Agnyathavasi

Govindu, a police officer by profession and a farmer by passion, leads a quiet life with his family in Nalkeri, a supposedly crime-free village nestled in Malenadu. His idyllic routine is disrupted when Srinivasaiah, a respected elder, dies under mysterious circumstances. Sensing something amiss, Govindu begins an investigation that draws in Rohit, a tech enthusiast, and Pankaja, the former lover of Srinivasaiah’s son, Arun. Rangayana Raghu gets a rare role that fully taps into his experience and range, with a solid, layered performance. His brooding screen presence is a delight to watch. Similarly, Sharath Lohitashwa, often cast in one-note roles, is refreshing in a sedate, well-intentioned part – a smart casting choice.

Agnyathavasi is the last film where you’d expect an objectifying number finding itself in the narrative. This is a slow-burn drama set in the idyllic Malnad region. This is set in the late 90s, and features an ageing inspector, a much-older retired postmaster, a lot of conversations about parenting and farming, and a murder. So it doesn’t make sense that Agnyathavasi features a song that objectifies, literally. And the object in question is a computer… the first one to arrive at the village. The way the camera caresses the curvature of the monitor, the first time it is switched on, the first time the keyboard is used… there is so much focus on the computer, which is going to change the fate of a few people. But they don’t know it yet. And the best part? We don’t either.

There’s an oft-repeated phrase people use after watching certain films — it is “slow.” I didn’t understand it then, I don’t understand it now. Labels help no one. Does life move in real time or at an accelerated pace? The issue of pacing strikes the audience only when they aren’t drawn into the world the director and storyteller have created. Agnyathavasi (translation: ‘a person in exile’) is a film that insists it will breathe — and wants you to breathe with it. Editor Bharath MC works his charm here. Which is why, despite generally steering clear of thrillers and jump scares, I was drawn into the film’s world — gently, like the fog and the mist of Malnad, where the story is set. The thrills here stem not from the certainty of geography, the reliance on camera angles, or music cues — though Charan Raj’s score is fabulous — but from the possibilities of the human mind.