Parents aren’t always who we think they are.
And if an unexpected revelation is significant enough, it can prompt the re-evaluation of a lifetime’s worth of assumptions.
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| Sparks immediately fly when Alia (Sophia Ali) meets Varun (Rish Shah) at his parents' neighborhood Indian food store. |
The setting is Ruby Hill, New Jersey, a posh suburban oasis of mini-mansions, backyard swimming pools and luxury cars, inhabited solely by wealthy émigrés from India. Everybody gathers for lavish dinner parties hosted by a different family each Saturday: ostensibly to enjoy the groaning tables of rich and exotic foods, but mostly so that the local posse of “aunties” — the neighborhood wives — can indulge in one-upmanship while finding fresh targets to mock, disapprove of, and gossip about.
Alia Kapur (Sophia Ali) grew up in this environment, but a freshman year at UCLA has widened her eyes to the vast melting pot offered by these United States. Returning home for the summer suddenly feels stifling, her honor’s list of pre-med grades overlooked as she’s once again forced to don a sari while offering trays of appetizers and tea like a servile waitress.
The aforementioned “aunties” watch closely, hoping to pounce on the slightest lapse of demureness.
Alia’s father Ranjit (Adil Hussain), whom she adores, is sympathetic to his eldest child’s predicament; he seems willing to let Alia blaze her own trail. But her straight-laced mother, Sheila (Manisha Koirala), is every bit as strict and proper as the rest of the adult women; there’s no doubt she expects her daughter to marry “properly,” perhaps to hunky Ved (Rahul Singh), who definitely shows interest.
Later in the week, when Alia is sent to fetch supplies at a new local Indian foods shop — the name of which gives this film its title — she meets cute with Varun (Rish Shah), the cheerful son of the shopkeepers. Flirty banter briefly ensues. Believing it a friendly gesture toward neighborhood newcomers, she impulsively invites him and his parents, Bhairavi (Deepti Gupta) and Kamlesh (Kamran Shaikh), to the upcoming Saturday soirée.
Big mistake.
The silence that blankets the room, when Varun and his folks arrive at the door, bearing a heartbreakingly humble container of sweets, reeks of censure: What are these common laborers doing here?
Malik’s long, frozen take on this tableau is agonizing.
Although decorum demands shallow good manners, Bhairavi and Kamlesh are shunned out of any effort at conversation, despite Alia’s desperate efforts to ease their discomfort. The situation seems doomed … until Bhairavi unexpectedly recognizes Sheila as a long-ago college classmate. Which prompts an entirely different round of stunned silence.
Say what?
Nor, as the story progresses, is Sheila the only person with carefully hidden secrets.
Getting to the bottom of this bombshell is only one aspect of Alia’s suddenly tempestuous summer vacation. She likes Varun, and the feeling clearly is mutual, but she has grown up with Ved. What’s a gal to do?
Ali and Shah are pleasantly comfortable together; the romantic spark is palpable, and Malik has a perceptive ear for dialogue. Since Alia can’t bring Varun to her house, she spends their time together in his home, which she has an endearing habit of entering via his bedroom window. This also puts her in closer proximity to the soft-spoken Bhairavi, who seems willing to share long-ago events.
This is in direct contrast to Sheila, who refuses to discuss the matter. Koirala’s brittle evasions quickly become as amusing as Ali’s rapidly rising curiosity and frustration. Both actresses are great at this dueling mother/daughter dynamic, Sheila deftly parrying every one of Alia’s ingenious (she thinks) thrusts.
Hussain radiates tolerant amusement, at the antics of the two most important women in his life. Ranjit has the calm, graceful bearing of a doting husband and father — it’s easy to see why Alia loves him so much — but the script’s third act forces Hussain into a much heavier dramatic lift, which he handles with similar persuasiveness.
There comes a point when we begin to ponder whether this saga has heroes and villains — and wasn’t this supposed to be a romantic comedy? — but people can’t be compartmentalized so narrowly. We’re all shades of gray, and Malik’s carefully crafted characters are no different.
The Ruby Hill environment is a hilariously atrocious display of wretched excess; production designer Nicole LeBlanc clearly had fun with the opulent Kapur home. Costume designers Whitney Anne Adams and Joanna David are equally adept at the many gorgeous saris and traditional salwar kameezes, and the more casual — but always attractively comfortable — look favored by Alia and Varun.
Malik writes from experience; she acknowledges — in this film’s press notes — growing up in a similar environment of joyful get-togethers intended to celebrate a shared culture, yet laden with an undercurrent of small town-ish envy and censure. That she has captured this dynamic with so much affection and warmth, speaks highly of her skill as both director and scripter.
India Sweets and Spices is only Malik’s second feature film. I look forward to seeing more from her.
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