OPINION | Imtiaz Ali's SHE serves male fetish in the garb of female emancipation

Besides being pervasive, SHE is also scary because it justifies its male gaze by designing it as celebrating a woman's agency while it's only at the mercy of men. The men of SHE hardly lose anything while Aaditi Pohankar's Bhumika and her body only get used and abused in her journey of emancipation.

Aaditi Pohankar in a scene from SHE season1 (Image via YouTube/Screengrab)

I remember feeling excited and low-key nervous when filmmaker Imtiaz Ali announced two years ago that he was set to make his OTT debut with the Netflix series SHE. For someone, who once upon a time swore by the director's filmography, I thought maybe a series-- about a woman's sexual exploration-- will give him an opportunity to break out of the different versions of the same story he has been telling for years. But it's also because I understood Ali's cinematic language too well, I feared he could go horribly wrong with a premise that he had never attempted before.

My fear came true. My excitement was short-lived. SHE, which recently saw its second season premiered on Netflix, is disguised as a feminist story of a woman discovering the power of her sexuality but is a 14-episode long confused narration in service of male kink. What could be worse than a show designed to delve into the female desire that enslaves its woman to male validation?

First things first. The second season of the crime drama series-- led by Aaditi Pohankar who's half effective and half repetitive-- is far less enraging than the premiere but is consistently discomforting. Both the seasons have Ali as the creator-- while the first also has him as a co-writer with Divya Johry, the second is written by Ali alone. The premiere season was directed by his brother Arif Ali (best known for the 2014 romance Lekar Hum Deewana Dil) and Avinash Das, while the follow-up only has Arif in the director's chair.

SHE follows a meek Mumbai police constable Bhumika Pardeshi (Pohankar), the sole breadwinner of her family, who has an ailing mother and an irresponsible younger sister. Between tolerating her misogynistic estranged husband, who is not ready to divorce her and a profession where she is surrounded by men, who hardly take notice of her, Bhumika is just about surviving, with no desires but one need-- her meagre salary. Her life turns around when an Anti-Narcotics Cell cop sees a "spark" in her and asks her to join a mission to bust a drug racket in the city.

So, Bhumika goes undercover as a prostitute to catch the bad guys and therein starts her sexual empowerment. Now, this is a fantastic beginning. Stories of female desire are still rare.

Netflix's 2018 anthology film Lust Stories famously and quite effectively presented women's perspectives on sexual desires. So, a full-fledged show that serves as an intense deep dive into a woman coming into her own in the backdrop of a chase drama could be progress. Except it's far from it.

Picture this: Bhumika gets into an uncomfortable situation with a member of the gang (Vijay Varma as antagonist Sasya), who thinks he has scored a night with a prostitute. She tries to escape but is attacked by him, who holds her by force and within minutes the two are on the floor with Bhumika trying to get out of his clutches. But you are in for a shock as her body changes gear from resistance to getting turned on.

It's also when Bhumika has flashbacks of her husband shaming her for not performing in bed. You are made to believe that in a moment of extreme force by a man, a woman reclaims her sexual power.

It would have indeed been empowering if the encounter had not been rooted in violation. As a viewer, you are left disturbed and confused because you want to be with the woman's feelings and you ask yourself, "Should I like this because she seems to enjoy it?" But you realise the grotesque scene only justifies the misogynistic belief that women can willingly surrender to violation because "they like it too".

I had to stop the series at this moment to register that something like this was written, shot and then greenlit by somebody at Netflix who thought this perversion deserved viewing. The scene also sets the tone for the rest of the season. We are supposed to believe that Bhumika is using her body to make her way in a male-dominated world. Instead, her body is just serving male validation for her to feel powerful, and in control of the men around her.

Whether it's Sasya's consistently repulsive comments about her dormant sexuality disguised as a man "praising" the potential of a woman's sexual prowess or Bhumika suggesting to her senior that she is ready to give sexual favours to keep her job, the protagonist's sexual empowerment is through deriving confidence serving male fantasy.

Besides being pervasive, SHE is also scary because it justifies its male gaze by designing it as celebrating a woman's agency while it's only at the mercy of men. The men of SHE hardly lose anything while Bhumika and her body only get used and abused in her journey of emancipation.

This should not be surprising considering Ali's women-- from Jab We Met, Rockstar to Tamasha and Jab Harry Met Sejal-- exist to solve the dilemmas and ease the lives of his men. So, yes Imtiaz Ali does lend distinct and seemingly individualistic traits to his female characters but their larger purpose is to be felt seen by men.

But while his big-screen work (barring an insufferable Love Aaj Kal 2) has been mostly aesthetically pleasing to make the often unnecessary convoluted narrative tolerable, SHE suffers from tacky direction, especially the sex scenes which are distastefully done (a show showing a woman enjoying sex with her partner doesn't even look comfortable kissing him).

What SHE first season also suffered from was Ali and Johry's inability to balance Bhumika's personal evolution with the crime backdrop of the setting. After a few episodes, the writers almost forgot their protagonist as they focused on the investigation, which in the beginning is only a set-up for Bhumika to realise that she could aspire for more than just surviving.

After Nayak finds out about Bhumika's identity, he chains her to his bed and keeps her hostage for days. He then gets her dressed in a saree and prepares for their "first night". All this while, Bhumika is scared that her end is near, making their relationship unhealthy and anything but romantic.

In a natural progression, comes the most agitating, triggering scene from the first season-- which should go down as one of the worst visuals ever conceived. Even as Bhumika is reeling from the shock of witnessing Nayak killing his right hand Sasya, he starts undressing her while she remains unresponsive.

As she feels his touch all over her body, she is reminded of the sexual violation she suffered as a child. She bursts into a scream and pushes away Nayak, only to take charge of the act and the couple finally has sex. During the act, she tells her she will "be his Sasya, his most important person" and the season ends showing her feeling powerful in front of a man.

And while you wonder what just happened, makers want you to believe that she reclaimed her body by giving into a sexual act, which is non-consensual. It's nauseating that in 2022 filmmakers believe sexual assault can be turned into a moment of sexual reckoning for a woman.

Ideally, I should have abandoned the show at this moment. But I decided to watch the second season to see how the makers intended to take the story forward from a warped turn like the first season finale. And SHE season two welcomed me with a full-blown romantic track of Nayak and Bhumika-- the couple shown to be satisfying each other emotionally and physically-- and Bhumika enjoying feeling desired by her partner. What's consistent though is her fear of Nayak's power and something that needed delving into what can be easily termed as stockholm syndrome is treated with a romantic gaze.

At one point, Bhumika pleads Nayak to not kill her because she is ready to be his slave as he validated her as a sexual person (I am not exaggerating). Seeing her on her knees, Nayak melts and they share a passionate kiss and it feels that the makers only want to test your triggers.

Mental and sexual abuse (by force or coercion) continues to be women's reality across the world and all one wonders that even if someone harbours such gross vulgarity, why would they want the world to see it?

Till the end, the woman in question, who has now understood the effect of her sexuality, is not sure if she loves her partner or is just putting up with him because she doesn't want to die. And even though the finale sees her emerging on the more powerful side of the situation, Ali still makes her yearn for "the love and beautiful life" that she could have had with Nayak, who made her feel like no other man had ever been able to do.

To use a woman's low self-esteem as a result of misogyny to romanticise relationship abuse is the lowest that Ali could have gone. Bhumika's power trip is not worth celebrating when the control of her emotions and life lies with those who abused her.

Ali began his career--with Socha Na Tha in 2005-- as the flagbearer of modern Hindi romances, exploring themes like falling out of love, long-distance relationships, unrequited feelings and forbidden affairs-- at least till the better part of his career.

For a generation that grew up feeling a gap between the love they experienced and the utopian, larger-than-life representation of the emotion (the one you aspired for but could never have) Ali brought to screen the hope, confusion, angst and regret of young love and made a lot of us feel seen.

His distinctive female characters-- self-loving, naïve Geet from Jab We Met or ambitious, practical Meera from Love Aaj Kal or Heer from Rockstar whose stereotypical upper-class femininity is challenged by her free-spirited soul-- redefined the quintessential Hindi film heroine for contemporary Bollywood. The last few years, however, saw Ali falling into the trap of his own template, creating reductive, insipid and even regressive stories and characters (Tamasha, Jab Harry Met Sejal and Love Aaj Kal 2) and causing second-hand embarrassment to his staunch fans.

With SHE, he has fallen deeper into the abyss. But it doesn't even hurt anymore.

About The Author:
Priyanka Sharma is a full-time journalist at Khul Ke, part-time dancer at parties. I walk with caffeine in my body, opinions in my head and films in my heart.

(Disclaimer: Views expressed in the above article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of OTTplay. The writer is solely responsible for any claims arising out of the contents of this article. )

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