Review: Kranti Kanade’s “CRD” is the year’s most curious and frustrating work.

[May contain spoilers, many of them.]

A sack is held up. A man orders a group of fledgling actors to toss in their cellphones and keys. A moment later, another man walks in. He's the important fellow; he looks calm. The group is noticeably nervous. He singles out a woman from the group and stares hard at her breasts. The hopeful look on her face when she saw him fades and slowly gives way to insecurity. She's suddenly very aware of his gaze. He notices this and chides her. If she wants to be an actor, he says, she has got to get used to this. He adds that there will be men who will gaze at her the way he did and maybe masturbate at the thought of her later on. Insecurity over how a person looks at them is a trait of a bad actor – if they ever become one, that is.

It's one of the early scenes in Kranti Kanade's CRD. The language is coarse; the execution, fearless; and the ideas, boggling. It's rare and refreshing to see an Indian film rejecting the imply-but-do-not-show approach that many Indian filmmakers choose to take in order to make their film more consumable. Kanade is barely interested. His approach is more immersive, more tangible. The camera never leaves the actors, never observes them from a distance but through tight close-ups. We are very much there. It's a captivating experience, even when it becomes too surreal, too uncomfortable. For every single minute of its 108-minute runtime, CRD risks revolting the conservative viewer with its daring.

On a more personal note, I cherish such films unless they are daring for the sake of being daring. In recent years, India has nourished an ecosystem where independent cinema can thrive, and this has resulted in passionate filmmakers making passionate films on paltry budgets. But a more personal grouch is that some of these films are visibly eager to shock and be spoken about. It affects the experience, because it feels, to me, contrived. I like watching risks being taken, and there is no greater thrill when the filmmakers pull it off, but if these risks are simply to ensure the film will be spoken about later, I would not categorize it as great cinema.

CRD, thankfully, avoids this.

The teacher employs a number of tricks to get this group get in touch with their emotional side. He likes to break them down so that they can bring a raw and realized quality to the play. This involves talking about their most tragic experiences, discouraging them without mincing words (he tells a budding actress she’s so unattractive that the best role she might snag would be of a female cop), even fornicating with their mothers. This does not sit well with our protagonist, a newbie to this environment of the cutthroat inter-college theater competition prep and an accidental one at that. He actually wants to be a writer. But they have writers. They need actors. Ta-da.

Using the competition as a background, CRD examines the artistic process very closely and how it sometimes brings out the worst in people. It is a product of rigorous filmmaking, superb performances and at times incredible imagination. It is also quite a bit of fun. But, surprising for a film of such energy, it is an exhausting picture. Kanade, an FTII and UCLA alum, likes to pay his tributes. Which is why, I guess, CRD assumes the appearance of a film that tries to do a lot in such a short span of time. In places we are led to believe that it has almost decided to be a certain kind of film with a certain kind of appeal, but it surprises us by being something entirely different. In one scene it’s accessible, within our grasp, but in the next, it ends up being surreal, freeing itself from it.

These shifts in tone rarely come across as jarring. Because Kanade is a superior filmmaker, and CRD’s biggest pleasures stem from how it jumps from one exciting scene to the next, from one idea to the next. I would be lying if I said that these elements – well written independent scenes interspersed with brief animated sequences and often inscrutable ones – work together as one. They don’t. They can, and do, get frustrating. But how can one accuse a film of trying too hard when it rarely tosses in a dull image or idea? 

It is commendable for a film that experiments as much as CRD does with its narrative to not lose focus from its central characters. For the teacher, winning is everything, even if it means writing a manipulative play on patriotism, where two Indian soldiers try to coax information from a female Pakistani spy without harassing her physically because they are Indian, and playing the national anthem in the end to drive his point home. For the protagonist, opportunity is everything, even if it means stealing the limelight with, should we say, not entirely ethical means. Their character arcs are developed with great restraint. The teacher, though a formidable opponent, is moved by art. The protagonist, though sincere with a more idealistic perspective toward art, abuses it at one point. It’s an interesting point to explore, which CRD, in its final moments, does with quiet success.

Ultimately, the film we get is as brave as it is frustrating, as weird as it is exhilarating. I am not sure I will watch it a second time. I do not feel it is necessary, for I do not have a reason to. All I know is, I am not likely to forget it anytime soon, for reasons both good and bad.

(Not For Reproduction)