The second half moves forward smoothly, but that is because the story is now seen through the eyes of a British woman: Mirabehn, born Madeleine Slade, a disciple of Gandhi. A revolutionary like Gandhi is incapable of being the bland saviour Attenborough makes him out to be. What was Gandhi like in his private moments, when he was not reciting his fortune-cookie quotes? What was he like as a father, a husband? Over three hours, we donвЂ™t get to find out. Through British eyes вЂ¦ Geraldine James, right, as Mirabehn, with Rohini Hattangadi and Ben Kingsley. Jallianwala Bagh, on the other hand, is carefully presented as a wayward brigadierвЂ™s lapse, in no way reflective of the Raj. The violence of those years comes across as an endorsement of the colonial logic that deemed Indians unfit to rule themselves. The ending of the film makes for unbearable watching, since the imperial culpability in partition is never explored. What is suppressed, as any schoolboy in India will tell you, is the wilfulness with which the British fomented religious antagonisms in the subcontinent, through their deceitful strategy of divide and rule. The Indian Congress party contemplating вЂњterrorismвЂќ to achieve home rule? Gandhi organising his famous salt march to provide a visiting New York Times journalist with good copy? Attenborough would have us believe that the British empire became a liability due to a few errant officials: a psychotic General Dyer ordering the brutal Jallianwala Bagh massacre in Amritsar, an overzealous police inspector quick to arrest Gandhi. The list of liberties Attenborough takes with history is long and not always amusing. It will be some time before I recover from the scenes of Kingsley addressing Indian villagers in English, his uppity outbursts of вЂњMy dear!вЂќ and вЂњO Lord!вЂќ and вЂњFor GodвЂ™s sake, stop it!вЂќ The countryвЂ™s turbulent struggle for freedom is portrayed as a school elocution contest, with breaks in plush drawing rooms where a select few glumly deliberate on вЂњpeople out thereвЂќ.

The film itself is a litany of speeches: the young Gandhi, as a lawyer in South Africa, exhorting his fellow Indian immigrants to burn their passes then, an hour later, dressed in a loincloth in India, brainstorming about the best way to gain independence. He sticks out in a group of Indian actors with his elaborate pauses, in a way I doubt Gandhi ever did. Ben Kingsley never quite disappears into the role. The story swiftly falls into a pattern: mumbling natives, a few good white men. Is the sound of flies hovering in the background meant to suggest we are in India? Soon enough brown men and women are peering out from the sides of the frame, dutifully exchanging salaams and namaskars. When the film begins, Gandhi is already old and bald and walking with a stoop вЂ“ walking, in fact, to the prayer meeting where he will be shot dead. Even if that means watching Sir Ben Kingsley вЂ“ born Krishna Pandit Bhanji, courtesy of his Kenyan-Indian father вЂ“ pass himself off as Gujarati.ДЄttenborough, of course, couldnвЂ™t care less about GandhiвЂ™s early years in Gujarat. Those of us who once took his legacy for granted will now do anything to undo our sins. Back home, in Narendra ModiвЂ™s India, Hindu supremacists steal his ashes from memorials and shamelessly praise his assassin as a patriot. What does Gandhi represent in our post-truth world? His image still stares out at us from Indian rupee bills, but all talk of non-violence is bunkum in an age where the threat of nuclear annihilation is the only deterrent to endless wars. How things have changed вЂ“ even before the pandemic.

Gandhi movie cast list