Four stars. Rated PG-13, and absolutely needlessly
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 3.25.20
Sometimes relationships sneak up on us, under the most unlikely circumstances.
Photograph — not to be confused with The Photograph, released in mid-February — is a warm-hearted little fable from Indian filmmaker Ritesh Batra, who made such an enchanting feature debut with 2013’s The Lunchbox. His new feature is streamable via Amazon Prime.
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| Much to the surprise of Rafi (Nawazuddin Siddiqui), his grandmother Dadi (Farrukh Jaffar, right) becomes quite enchanted by the young woman (Sanya Malhotra) who has agreed to feign being his fiancée, in order to preserve family harmony. |
As with that earlier film, Photograph’s gentle saga unfolds against a thoughtfully instructive depiction of tradition, class divide, prejudice, family expectation and the inexorable tug of modern sensibilities, all taking place in the tumultuous, crowded and wildly colorful neighborhoods and street markets of Mumbai.
The language on display is an equally rich brew: a vibrant blend of Hindi, English and Gujarati, the latter commonly spoken in Mumbai. Characters weave in and out of all three, sometimes within the same sentence (and thank goodness for subtitles).
The story begins at the bustling Gateway of India, a tourist landmark also popular with locals, and swarming with street photographers who eke out a living by offering instant snapshots to passersby. The middle-aged Rafi (Nawazuddin Siddiqui) is one such entrepreneur, having long ago traveled to Mumbai from a small farming village, in order to earn money to pay off an old family debt.
As we gradually learn, this is an impossible task, the goal receding more rapidly than his ability to reach it.
Sheer caprice allows Rafi to cross paths with Miloni (Sanya Malhotra), a young woman just departing from a pleasure boat outing with her family. He extends his usual sales pitch; lost in her own thoughts, she shyly accepts.
Once the photograph is taken and developed — and what a fascinating gadget Rafi has in his backpack, for that part of the procedure! — Miloni suddenly has second thoughts. Perhaps she realizes that an invisible barrier has been breached; she’s a middle-class Mumbaikar, divided by religion, cultural background and even skin color. Rafi, one of the “unseen,” has more in common with Rampyaari (Geetanjali Kulkarni), the “low-class” maid who cooks and cleans for her parents.
Perhaps surrendering to doubt, Miloni quickly departs, failing to pay Rafi for her picture.
And, not too much later, feels guilty for having done so.
Miloni is a dutiful daughter, studying to become an accountant; she’s wholly sheltered from life on Mumbai’s bustling streets. The logical next step is marriage to a “suitable” boy, carefully vetted and selected by her parents. But although she’s too respectful to object in so many words — and Malhotra conveys a wealth of emotion through silent expressions — she clearly finds this “expected” future life dissatisfying, in some manner she hasn’t the faintest idea how to articulate.
Rafi, in turn, has his own problem. His beloved grandmother — Dadi (Farrukh Jaffar), who raised him and his two sisters, when their parents died unexpectedly — has been pressuring him to marry. She has become so upset by his unwillingness, that she has gone off her meds. Everybody in Rafi’s neighborhood knows this, even though Dadi lives in the aforementioned farm village, and they chide him mercilessly (one of the ways that Batra draws mild humor during this story).
With no intention of really marrying — and having kept a copy of the picture he took of Miloni — Rafi sends her picture to Dadi, claiming that this girl is his fiancée. But if he hoped that would settle the issue, he reckoned not with his grandmother’s interest; Dadi immediately insists on meeting her.
With only two days before his grandmother arrives, Rafi is in dire straits. Then, capricious fate allows him to encounter Miloni again. (She also has been trying to find him, in order to pay for the photo.) Rafi impulsively asks if she’d be willing to pose as his betrothed; just as impulsively — perhaps even to her own surprise — Miloni agrees.
It’ll just be the one time, he says reassuringly. No big deal.
Once again, Rafi is being far too naïve.
What subsequently develops could be a page lifted from a Shakespearean comedy of feigned roles, as Miloni’s fabricated back-story grows ever more complex, due to Dadi’s persistent questions. Miloni even has to assume a new identity — Noori — because Rafi didn’t know her actual name, when he initially sent the photograph to his grandmother.
But — and this is the crux of the story — Miloni doesn’t mind the subterfuge. She layers her pretend identity with as much truth as possible, while simultaneously getting to know Rafi, as he also gets to know her. Truth be told, Miloni likes Dadi — a lot — and learning more about her, also awakens the girl’s interest in the lives of others: most notably Rampyaari.
Until this point, Miloni wouldn’t have thought twice about the family maid. Batra stages the initial scenes between these two with almost painful sensitivity, and Kulkarni’s performance is breathtakingly delicate; we see the wary hesitation of a servant not quite willing to believe that her thoughts are worthy, let alone desired. Malhotra similarly conveys Miloni’s initial silent struggle to overcome the concern that such an interaction is somehow inappropriate.
Jaffar is an absolute delight as Dadi: candid, blunt and persistent, with the self-assurance that comes with age. She’s absolutely not to be denied. Anybody blessed with a strongly ethnic grandparent or uncle — my mother’s mother was old-country French-Canadian — will see warmly familiar characteristics in Jaffar’s feisty performance.
Miloni is shy; Rafi is repressed. Superficially, it’s hard to tell the difference, but Malhotra and Siddiqui subtly emphasize the distinction. It’s equally heartwarming, as the story progresses, to see their respective characters slowly blossom, like bashful flowers in early spring.
But their growing bond also carries a hint of danger, and not merely from the possibility that Dadi may stumble on the truth. There’s also no question that Miloni’s parents would intervene immediately, and angrily, were they to know what their daughter has been up to.
Sidebar characters are equally important, starting with the four friends with whom Rafi shares a one-room, second-floor flat, accessible solely via a ladder (!) that leads to a hatch in the floor. These five banter and jab at each other in a relaxed, easy manner that bespeaks improvisation; I’ve no doubt rehearsals must’ve been fun to watch.
Miloni’s mildly imperious school tutor (Jim Sarbh) seems peripheral, until he suddenly isn’t, during a third-act moment with a frankly shocking reminder of the class divide.
And we can’t help being charmed by the clever way that Batra references our universal human longing for things past: even small things. Rafi has ritualized limiting one of his cherished food treats — kulfi, a frozen dairy dessert — to the end of each month, due to the memory it triggers; Miloni similarly avoids cola drinks, because nothing compares to a brand that she recalls from her childhood — Campa Cola — and which no longer is available.
Such quiet revelations — and all manner of tender moments — are emphasized by Peter Raeburn’s exquisite score, emphasized by soft, single-note melodies on piano. He employs western instruments to perform quintessentially Indian melodies, which complements the sense of dislocation experienced by our two main characters.
Despite his story’s rigidly grounded, real-world cultural and relationship dynamics, Batra also dabbles in magic realism and occasional nods to the heightened melodramatic editing conventions of Bollywood musicals. The narrative is replete with occasionally jarring jump-cuts that suggest missing scenes.
After Rafi eventually works up the courage to approach Miloni on a bus — Siddiqui brilliantly conveying the man’s nervous uncertainty — we suddenly shift to the two of them sitting on a bench somewhere else, the young woman already having agreed to his unusual proposal. (But wait; we wanted to hear that conversation!) It’s admittedly disconcerting, but all such decisions clearly are deliberate.
We also must take certain things for granted, starting with the fact that Miloni’s parents seem oblivious to her increasingly extended absences from home … and, rather miraculously, she also seems to keep up with her studies. Gotta roll with it.
Such “contrivances” reflect Batra’s cheeky acknowledgment that he has mined decades of Bollywood musicals that depict the unlikely bonding of tradition-defying rich girls and the humble car mechanics with whom they invariably fall in love.
All this notwithstanding, Batra’svery leisurely pacing may seem unacceptably slow to viewers accustomed to modern Hollywood smash-cut editing. It’s also necessary to adjust to a narrative style that relies less on dialogue, and more on visual cues; Siddiqui and Malhotra convey this story primarily via expression … which also heightens the significance of the words that do emerge.
But this much is certain: Fans of The Lunchbox will find this poignant little drama just as enchanting.
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