The police checkpoint scene is a staple in films about refugees. These scenes are always tense, and invariably involve the humiliation and harassment of characters in the final stretch of their dash for freedom. In Mississippi Masala — director Mira Nair’s second of three collaborations with screenwriter Sooni Taraporevala — Sharmila Tagore’s character must endure similar indecencies as she flees her native Uganda with her husband and their young daughter, ousted by decree of Idi Amin.
Blending politics, romance and — and this might seem odd — broad fish-out-of-water humour, Mississippi Masala’s themes of generational trauma, familial conflict and the clash of cultures would go on to become a staple of Nair’s cinema.
Watching the film in 2022 — a vibrant restoration by Criterion, no less — it feels at once urgent and surprisingly laid-back. The scene in which Tagore’s character Kinnu is separated from her family and humiliated by enemy soldiers on the roadside, for instance, is perhaps as tense as the film gets. And this happens right at the beginning. It’s otherwise rather relaxed.
Having been kicked out of their own country, Jay (Roshan Seth), Kinnu and their daughter Mina move to rural Mississippi (by way of England), where they set up a motel. On a trip across the American south, Nair discovered that the majority of such businesses in the area were, for some reason, operated by South Asians. Most of them had come to America in search of a better life, but some, like Jay and his family, were refugees from Uganda.
In Mississippi Masala, she cast the fresh-faced and rebel-minded Sarita Chaudhary, who brought a rawness to her performance as Mina, opposite the recent Oscar-winner Denzel Washington, who, as the carpet cleaner Demetrius, was already showing signs of the charismatic intensity that would go on to become a marker of his stardom.
Ostensibly an interracial love story between 20-somethings, Mississippi Masala regularly turns into a grave anti-war drama as soon as the focus shifts from Mina and Demetrius to her father Jay, who pines for his homeland in virtually every scene.
Through the course of the film, Jay writes numerous letters to the authorities back ‘home’, demanding that he be compensated for his stolen land, and rehabilitated with his dignity intact. It’s a sad, almost pitiful ritual that reminded me of the letters that university professor Shiv Kumar Dhar wrote to the presidents of America in Vidhu Vinod Chopra’s very similar film Shikara.
That film dealt with displacement in a different way, with both Shiv and his wife, Shanti, feeling a similar sense of devotion for their homeland. But in Mississippi Masala — a film told through the perspective of young Mina — only Jay feels attached to the country of his birth. Mina, on the other hand, is caught between cultures, having grown up American, but also forced to juggle her Indian parentage and Ugandan roots. It’s an unusual situation to be in for anybody, but perhaps more uncomfortable when you’re a young woman in the throes of passion.
You might remember Nadia from Indian Matchmaking, of all things, briefly talking about the strangeness of being a Guyanese Indian in America. US Vice President Kamala Harris, on the other hand, has also spoken about her shared Indian and Jamaican heritage.
The underlying seriousness of Mina and Demetrius’ romance comes from the realisation that both the Indian community in Africa, and the African community in America, are descended from indentured labourers and slaves. In a heated exchange towards the end of the film, after both the Indian and the Black communities have disapproved of their union, Demetrius tells Mina’s father that they’re both outsiders, and yet, the politics of oppression will always punish the Black man more mercilessly. “I know that you and your daughter ain’t but a few shades from this right here,” a livid Demetrius says, pointing to his own face.
They’re in the same metaphorical boat, centuries after their ancestors were transported to strange new lands on physical ones.
Nair was regarded as something of a hot commodity in Hollywood after her debut feature — Salaam Bombay! — became only the second Indian feature to score an Oscar nomination in the Best Foreign Language Film category, as it was then named. She was courted by studios to make rom-coms, and some years later, would reject an offer to direct a Harry Potter film. For better or for worse, her career has unfolded on her own terms. Perhaps the only indication that she once compromised on her morals could be felt in her impersonal 2009 biopic of Amelia Earhart, starring Hilary Swank and Richard Gere. If anything, it proved that her instincts had always been right. Amelia remains her biggest bomb, and least-liked film.
Steven Spielberg’s West Side Story adaptation last year reminded audiences of just how vital it is to push back against the otherisation of minorities. This trend has seen a particularly alarming rise in our own country, where it is no longer restricted to the fringes like it should be, but has invaded the mainstream. Like West Side Story, Mississippi Masala is also a retelling of Romeo & Juliet, and at a time when Indians across the world are once again devoting troubling levels of energy into protesting against interfaith love (and making villains of the marginalised), the film functions as a necessary, and somewhat idealistic reminder that ultimately, love wins.
Post Credits Scene is a column in which we dissect new releases every week, with particular focus on context, craft, and characters. Because there’s always something to fixate about once the dust has settled.
