The term “magic realism” doesn’t really make a whole lot of sense when you break it down, especially if applied to film, where the whole enterprise endeavours to blur the line between the real and the fantastic. We accept fictional realities as a given in movies. We happily suspend all disbelief while the hero dodges bullets, jumps off tall buildings to the tune of James Bond’s thumping bass line and miraculously meets every important stranger crucial to the plot.
Yet “magic realism” is the only way to describe Salman Rushdie’s book about a young man who can conjure the voice of his generation through his nose. Based on the Booker Prize-winning book by the noted, and notorious, author who survived an Ayatollah’s death sentence, Midnight’s Children is a sprawling metaphor for the birth and growth of India.
Our hero, Saleem Sinai, was born at the stroke of midnight, Aug. 15, 1947, in the very same instant as India achieved independence. Because of his magical birth hour, he shares a connection to every other child born in the same breath. In a very real sense, they inspire him, and he respires them. They are all connected, and one way or another, they have an effect on the other’s outcome.
In the book, Saleem’s supernatural ability combined with genuine historical events is one of the reasons why Midnight’s Children is considered a prime example of “magic realism,” but for film director Deepa Mehta, adapting “magic realism” to the screen presents a central challenge. The real and the sublime want to merge at every moment, and finding the right tone to float through several layers of history as well as thick weaves of plot demands a certain amount of restraint — as well as a completely unbound imagination.
It’s a tough stretch for anyone, but Mehta finds a way of making it work without forcing the fantastic down our throat. Instead, she creates a consistently dream-like feel for the whole experience, allowing one scene to formlessly melt into the next. Much of this vast task is accomplished through Rushdie’s script and narration. But Mehta lets us wade into the tidal wave of story little by little.
Played by Darsheel Safaray as a child and Satya Bhabha as a grown man, Saleem is often downright cute, and even with the prosthetically enlarged nose, he’s got enough charm and charisma to carry the weight of the narrative. What’s more complex to pull off are Saleem’s connections to the outside world. Like a radio receiver, he pulls in signals from across the nation, but the more people who enter the frame, the more narrative static there is to tune out.
Mehta proves adept as the ham radio operator, homing in on Saleem while isolating the frequencies that present the most competition to his message. The biggest threat comes from Shiva (Siddarth), the other changeling who was robbed of his affluent birthright. In the book, these two men circle each other and assume polar opposite positions, with Shiva eventually rising to the head of the Indian military. Yet, they never meet.
Mehta changes this for the sake of drama, and the need for a cathartic confrontation, but the moment never provides the release we’re seeking.
If Mehta had brought any firm resolution or grandiose closure to this movie, it may have made for a better entertainment package, but it would have killed the soft heart of the book, which urges us to move on with gentleness in our hearts and compassion for all the other broken souls that surround us.
Midnight’s Children opens Nov. 2 in Toronto, Vancouver and Halifax before expanding across Canada.