Tatsam Mukherjee

In a scene during Imtiaz Ali’s Main Vaapas Aaunga, when Nirvair (Diljit Dosanjh) takes the stage at an open mic in London, I braced myself. In my head, Ali is notorious for dipping his toes in subcultures he considers ‘hip and trendy’ (like stand-up comedy here, fresco painting in 2009’s Love Aaj Kal) – including them as passing details in a film, never to be brought up again. Over here, it’s used to establish Nirvair as a young wastrel (from a wealthy family in Amritsar) coasting through life. He can’t stick to a job for more than two months, he can’t commit to his girlfriend, Kaveri (Banita Sandhu). His father (Rajat Kapoor) asks, “Why do you keep running?” – a narrative failsafe, lest the metaphor be lost on someone unfamiliar with an escapist Imtiaz Ali protagonist.

When Steven Spielberg made Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977), extraterrestrial life forms were a dining-table conversation, shrouded in mystery and wonder. As his latest venture Disclosure Day releases, aliens, ‘unidentified flying objects’ (UFOs) and deep-state military complexes unfortunately appear more often in the message boards of alt-right conspiracy theorists – folks caricatured beyond redemption in popular culture. This is the first significant difference between the two Spielberg films, released 49 years apart, which might dictate the latter’s reception. Another thing working against Spielberg’s latest film is that it comes a decade after Arrival (2016), directed by Denis Villeneuve. The Amy Adams-starrer, based on humans making first contact with extraterrestrial beings, managed something rare: being both deeply philosophical about the human condition while also being a definitive anti-Spielberg film, with its devastating, open-ended climax prompting more questions than answers.

Prosit Roy’s Raakh takes a big swing in its last episode. After tip-toeing around the crime where two teens—a brother and his sister—were murdered in broad daylight in Delhi in 1978 and the man-hunt that followed, the non-linear narrative finally depicts the day of the crime. It’s a tricky sequence, illustrating the scene of crime inside the car, where the siblings are being driven by two runaway murderers. Even though there are plenty of markers even before this sequence, it was this scene that assured me about Roy’s directorial intent and creators Anusha Nandakumar and Sandeep Saket’s authorial sensitivity behind telling the story. Such a scene could easily become lurid and sensationalise the crime. Instead Raakh remaining a clear-eyed procedural even during its most heated sequence, is testament to the crew’s great care and rigour around the show’s central conflict.

In India, making a film/web series based on real events/people is an adventure sport. There’s no way it can criticise political powers without being selective. Real people/organisations depicted in the narrative need to sign off on permissions before one depicts them, which becomes trickier if the depiction is anything beyond heroic or idealistic. The legal departments comb through the script picking apart inane details; one might argue such films/shows are made by lawyers as much as filmmakers. No wonder most look timid and cauterised. The additional obstacle for Robbie Grewal’s Made in India: A Titan Story, adapted from Vinay Kamath’s book, Titan: Inside India’s Most Successful Consumer Brand (2018), is that it’s also partly produced by Titan.

Anurag Kashyap’s Bandar is set in a fascinating world. An out-of-work actor Samar Mehra (Bobby Deol), 50, a shadow of his ‘90s screen-self, has to perform his one-hit wonder at tacky weddings to pay the bills. When he exits the airport and sees his more famous colleagues (cameos by Sunny Leone and husband Daniel Weber) getting ‘papped’, he takes out his phone and takes a selfie of his tired face, to humble-brag on social media. He’s behind on his EMIs; his domestic help, Shiva, hasn’t been paid in four months. Even as he carries a constant back pain, Samar is unapologetic about his carnal desires, dabbling in problematic pornography and scrolling through profiles of significantly younger women, as if to suggest a sexual preference. He’s also petty and territorial, something we find out during a conversation with girlfriend, Khushi (Saba Azad), when he expresses displeasure after she went out with a group of friends the night before. All in all, where protagonists are usually air-brushed, Samar is a grimy, authentic everyman, comfortably placed in his contradictions, unserious world-view and profound vanity.

At the heart of Curry Barker’s Obsession lies a simple, contained but brilliant premise: what if your dreams come true; but those dreams turn out to be your worst nightmare. Starting out writing comedy sketches under “That’s a Bad Idea”, this is only the writer-director’s second feature. Maximising the thin conceit and wringing the idea for social commentary, Obsession keeps the audience unsettled, as Barker takes the narrative to ludicrous and shocking heights. Bear (Michael Johnston), a young introverted man, probably in his 20s, is hopelessly in love with friend Nikki (Inde Navarrette). They work together in a music store, living a harmless life in American suburbia: going to trivia nights, taking turns at the karaoke, hopping between bars and house parties. When she puts in her two-weeks notice at the workplace, he must hurry and tell her how he feels. He buys a ‘one-wish willow’ (a bark that is supposed to be split into two after one makes a wish) as her going-away present. Too shy to give it to her after he drops her home, Bear, without thinking too much, wishes ‘Nikki would love me more than anyone in the world’ and then breaks it. Much to Bear’s shock, his wish is granted, as Nikki turns around from near her door-step, walks towards his car, and insists if she can sleep at his house.

Bishnu (Gaumaya Gurung) is a writer in her bones, which explains why we see her continuously grappling with the world. While those around Bishnu go through life with less fuss, we see her recording nearly all experiences from outside, trying to gauge the subtext of each and every conversation, the pauses, closely examining one’s train of thought, questioning it, and trying to understand why one bit leads to the other. An insider-outsider in her village in Sikkim, having returned after quitting a copywriting job in Delhi, she sees the town with a new set of eyes. Tribeny Rai’s Shape of Momo takes the idea of a ‘homecoming film’ – where characters are usually forced to visit home and resolve their friction with the place – and flips it.

Director Ashwini Iyer Tiwari has been making films for over a decade. And yet, nothing gives away her lack of assurance more than her choice of background score. Iyer Tiwari’s style is what I like to describe as having soap-opera coherence (my mother is a huge fan of these films, which are technically proficient, but ideologically axiomatic). If the choice was ever between thought-provoking and manipulating tears, she overwhelmingly leans towards the latter. Having made films with noble (sometimes, even sweet) through lines, like a mother re (Nil Battey Sannata), or a woman making a comeback to professional sports after a prolonged sabbatical (Panga) – Iyer Tiwari’s films often find its underdogs in women. But there’s also a lack of rigour in her ideas curdling the simple into gratingly simplistic.