Slumdog Millionaire is a fairy tale, and it’s a good one. The plot is organized around a novel and interesting concept: a former street urchin wins 10 million rupees on a game show and is forced to explain how he, despite a complete lack of education, knew all the answers. What follows is a retelling of his personal history that chronologically mirrors the questions he’s asked. For example, when asked how he, a Muslim, knew that the god Rama holds a bow in his right hand, he tells how he was orphaned when Hindu rioters killed his mother.
Slumdog Millionaire succeeds because it concentrates its strengths on what makes a good fairy tale: a treacherous setting, a virtuous protagonist, a damsel in distress, and a miraculous resolution. And, of course, fate, or a sense that the “happy ever after” ending (which surprises no one) occurs because of some supernal destiny. The happy ending is not just a boy and girl getting together; Jamal and Latika are stand-ins for the timeless prince and princess archetypes who are simply meant to be, reflecting some special universal harmony. The movie wastes no time introducing fate: the opening screen explains how Jamal knew all the answers: “It is written.”
The historical vignettes in which Jamal’s life unfold are compelling for a number of reasons. One is the Cain-Abel dynamic of Jamal’s relationship with his brother--Jamal’s innate virtue is thrust into relief by Salim’s entertaining mischief. Another is the repetitive losing of Latika, his True Love, due of course to circumstances outside of Jamal’s control. But the dangerous landscape of Jamal’s fairy tale is all the more threatening because of its basis in the reality of Indian poverty: orphans scavenge recyclable trash from dumps, singing beggar boys are blinded by their pimp-like masters in order to coax more generous donations, and policemen torture people with car batteries at the behest of media moguls.
But the viewer isn’t left to contemplate for very long the hopelessness of such situations. The plot places Jamal and Salim on a rapidly ascending escalator out of the slums. Their exploits as urchins are practically romanticized as they work their way from ersatz tour guides at the Taj Mahal to possibly-legitimate employment as dishwashers. By the end, these orphans are articulate, well-groomed, and well-mannered. Latika, who started the movie as a rather dark Indian-looking girl morphs into a refined, vaguely Anglo knockout with impeccable skin and a perfect smile.
The bait-and-switch of Indian “reality” will leave the conscientious viewer somewhat unsettled by the perfect ending and cheesy Bollywood dance number during the end credits. But I guess that’s what you get from watching a fairy tale.
Aside from its morally ambiguous tactics, the movie suffers flaws. A few of the movie’s plot twists feel a little too convenient, most notably Salim’s inexplicable change of heart, leading to his helping Latika reach Jamal. (Speaking of which, Salim’s jealousy of his brother’s companionship was terribly underutilized, functioning merely as a plot device and only hinting at a psychological depth that could have provided the movie a deeper footing.)
Overall, it’s a well-paced, engaging movie with an emotional punch. If it weren’t for its icky portrayal of slum life (or maybe because of it?), it might threaten to replace The Princess Bride on more than a few BYU bookshelves.
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