Santosh

 

Writer/director Sandhya Suri

Director with lead cast at Cannes

SANTOSH                 B                                                                                                               India  Germany  France  Great Britain  (120 mi)  2024  ‘Scope  d: Sandhya Suri

There are two types of untouchables in this country.  Those that no one wants to touch.  And those who no one is allowed to touch.                                                                                           —Geeta Sharma (Sunita Rajwar)

More than 1000 Indian movies are filmed every year, most of which are never seen outside the borders.  In artistic terms, India had its great moment with the world renowned Satyajit Ray in the 1950’s, (Satyajit Ray: 5 essential films), maker of the Apu Trilogy (1955 – 1959), but since Ray’s death in 1992, Indian cinema has never shined again with that same artistic fervor, mostly churning out Bollywood musical comedies to great commercial success, though directors such as Mira Nair, Deepa Mehta, and Asif Kapadia have made films set in India but with North American and/or European producers.  Only recently has there been signs of something changing, with a rise of female directors offering their own unique insight, like Leena Yadav’s PARCHED (2015), Rohena Gera’s SIR (2018), or more recently Payal Kapadia’s 2024 Top Ten List #3 All We Imagine as Light (Prabhayay Ninachathellam).  Ten years in the making, Suri’s film started out as a documentary before transitioning to her feature debut, following in those same footsteps, adding a different perspective than what we’re used to seeing.  The death of a murdered teenage Dalit girl after a heinously brutal rape in rural Northern India bears some similarity to the 2012 Delhi gang rape and murder, where a young woman was viciously beaten and gang raped by several men on a bus, which brought tens of thousands of people onto the streets in protest, demanding quicker trials and harsher punishments, but the violence has continued unabated.  Sandhya Suri is a British-Indian writer/director based in London, studying documentary film at The National Film and Television School, where her earlier films were documentaries, so this is her first feature, a searing social critique arising out of the Sundance Screenwriters and Directors Lab, premiering at Un Certain Regard at Cannes in 2024, allegedly inspired by this real-life 2012 incident, stemming from her outrage at what happened, bringing to light uncomfortable issues of police brutality, caste discrimination, misogyny, Islamophobia, and rampant government corruption, where pervasive violence against women is not just seen in an Indian context, but becomes a universal theme that is just hard to turn away from.  In India, around 85 to 90 rapes are reported every day, or putting it bluntly, One woman reports a rape every 15 minutes in India, but keep in mind that these are just the reported cases, as India is a country where it is estimated that 99% of crimes remain unreported, largely due to fear, stigma, and a general lack of trust in the police.  The right wing Bharatiya Janata Party’s Censor Board, largely supported by the upper castes, objected to the movie’s unfiltered depiction of lawlessness, corruption, and racial abuse in India, particularly in the Hindi heartlands, believing it does not reflect well on their voter base, so the film has been banned from screening in India, including digital platforms.  There are very few forensic labs in India, which remains a country run by men, as most of the judges are men, with only a 22% success rate in rape convictions, according to the annual report of the Ministry of Home Affairs, statistics that do not take into account rapes ending in murder and attempted rape, which are counted separately, which means the justice system fails to secure a conviction at trial for roughly 4 out of every 5 victims, so crimes against women are taken less seriously, where the police investigations lack professionalism and sensitivity.   

While that is the backdrop of the film, the story is told in a social realist style starring Santosh Saini (Shahana Goswami) as a newly widowed woman whose police officer husband was killed during a riot when a rock struck his head.  Facing the scorn and financial ruin of her family and bitter in-laws, as she married for love against their will, quickly removing her from an apartment that was provided by the state due to her husband’s police work, yet it’s clear neither family wants to take on the burden of a near-thirty-year old widow, with her mother-in-law actually blaming her for her son’s death, berating her, “You are used dishes.  Who wants you back?”  She attempts to obtain her husband’s meager pension, only having been with the force for two years, instead discovering that she inherits her husband's police position out of financial necessity under an archaic "compassionate appointment" scheme, where she is trained to take his place in an overwhelmingly male police station in rural Northern India, quickly growing used to how normalized it is to accept bribes, while derogatory remarks towards women and indiscreet insults are also part of everyday life, with the police uniform becoming an unlikely tool for liberation and emancipation.  When a low-caste 15-year old girl is found raped, murdered, and dumped in a well, part of India’s “untouchable” community, Santosh grows frustrated at how no one takes the crime seriously, completely ignoring her existence, as her cruelly dismissive superior refuses to allow her to assist the illiterate father’s attempt to file a complaint after his initial missing person’s report was completely ignored, yet the discovery of the body days later ignites protests in her community, so in response to the negative publicity, the charismatic and extremely pragmatic female inspector Sharma (Sunita Rajwar) is chosen to lead the criminal investigation, with Santosh assigned to work under her.  She is immediately fascinated by Sharma’s ability to ingratiate herself into the masculine culture of the station while seemingly remaining a fierce advocate against gendered violence in public.  Sharma, meanwhile, spots Santosh’s keen intelligence and ambition and offers to mentor her, with the filmmaker blending a journalistic attention to procedural detail, slowly and expertly building tension as evidence and characters are revealed in a world of uncertainty, with an empathetic rendering of Santosh’s internal conflicts, as she seeks professional advancement and respect from her peers while clinging to moral ethics in a system that prioritizes suspect confessions and convictions by any means.  This disquieting film exposes an alarming number of femicides, becoming an indictment of all the scars and wounds of society, where innocence is destroyed by widespread violence and corruption.  While the focus is on the intense observation of Santosh, who is something of a blank slate, a sponge absorbing everything that she sees, a reflection of her own idealistic hopes and values contrasted against the much older Sharma, a seasoned veteran who has already had to navigate her way through the male patriarchy, yet it is through those more experienced eyes, conveyed in the smallest inflections, that viewers are able to understand the depth and scope of the compromised system both women struggle against.

What distinguishes this film is the ruminative way that it is filmed, an under-the-surface, psychological study of the world that presents itself to Santosh, a compelling neo-noir morality tale that holds itself up as a mirror to contemporary India, yet what’s immediately recognizable is the ostracization of the underclass, where the economically disadvantaged are always blamed for everything, where the system of justice doesn’t really work for them, while those in the higher caste are untouchable, as police refuse to charge them and hold them accountable, so their crimes go unpunished.  It mirrors the Jeffrey Epstein case in America, a convicted sex trafficker of underage girls who was enabled by rich and powerful figures who have never been charged, or even questioned, about their roles in a sordidly vile operation which couldn’t have happened without their assistance.  As of this date, the other hidden perpetrators also remain untouchable, so this is not unique to India.  Following an alleged Muslim suspect who befriended the girl and comes from the same lower caste, this plays out like a tense whodunit, with authorities moving in to make an arrest, but rather than transfer him to a police station, he is moved to an abandoned house where he is questioned under relentless torture, which includes extensive beatings and waterboarding.  Under pressure, Santosh is handed a paddle and beats him as well, but suffers a panic attack afterwards, plagued by guilt at the thought that he might be innocent.  Acting on her suspicions, she checks his smartphone which reveals he was in another city at the time of the girl’s death, exonerating him from the crime, but authorities report he hung himself during the night, serving as a scapegoat instead of the real murderer.  One of the most chilling scenes is when Santosh interviews the upper class men who casually dismiss any involvement, yet the incident happened on their grounds, in their well, while dead domesticated animals are routinely dumped into the wells of nearby lower-caste villagers to contaminate their water supply and assert caste superiority.  The girl may have just wanted fresh water, paying for it with her life.  Their smugness is despicable, blaming her femininity for even questioning them, suggesting men know better, with one of them even asking what she would do if he were guilty, literally taunting her powerlessness.  This horrid behavior is unforgettable, revealing the true nature of just what kind of men they really are, capable of crossing any line and getting away with it.  Released at the same time as Konstantin Bojanov’s THE SHAMELESS (2024), a Swiss-Bulgarian production that studies two women in the Indian caste prostitution system, with both films having a similar premise, that the true untouchables are the powerful, while it also recalls Taylor Sheridan’s Wind River (2017), which exposes the violent crimes against Native American women in America.  Sharma has her own outlook, believing the publicity this case generated would make anyone think twice about committing this kind of offense again, even if their suspect was innocent.  While that may seem like a sensible go-along and get-along approach, it’s also morally reprehensible, with Santosh literally distancing herself from this fiasco.  Ambiguous to the core, never explaining anything or providing easy answers, allowing viewers to make their own judgments as it’s happening, the film provides an unflinching look at how vulnerable marginalized communities are continually dehumanized by those in power.

Oslo Trilogy: Sex

 

Director Dag Johan Haugerud

OSLO TRILOGY: SEX                     B                                                                                 Norway  (118 mi)  2024  ‘Scope  d: Dag Johan Haugerud

If you, as a human being, have the capacity to recognize goodness and beauty, and be excited by it.  If you have the capacity to recognize injustice and act on it.  If you have the capacity to recognize evil and distance yourself from it.                                                                                     —Chimney Sweep CEO (Thorbjørn Harr) recalling the words of David Bowie in a dream sequence

Author and filmmaker Dag Johan Haugerud studied to become a librarian at Oslo University College, while obtaining a degree in film studies at Stockholm University, theater studies at the University of Oslo, and writer’s studies at Telemark University College, making an ambitious Oslo Trilogy with three stand-alone films connected by complementary themes and perspectives, including the location of Oslo and the heartfelt and mature storytelling technique that ruminates on modern day relationships, revolving around themes of desire, identity, and a longing for freedom.  There is an existing Oslo Trilogy in Joachim Trier’s Reprise (2006),  2011 Top Ten Films of the Year #10 Oslo, August 31, and 2021 #3 Film of the Year The Worst Person in the World (Verdens verste menneske), a melancholy, intricately observed portrait of a city in flux, documenting the changing face of a modernizing Oslo, with people questioning their role in life and what place self-expression might play in it.  Allegedly inspired by Krzysztof Kieslowski’s THREE COLORS TRILOGY, with its intersecting plot scenarios, offering different settings and characters, yet sharing certain themes, where  “liberty,” “equality,” and “fraternity” have been replaced by “Sex,” “Love,” and “Dreams,” which is the order they were released in Norway, with the title suggesting one thing, but no sex is ever shown, instead it is discussed extensively by two different heterosexual men in their marriages, one an atheist and the other a Christian, examining contemporary masculinity through waves of repercussions that play out in fragile and unexpected ways, as each of the three segments prominently features unnamed heterosexual characters being confronted by a sudden sense of queer desire, challenging our view of masculinity, and hopefully broadening our perspectives.  For instance, sexuality is more amorphous than how it tends to be represented, where a gay act is not necessarily equated with being gay, so they have to get through an undercurrent of exploratory emotional travails with very few moments of solitary reflection.  Outside of the city of Oslo itself, which has come to be viewed as a special place, a city of hope, like a welcoming sanctuary city known for its broad-minded openness, as Nordic countries in general are very secular, where they don't feel the suffocating pressure of religious morality, there are no recurring characters in the Oslo Trilogy with the exception of Bjørn (Lars Jacob Holm), a gay psychiatrist/psychologist who appears in all three films, a central character in LOVE, but otherwise only appears in brief cameo appearances.  A morality tale more reminiscent of Éric Rohmer’s SIX MORAL TALES (1963 – 1972), with Haugerud writing his thesis on the French filmmaker at university, this has a literary feel, intelligent and complex, exuding in the possibilities of new relationship models, where homoerotic longing is evident, yet language repeatedly gains the upper hand over cinematic aesthetics, expressed through nuanced character studies crisscrossed with long dialogue sequences, making this is a conversation-heavy film exploring the uncharted territories of male sexuality.  Shooting over the course of a year rather than just a few weeks, with echoes of Hong Sang-soo’s dialogue-heavy dramas, this may also recall Richard Linklater’s Before Trilogy, Before Sunrise (1995), Before Sunset (2004), and Before Midnight (2013), where the first two are among the best romantic love stories of the modern era, yet this lacks Linklater’s romantic spontaneity in the moment, instead exploring the boundaries we establish in our lives around sex and gender, and whether they are expansive enough to encompass all of who we are and have the potential to be.

Opening with a panoramic view of the city, shot in ‘Scope by Cecilie Semec, giving the interior scenes an almost sterile look, with a jazz fusion, conventionally mainstream, flugelhorn-led score by Peder Capjon Kjellsby that sounds like Chuck Mangione from the 70’s, we see two chimney sweeps on rooftops cleaning out chimney stacks before retreating to an office with expansive city views of Oslo’s rooftops outside as CEO (Thorbjørn Harr) describes a recently recurring dream with David Bowie looking at him as if he were a woman, suddenly the object of a male gaze, which apparently hits a raw nerve, as this is something he’s never felt before, and he’s not sure what to make of it.  “It’s strange how dreams change when you start talking about them.”  His work partner (Jan Gunnar Røise) responds with a recent real-life incident with one of his male customers who asked to have sex with him.  Initially rebuffed, as he’s not gay, he left the premises, but stopped himself on the street and reconsidered, equally enamored by the way this man lustfully “looked” at him, like he’s being objectified, claiming “no one had ever looked at me like this,” so he stepped back inside and surrendered to a completely different sexual experience, one that opened his eyes and left him thrilled in a uniquely different way.  Both men are close and openly transparent with each other, speaking in an unusually relaxed manner, with private thoughts revealed in confidence, finding themselves shaken in ways they don’t truly understand, stirring confusion, while leading us to question how much our personalities are shaped by how others see us.  Structured very much like a play, this sets the stage for what follows, with the film getting into layered detail about the ramifications, delving into an interior landscape accentuating the power of emotions that resembles what we’ve seen before from Ingmar Bergman, particularly Scenes from a Marriage (Scener ur ett äktenskap) (1973), with both men seeking transparency and understanding with their wives.  The filmmaker, who is gay, acknowledges that everything he does is through a queer perspective, claiming one of his goals in the trilogy had been to describe what might happen if people of all sexualities adopted a gay perspective on intimacy, a radically subversive concept, one must say, offering a counterpoint to the rise of a social discourse centered on conflict and division.  While the partner was ecstatic about his secret interlude, when he shared what happened with his wife (Siri Forberg), she is less than enthused, bringing her close to tears, viewing it as a marital betrayal, wondering just how he might feel if she had engaged in a similar sexual encounter.  “Marriage is not there to curb our sexuality,” he responds, making a case for seemingly aberrant desires and impulses as an everyday fact of life, something that initially left him sexually elated, literally beaming with enthusiasm, yet he does not perceive it either as an expression of homosexual desire or an act of infidelity, quickly becoming a source of shame, however, as he wrongly thought he could compartmentalize the impact and matter only to him, but his wife immediately calls him on it, viewing it as cheating, a breach of trust, not some small matter, exposing how questions about sex and sexuality carry so much anxiety and moral weight.  We’ve seen this before in the queer cinema of Ira Sach’s 2023 Top Ten List #8 Passages, where Tomasz (Franz Rogowski) comes home to his gay husband (Ben Whishaw) one day and declares he just had sex with a woman for the first time and enjoyed it, expecting his husband to share in the joy, but his partner is more than a little perturbed. 

Regularly occurring pictures of Oslo appear as construction sites and giant building cranes can be seen, revealing an orderly city with minimalist architecture that is never finished, mirroring our relationships which are never complete, continually evolving over time.  Chimney sweepers are a predominately male-dominated profession, offering the filmmaker an opportunity to shoot rooftop vistas that encompass city and sky landscapes, where the largesse of the expansive view is countered by small, intimate moments in enclosed spaces between marital partners, who tend to squabble about their everyday lives, caught up in conventional lives, yet espousing unusually liberal-minded thoughts about an expanding role of freedom in their relationship, which seems to be more of a pipe dream than an existing reality, as they are mostly guided by conventional societal practices.  These marital conversations are the heart of the film, as the seemingly defensive work partner insists that sex isn’t love, and that he’s completely committed to his marriage, contending “Having one beer doesn’t make you an alcoholic.”  This key scene goes on for some length, where she is initially seen only from the back, a tribute to Jean-Luc Godard’s My Life to Live (Vivre Sa Vie: Film en douze tableaux) (1962) when actress Anna Karina is similarly seen only from the back in her first scene.  The CEO and his wife (Birgitte Larsen) are guided by principles of the Christian church they attend, where he sings in the choir, but seems to be experiencing muscle spasms in the back of his tongue, so his music instructor Nasrin Khusrawi offers him ways to help relax the muscle.  While we don’t learn any of their names, creating an anonymous yet universal aspect to what we are seeing, this never becomes a wish fulfillment of gay fantasies, and though there’s nothing earthshaking about any of this, with no startling revelations, it’s discussed in a relaxed and candid atmosphere, with differing viewpoints diverging from what was expected.  The men are dumbfounded by their wives’ reactions, causing them to rethink what they’re feeling, offering surprisingly frank discussions, which go even deeper when total strangers enter the picture, like a visit to a shockingly outspoken doctor (Anne Marie Ottersen), where she apparently has an infinite amount of time, revealing extremely personal anecdotes that become a black and white flashback sequence of a story-within-a-story, where the initial idea keeps expanding into new realms, yet viewed within the confines of a typical middle class family defined by comfort and stability.  Challenging us to reconsider our understanding of sexuality, gender, and identity, this is perhaps a European expression about the way things could and should be, but isn’t, as society is instead overwhelmed by a condemnational aspect to anything straying from the norm, where in the age of the internet expansion, social media crushes mental health outlooks with regularity, creating heightened anxiety, depression, loneliness, increased levels of psychological distress, and lower life satisfaction.  The film pretends to give an open view of modern relationships, but feels extremely conservative with little innovation due to the reluctance of many characters, yet it offers no moral judgments, no easy resolutions, remaining open to interpretation.  Subtle and unconventional, this feels more like a free form essay on expanding the role of what constitutes gender, suggesting it may be pigeonholed into a corner where it is literally unable to breathe.  Because the characters continue to ask curious questions without judging, more and more is told about the characters themselves, displaying unusual degrees of tolerance and emotional intelligence.