REVIEW 785: RAAT AKELI HAI

Release date: July 31, 2020 (on Netflix) 

Director: Honey Trehan

Cast: Nawazuddin Siddiqui, Radhika Apte, Padmavati Rao, Shivani Raghuvanshi, Nishant Dahiya, Ila Arun, Shreedhar Dubey, Aditya Srivastava, Riya Shukla, Shweta Tripathi, Swanand Kirkire, Tigmanshu Dhulia

Language: Hindi

Sometimes a film has the power to grip you from the very second it takes off. Honey Trehan’s Raat Akeli Hai (RAH) does that, grabbing attention with a vice-like hold from the moment it opens with a chilling murder on a deserted highway in the inky blackness of the night. 

Fast forward to five years later, and there is another murder: a rich old man is found shot and with his face bashed up on his wedding night. Inspector Jatil Yadav is called in to investigate (yes, Jatil, not Jatin – there is an amusing story there).

The elderly victim had money and a wealth of people around him. Yadav realises within minutes of being inserted into their lives that no one is above suspicion: not the dead man’s pregnant daughter, not his drug-taking son or the son-in-law whose sole concern is his claim to the family fortune. Then there is the victim’s enigmatic sister and niece, an arrogant nephew, the young bride herself and the domestic help who seems to know more than she lets on. 

While sifting through clues and possible motivations, Yadav, who is edging towards middle age, must also deal with his pesky albeit well-meaning mother’s marriage goals for him.  

Trehan has so far been known as one of Bollywood’s top casting directors. The meticulousness with which he and his colleague Taran Bajaj have picked actors for even minuscule roles in RAH explains his reputation for excellence in that department. The confidence with which he has helmed this film belies the reality that it marks his directorial debut. 

Every frame of RAH, every technical aspect, has been handled with extreme care. The film plays out mostly in darkness. Open spaces late at night where fires are replicated by the reflective surfaces on which they fall and the red-tinted low-lit interiors of homes elegantly captured by DoP Pankaj Kumar set up, heighten and sustain the sense of intrigue and suspense in the narrative. It can be safely concluded that Kumar has superhuman abilities since his repertoire ranges from the visual philosophy of Ship of Theseus to the atmospherics of RAH.    

The writing by Smita Singh (who has been credited with the story, screenplay and dialogues) pays heed to even the minutiae in the life and demeanour of each character. RAH is an effective crime thriller, but goes well beyond that to also serve as a running commentary on state politics and the sociology of small-town north India. 

The most visceral statement emanating from Singh’s story is about the way society punishes women victims of sexual abuse, irrespective of class, and views them with suspicion while covering up the sins of their male predators. She also finds space for colourism, a telling reference to the double standards inherent in Hindutva politics, and a spectrum of hypocrisy where a target of prejudice may very well turn out to be prejudiced in their own way – like the man who is rejected by a woman because he is too dark-skinned for her taste, who in turn says her attire indicates that she is not as “susheel” (good, modest) as he would like his wife to be. 

“Susheel” is translated as “virginal” in the subtitles, which is an interesting interpretation of the Hindi word. It is a measure of the importance Raat Akeli Hai gives to detail that the subs have been done by no less a personage than Abhishek Chaubey (director of Dedh Ishqiya and Udta Punjab, and one of this film’s producers) along with Utsav Maitra. 

 This team clearly has an affection for language and is aware that subtitles across Indian cinemas often wreck the director’s and writer’s intent. Singh’s dialogues merit every bit of that love. 

Despite the large ensemble of characters, Singh and Trehan make each one distinctive. 

Nawazuddin Siddiqui as Jatil Yadav switches with characteristic ease from hard-as-nails policeman to a softer version of himself. 

Radhika Apte as the much-hated bride, Radha, embodies an oppressed yet defiant, despairing yet still spirited woman wronged. 

Each actor stands out in their own right, though I must say it was a pleasure to see Riya Shukla – who earlier played Swara Bhasker’s acid-tongued daughter in Nil Battey Sannata – here playing a significant part as the terrified household help. 

In his role as a senior policeman, Tigmanshu Dhulia’s natural timing seems particularly well-suited to the local flavour of the dialogues. 

Shreedhar Dubey makes himself likeable as Yadav’s gossipy deputy who personifies casual misogyny with his assumptions about who done it – a reminder that patriarchy is perpetuated not necessarily by men with horns on their heads but by the ‘nice guys’ too. 

And Ila Arun is utterly loveable as Yadav’s mother. I melted into a puddle as I heard her explain what his father meant to her. 

In the midst of so much that is good, two points about RAH are a cause for concern. Firstly, the relationship Yadav tries to build with a woman in the film is exploitative because of the unequal power equation between them, far worse than perhaps even a doctor wooing a patient or a lawyer wooing a client because when he first makes an aggressive overture towards her, he is in a position to destroy her completely. This is not to say that no man would make such a move in real life, but that this particular man’s behaviour here seems inconsistent with his characterisation until then and thereafter, and that the script does not bat an eyelid in the matter, which becomes noteworthy considering the progressiveness of the rest of the writing. 

The finale gets stretched for over 20 minutes after the big reveal, partly due to the Agatha Christie-style gathering of all the players in a single room for the detective to say his piece (which is sweet) and partly due to a needless bow to the conventional definition of happily-ever-after. The closing scene feels odd not just because it is unnecessary but also because of the lack of chemistry between the two actors and characters involved. By this time though, RAH had me completely engrossed and in a forgiving mood.

It helps that the film closes right then with one of the mood songs Sneha Khanwalkar has created for it. Khanwalkar’s soundtrack and Karan Kulkarni’s background score play a crucial role in RAH’s pensive tone. 

Raat Akeli Hai (The Night Is Alone / Lonely / Solitary) marks the advent on the Hindi film scene of a bold new voice. Here is some breaking news of the happy variety: director Honey Trehan has arrived.  

Rating: 3.5 (out of 5 stars)

Running time: 150 minutes

Photo courtesy: IMDB

REVIEW 341: MASAAN

Release date:	July 24, 2015
Director:	Neeraj Ghaywan
Cast: Language:	Richa Chadha, Vicky Kaushal, Sanjay Mishra, Shweta Tripathi, Pankaj Tripathi Hindi

Every second, every silence, every word, every glance, there’s not a moment that does not matter in a film – making a difference either for the better or worse.

I’ve watched Masaan twice this month. I would usually not do so before writing a review but in this case, I had no option. Because after the first viewing – at the Jagran festival in early July – the film’s debutant director Neeraj Ghaywan announced that what we had just seen was the Cannes cut which was 9 minutes shorter than the India cut. Damn! No choice but to see it again.

“Damn”, because at the first viewing I found Masaan endearing and perceptive only in parts, the story involving Richa Chadha did not resonate at all with me, and in its entirety I did not find the film memorable. Theek thhi, acchhi thhi, par itni bhi khaas nahin. “This was what won two awards at 2015’s Cannes film festival? Reall­­­y?” I thought to myself with deep disappointment.

As any committed film buff knows though, every second counts. And 9 minutes can make the difference between a kinda sorta nice film and a profoundly moving experience. That indeed is the Masaan I saw the second time – a seemingly simple yet intricate, insightful story about love and loss, grieving and closure, redemption, repentance and ultimately, hope and new beginnings. Set in the north Indian town of Varanasi, Masaan is rich in its interplay of caste, class, gender and faith, and without a doubt one of the most noteworthy Hindi films of the year so far.

The narrative carries with it two parallel strands. One is about a computer programming instructor called Devi Pathak (Richa Chadha) whose attempt at sexual experimentation goes horribly wrong, ruining any chance of a peaceful life for her in her home town and putting a strain on her already troubled relationship with her father, Pandit Vidyadhar Pathak.

The second story is about college student Deepak (Vicky Kaushal), a lower caste boy who falls in love with an upper caste girl called Shaalu Gupta (Shweta Tripathi). Along with his family, Deepak works on funeral pyres in this holy city where Hindus come to cremate their dead. That’s where the film gets its title – masaan means cremation ground.

The social dynamics in this small town are fascinating, and Varun Grover’s script is unrelenting in its detailing. So much is revealed with the mere mention of a name or the blink of an eye, so much left unsaid. The fleeting words of a family in conversation float towards a brooding daughter, reminding her of their radical casteist convictions. Lovers in mourning are constrained in their grief because of the clandestine nature of the relationships they shared and lost.

Despite the overt feminism of Devi’s story, the thread I found myself completely immersed in was Deepak and Shaalu’s courtship. When Aanand L. Rai’s Raanjhanaa – also set in Varanasi – was released in 2013, all criticism of the violent stalker hero met with responses such as “well, this is the nature of romance in small-town India”. Firstly, a reality is not acceptable merely because it exists. Second, normalising a horrid reality is condemnable. Third, to my mind such views come either from snooty city dwellers with a patronising view of mofussil India or small-town residents who malign their own homes and/or do not question their negatives. In Masaan the wonderfully sensitive Varun reminds us that within the constraints placed on romance in societies with extreme gender segregation, decent men find ways of approaching women they are attracted to without intimidating them or demanding their attention as a matter of right.

Aided by the excellent screenplay, Vicky Kaushal and Shweta Tripathi make Deepak and Shaalu one of the most winning couples ever to appear on the Indian screen. It is a pleasure to see such a tender romance unfold through the delicate performances of two rank newcomers. I confess to having watched them and felt an ache for a youth now gone and an innocence lost forever.

It helps that crucial scenes from this segment – their first meeting, a rendezvous at a gift shop – are in the India cut. In fact, it’s slightly disconcerting that that initial encounter was snipped out for Cannes, because the choice of scene to chop suggests a willingness to succumb to the average Westerner’s likely stereotypical notion of how relationships are conducted in conservative India.

It’s also hard to understand why, without the time restrictions that were probably placed on them in Cannes, the team cut out from the Indian version a sequence involving Deepak’s family which underlines a marginalised community’s desperate circumstances and the desperation of those compelled by caste to stick to socially derided – even if socially essential – professions. There is also a conversation about a picnic between the two leads that seems awkwardly rounded off. These are questions to be taken up with the director at some point. Nothing in this paragraph though should end up downplaying the appeal of Shaalu and Deepak’s soul-wrenching journey.

Devi is less charming yet intriguing, a woman simmering in her own dissatisfaction. Richa Chadha rises above even the contrived, half-baked reason for her resentment towards her father, to deliver a stupendous performance. To watch her stand struggling with humiliation, fear and caged fury next to a corrupt policeman is to witness something special.

Richa is surrounded by a sparkling trio in her segment – the men playing her father (Sanjay Mishra), a colleague and a cop. The little boy in the role of her father’s assistant is inconsistent. He is lovely in his sprightliness but confusingly expressionless while an adult sits weeping next to him. On the other hand, the scintillating Pankaj Tripathi from the Gangs of Wasseypur films elicits smiles while tugging at the heart in his small role as her colleague. A neatly executed scene featuring them in a restaurant (not in the Cannes cut) adds a whole new dimension to the man, transforming him from a satellite player to a primary character.

The stories of these characters are so engrossing that one almost forgets the sanitised visuals of Varanasi presented to us by this film, like most films set here. Varanasi is atmospheric, but it is also filthy. A foreigner would never guess that though from DoP Avinash Arun’s images. If Masaan is about a city and its people, warts and all, why camouflage some of the warts?

Ah well, to distort a cliché, all’s fair in love especially when you’re in love with a film. The enduring memory of this one is of Indian Ocean’s contemplative songs, Varun’s writing, Neeraj’s unobtrusive direction and characters that leave a lasting impression.

For every disciple of kismet in Varanasi, there is also a Deepak and a Devi straining at the straitjacket, and a bright, shining, spirited Shaalu, practical yet poetic, hooked on the shayari of Bashir Badr, confident and completely her own woman.

There can be no greater measure of the effectiveness of a film than that the dreams of its characters become ours, their heartbreaks become our heartbreaks, their joys our very own. That is the kind of film sweet little Masaan is.

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

CBFC Rating (India):

A (because a couple in Masaan having actual sex, consensual though it is and not graphic at all, could pollute children’s minds according to the Censor Board, but sexist and crudely suggestive ‘item’ numbers, metaphorical depictions of romanticised rape, trivialised molestation and harassment are usually awarded U/A or U ratings, especially when made by established mainstream directors, with major commercial male stars in the lead)

Running time:

109 minutes minutes

Photographs courtesy: https://www.facebook.com/MasaanTheFilm