A Death in the Gunj

It's one of the most beautiful movies I've watched in a while. While other movies in this genre (practically non-existent in Bollywood) generally take up to 20 minutes to build up to the main story this one is intriguing right from the start. We know that someone's going to die, and we know who it is, 5 minutes into the movie. But this ain't a murder mystery. It's about the events leading up to the death. It's about the characters developing, intermingling. Beautifully shot, with a calm, fantastic soundtrack (which, sadly isn't available to listen anywhere right now), I wish there were more movies like this.

I regret not being able to watch this when I could in the theatres (thanks Amazon).

This is a little gem of a movie, with pitch perfect casting, excellent pacing and very competent direction.

The movie takes you to a world of languid indolence as an extended family vacations at a once grand but now somewhat derelict Anglo-Indian hamlet. There are little stories within, mostly pivoting around Kalki as the coquette - glimpses of illicit lust; and unrequited longing.

But in the middle of this happy dysfunction, there are jarring moments that tighten the little knot of dread-filled anticipation at the bottom of your heart. The title promised you a death and the opening scene reinforced that promise. You don't know who and you don't know why, you only know it's coming.

A brilliant thematic adaptation of Tagore's "Unwanted" theme coupled with a tragic turn of fate. What enables a caterpillar to morph into a butterfly is profound tendering and patience. But what if the society around us is too harsh and abides by the principle of "Survival of the fittest" ? The infinite possibility of blossoming can often be nipped in the bud. Set in the picturesque small town of McCluskieganj of late 70s, the story depicts the tale of a young man Shyamal aka Shatu (Vikrant Massey) who's a misfit in an otherwise boisterous and well to do group. He suffers from an identity crisis, yearns for love and has no idea of what to do with life. He struggles to deal with his emotions and frequently gets sidelined by others. What happens with him in a week's stay in the small town is what the film all about.

Cinematography is simply breathtaking which gives a 70s feel and yet appears glossy and fresh. The ensemble starcast is the biggest asset combining actors of mettle - Om Puri, Tanuja, Tilottama Shome, Ranvir Shorey, Gulshan Devaiah, Jim Sarbh and Kalki Koechlin. All were literally fantastic with Massey being the icing on the cake.

This is Konkona Sensharma's debut direction and it simply acts as a corollary to the fact that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Femme fatale and a sensitive young man. The story of my life.

In a resort town in 1970s India a sensitive young man, Shutu, is recovering from a series of traumas. He runs into the wrong family and the wrong woman. Even more unfortunate for him, spirits from the past inhabit people and take care of unfinished business.

India isn't all Bollywood. There is much more to the country and to its film industry. This film dares to think outside the box. I love how it weaves nature, color, song, spirits, eclectic people, and foreign myths into a compelling story. It is based on a true short story by Mukul Sharma.

The ground for a death is set already when the scene opens in a city trembling in peak winters. The tired sun that cannot decide if it wants to rise, the insects already stocking their nests and ready to hibernate, the orchestra of cicadas that blends easily in the suspicious eerie silence of the evenings, the absence of roses and the long purple nights. In such a set-up the only noise that rips the slumber of the forest apart is the loud laughter of a happy family. The perfect family with rotund bellies feasting on meat and wine, slyly rubbing bodies against each other in jest, and like every other family, unable to keep track of the share of love every member is receiving.

It's easy to feel left behind in a world disheveled by adults. Where youth is thought to be coped up with only by a compensatory adrenaline rush, sex is but a form of hospitality, and children and servants are defamed outcasts for just not being alike. Amidst these artificialities, humble "Shuttu" draws dreamy figures in his diary, takes interest in dead moths and the funeral of ants, befriends his six year old niece Tani and vehemently resists metamorphosis. His brother Nandu like most elder siblings, puts him through helpful tests to man him up(driving, planchettes, kabbadi) but Shuttu is already a man with his weak arms but a muscular heart that can carry immeasurable weight. He is the re-incarnate of Franz Kafka, sniffing for traces of love in his dead father's sweaters and his seductive muse's white ankles and the melancholy of his wailing mother. The film brings back to my aching mind a nostalgia of theatrical plays, where the characters were the fodder and story but a resource, rather than the other way around. Nandu's wife, "Bonnie" and mother,"Anupama" are an accurate reflection of the legacy of homemakers; dreamless eyes, unquestioning obeisance, and principled Elizabeth Bennets always in- charge of too much to be done. Vikram(Ranbir Shorey) is the perennially candescent splinter and Mimi(Kalki) is the moth dancing in its flame. O.P(Om Puri's character) has drunk blood-shot eyes and a jovial persona which often confuse his grand-daughter for a tortoise and dismiss the bruises under Shuttu's eyes as child's play. Tani is a young and curious fluttering butterfly who just broke out of her cocoon. Maniya and Manjuri, the domestic helps, are observers of the building up of crime which in this movie, is neither an accident or event, nor a well-hatched conspiracy, but a sudden condensation of reality.

The timeline of growing up is riddled with tough milestones to surpass. The degradation of parent's narrative from "are you facing a problem we don't know about" to " what is the problem with you", bodily changes, the political intrusion of lust and control in relationships and the devaluation of childhood dreams which are too much for a heart which still has not grown anesthetic to pangs of betrayal and dishonesty. As Shuttu tries to brush through these and more, he watches little Tani with wet eyes who would soon be stepping into this war too. A war which is endless and perpetual, called adulthood, where the temporary campsite on the battleground is supposed to be your permanent home. Where defeat is inevitable but the contest is about who can survive longer.

With this debut, Konkana Sensharma blurs the lines between a book and a movie, unveils how modern art is about context rather than content, undresses the guilty faces of families where it is surprisingly easy for someone to not matter at all. By the end, I wished if the movie could be longer and I was given more time to build intimacy with the characters of Mimi or Vikram to know what went into the making of their lustful, unconquerable and ambitious hearts. But alas, a movie could only be a window to another world and not a door, an excerpt of an unending saga which is still happening behind the closed walls of silent homes and secluded hostel rooms, a crime that is taking place without any blood dripping which no one knows about now, no one will figure out the reason behind, but everyone will blame themselves for.