Showing posts with label Shruthy Menon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shruthy Menon. Show all posts

Monday, October 29, 2018

REVIEW 651: WHO


Release date:
October 26, 2018
Director:
Ajay Devaloka
Cast:

Language:
Shine Tom Chacko, Shruthy Menon, Pearle Maaney, Rajeev Pillai, Prashanth Nair
English, Malayalam


What if we are characters in another person’s dream and death is that person waking up?

What if we could communicate in our dreams with individuals we have never met?

Writer-director Ajay Devaloka addresses these questions in Who: Chapter 2, an English-Malayalam film that travels back and forth across several decades all the way up to 2040 A.D. Through this time we encounter a young woman called Dolores and a reclusive man called John who are both troubled by what they see in their sleep. In the same region, two policemen are investigating the disappearance of a woman named Isabella when they learn that tragedy strikes in that area each year on Christmas day.

Dreams and the scope of the human imagination have pre-occupied philosophers and litterateurs for generations. Devaloka’s theme per se remains captivating, until a long-drawn-out voiceover in the end decides to idiot-proof it for us with a detailed explanation about electromagnetic waves, cosmic connections and other blah.

Before that finale, when we are left to ourselves to interpret the goings-on, large swathes of Who are quite interesting, and what appear to be loose ends are forgivable since a companion film to Who called Isabella is in the offing so one assumes that those gaps would be plugged in that film. “Quite interesting” but not entirely so because the film never comes to terms with its chosen language of communication, that is, English with some Malayalam. Its awkwardness with the former – in the writing and much of the acting – makes its silences preferable to too many of its spoken conversations.

Those silences, draped in the mists of a mountainous region “somewhere in India”, come swaddled in an alluring air of mystery, foreboding and desolation. DoP Amith Surendran embraces the film’s setting with both arms, his magnificent frames tempering the rich green of the mountainside with a perennial gray.

Visually then, Who is stunning. Thematically too it is filled with promise. But all the intriguing paranormal and pop psych questions in the world, the Biblical knowledge, the referencing of King Nebuchadnezzar’s dream from the Old Testament, and beautiful cinematography cannot camouflage the fact that though the dialogues are written primarily in English with some use of Malayalam, the writer’s English does not flow comfortably.

The choice of language is in itself inexplicable. Where in India is this film located that people would force themselves to speak English even in private spaces although it does not come naturally to them and they do have a choice since everyone seems to know Malayalam too? Of course there is the other possibility – a perfectly acceptable one – that a director/writer would pick a tongue alien to his story’s setting because it is the language most understood by his target audience, like Richard Attenborough making Gandhi in English although we know that the characters in that film would mostly not have been speaking English in real life, and Milan Luthria making The Dirty Picture in Hindi although it is set in Chennai where, in real life, most of the characters would have been speaking Tamil with perhaps a spot of English. If you take that route as a filmmaker, you may opt for actors who speak in local accents but you cannot have a writer who writes dialogues in a way that no one speaks.

Not only do many of the English dialogues in Who sound pretentious (a woman called Arunima is crushed under this burden), but some are downright hollow to the point of being hilarious. Like this solo line delivered by John, who grandly tells one of the cops: Sometimes life is more than just a dream, isn’t it? He then walks away, as if he is leaving us to think deeply about a gem that just tripped off his lips.

Or sample this exchange between the two policemen discussing the fact that Isabella’s body has not been found although another woman who disappeared was later found murdered:

Cop1: I suspect a foul play.

Cop2:  Yes I think so too.

Oh, you do?!

Thankfully, these are the very worst of Who, and the rest is better. But the language also appears to affect the performances of some of the artistes since John’s little daughter and John himself sound more natural when they are speaking in Malayalam, but stiff and strained while dealing with their English lines. The kid, in fact, struggles with English to embarrassing effect.

John comes off worse on the whole though because English dominates his lines and, sadly, actor Shine Tom Chacko comes across as though he has been instructed to be intentionally mannered in his speech. Shruthy Menon who plays Arunima must have got the same memo. Menon is very likely at ease with both languages off screen, but is better with her Malayalam dialogues in this film, not because her acting changes for them but because those portions are better written.

One can only assume that with their theatrical performances she and Chacko are playing along with director Devaloka’s vision here since this is not how they have been in their previous films.

The actor who comes away from this film with her reputation unsullied is Pearle Maaney playing Dolores. To be fair to the others, hers is the best-written part. Still, there are places where she could have gone all melodramatic and lofty on us but does not. Whether she was given the freedom to decide for herself or that was Devaloka’s call for her we do not know, but either way she manages to keep Dolores unpretentious till the very end.

The first half of Who evokes curiosity despite its obvious flaws, because Maaney, the camerawork, and the theme keep it going. It becomes increasingly laboured as the second half progresses though. This is a theme worth exploring, it just needed to be handled in a less self-conscious and self-important manner epitomised by that laughable spoonfeeding session in the closing voice-over that may as well have been preceded by the words, “Dear viewers, I just showed you my very very intelligent film that I think perhaps you may have been too dumb to understand, so let me spell it out for you...” Uff.

Rating (out of five stars): *1/2

CBFC Rating (India):
UA 
Running time:
153 minutes 

A version of this review has also been published on Firstpost:




Sunday, August 7, 2016

REVIEW 414: KISMATH


Release date:
July 29, 2016 (Kerala), August 5 (Delhi) 
Director:
Shanavas K. Bavakutty
Cast:

Language:
Shane Nigam, Shruthy Menon, Vinay Forrt, Alencier Ley Lopez
Malayalam


Kismath has a self-deprecating air of being a small film. Do not be misled by its modesty. It is large in ways that the arts are meant to be: large-hearted, open-minded, intelligent, aware and enriching, with a worldview that encompasses the nuances of Kerala society yet mirrors realities across India. This is, in fact, a very big film.

Debutant Shanavas K. Bavakutty’s Kismath is a remarkably understated account of a couple driven apart by social barriers. Irfan is Muslim. Anitha is Hindu. He is from a well-off family. She is financially less privileged and a Scheduled Caste. In a social milieu that deems it essential for a man to be older, wiser and wealthier than his woman partner, she is 28, he is 23. They are residents of the small town of Ponnani. They are in love. And though nobody in the entire damned vicinity of their lives seems to notice or care, they are good friends. 

Anitha and Irfan are conscious of the hurdles in the path of their relationship. As an audience we too have read reports of the ugly ongoing ‘love jihad’ campaign exemplified by the pressure and threats against a couple from Meerut – he a Muslim, she a Hindu – in the run-up to the Uttar Pradesh by-elections of 2014. This awareness on both sides of the screen builds up a sense of foreboding from the moment we first meet the pair at the centre of Kismath.

The youngsters have already faced some aggression from their respective families and so, to pre-empt any eventualities, they head off to a police station in Ponnani to seek protection. There they discover what they ought to have known already: that the police do not emerge from a vacuum but are drawn from the same prejudiced society they are trying to escape. What follows is their battle on multiple fronts – against his relatives, her relatives, extra-familial busybodies and the people in uniform – over perhaps 24 hours in educated, seemingly progressive Kerala.

Even before their saga unfolds, a minor episode at the police station gives us an idea of the insights and detailing to expect from Kismath. It should have given Anitha and Irfan an idea of what they were in for too. An Assamese man is accused of causing a road mishap involving two locals. The chap does not speak Malayalam, but when SI Ajay C. Menon enters the picture, he communicates with him via Hindi and physical aggression, and manages to extract some of the truth of what happened. Unlike Tamil Nadu, which has vehemently resisted and prevented the effort to impose Hindi as a national language on non-Hindi-speaking India, Kerala tends to look up to Hindi bhaashis and view the ability to speak the language as something of a virtue of a superior race. Meanie Menon has a swagger, his fluency in Hindi adds to it.

This adjunct to the main plot throws up other asides: all the cops know that the guy involved in the accident is Assamese, but they casually persist with calling him a Bengali (a moment of introspection for south Indians who get irritated when north Indians club all “south ke log” together as “Madrasis”); and when Menon learns where he is from, he immediately asks if he is a terrorist. The police station, you see, is a microcosm of the world outside.

The rest of Kismath is just as acutely observed. Interestingly, Anitha and Irfan speak of living together, not marriage. Equally interesting – and disturbing – are the unsavoury insinuations made about both of them by various parties. It is fashionable to romanticise small-town and village life but the film, at one point, gently reminds us that the impersonal nature of big cities can spell freedom from some shackles for marginalised and oppressed groups.

It is a relief too that Anitha and Irfan are not presented as an immature couple who were floored by each other at first sight. In that little town that is home, past gender segregation and communal biases, they meet by sheer chance, they hang out together for believable reasons, he does not stalk her (whew!), they become friends and gradually begin to see each other as potential life companions. Miracles do happen, after all.

Writer-director Bavakutty has been quoted in The Times of India saying Kismath is “inspired by an incident that happened in the lives of a 28-year-old scheduled caste girl and her 23-year-old boyfriend, a B.Tech student, at Ponnani in 2011” when he was the Municipal Councillor of Ponnani. Some reactions to Kismath have compared it to Ennu Ninde Moideen, last year’s critically acclaimed hit starring Prithviraj Sukumaran and Parvathy, because it too was based on a true story of an inter-community romance in the state. With due respect to Moideen fans, I felt that film started out with immense promise but ended up being emotionally manipulative, high-pitched and exasperating. Kismath is none of the above: it is realistic, matter-of-fact and concise.

Shane Nigam and Shruthy Menon have likeable personalities, and deliver low-key, convincing performances as Irfan and Anitha. The pick of the talented cast though is Vinay Forrt as the corrupt, creepy cop who allies with their relatives.

It could have been called Love In The Time of ‘Love Jihad’, Dalit Suppression, Sexism, Casteism, Parochialism, and A Pretence of Liberalism. Frankly, the film should have been called anything but Kismath (meaning: destiny). Because it is not about what fate does to its helpless victims, it is about misery by human design and the manner in which we go about destroying lives with our ignorance and bigotry.

The misplaced title is one of my very few problems with this film. The other would be its failure to address one important aspect of Anitha and Irfan’s relationship. Before the couple fall in love, we learn that Irfan dropped out of an engineering course, is whiling away his time at home, is unemployed, living off his family’s money and already at loggerheads with his father as a result. Considering that he is mature beyond his years and sensible enough to know the potential dangers they both face if they persist with their relationship, considering that they both come across as having their heads on their shoulders, it seems odd that they thought they could openly continue their romance – even with police protection – while he is financially dependent on his influential father. Keep in mind that Anitha herself is a research scholar with an old mother to take care of. Irfan’s purposefulness towards her does not gel with his aimlessness elsewhere.

That said, Kismath is brave and well worth a visit to a theatre. It was released in Kerala on July 29, and has travelled to Delhi a week later. I watched a subtitled version in the Capital – considering how whimsical producers, distributors and exhibitors are in this matter, do inquire about subtitles at your local hall. The subs had some spelling errors, which are annoying for an (ex-)editor, you may perhaps be more forgiving. Still, to the extent that I could judge when I occasionally glanced at the words flashing at the bottom of the screen, they conveyed the essence of what was being said. Non-Malayali film enthusiasts, do note.

It would be easy to take Kismath for granted because it does not make a song and dance about anything it says or does. Let us not do that. There are Irfans and Anithas in many corners of India and their chilling experiences need to be visited again and again until these horrible human-made societal walls are brought down. That is what Kismath does in a non-preachy, even tone. With this film, Indian cinema gets a courageous new voice. Here’s looking at you, Mr Bavakutty.

Rating (out of five): ***1/2

CBFC Rating (India):
U
Running time:
103 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost: