[Might contain spoilers, many of them.]
The worst feeling is the world is feeling inferior to a bunch of loathsome people. We know they are neither as talented as we are nor as likable; yet things worked out well for them. Luck favored them when it really mattered. They can now afford to look pontifical. We, on the other hand, are kicking around in the dark in search for that evasive first step on the ladder of success.
Shutu, the protagonist of Konkana Sen Sharma’s affecting A Death in the Gunj, has completely lost sight of that first step. But he hasn’t told anyone yet; it’s one of the many things he keeps to himself, lets it nibble away at his self-confidence. His father recently breathed his last, and he has abandoned his mother to join his cousin on a trip to McCluskiegunj, where he can grieve in peace. He has also failed his final exams. Shutu’s psychological state is anybody’s guess; however, he is putting up a brave front. He greets his aunt with a smile. Everyone gets a smile from him. Hiding behind it is a boy who has been is forced by death to become a man. He is struggling to deal with this change and the responsibilities that come with it.
Watching Sen Sharma’s delicately drawn debut, I was reminded for a brief period of Francois Truffaut’s masterful The 400 Blows. Its protagonist, too, was as misunderstood and troubled as Shutu. People don’t understand Shutu or care about him; he’s always sitting away from everyone, shy and reluctant, unless a game or an activity requires more people to be present. Only then does he get noticed and called. When the aunt is out of custard, he is asked to go inside the house to fetch some. Or a shawl left on a chair. He is a pitiful figure, a misfit among adults, and he belongs to a world where innocence is too precious to be squashed by people who do not know the value of it. But Shutu is trying hard to belong to a place where cruel pranks are played on him without so much as a second thought.
To her credit, Sen Sharma does splendidly. She reveals her characters one by one, careful to let us get a good idea of how they are with the others and then with Shutu. We have the pompous and popular Vikram, the tactful Nandu, the collected Brian, the poised Bonnie, Nandu and Bonnie’s eight-year-old daughter Tani, and finally the devil-may-care Mimi. We also have Nandu’s parents who understand that the children now need to be by themselves.
Then, the illicit relationships are revealed. Vikram and Mimi go back a long way, and a blind eye is turned to when the now-married Vikram gets too cosy with Mimi in public. The group also regularly spurns their helps, doing little to make them feel comfortable. Unwittingly the helps also become targets, albeit not as frequently as Shutu, of the group’s whims. When they run out of hooch, the group thinks it’s wise to plan a midnight invasion into their helps’ shack for some. They think it’s wise to force them out of their routine to play an impromptu game of kabaddi. Sen Sharma doesn’t linger on these details longer than is necessary. A brief shot of the helps silently having dinner on New Year’s Eve, where a dog belonging to Tani eats out of their plates, is especially revealing. While the group in their fineries revel inside, drinking expensive liquor and eating out of expensive china, just a few yards away people are still struggling to put food on their plates. Sen Sharma reveals how each character is capable of getting in touch with their dark side in a split second and subtly hints at how this can affect the overly sensitive.
But the relationship central to the plot is that between Vikram and Shutu. Vikram is a hothead, the guy who loves being the attention-hogger at gatherings, and he routinely heckles Shutu. The three most dramatic bits in the film – a round of planchette, a game of kabbaddi, a sudden disappearance – all end with Shutu’s mental state worsening. It’s us who know this because the camera loyally stays with him – the adults are oblivious to what they are doing to the boy.
But what impressed me most was how emphatically and thoughtfully Sen Sharma writes the character of Shutu. He isn’t infallible like most Hindi film heroes; he’s flawed in his own way. When Mimi begins paying him some attention, he is taken by it. He abandons his closest companion, his niece Tani, for a quiet afternoon with her. It’s clear that Mimi considers their ‘affair’ nothing more than a drunken mistake, but for Shutu it means the world, a way to regain his lost dignity. Secretly, he dreams of getting back at Vikram, and Mimi is the path he chooses to take. He has a dark side albeit one that isn’t fully developed yet.
If there was something that resembled a flaw in A Death in the Gunj, it would be its shocker of a climax. We see a vintage gun hanging on the wall of the house earlier in the film, and we know that it might, and will, go off at some point, maybe during its denouement, and it does. The question is, who would be at the end of it? It’s disappointing to see that, just for a split second, A Death in the Gunj becomes a different film. We expect it to sweep us off our feet like it’s been doing for the most part, but the film, while concluding on an emotional note, leaves us wanting more. It’s not the best way to part with a film one very much liked till that point. However, at the same time, I cannot imagine a more fitful conclusion.
In the end, as I left my seat, my thoughts drifted back to the first line of the film. “Maybe we should bend the knees and put the body in a foetal position,” one man quietly says to the other, who nods. It’s a sharp line; a dead body now rests in the womb of a car, like a foetus. The men finally see the dead man for who he was: a baby, someone they should have gone easy on. We don’t know if they realize that. Maybe they do. It’s something hinted that, not spelled out. Perhaps that’s why the film stays with us.
[Not For Reproduction]
The worst feeling is the world is feeling inferior to a bunch of loathsome people. We know they are neither as talented as we are nor as likable; yet things worked out well for them. Luck favored them when it really mattered. They can now afford to look pontifical. We, on the other hand, are kicking around in the dark in search for that evasive first step on the ladder of success.
Shutu, the protagonist of Konkana Sen Sharma’s affecting A Death in the Gunj, has completely lost sight of that first step. But he hasn’t told anyone yet; it’s one of the many things he keeps to himself, lets it nibble away at his self-confidence. His father recently breathed his last, and he has abandoned his mother to join his cousin on a trip to McCluskiegunj, where he can grieve in peace. He has also failed his final exams. Shutu’s psychological state is anybody’s guess; however, he is putting up a brave front. He greets his aunt with a smile. Everyone gets a smile from him. Hiding behind it is a boy who has been is forced by death to become a man. He is struggling to deal with this change and the responsibilities that come with it.
Watching Sen Sharma’s delicately drawn debut, I was reminded for a brief period of Francois Truffaut’s masterful The 400 Blows. Its protagonist, too, was as misunderstood and troubled as Shutu. People don’t understand Shutu or care about him; he’s always sitting away from everyone, shy and reluctant, unless a game or an activity requires more people to be present. Only then does he get noticed and called. When the aunt is out of custard, he is asked to go inside the house to fetch some. Or a shawl left on a chair. He is a pitiful figure, a misfit among adults, and he belongs to a world where innocence is too precious to be squashed by people who do not know the value of it. But Shutu is trying hard to belong to a place where cruel pranks are played on him without so much as a second thought.
To her credit, Sen Sharma does splendidly. She reveals her characters one by one, careful to let us get a good idea of how they are with the others and then with Shutu. We have the pompous and popular Vikram, the tactful Nandu, the collected Brian, the poised Bonnie, Nandu and Bonnie’s eight-year-old daughter Tani, and finally the devil-may-care Mimi. We also have Nandu’s parents who understand that the children now need to be by themselves.
Then, the illicit relationships are revealed. Vikram and Mimi go back a long way, and a blind eye is turned to when the now-married Vikram gets too cosy with Mimi in public. The group also regularly spurns their helps, doing little to make them feel comfortable. Unwittingly the helps also become targets, albeit not as frequently as Shutu, of the group’s whims. When they run out of hooch, the group thinks it’s wise to plan a midnight invasion into their helps’ shack for some. They think it’s wise to force them out of their routine to play an impromptu game of kabaddi. Sen Sharma doesn’t linger on these details longer than is necessary. A brief shot of the helps silently having dinner on New Year’s Eve, where a dog belonging to Tani eats out of their plates, is especially revealing. While the group in their fineries revel inside, drinking expensive liquor and eating out of expensive china, just a few yards away people are still struggling to put food on their plates. Sen Sharma reveals how each character is capable of getting in touch with their dark side in a split second and subtly hints at how this can affect the overly sensitive.
But the relationship central to the plot is that between Vikram and Shutu. Vikram is a hothead, the guy who loves being the attention-hogger at gatherings, and he routinely heckles Shutu. The three most dramatic bits in the film – a round of planchette, a game of kabbaddi, a sudden disappearance – all end with Shutu’s mental state worsening. It’s us who know this because the camera loyally stays with him – the adults are oblivious to what they are doing to the boy.
But what impressed me most was how emphatically and thoughtfully Sen Sharma writes the character of Shutu. He isn’t infallible like most Hindi film heroes; he’s flawed in his own way. When Mimi begins paying him some attention, he is taken by it. He abandons his closest companion, his niece Tani, for a quiet afternoon with her. It’s clear that Mimi considers their ‘affair’ nothing more than a drunken mistake, but for Shutu it means the world, a way to regain his lost dignity. Secretly, he dreams of getting back at Vikram, and Mimi is the path he chooses to take. He has a dark side albeit one that isn’t fully developed yet.
If there was something that resembled a flaw in A Death in the Gunj, it would be its shocker of a climax. We see a vintage gun hanging on the wall of the house earlier in the film, and we know that it might, and will, go off at some point, maybe during its denouement, and it does. The question is, who would be at the end of it? It’s disappointing to see that, just for a split second, A Death in the Gunj becomes a different film. We expect it to sweep us off our feet like it’s been doing for the most part, but the film, while concluding on an emotional note, leaves us wanting more. It’s not the best way to part with a film one very much liked till that point. However, at the same time, I cannot imagine a more fitful conclusion.
In the end, as I left my seat, my thoughts drifted back to the first line of the film. “Maybe we should bend the knees and put the body in a foetal position,” one man quietly says to the other, who nods. It’s a sharp line; a dead body now rests in the womb of a car, like a foetus. The men finally see the dead man for who he was: a baby, someone they should have gone easy on. We don’t know if they realize that. Maybe they do. It’s something hinted that, not spelled out. Perhaps that’s why the film stays with us.
[Not For Reproduction]
