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.

Cabo Negro

 

Writer/director Abdellah Taïa

CABO NEGRO           B                                                                                                         France  Morocco  (76 mi)  2024  d: Abdellah Taïa

This has a kind of Waiting for Godot vibe, as two young queer students from Casablanca, best friends Soundouss and Jaâfar (Oumaïma Barid and Youness Beyej), arrive at a luxury villa in Cabo Negro, a beachside community in northern Morocco, while awaiting the arrival of an older American from New York, Jonathan, who is renting the villa for the month of August and lent them the keys, yet never arrives.  While there are indications Jonathan and Jaâfar are former lovers, Soundouss is also excited about the arrival of her girlfriend Soumaya who remained behind in Casablanca, sending her inflamed messages, where expectations are high that they will spend a carefree month in the sun, swimming on the beach, living a comfortable life, where the idyllic setting offers a reprieve from surrounding social and political upheavals.  This beautiful locale has the makings of your typical Éric Rohmer film, who set many of his films along the sunny shores of summer beach holidays, where the sensual atmosphere and youthful carefree vibe became a staple of French cinema, though the Moroccan director has chosen an altogether different path, choosing a minimalist, near documentary approach with quiet observation, and while the film’s languid sensuality is undeniable, it’s difficult to comprehend the motivations behind the character’s actions.  Born in Salé just outside Rabat, Abdellah Taïa is the first Moroccan writer to live openly and unapologetically gay, eloquently writing a coming out confession to his family (Homosexuality Explained to My Mother), publishing several novels ('A Country for Dying' Review: A Fresco of Departures, Real ...), while currently living in Paris and writing in French, where any notion of home remains elusive, as back home he is viewed as a “traitor,” with Morocco’s biggest-selling newspaper denouncing him, while also attacked by other Moroccan writers, journalists, and politicians, with many suggesting he should be stoned.  Realizing at an early age that words were used to denounce the LGBTQ community, making them feel dirty and despised, where families often cast out these children as misfits from society, and for that reason he is wary of how language is used to portray gay people, who remain extremely vulnerable to acts of violence, as gays are routinely demonized as evil by religious and political entities, making them ashamed of who they are.  There’s an expression from the American South, “Watch the dog that carries the bone,” in other words watch the messenger.  Growing up, the director felt he was all alone, with no one in the world able to identify what he was going through, leaving him isolated and alone, where he had to navigate his way through troubled waters in a society that offers no refuge, only hateful rejection.  Offering a very low-key sense of what it is like to be queer in Morocco, and still be a practicing Muslim, his goal is to make cinema accessible to those same LGBTQ youth growing up today, offering them inclusive avenues they may not have felt or known about, yet it’s clear this is a man on a mission.  Taïa was present at the screening and he’s an unusually gifted speaker, highly intelligent and emotionally compelling, where his command of language in both mediums is thought-provoking.

Largely due to the director’s mistrust for how language can misconstrue reality, this is more of a moody, atmospheric film filled with deeper meaning, with very little dialogue and long silent pauses, where the scale of the film remains small, and the plot purposefully oblique, allowing viewers to recognize other aspects of storytelling, where that initial euphoria turns mysteriously dark and melancholic, growing more circumspect as Jonathan avoids all attempts at contact, refusing to answer his phone, and remains completely out of touch, while Soumaya has similarly distanced herself from Soundouss, leaving her down in the dumps.  This strange turn of events leaves them both perplexed and dismayed, suddenly finding themselves unable to pay the rent or buy food, as if stranded on an island with no provisions, yet rather than return home they decide to stay and make the best of it, walking to the beach each day, soaking up the sun, and just enjoying the simple pleasures of living.  But Taïa throws in a few wrinkles we haven’t seen before, as hiding in the forested path to the ocean is a group of Africans awaiting their chance to be smuggled across the sea into Europe, where direct eye contact is made, but no words are actually spoken.  Similarly, when a lone stranger follows them, rather than turn him away, they actually offer him food and a safe place to sleep for a night, discovering he’s just been released from 3-years in prison for a crime he never committed.  When they run out of food, they both stand along a wall at night waiting to be picked up by random strangers for paid sexual hookups, a social realist reflection of early Fellini films, expressing a harsh reality that exists side-by-side with their upscale accommodations.  Making things even more disruptive, the villa owner arrives unannounced in an angry mood, where he’s not pleased to see they are not Jonathan, who apparently has a history of renting the villa each summer.  Nonetheless, they treat him with respect, offer him sweetened tea the way he likes, but he’s aloof and standoffish with them, believing they are misfits and undesirables, eventually giving them an ultimatum to leave, but only after he orders Soundouss into one of the empty rooms where he rapes her, giving them three more days, which is like a dark cloud hanging over their heads.  This beguiling feature is a clever examination of upended expectations, homophobia and sex tourism, and an ambiguously sexy vacation thriller, reckoning with queerness within the prism of Arabic and Muslim culture, as Taïa adds artistic rigor to confront age-old beliefs while maintaining a compassionate gaze for all his characters, where the end result displays an unexpected intensity.  

As Jaâfar is paying respects to his father’s nearby grave, another man, Mounir (Julian Compan), runs into him asking for help, as he’s searching for his grandmother’s grave, but he’s French and can’t read Arabic.  He’s invited back to the villa afterwards, where we learn he was rejected by his family for being gay, and despite his grandmother’s prolonged illness, they wouldn’t allow him to see her before she died.  Yet his grandmother was everything to him, as she fully embraced who he was with no reservations, and made him feel loved.  This heartrending story allows the viewing audience to understand the true meaning of the word “tolerance.”  It’s important to understand the director’s motives here, as he’s targeting the LGBTQ youth in Morocco who have no desire to run away to Los Angeles to find freedom, but want to find a way to live in their own country, as difficult as that may seem under strict Islamic laws that view homosexuality as a punishable offense that may lead to prison terms or even death (The Islamic State's Views on Homosexuality).  Even in this idyllic setting, these kids need to navigate their way through a difficult path, as Morocco is no longer the gay and lesbian paradise of the 1970’s, home to Jean Genet (and William S. Burroughs in the 50’s) and a regular destination of Rainer Werner Fassbinder, but is a country that criminalizes and persecutes the LGBTQ community, and while disheartened, they don’t lose faith or change their values to reflect the harshness inflicted upon them.  Instead they freely reach out to others, making a celebratory feast of couscous and invite a group of African exiles awaiting safe passage, people who would never be invited into a villa like this, as it caters to a wealthy white elite with plenty of money to spread around.  These communal experiences are the heart of the film, like dancing with strangers, as they offer ways to live their lives freely accepting the differences in others, who are nonetheless embraced, with no lectures or self-absorbed tirades to make themselves feel good, but simply because it’s the right thing to do, creating a world filled with fleeting interactions and temporary connections, embracing the cultural Moroccan messages without the divisive rhetoric.  Taïa got the idea for the film by following an Instagram account of two young gay Moroccans, only to notice that over time the girl goes mysteriously missing, yet he notices they exhibit powerful signs of a vibrant new iGeneration trying to express themselves, despite the aggressive government response of denunciation, living for the moment day by day with a sense of longing and hope, yet openly thriving outside established rules.  This gave him the framework for a story, where he could add his own fictional embellishments, creating LGBTQ protagonists whose voices blend together forming a unique stream-of-conscious mix, deciding they can no longer wait for societies to change, instead creating a safe sanctuary through their own bonds of solidarity amongst themselves, sharing meals and their own loving experiences, offering a sense of grace even while there are turbulent forces around them fomenting social and political violence.