A Death in the Gunj - A Review

After waiting for almost over a month, I finally got to watch Konkona Sen Sharma's directorial debut, 'A Death in the Gunj’, and without a doubt, this is one of the most compelling films I have seen in a while. Its story is so intricately woven, and operates on so many levels, that I could pull out all my hair trying to explain it. But if a film has left me feeling this way, I must make an effort.

This film is set in the McCluskieganj of 1970s, and comfortably straddles between English, Hindi, and Bengali. It transports you to an era, when handwritten letters and trunk-calls were in fashion, and when holidays meant wandering in the woods, bonding over matches of chess and kabaddi, and even getting silly over summoning the dead spirits.

The story of ‘A Death in the Gunj’, opens on a rather discordant note, with two people debating over the best possible way for a dead body to fit into the back of a car. With this gripping start, the director gently moves on to talk about the events that took place a week prior to this. And the screen breaks into a rickety blue ambassador beating down the broken roads of McCluskieganj. And it stops right infront of the rambling old house of Mr. and Mrs. Bakshi, played with characteristic flair by Om Puri and Tanuja. The arrival of Bobby, the old couple’s daughter, along with her husband and daughter, Nandu and Tani, lights up the family house on a cold December night. They are joined on this reunion by a younger cousin, Shutu, and old family friends, Vikram, Mimi, and Brian.

Soon this motely group of people break into the clamor of family bon-homie which is the backbone of every happy reunion. And the director does an impressive job of creating a camaraderie that is very relatable, where dialogues tumble over each other, with everyone talking enthusiastically at the same time. They soon immerse themselves into activities to while away time, and we are given a sneak-peek into their lives. But when this seemingly harmonious group of people are pitted against each other, friction creeps in, and breaks the deceptive harmony. And the tension gets heightened because of a calmness that runs through these events, and this infuses an element of eeriness in the story.

At the heart of ‘A Death in the Gunj’, is Shutu, played with an affable charm by Vikrant Massey. He’s the 23 year old cousin who finds himself unadjusted in the adult world. Not being able to survive a world filled with assured and confident adults, he seeks comfort in the company of Tani. A foil to Shutu’s character is Vikram (Ranvir Shorey), the brash and flamboyant family friend, whose arrival stirs up things as he rekindles his old spark with Mimi (Kalki Koechlin), the unapologetically free-spirited girl, who’s every man’s desire. With such contrasting characters, and extreme dynamics, sparks are bound to fly, and even before we know it, these situations take unexpected turns, and the characters suffer hurt and humiliation. And failing to handle this emotional upheaval, they go about hurting each other. For instance, Shutu’s insecurities are badgered by Nandu, through a seemingly innocent act of giving him driving lessons. And a fun match of kabaddi takes an ugly turn, with Vikram coming down heavily on Shutu to a point where he leaves him bleeding.

Although these incidents are a build-up towards Shutu’s story, each character has a significant role to play to carry the story forward, and they are given enough screen presence to shine. Of them all, Om Puri, who plays the goofy old Mr. Bakshi, who simply bobs in and out of scenes in his drunken stupor, is my personal favorite. Without saying or doing much, he carves a special place for his character in the film.

Adding up to all this, are the film’s soundtracks, that wonderfully enhance the changing climate of the story. Konkana’s attention to detail is another thing that makes this film a riveting watch. Whether it is young Tani, touching the bride’s saree in admiration, while her mother pleads her to refrain from it, or a piece of paper slipping from under the leg of a chair, while two adults respond to their impulsive desires over a drunken night. Or Shutu, finding dried moths inside frayed pages of old family books, or a servant licking a ladle laden with pudding, this film excels in creating these moments that enrich its texture.

There is a scene in the film, where Shutu and Tani, in one of their many trails in the woods, set ablaze a fly with a magnifying glass. To me, this scene in a lot of way, is the essence of the film – of looking at life’s foibles and frailties through a magnifying lens without fearing about its consequences.

In my unabashed display of admiration for the film, I had taken to twitter the other day, and there I found somebody saying that, ‘this film should be made a mandatory watch in film schools.’ And I found myself agreeing with it. Because, if there is one thing that this film does, besides enthralling you, is that, it leaves you wondering about the ways in which this feat has been achieved. And then you are reminded of the fine actress that stands tall behind this remarkable director.

Film Review - Angry Indian Goddesses (2015)

I was not sure what to expect from this movie at first. When its teaser had first surfaced it had left me wondering whether this was going to be yet another over-the-top women oriented movie, that at best would shout some feminist slogans, and pathetically become victim to the same stereotypes it would set out to fight. Therefore I was undecided about watching it right away. And the reluctance was also out of habit, I have to admit, to warm up to things late, and usually not being a big fan of riding the tide without sparring a thought. 

But I am just so glad that I did finally watch it today.

To begin with, the film overreaches a tad bit in its attempt to touch upon too many hot-button issues - land acquisition, sexual violence against women, gay rights, judicial slackness, sloppiness of law enforcement, pressures on working mother and such. A movie that bites off on so much typically runs the risk of getting reduced to a half-baked affair with all good intentions. But luckily for the audience, the multiplicity of themes in this one, are linked well enough for none of the concerns to hang unnecessarily. Why this movie manages to hold it all together is also because of believable dialogues at its core.

The film brings home the message of ‘giving it back’ powerfully right from the opening scene. In this scene each one of them is seen hitting back hard at a society that sees them as nothing but mere ‘breasts-arse-limbs’ strung together and made available for grabs. Yet the movie doesn't lose touch with the emotional side of the story, without meditating on issues still, and offering well plotted quips at the right moments for the right effect.

The characters played by gritty, fine actresses and relatively new faces balance the palate of the film and succeed to not represent women as mere ‘types’. Most of them are friends from college. And hence their being a motley bunch of women making different life choices, is not hard to stomach. The bunch looks like this - a  struggling singer, a mildly successful photographer, a homemaker, a social activist, a corporate slave, an Indian-British actress struggling to make foray into Bollywood. Even the endearing house maid, Lakshmi, and the little daughter of the only mother in the group, find enough screen presence to shine and have important roles to play in taking the narrative forward.

As we become privy to the union of friends at an old dilapidated but grand Goan house of the ‘host-friend’, we get a sneak-peek into their lives. The rooms in the house flow into the other fluidly, defying boundaries, breaking rules and creating a space for these young women to exist without limits. Soon enough they get into their old groove and loosen themselves in this happy camaraderie. In one scene, them checking out the bare-chested neighborhood guy, is enough fodder for the good humored jokes to flow and these women bond over it like over nothing else.

This bon-homie gets punctured occasionally through believable interventions to give a glance into their real lives outside of this house. Slowly we get to know the girls  a little better and like every other person in this world they too are fighting some demon that they are either too scared or too tired to address.The issue of gay marriage which gets addressed in a realistic light takes center stage toward the middle of the narrative. And with that, the audience, along with the rest of the girls, finally get their answer to the real reason for this reunion. 

Most of the revelations that take place in the film are cleverly achieved through actions and gestures instead of dialogues. For instance, one of the girls sauntering in with a bridal dress unintentionally breaks the news of the wedding. But the surprise around the betrothed is still kept under wraps till the bride ‘comes out of closet’ through a game of enactments.   

Goa for a backdrop is merely there to offer a stage for the story to unfurl, and not to serve as a glamorous landscape. In a way, the grim and dark scenes of Goa is perfect setting to reveal the somber side to their lives and forebode the future. Soon the girls find themselves in deep murky waters. They get dragged into a situation for merely being who they are - ‘women.’ The usual curse of ‘chote kapde’, gets spitted out liberally at them wherever reason or law seem to be of little service. A critique to which is offered by the housemaid who utters, ‘even a fully covered woman like me in saree is also not spared.’ So finally how does one deal with a system, a society that might need another two hundred years to rise above these stereotypes is what this film seems to be asking.

The movie ends at a note that looks more like a page out of fiction. But it also sends out the message empathetically that when reality feels so fictional probably this is the only way to seek poetic justice. The final scene takes place in the church, almost as though, after the laws made by human have failed us, we turn to the God’s court. But it also caters to a funeral scene in the church, so it is all within the realm of reality. At the end, the little girl, looking glaringly at the policeman, joining hands in spirit with the crowd in the church, pleading guilty without batting an eye, and the end credits rolling out right after that, made for the perfect wrap for me. And this scene hits home the message hard and straight, that - it is about time we stood up with our women. 

Just like my mind today – Random

                                   

From my first post on motherhood to the second, I have made considerable progress - both on a mental and a physical level. I have reluctantly moved from resistance, to finally submitting myself to the oh-so-mighty ‘hormones.’ Considering I am writing this post after a gap of almost two months, you should understand my first trimester adventures are not just tall stories of human endurance and resilience in the wake of ridiculous hormonal changes, but they still read like annoying riddles to me. They were incomprehensible by my sane mind, which, by the way, did not give up on me even in the worst of times. Alright, I might be exaggerating a little bit here, it did slack a few times, but little exaggeration didn’t hurt anyone, did it? And like I always say, I have earned it, so let me jabber a little please.

Like it was expected, when the hormones started showing its true colors in the second month of my pregnancy, it slowly dawned upon me that my lifestyle needs immediate reform. Sluggishly I introduced few new items in my diet – fruits for one. My fruit-loving husband has always wondered how can someone be so disinterested in a topic that he can talk so passionately about, eating them with great passion is a whole different story altogether. So the bananas would change color from yellow to brown to black if the man in the house did not come to their rescue. The impulsively bought apples and oranges would sit unattended in the fruit basket till a cursory glance would prod me to pick one and leave half of it to be treated with the respect it deserved, by who else but the man! Introduced more fish, more fluids, and more fiber to go with the pre-natal vitamins that the doctor prescribed. Slowly my body was adjusting to these dietary changes, and was taking it all well if I may add. But who said good intentions will always yield good results? Even before I knew it, the dreaded morning sickness crept into my life like a stubborn parasite that would not leave for the next whole month. Added to that was my fruit intake that started giving me acidity. So much so that any attempt at keeping a count of how many times I threw up seemed futile. During the peak of the ghastly exercise of running to the washroom to relieve myself, to my credit, I always made it on time to the pot or the basin. If the husband were around, he would be my support and strength, who made it a point to remain stoic and throw in just the right amount of sympathy and strength. That helped immensely, it got even better, sometimes when he broke into the corniest of Bollywood songs from the God-forsaken 80s era, and shook a leg just to drive home the point that the dance probably made the songs of that era way more ridiculous than they really were. Anyhow, such attempts have passed the litmus test way back in our marital partnership, and are full proofed to have ever failed to break me into hysteria and forget about the problems at hand. Bless Bollywood! Bless this man-child of mine! There! It amuses me how I always manage to wedge Bollywood even into the most unrelated of topics! Or probably not! Remember the standard lines such as, “mein tumhare bacche ki maa banne wali hoon”, “mera ji ghabra raha hain”, “khatta khane ka man kar raha hain” and numerous such lines that even the Hindi cinema or pregnancy novices would associate with? Not surprised that these lines would be used generously in the next few months whenever we were looking for some mirth and humor. “Khatta khane ka man” was taken rather seriously by most of the people I knew, especially the Bollywood binging husband who would offer anything sour and pickle-ly at the drop of a hat, till I made it clear once and for all that, “no, I do not want to have anything remotely sour, spare me.”

Anyhow, coming back to fruits again (living up to the randomness of this post), it must have been around this time when I suddenly started taking to bananas. Oh that beautiful and slender yellow fruit with no over powering smell and just the right delicate sweet taste was my guiding light during the lowest of my lows and highest of my throws. It saved me from going hungry by choice for the fear of throwing up; saw me through the long nights of grumbling stomach that would be half-filled with potato and runny overcooked rice, and about its goodness, who doesn't know! But then again, nature seemed to have pledged to overturn everything that seemed settling down in my life. How boring life would be otherwise, isn’t it? So an overdose of iron gives you bowel troubles like constipation was a known fact, but I had just decided to go with whatever seemed to be working. It would suffice to say that the next few days were challenging with a capital ‘C’. Don’t worry, I wouldn't take you through details you haven’t done anything to deserve a listen. Thankfully and eventually, I found a tandem switching between bananas and apples, also got added melons, strawberries and mangoes to the fruit diet. Oranges however were still a distant thought. And one afternoon, I craved for pineapple.  And boy! Crave I did! It was so bad that I just ignored any ill association it might possibly have with pregnancy and just promised myself that this will be the only time. The sinful taste of this sweet and sour juicy fruit was all I needed at that hour. It instantly took me back to Shillong Peak on a rainy day with Ma, Deta and hubby, adjusting the mildly spiced up plate of world’s best pineapples in one hand, and the umbrella, on the other. Ah! Memories you live for! While l let myself lose in a reverie I didn't realize when I polished off a major chunk of the fruit. Thus began my journey from a total non-fruit person to an almost all-fruit eater. And I love it so far. They say you crave for those things your body was lacking for long, guess they are right. By the way, did you know our very own Junior Bachchan is allergic to fruits? So much so that you can scare him away with a mere strawberry? Holy Christ!! Did I land there again? Sorry folks! Will try harder next time.