Yo Yo Honey Singh: Famous Review — Sucharita Tyagi
The “cult of celebrity” has taken over the world as we know it, and there is no coming back. Its how elections are being won, how social media algorithm are programmed, it’s sadly also what most mainstream filmmakers are banking on. Celebrity + franchise. Ki “famous” hai, kaafi hai. Andar se structures sabhi khokhle.
Amid this, an exploration of what happens when a star goes out, while the system it flourished within is out to get it, is welcome change of pace.
The legend of Honey Singh needs little background. Even if you don’t quite know where this Punjabi musician came from, you know that there was a time about a decade or so back when all filmmakers, from Rohit Shetty to Vishal Bhardwaj had to have a Honey Singh rap in the movies, to promise their audience a good time. I’ve seen the performer live on stage during this era, and can attest to the electric energy he exuded.
Its also well known, that for an extended period of time, Honey Singh more of less vanished from the limelight, fighting his own demons. Some he has spoken about some not. In this Mozez Singh doc, one can finally piece together a timeline.
The film starts with Honey Singh’s early days in Delhi’s Karampura neighborhood. Home videos reveal a young Honey Singh not taken seriously by his family, often being the subject of jokes about his DJ aspirations. It’s a poignant jumping off point — Singh’s journey from struggle to fame to obscurity, eventually toward resurgence, with family by his side, standing agape through it all started seemed like an amusing experiment for everyone involved. No one considered him a prodigy, although he might have been one.
Tracing Honey’s gradual rise and tumultuous fall, what’s most striking about the film though is its choice to hold on to the singer’s mental health struggles, as its narrative focus. You get the boiler-plate, “I sat here and made that song”, “this is where my mother cooked food”, family goes through old photo albums moments, but right from the start, the film also has its intentions pretty clear — that a significant portion of the documentary is going to highlight Honey Singh’s psychological challenges. In one of the early sequences, he talks about his need for four hours post-waking to normalize and start his day. The cinematography here employs a blurred effect around the edges of the frame during some of these moments, ki mental state toh hai hi fragmented, par hum bhi unaware hain if this is the truth or is he making this up like a dream scenario. Is he better now? DOPs Kuldeep Mamania, Nirvair Singh Rai, and Kanak Ak Sharma follow their subject around like hounds, stirringly managing to capture each shifty glance, each exasperated sigh, each moment of childish amusement.
You know, I am very impressed with this candid discussions about mental health, particularly the openness about Bi Polar Disorder, intrusive thoughts, relying on science for solutions, while continuing to hold on to spiritual faith. For a figure of Honey Singh’s stature to speak openly about such struggles is both groundbreaking and essential, behtareen public service announcement. I found myself rather moved, you guys sahi savaal pooch rahi hai film. How long does it take to re-ignite an extinguished spark? What does “memorability” and “legacy” even mean anymore?
Symbolism is important to the singer. Ek scene mein, when Honey Singh goes back to Karampura with the camera crew, he takes them to his fav local dhaba. Here he is seen wearing a “chamkila” hat, another artist who struggled to find a balance between his outrageous, affluent public persona and his modest origins. This visual metaphor extends to a scenes where a roadside flower sellers recognize him. Seemingly normal encounter hai par in the moment, in the film, it generates a very complex emotional response, questioning the true nature of happiness, of contentment set against the romanticizing of a rich person’s struggles. Honey believes his music brings joy to the all kinds of people and hence he has to make more, but in the larger scheme of things, does it, really? Does the world stop if Honey Singh is not around? Or will his return solve anyone else’s problems but his own?
Interestingly, director Mozez Singh’s presence in this film is also continously felt. You even spot him multiple times. While his tone of questioning occasionally borders on infantilizing Honey Singh, portraying him as someone who needs to be managed like a child, Mozez’s approach is largely effective, avoiding a “kid gloves” treatment. The awe he feels for his subject isn’t reverential. When tough questions has to be asked, hearing the director’s voice turn journalistic reminds both the viewers and the subject, this film isn’t an exercise to exonerate.
However, the film also conveniently side-steps domestic violence accusations against Honey Singh by referencing an MOU signed with his ex-wife. No further questions are asked of anyone. Honey Singh also simply denies writing or recording the songs “balatkaari” and pardon me this next word will have to be beeped “choot”, but just his denial is deemed enough. No evidence or argument is presented why someone like Daler Mahendi, among others, would go on national television and agitate against the songs and Honey Singh.
Where the film does provide an analytical look is via the inclusion of journalist Bhanuj Kappal’s interviews which provide critical insights into the singer’s impact on the growing influence of Punjabi music and the broader Indian music scene. Through these segments you are reminded of the absolute BANGERS Honey Singh delivered, Khadke Gilassy, Bring Me Back. It’s also thanks to these insights, ki later on when a Salman Khan segment shows up jahaan Honey is singing along to an absolute asinine song called “Twinkle Twinle Little Star” from Kisi ka Bhai Kisi ki Jaan, the irony of how many miles he’s had to step back to begin again, makes itself felt.
YoYo Honey Singh: Famous, like its subject, is immensely watchable, enjoyable even. It may not be comprehensive, or offer much more trivia than is already available, but it is a uniquely successful document of the pressures of fame and the pitfalls of chasing a dream in a time when its so much easier to be “famous”. Aise mein when your original audience remains tethered to the “idea” of this celebrity they once loved, do you then pander, or does India offer its artists enough acceptance and room to evolve freely?
As Honey takes out his daily dose of pills from a crumpled up newspaper ki pudiya, and down them with water out of an Evian bottle, you wonder if he’ll ever find that balance between “International” and “villager”. You can find the documentary until then, on Netflix.
