire. Two acts to the melodrama.” I say, why not three? 

Devdas is playing at BFI IMAX as part of a major season: “TOO MUCH: Melodrama on Film,” running now until the end of December 2025. Presented by the BFI at BFI Southbank,  BFI IMAX and on BFI Player curated by Ruby McGuigan, and by the BFI Film Audience Network (BFI FAN) using funds from the National Lottery at cinemas and venues across the UK.