“Kaash main jaanwar hi hota,” a man, being tried for sexual depravity, says he might as well have been an animal, inside a rural courtroom in Zee5’s Lantrani. To the din of accusations of shamelessness hurled at him, this man offers nothing but blank resignation. The language required to comprehend his pain, simply hasn’t reached this space because it speaks in the unaccommodating tone of disdain. Even his lawyer, is embarrassed about defending his sexuality. To urban India, what would be a difficult but approachable conversation, is hazardous taboo in rural corners where sexuality remains imprisoned by the binaries of tradition. Lantrani is an anthology of 30-minute short films made by three National Award-winning directors, that uncork rural India through absurdities both familiar and alien. The result is intriguing, subliminal and underwhelming in equal parts.
Gurvinder Singh’s (Chauthi Koot) Dharna Manaa Hai, is a typically minimalistic ode to the art of protesting. A low-caste couple stage a mute demonstration, in this film that resembles the anxiety and compressed geography of a stage production. Jitendra plays the wide-eyed husband of Gomati (Nimisha Sajayan) an elected deputy Pradhan of a panchayat that though it has elected her, as a matter of obligation, hasn’t afforded her any real power. Pushed, the duo decides to stage a quiet demonstration inside the premise of a govt office. The setup is plain but the treatment of the film imports this innately rural ability to disassociate from shame and embarrassment. This is the theatre of the oppressed, where farce and force are often synonyms for method. It’s possibly the most fascinating of the three films on offer.
Kaushik Ganguly’s Hud Hud Dabangg, is a charming, if somewhat hastened exploration of gender and sexuality in rural India. The film casts Johny Lever as Deelip, a police constable who has spent 25 years in the service, but has only just been handed his first gun (with one bullet, mind you!). He is tasked with transporting a glum, soft-spoken Jisshu Sengupta whose gruff exterior sort of contradicts the poignancy he holds within. A telling sequence where a to-be-married man asks for a selfie with Deelip’s recently acquired gun, cues you into the masculine undercurrent of the place. This gun, it’s sense of finality, is crucial to where the film eventually goes. Ironically, a gay, oppressed man, finds succour and support in the unlikeliest of places — a policeman’s holster. It’s a welcome flipping of the Khakee strongman narrative, but could have used better writing and, maybe, a lengthier runtime.
The weakest film of the lot, Sanitized Samachar, tells the pandemic-set story of a newsroom that crosses all boundaries of decency, to sell news as a product. The item in focus is a sanitizer called ‘Covinaash’, but really the thing being decimated is the dignity of the profession. It’s the weakest film because it seems to be at odds with the demography of the brief. This hardly feels rural, nor does it have a sense of newsgathering and reporting. This feels like a woke, underwhelming comment on the state of a profession that is possibly at its worst in elite, urban centres. In rural areas, citizen journalism and dogged reporting continues to flourish as an arm of community building. Directed by Bhaskar Hazarika (Aamis), this film’s intent, treatment and somewhat puzzling audio design is forgettable.
Lantrani, which roughly translates to aphorism, is a welcome addition to a growing cannon of stories set in rural India. Unlike Prime Video’s acclaimed Panchayat, which really pulled down the walls for such stories, Lantrani purposefully seeks the absurd in settings that make communication and provocation tricky. At least, the two better films feel rooted in their cultures, manifesting in awkward performances that sort of contradict expectations. Jitendra, the fulcrum of Panchayat, is cast here as a man who adopts muteness as a way of expressing. It’s thoroughly engaging as a performance because it prevents the actor from borrowing from his angst-y, youthful version he plays on the acclaimed series. Both Lever and Sengupta are adept, with the comedic veteran’s performance a hint at what can be achieved with some of Hindi cinema’s forgotten artists. If only, the third film could have met the dutiful bar set by Ganguly and Singh.
Anthologies are bound to be hit and miss. At an hour-and-a-half long, Lantrani is a bit of a sprint through some anecdotal rural distress and it could have maybe done with some whimsy and self-assured dreaminess. Rural milieus need not always be seen through the lens of strife and hardship. It’s where Panchayat has excelled and travelled past previous interpretations of rural India. Culturally, it might lag stations of urbanity, but there is this steely modesty to this life that is worth studying as something other than a source of woe. Because this is volume 1, maybe there are better, more assured stories to come. As an entrée, this is isn’t the worst either.
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