In the 1980s, singer Amar Singh Chamkila—born Dhani Ram to a Dalit Sikh family in Punjab—gained fame and notoriety for his raucous music and flirtatious lyrics. His record-setting songs were obsessed with debauchery and unrequited love, but were equally attuned to the anxieties of the rural class in the working-class North. On 8 March 1988, while getting out of his car for a performance, he was shot dead by unknown assailants in Mahsampur. His wife and singing partner Amarjot was also killed, as were two other members of his band. Several theories were proposed, but the case remained unsolved, with the state engulfed in a violent insurgency.

This gruesome episode of Punjab’s past has been mined for cinematic fodder before, in Kabir Singh Chowdhury’s witty docu-fiction. Mehsimpur (2018). Now Imtiaz Ali, along with his brother, Sajid, cracks Chamkila. Audiences won’t be regaled with the bare facts — and assorted gossip — of the singer’s life and death. Ali’s film does not clear up the mystery or exorcize any ghosts. It’s a fairly straightforward reading of glossy fiction, more a moving celebration than a deep dive. Yet, even in its squareness, it manages to provide a glimpse into the artist’s inner self.

This happens quite late in the film. Chamkila (Diljit Dosanjh) has sold out her Toronto show during her ’87 overseas tour. His oily impresario is grinning from ear to ear, telling him that when Amitabh Bachchan performed at the same venue a few nights ago, they had to add 137 extra seats. In Chamkila’s case, he says proudly, the number has crossed a thousand. We hope Chamkila will be happy with this achievement. He has been a devoted fan of Bachchan all his life. Instead, his smile fades like the morning mist.

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No real explanation is provided for her blues: a narrator dryly notes that artists are strange creatures, and that Chamkila’s despair was like a loss, as if her childhood had ended abruptly. This moment, buried deep in the noise and tumult of Chamkila’s extraordinary life, is the best in Ali’s film, even if it is entirely fictitious. Far from providing answers about the slain Punjabi singer, the main myth in the popular discourse, it asks a tender question: Chamkila, who was possibly christened the ‘Elvis of Punjab’, with his rise How comfortable was it?

Ali begins his story with a gruesome murder, then moves on to childhood and death, action and, after that, reality and hearing. A lilting soundtrack begins to pulsate. Images change color and shape; Superimpositions appear. Shouting ‘Baja’ reaches a frenzy, complete with spoken lines, like Broadway meets protest street theater. It’s a carousel spin of a start, reminiscent of a grainy dream sequence spectacle (2015), or by Aarti Bajaj, Editor of Moving Structural Schemes Rock star (2011).

This breaking prologue is followed by a comprehensive assembly of most of Chamkila’s life and times. An ordinary mill worker, he sweet-talks himself into the orbit of folk sensation Janda (based on Punjabi singer Surendra Shinda), writes songs for him and brings him tea. Opening at Akhara heralds his singing prowess. He builds his reputation singing soulful duets, but soon falls out of support and companionship. His high-pitched delivery and endless booking wears off most, but somehow Amarjot (Parineeti Chopra), who is tickled pink with his bold verses, survives. They get married.

We know that Amarjot belonged to a high caste Jat family. Chamkila’s ancestors, meanwhile, were Chamars. Moreover, he had already been married once, a fact he initially hid from Amarjot (and Ali from us). There were other forces at play. Extremists roaming the countryside, as well as religious leaders, imposed strict restrictions on culture and speech. The cops, cracking down brutally in response, were none too kind. Chamkila was branded a Baggy (Commercial), a bad influence on family and youth. He subjected him to all kinds of threats and intimidation. There’s a darkly telling scene where a group of thugs show up on her doorstep declaring they love her music before shaking her down for cash.

A still from ‘Amar Singh Chamkila’

Ali navigates the dark socio-political milieu of 80s Punjab, as you would expect from a filmmaker of his (mostly romantic) persuasion. The mood and tone are constantly relaxed, whether through vivid 2-D animation sequences or AR Rahman’s original soundtrack. With echoes of ‘Main Hoon Punjab’, ‘Ishq Mutay’ is poignant yet sublime, while ‘Naram Kaleja’ is a fully-fledged female folk number, by lyricist Irshad Kamil, about “Chhoti Si Darantis”. “Snakes around the thighs” portraying flirting fun. Despite Chamkila’s provocative reputation, it is not a particularly provocative film, taking care of the cultural norms of its chosen time.

Diljit Dosanjh played the role of a glamorous surrogate in the Punjabi film. pair (2023). Her vocal prowess comes in handy in Ali’s film, which features live recordings of Chamkila’s original songs. Here, he portrays Chamkila as a gentle dreamer, hopeful and optimistic. It’s probably the sweetest kind of performance; The sometimes charismatic dimness in Chamkila’s eyes, and glimmering glimmers, in old photographs is strangely wrong. Chopra holds her own in a limited part, and the few female characters in the supporting cast are notable: a version of Aditi Rao Hydari’s parasitic journalist; Rock star Also seen in this movie.

Samuel John, Anjum Batra and Anurag Arora are memorable in small roles. Ultimately, this is a film less about Chamkila than the lives that gathered around her or were changed by her. Like all great artists, he inspired both envy and awe. From competitors to income tax agents, everyone had a glowing story to tell. Like moths, they flickered briefly in his light.

Amar Singh Chamkila is currently streaming on Netflix.