There are films that you watch to be entertained - films that you watch mindlessly, whose fictional
universes you can escape to with no demands to remain grounded in your reality. Bhonsle is not
that film. It is impossible to disentangle yourself from the characters on screen, or the situations
they find themselves in. While newspaper headlines talk about the Marathi language being made compulsory in all Indian schools, and Delhi struggles to recover from the stomach-churning communal violence of February, watching the petty game of politics and bigoted
hatred between the Maharashtrian and Bihari communities play out in the film, and
slowly escalate into something dark and twisted, just feels like an extension of our own
reality.


<h2>The film is loaded with symbolism, but never leans on them. Its aesthetic, pregnant with poignancy,
blends easily with the story. 

The fleshed-out characters and tumultuous contexts are complemented with perfect mise-en-scènes – it is evident that nothing in the frame is accidental. </h2>

A symbol that runs
through the film as a comparative thread to Bajpayee’s Bhonsle is that of Lord Ganesh, or
rather, his idols. The opening scene oscillates between close up shots of an idol of the god being
made and brought to life, and a resigned Bhonsle preparing to go home, leaving behind the only life
he’s ever known, after his last day at his job at the police station. As he wearily unbuttons his faded,
old uniform, a brand new silk cloth is draped over Ganpati’s torso, as he unpins his badge and
shoulder straps, a shiny, silver armband is put on the idol, as he takes off his police hat, a bedazzled
crown is placed on the idol’s head.



<h2>The interpretations can be infinite, but one thing is certain – the iconic, historic figure in Indian
and Maratha history, Shivaji Bhosale, might have valued and popularised the worship of Ganesha and the celebration of the Ganpati festival, but Bhonsle himself feels no desire to model his
ancestor. </h2>
Bhonsle refuses to prioritise religious or communal demands over his
humanity and kindness. He refuses to partake in hostile, discriminatory, and violent behaviour in the
name of his community’s God. Communal strife and violence in the name of religion doesn’t stop until
it has taken everything from the disembodied, dismembered body and soul, as is clear in the
film.

<br><br>

The number of dialogues Bajpayee has in the film is probably restricted to single digits – he is
silent, and more stagnant than stationary, for most of the film. His performance is, even then, one
that is bound to stand out and stay in your mind for a long time to come. His movements are weary
and languid, but his eyes are arrestingly expressive, and his moustache even more so. His facial
muscles strain, quiver and fall disappointedly, so that you wonder why films ever needed dialogues
to convey emotions.

<br><br>

Bhonsle is a film that feels as liberating at certain points as it is suffocating in others. The
cinematography is exquisite and the performances not only engaging, but memorable. It will make
you want to hug the screen, then promptly scream at it. Bhonsle is a film that you not only watch, but
experience – it’s only horrifying that the experience is one that we continue to live in even after we
exit the theatre.


<br/><br/>
<b><i>Written by <span class="text-gradient">Sanjana Bhagwat</span></i></b>

Bhonsle | Manoj Bajpayee | Review

With disturbing data that suggests one in every three women in the world has been sexually or physically abused at some point, this short film by UN Women makes a strong case for women's rights. <br><br> The simple weaving of visuals of different situations are sufficient to convey how unsafe women are at work, in public spaces and at home. Lakeer raises a very important question - where do we draw the line when it comes to violence against women? With a coherent and sophisticated narrative, further coupled with good acting and visuals which are disturbing without even bordering on voyeurism, the short film becomes the kind of content the world needs.

Lakeer | Short Film of the Day

Trigger warning: The purpose of art is to reflect all that is wrong with society, to trigger thoughts that lead to reformative action. Agli Baar succeeds in doing precisely that - holding up the mirror to a very ugly reality of the world we live in. <br><br> Not for the emotionally fragile, the short film is for an audience which is willing to swallow the bitter truths of a society divided on the lines of religion, class and a mindlessly rigid sense of community. It further invokes the idea that while we may choose to ignore them and be mute spectators to the wrongs being done around us, we are not immune to the agents of evil which may target us next.

Agli Baar | Short Film of the Day

A butcher’s slaughter buffalo breaks free and runs amok in a seemingly idyllic village,
wreaking havoc and revealing a simmering darkness in its dwellers, within the first twelve
minutes of Lijo Jose Pellisery’s Jallikattu. The film wastes no time in laying the foundations
for its central conflict; energies are high, tensions seething, and the crowds tumultuous from
the get-go. 

<h2>The opening sequence sets the rhythm for the rest of the film, both thematically and literally.
Eyes move rapidly under closed eyelids before fluttering open, insects buzz around in a
frenzy, buffalo meat is aggressively cut through, wooden poles are hammered rhythmically
into the ground – all to the background score of a clock ticking that sounds more like a gong
beating down menacingly.</h2>

However, the high energy is broken by a long, silent stretch of the mountains silhouetted against a sky pierced by the first ruddy colours of dawn. This style, theme and rhythm remain true for much of the film to come – each frame quivers with life
and bursts of frenzied activity, interspersed with silent stretches of inactivity. These quiet
stretches, however, feel neither sluggish nor peaceful. They are tense moments
of dormancy before another eruption of mayhem– you don’t hear the clock ticking, not
because the clock has stopped working, but because it is being wound to start all over again. <br><br>

The film’s title refers to a popular game traditional to Tamil Nadu, where a bull is set free
into the crowd and people attempt to grab and subdue it, and prevent it from escaping. The
parallels between the game and the film are obvious. However, a real situation of a buffalo
having escaped and causing widespread destruction and fear is far from being a game – or so
you would think. 

<h2>Toxic notions of machismo and masculinity seep in, personal rivalries boil
to the surface, conflicts with authority come to the fore, the primitive id is given into and
catching the buffalo becomes more a matter of pride and superiority than protection. This is
especially strengthened by the visual of the 95-minute-long “game”, culminating in a twisted
version of the human pyramid that you see during the joyous <i>dahi-handi</i> festival.</h2>

The themes and metaphors that the film attempts to convey are obvious, but it is the
unnervingly beautiful aesthetics and absurdity that the metaphors are packed in, that make
watching the film enjoyable and fascinating. The film offers little in terms of respite, and
leaves you exhausted not because of any mental effort you put into deciphering the film, but
because of the sheer exhilaration you feel when enjoying it. <br><br>

The film explores violence and toxic masculinity without ever celebrating them. What starts
as a comedic display of men arguing with each other even as a buffalo runs amok, quickly
turns into something more sinister. By the end, two men find it impossible to bottle their
desire to fight and try to kill the other even when the buffalo is chasing them not a few feet
away. As the film sprints on with the buffalo and the characters slowly unravel, it is clear that
at its core, the film is about man’s need to dominate – be it with women, nature, or each other.

<h2>It is no longer man against the wild, but man giving into his wild instincts. This is further
strengthened by the background score of heavy grunts and chanting in a primitive language
that accompany the men turning into beasts and unveiling their animalistic side.</h2>

The narrative makes you wonder where the line between an animal, like Jallikattu’s rampant
buffalo, being a frightening threat and being a piece of meat that is someone’s property, lies.
The line is blurry in the film and crossed constantly. The men are unable to set their
individualistic desires aside long enough to end the threat. The more they get caught up in
their personal matters and neglect to treat the buffalo as a threat, the more disastrous the
consequences are. However, any and all attempts to portray the buffalo as the threatening
beast and enemy in the films do not hold a candle to the inherent brutality and bestial nature
of man. We are, and always have been - as is clear in the last scene of the film - the only
enemy that others, and we ourselves, need to fear.
<br/><br/>
<b><i>Written by <span class="text-gradient">Sanjana Bhagwat</span></i></b>

Jallikattu | Review | Antony Varghese, Lijo Jose Pellissery

Women's accessibility to public spaces is fraught with threats of molestation, street sexual harassment and sometimes even far worse. The film attempts to draw attention to this limited space that is allowed to women, and how the entire society, from family and friends, to colleagues and complete strangers, are implicit in reducing it further. <br><br> The narrative makes the most skilled use of hand-held shots, tight frames and dim lighting to drive this message home. It's written in a manner that makes the viewer deeply invested in the fear and the anger of the three main characters. As their families tell them to avoid stepping out and confronting their harassers, the women find their strength in each other. However, more than trusting each other, they have to find that strength and trust in themselves. Once they manage to conquer the enemy within, there is little they cannot defeat without, emphasises the film. 



That Day After Everyday | Short Film of the Day

The short film carries a very relevant social message for the viewer who is willing to stick till the end. Fortunately, that won't be a problem in this Naseeruddin Shah-led narrative. Rogan Josh is the story of a meal time when a family sits down to enjoy a birthday dinner with their friends. <br><br> Throughout, there are suggestions of a deeper, darker subtext even for the most inattentive viewer. However, as the plot thickens, these cues are going to become subtle and bewildering. Watch closely for you wouldn't want to miss the climax and closure this short film has in store for you.

Rogan Josh | Short Film of the Day

‘Reduva’ or radio is a story marked by immense visual drama that very adroitly portrays all the thematic preoccupations of the film. Ramphal cherishes a gift from long ago, presented to him on the night of his marriage - a radio. His constant companion now in old age, the gadget remains deeply embedded in his life. <br><br>

Alongside this endearing equation, however, is the alcoholism of his unemployed son who only brings trouble home in the form of drunken brawls, injuries that become a financial strain on the already struggling family, and domestic abuse. 

The film ropes it all in with seamless visuals that are sustained with control, ensuring that every emotion is presented to the viewer lucidly. <br><br>While there may be a sense of hope in the manner Ramphal’s grandson comes to his aid and reveals an unexpected, precocious moment of tenderness, the circumstance with his son continues to deteriorate. The story that is thus presented to the viewer is meaningful and involving, allowing the film to succeed at the delineation of all its intentions. 


Reduva | Short Film Nominee

On 10th January, 2017, Gudiya was abducted to never return home. What soon followed came to be known as the Kathua rape, an act so vile and brutal that it shook the conscience of the nation. However, a year later, as the headlines of violence against women continue to flow, what has truly changed, or so asks this short film. <br><br> It sews together a series of linked visuals to draw attention to incidents of brutal acts committed against women in India in the recent past. This is made more disconcerting by the voiceover which is done by a child's scared voice.  From Gudiya to Nirbhaya, from the fear of walking down a dark street or sitting alone in a cab to a mother's hesitation to send her daughter to school - the cycle simply stays in motion. As the news lingers in our head, the fear gets carried over to the new year, leaving us with the question - akhir iss naye saal mei naya kya hai?

Kathua’s Gudiya | Short Film of the Day

In an interesting subversion of order, the short film presents to us the experience of an upper caste boy who is constantly bullied and ridiculed by members of a lower caste. The latter, complete with drums and fanfare, leave no stone unturned in tormenting their victim, ensuring to drive immense laughter and malicious entertainment out of it. <br><br>

The weaving of these events is done in a competent manner, ensuring that the story communicates all its intentions with force and impact. The performances and the chemistry of actors, the well-developed equation of the protagonist and the antagonist, all aid the said intentions. <br><br>

Without explicitly saying so, the film offers a crucial comment on the oppressive caste structures that operate within society, while also tying it with a sense of male machismo that can acquire overwhelming proportions of its own. The final result, thus, becomes a relevant story, one that should surely be interacted and engaged with.






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