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In the 1995  Ketan Mehta film Oh Darling! Yeh Hai India, a very young Shahrukh Khan played a character called Hero, a symbol of ambition that floats into Mumbai, on a straw of hope. The film was also about a foolhardy plan to replace the President of India with a clone.  Most importantly, the film captured the mad, infectious energy that would one day turn a wannabe Hero into a self-fulfilling prophecy.  Director Maneesh Sharma is obviously a true fan because his film draws from this as well as a lot of Shahrukh Khan’s early films. And in creating a homage to Khan, he has not given us the mannerism ridden superstar we have become over familiar with. He has instead reminded us of the boy we first fell in love with not because he had a ripped torso or chiseled perfection but because he had hunger, palpable passion, raw emotion that made us feel for him things we had not felt in a long time.
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The Shahrukh who stopped the traffic with a cry of , “Oh Tabahi..aah tabahi, ” in the title track of  Oh Darling! Yeh Hai India. The Shahrukh who bangs his head against a wall in Deewana and screams, “Mohabbat ho gayi hai mujhe? Mohabbat ho gayi mujhe!” The Shahrukh who runs like a little demon on the streets of Mumbai while Sunny Deol chases him in Darr. And the climax where it seems he had really broken his shoulder though the only thing we saw and heard was that  lacerating scream he lets out. A scream that was part longing, part pain and part rage and is still painted in gaudy colours at the back of autos. And Baazigar where we feared him and loathed him but could not stop watching him.
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This was the Shahrukh that was with time refined and erased out of existence in blockbuster after  blockbuster. In Fan, we revisit that Shahrukh Khan again. Though Maneesh knows that he can’t turn back the clock and Shahrukh can never be a young, famished nobody craving for success. He is no longer the impetuous sode ki botal (as the brilliant Varun Grover calls him in the title song) so he does the next best thing. He creates a ‘fan’ who has his drive, bits of his face but none of his imperious power. And this fan is everyone that Shahrukh has played in the early days of his stardom. And because nothing can now possibly be unattainable for Khan, he himself becomes the object of obsession.

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The fan’s psyche is like the twilight zone that Darr’s Rahul had turned his room into. This fan, like Rahul,  is a stalker who leaves messages on mirrors, makes threatening telephone calls  and can never be caught. He is the Ajay of Baazigar who has lost his humanity because everything he loves has been taken away from him and there is also that notorious terrace scene where we watched Ajay in horror as he pushed Shilpa Shetty off the ledge like a lifeless pawn. Only here..the pawn and the player are the same but we are giving away too much.

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Without the baubles of stardom, he gets to be the actor he once was. Gaurav Chanana is possibly his best creation so far because while the performance uses the actor’s stardom as a backdrop, we also see the dehumanisation that fans put themselves through when they idolise someone too much. The humiliation they are willing to suffer and the absolute  incomprehension of their own sense of self, their own value as valid human-beings.

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When Gaurav is being beaten in a revoltingly dirty prison cell and curls up on the floor like a child who has been robbed of his innocence, vomits and cries and then grows silent and hardens, we forget it is Shahrukh we are watching. This is a feat the actor has not achieved in a long long time. The hunched body, the wide, adoring eyes, the affected swagger and ofcourse the primal howls of loss and pain craft a creature that outshines almost everything Shahrukh has played in the recent years.

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The film also touches upon the complex relationship fixated fans have with their idols and how they are consumed by their love for them, and the desire to be like them and to claim them as their own till something snaps and then they want the same idols to fall off their pedestals and be destroyed. And the politics of fame that enables a billionaire to buy a superstar’s time and make him dance at a wedding but keeps genuine fans at an arm’s distance as they gather around his bungalow in an amorphous mass and can never been seen or heard as individuals. There is a poignant moment in the end, when Khan scans the crowd outside his house for the first time to make eye contact with a fan who had come once before but was unable to meet him.
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Gaurav’s parents played by Deepika Amin and Yogendra Tiku, his middle class milieu and life are heart-warming and far removed from the world that Shahrukh’s screen avatars have been inhabiting but it is when the realism gives away to a never ending chase up and down tiled roof tops in exotic foreign locations that the film loses its grip. From someone who was unable to get past the gate of his idol’s home, Gaurav morphs into a shape shifter who can pass off as the star himself at Madam Tussauds, gate crash a billionaire’s daughter’s wedding and ad-lib great lines and even enter the superstar’s home and vandalise his study without being caught. His face which only vaguely looks like the man he is pretending to be also does not make people suspect him. The second half does not pretend to have a story and is just a prolonged cat and mouse game that ends in a middle class colony in Delhi. The kind that Khan himself rose from.
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What drives the film in the end is the performance of Khan and the thought that perhaps fame and anonymity must respect each other and learn to co-exist without erasing boundaries of basic human courtesy. A sense of irony however lingers long after the film is over. That arguably the biggest Muslim superstar of his generation, even while replaying parts of his own story on screen must pass off as an Aryan Khanna rather than Shahrukh Khan.

Reema Moudgil is the editor and co-founder of Unboxed Writers, the author of Perfect Eight, the editor of  Chicken Soup for the Soul-Indian Women, a  translator who recently interpreted  Dominican poet Josefina Baez’s book Comrade Bliss Ain’t Playing in Hindi, an  RJ  and an artist who has exhibited her work in India and the US and is now retailing some of her art at http://paintcollar.com/reema. She won an award for her writing/book from the Public Relations Council of India in association with Bangalore University, has written for a host of national and international magazines since 1994 on cinema, theatre, music, art, architecture and more. She hopes to travel more and to grow more dimensions as a person. And to be restful, and alive in equal measure.