Sound and diligent recounting of the life of a certain legendary free-thinker; what the film lacks in certain departments, it makes up for in scope and emotional involvement.

Rating: 6/10 (29 August 2011)

The opening titles of Richard Attenborough's patchy, but irregardless rather accomplished, 1982 biopic Gandhi, a film detailing that of the famous titular Indian, outlines that it doesn't believe a text, indeed a retelling, of his life, through whatever means, "....will ever amount to what is most definitely required to do justice to what he achieved". Fittingly, the opening captions are kind of on the right tracks from the get-go; the film an interesting in-its-own-right recounting of what a lowly attorney managed to achieve through the ages, but a piece that is never much more than rather interesting and never an awful lot worse than somewhat curious. The film's consummate direction patches over what little-narrative and minuscule character study it actually has going on, but what a directorial feat: The film's evolvement, for the most part, into this power struggle between Gandhi and the millions of Indians against the British Empire comes at us as this slow slog through a mire of animosity that does not allow advance. Translated to the screen, this premise happens to move quite briskly and with pace and engagement; a far cry from the pain and frustration felt by those within.
The bagginess of its inability to tell a proper story, more-so a dapper retelling, is rarely more than evident during its closing acts, during which the film is so eager to recount mostly everything in terms of ground covered, that it swoops through not only the dissolution of the British Raj, but the forming of the independence of what is now India; the birth of the nation of Pakistan; how it was these events were influenced by the Second World War's conclusion and the infamous moment of Gandhi's actual assassination - each of which unravel in barely that of twenty or so minutes after two hours plus of progressive episodes in the lead's life. On the other hand, critical reaction citing the film for moving too slowly be damned; at least for its final curtain sprint.
Where the biographical qualities of the picture hold up to varying degrees of success, there is a gnawing sensation born out of its repetition to get across precisely what it was the man stood for: change and independent movement through the spoken word, and not force. This is inherently evident when the film no longer has an awful lot left to depict on the side of Gandhi's tale, and instead beds down into that neat groove of what is essentially a power struggle between ruling British forces, and their violent ways, and Gandhi's voice of independence played out through that aforementioned spoken word. It is Ben Kingsley bringing to life that of the great man of the last century or so; the film beginning with his death, consequent funeral and then a radio broadcaster reiterating to us, the listening audience, what we ought to know straight off of the bat. His death, we knew of; the sadness enveloping this newfound nation, we were aware of – the rest of the film, following this verbal confirmation, an historical retelling of all those things we perhaps lived in ignorance of.
People misunderstood, indeed underestimated, Mahatma Gandhi from what appears a very early stage. His raucous with a train guard in 1893 South Africa over a first class compartment dwelling is a happening born out of the fact they doubted a black individual would even have Gandhi's then job, something highlighting not only the raging jingoism rife throughout the colonies but the sense of conflict and racial tension that seemingly travelled with Gandhi throughout. When he reaches his employer following this train journey, and occupies a lush office full of suited men, we witness Gandhi moving around; pacing; contemplating and seemingly always active – a picture of ideas and movement and something contrasted by everyone else's very passive, very still demeanour as they sit or stand and proceed.
Things press on and this marginalist attitude to those of differing races does not cease; a routine demonstration-come-public speaking routine in broad day light of little significance quickly mutating into a brawl involving local police officers and a silencing of the voice. Gandhi shifts more predominantly into politics, or motivational speaking, following some gained ground out of his South African exploits; a travelling to an India he states he "knows little of" his next port of call. India, or the British Raj, is firmly in the grip of the imperialist attitude of colonial Britain - the man's mission to seemingly transfer beliefs and writings on what he's to the here and now so as to quell some of the marginalisation rife throughout the Providences. There is an early instance seeing him talk in a Colosseum-like locale to an audience made up of many individuals. They are of a Muslim, Hindu and policing variety, but are essentially representative of those he is charged of bringing together as they sit there uneasily in their own little sects. His journeying through this field is punctuated by that of the appearance of Martin Sheen's character, an American journalist named Vincent Walker; a man whom cannot even pronounce Gandhi's name at the beginning of his tours but comes to enthusiastically shout reports and such down phone lines post-Gandhi speeches. The film is no doubt worthy in its painting of a portrait of a man inclined to get an awful lot done in the smartest; most diligent and, indeed, eloquent of manners – those of whom know only of violence, encapsulated by the higher-ups of the empire, are more often than not represented by the drones out on the front-line barking and squabbling with locals sick of their presence. The film accomplished without being an overtly stunning piece of drama; instead, a diverting yet consummate film doing its material justice in the most applied of fashions.