A Death in the Gunj: a preview

Konkona Sen Sharma’s debut feature film is a sensitive portrayal of ‘difference’ in a heady family drama which mutates into a thriller

After touring the world for about a year, Konkana Sen Sharma’s debut feature, A Death in the Gunj is all set to release in Indian theatres on 2 June 2017. After having proved her mettle as a superlative actor of infinite potential, Sen Sharma perhaps could not have a better start as a visionary behind the camera, who brings to her first feature film an extremely profound and nuanced understanding of human relationships and psyche. The film’s scrupulous attention to details, its retro-texture befitting the period in which the story is set (1978-1979), the costumes, the body language of the actors – everything testifies to a deep engagement on part of the filmmaker with the cinematic text, faithfully supported by the cinematographic excellence of Shirsho Roy in every frame.

In a very long time, Indian Cinema has not been able to scare its audience meaningfully, no matter how hard several filmmakers tried by deploying ridiculous graphics of ghosts, gore and gruesomeness; the fear, in most of these cases, was so damningly concretised that the thrill of getting scared was lost in the mayhem of ludicrous supernatural happenings or in the mediocre use of cinematic (or VFX) devices. Sen Sharma does complete justice to the genre she chooses (a family drama that mutates into a tragic thriller), by creating the right kind of atmosphere and psychologically disconcerting situations, which when reflected upon, augment the scare manifold, long after the film is over. 

Set within the familiarity of the tropes of a family holiday film, A Death in the Gunj (which might suddenly remind an alert viewer of Renoir’s A Day in the Country) gradually moves into extremely uncomfortable zones of human relationships, passions and loneliness, unravelling the darker shades of human nature, which when once revealed instigate the greatest fears that are difficult to assuage. While watching the film, it is difficult not to recall Aparna Sen’s short film Picnic made for the Doordarshan in the 1980s, in which Konkona had a significant role. However, Picnic was not a thriller, but a very disquieting tale of human relationships with insinuations of adultery, envy and possessiveness. Perhaps, Sen Sharma has consciously or unconsciously drawn upon a creative legacy by adapting her father’s story (Mukul Sharma) and alluding to her mother’s vision as a filmmaker, while dedicating the film to Vishal Bharadwaj, one of the greatest cinematic talents in contemporary India.

The Death in the Gunj impresses by its layered exploration of its protagonist’s (Shuttu aka Shyamal Chatterjee, essayed by the inimitable Vikrant Massey) coming of age and his gradual awakening into a hostile world where he does not seem to belong. Shuttu’s love for nature, literature, quiet moments – his overall introversion – set him apart from the hyper-males of the family, who bully him, humiliate him, and drive him to a breaking point, when he crosses his limit of endurance. Suttu, in all his sensitivity and emotional vulnerability, ends up being the quintessential other in the family, which barely understands him, except perhaps Tani (Arya Sharma), his young niece. “You are so pretty that you could have been a girl”, Mimi’s (Kalki Koelchin) compliment to Suttu, establishes a sexual ambiguity which significantly espouses his marginality vis-à-vis the other male members of the family. This ambiguity is, however, mitigated to a certain extent as he gradually gets erotically drawn to a sexually adventurous Mimi, but, the discomfort remains. At the same time, Mimi’s sexually liberal nature, her nonchalance to moral codes and her gregariousness also opens up grey zones of female sexuality, which are very seldom explored in Indian cinema and that too, without passing moral judgement. Most importantly, the film brings back a decade, the late 1970s, in a way Bollywood has barely remembered it, and raises very pertinent questions about conventional codes of masculinity, which are rarely dismantled in mainstream cinema. 

Supported by a extraordinarily talented ensemble cast comprising veterans such as Tanuja and Om Puri and extremely promising present day actors such as Gulshan Devaiah and Tillottoma Shome, apart from Ranbir Shorey, Jim Sarbh, Kalki and the endearing Vikrant, A Death in the Gunj does not need stars to shine in cinema halls. Its strength is its script, its powerhouse of acting talents,  and the effortless eeriness it creates. And, Sagar Desai’s music is a definite plus. In a long time, the film has revived memories of the New Wave Indian cinema which are gradually fading out in the overwhelming glamour and glitz of formula-driven potboilers.

“Shanghai”: The unattainable dream city

The title of my review of Dibakar Banerjee’s latest explains the title Shanghai that seems to elude most of its viewers. The title, indisputably, is far-fetched, and demands of the audience an awareness of the unattainable dreams Indian politicians are famed to peddle. Shanghai is the prototype city of the ultimate development human civilization can envisage at the present moment. So every Indian politician hawks this dream, unconscientiously; they are either oblivious of the predicament of several hundred people the realization of such a dream would entail, or they are simply not bothered. Dr. Ahmadi raises his voice against the brutality of such a project in a fictional Indian state, unimaginatively named Bharatnagar. He is assassinated, and the rest of the film, in a crime-thriller mode, is a search of the assassin. However, the viewer is all along aware who the real villain is. It is the characters, within the film, which has to arrive at the truth already available to the viewer. But, the film never once names the villain and attributes to the viewer such superior knowledge. The irony is the Indian viewer has grown so used to the corruption and evil practices of the State in general, that she can anticipate the end from the very beginning. 

If the end is already predictable from the very outset, why watch Shanghai? Why are people raving about the film? Is it really that great? I would say not quite. The film simply plays to the gallery, recounting and tying up into a single narrative political news that have been making headlines in the past few years in the media. Dr. Ahmadi (a glamorized, younger and suave version of Anna Hazare) is the tragic hero, the kind the nation badly needs at present. His socialist idealism, though undercut by his foreign university degree and teaching career, seeks to dismantle the general scene of aggressive capitalism in the post-global world. However, the popular version of progress that means approximating the dream technopolis, notwithstanding the quagmire such progress thrusts millions of less-privileged people into, barely changes.  

           

The film is realistic enough not to monger another dream of a better future. Rather it lays bare the atrocity of the lust for power, when Dr. Ahmadi’s widow enters into a pact with the political party that killed her husband, and contends the election. Although a responsible and honest government official resign, giving up on a prospective career, nothing changes eventually. In fact, in declaring “Shalini’s book on Dr. Ahmadi’s assassination was banned in India”, the film makes the viewer aware that she is acting voyeur to a forbidden narrative. The farce called democracy becomes all the more manifest in this declaration and the subsequent realization that dawns on the viewer. This is nothing new; official versions of history are mostly fabrications, and fiction has often intervened to relate true history. Shanghai performs the same function, reflecting on a pan-Indian reality at present.

If not for the content, the film is strongly recommended for its three mind-blowing performances: Imran Hashmi breaks new grounds as the porn filmmaker Jogi. With yellowed teeth and a bulging tummy, Imran steals the show with panache. Abhay Deol, who almost grows into the tie and the formal shirt, downplays his dimples to a startling effect to infuse credibility into the middle-class, idealistic, and serious Krishnan. Kalki’s is a passionate performance; she enacts with her eyes and body language what Shalini believes in. She would invariably remind of dedicated women freedom fighters strongly rooted in ideology. Prosenjit Chatterjee’s Dr. Ahmadi is a looker, indeed. But his forced Hindi is a downer. Banerjee could have very well made him a Bengali. Pitobash, Farooqh Sheikh and Supriya Pathak are near perfect.

           

Shanghai incidentally is smarting at the box-office under the onslaught of the agonizingly rowdy Rowdy Rathod. The postmodern lack of political and historical depth becomes ironically manifest in this. The GenY any day would give Shanghai a miss for a conventional garish Bollywood potboiler. Sad indeed! It barely matters whether Shalini’s book is banned or not! Nobody seems to care, right? 

Image Courtesy: apnaindia.com