I became very excited to see Payal Kapadia’s newest offering after it gained so much acclaim at Cannes, where it became the first Indian film to compete in the main competition since 1994, even winning the Grand Prix. It’s set shortly before Prabha receives a mysterious package in the mail from her estranged husband who she hasn’t heard from since he moved to Germany for work. This offsets the life she’s managed to build for herself, causing the nurse to contemplate her life and the choices that have shaped it. As she goes through this mid-life coming-of-age, her younger roommate and co-worker, Anu, tries to navigate the complexities of dating a Muslim and exploring each other’s sexuality, something which brings much consternation her way. Together, these two women’s stories form an intimate portrait not just of the woman’s plight in contemporary Mumbai, but of the human condition in modernity. Despite the dazzling specificity of the story, I think everyone can relate to a world that tries to box you into a specific role, and we can all recognize the importance of resisting this deadening process.
I mention the ages of the characters because throughout the film the generational gap between Anu and her more mature colleagues seemed like fulcrum around which the narrative was organized, at least in terms of her storyline. We constantly see her questioning and challenging tradition, much to the shock of those around her. I think this not only develops her character but also gives us an understanding of Prabha’s psychological and emotional landscape, letting us see how her more conservative worldview has left her almost shackled to her role as ‘wife’ despite not getting any companionship or support that one would typically associate with an ideal marriage. She clearly has an interest in her coworker, she clearly wants to live her life for herself, as her husband is doing, but can’t seem to give herself permission to do so. This isn’t to say the movie is heavy-handed or melodramatic. Kapadia grounds viewers in the daily lives and routines of these women’s working and love lives, creating something almost akin to Akerman’s Jeanne Dielman (1975) in terms of the steady pacing. Through this approach, the director is showing us that no moment is insignificant. But despite Prabha’s struggle being the more intriguing one (to me), there was an imbalance in the storylines that definitely favored Anu, so much so that when we’d cut back to Prabha’s life it almost felt jarring in terms of the pacing. This is a shame because I think this mid-life coming-of-age angle is very important. Too often does cinema seem to think life ends in your thirties; and this would’ve been an interesting opportunity to explore how one is always, regardless of age, able to re-imagine themselves outside the societal confines in which they’re placed. This point is somewhat delivered at the end of the film, but by then I felt so much further from Prabha than Anu that it really didn’t have the gravity it could have. But what this movie lacks in its writing it makes up for in the cinematography.
Suffused with a soft fluorescent blue, there’s a permeating melancholy to the visual language of the movie that makes it feel as if we’re mourning for the lives these characters could have had if they’d been born in a different country or gender or socioeconomic standing. Despite the heavy use of practical lighting, there’s an almost painterly approach taken to both the palette and the use of shadows and contrast. Ranabir Das’ cinematography does a great job of keeping us constantly worried about these characters through subtle changes in the temperature of the lighting, using harsher, colder tones when they’re on public transportation or are arguing with one another. The mostly still camerawork adds to this sense of claustrophobia, creating a taut strain that constantly feels ready to snap. It’s a smart way of placing us in the hearts and minds of these people, and it’s particularly effective when paired with the music by Topshe. Toward the end there are some synth-heavy tracks that create a great sense of mood and tone, turning the beach town Prabha and Anu escape to into a dreamscape where these characters can confront all that prevents them from reaching their desires, including themselves. It’s here that I think the film allowed the actors to shine most.
This doesn’t mean the performances don’t shine beforehand. There’s great chemistry between Prabha and Anu throughout the film, and I think a big part of that is because of how well these characters were embodied. Kani Kusruti gives Prabha a stoic dignity, imbuing her with the kind of strength one can only gain through lived experience. The slight shifts in her eyes, the delicate variations in her tone, it’s through these small gestures that Kusruti’s able to convey emotions as big as heartache and loss, joy and community. It’s a personality that contrasts perfectly against Divya Prabha’s more lively portrayal of Anu. The youthful exuberance given to this character makes her feel integral to the film. Her sprightly optimism and lust for life is contagious, helping foreground the movie’s main thematic concerns.
Overall, it feels like a very sharp and cohesive movie. It made me think a lot about the ways we perpetuate systems without even realizing it, even to our own detriment. Its patient pacing allows us to feel close to these people, really endearing them to us and creating a sense of connection with the images onscreen. To me, this experience is what’s made movies so special. All We Imagine as Light shows today at the New York Film Festival, and will release more widely on November 15th. I do hope you go see it; it’s a beautifully tender yet brutal film.
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