In 1950, Akira Kurosawa’s “Rashomon” created a sensation in world cinema. It still remains one of the most powerful movies ever made. The movie is about a rape and a murder in a wooded garden, and four different eye-witness accounts of it. Each of the accounts seems equally plausible and true. So, what is the truth? In an attempt to answer this question, Kurosawa cinematically presents different slices of what could be true and asks the viewer to arrive at their own judgments. The movie is at once a dazzling act of cinematic brilliance in its composition and style, and at the same, at a more profound level, a philosophical investigation into the nature of truth, evidence, and interpretation. In the opening shot, with torrential rain beating down on a dilapidated temple, one of the witnesses, a wood-cutter huddling together with a priest, begins the tale with the mysterious statement “ I don’t understand…”. The rest of the movie is an exploration of this question. In his autobiography, Kurosawa recounts how his assistant directors wearily came up to him and confessed that they didn’t quite understand the enigmatic climax of Rashomon. Kurosawa’s reply was: “that is exactly the point of the story. While there can be clear interpretations of what happened, the reality of what happened is always subjective”.
“Dhrishyam” is a beautiful word. It means vision, sight, a viewpoint, or an interpretation. In Indian Philosophy, all the six systems of knowledge are interestingly called “Darsanas”. A Darsana means a way of seeing things — both inner and outer. A darsana is not the absolute truth, but it can satisfactorily explain our experience of it. This is a beautiful way of understanding our categories of thought and the nature of knowledge itself. Nowhere is the idea of Drishyam as a viewpoint as conspicuous in its application, as in the different Art forms. Literature encapsulates dhrishyam in the form of words, music in the form of notes, and the visual medium in time, space, and form. Each of them attempts to interpret experience through its unique artistic modality. In cinema, Kurusowa’s body of work represented the important idea of the subjectivity and uniqueness of human experience ( especially the emotional ones) and the fragile nature of the memory scaffolding it. Many movies have drawn inspiration from Kurosawa’s work especially his technique of using flashbacks, manufacturing distorted recollections of personal incidents, or the inevitable subjectivity in explaining communal events.
In 2013, “Drishyam” directed by Jeethu Joseph came out. It was a stunning film, in the fine tradition of Malayalam movies, always known for its original themes and iconoclastic interpretations of life experiences. In the movie, Mohanlal, arguably, one of the most versatile actors on the Indian screen played the role of Georgekutty, a man obsessed with Cinema and its construction of reality. George’s happy family suddenly faces a personal crisis. His elder daughter, Anu, is blackmailed by a young rich boy, Varun, with an inappropriate video of her in the bathroom; and, one stormy night he forces Anu to meet him alone, threatens, and bargains with her in return for the video clipping. The young girl fiercely resists the sexual harassment and in the ensuing struggle, Anu inadvertently bludgeons the intruder to death. The Mother and daughter panic, and attempt to conceal the body at close quarters. However, when Georgekutty returns home, learns of the tragedy, he thinks otherwise, and decisively acts before his family is accused of this crime. From his cinema-soaked brain, George crystallizes a plan on how the body should be disposed of and how the truth should be presented. Just as the blackmailing Count in Edgar Allan Poe’s classic short story “The purloined letter” hides the incendiary love letter to him from the duchess in a place where the police are least expected to search or see, similarly, Georgekutty transports and buries the limp body of Varun to a location in plain sight, but a place where none will bother to search — at least in the imminent present. The climax of Dhrishyam is one of the powerful in recent Indian cinema. After disposing of the body, and creating sufficient evidence, George thoroughly coaches his wife and two daughters on how to present the story in a coherent manner to the police. The family is interrogated one after the other, alone in a room, under severe duress, by the Police-officer and the aggrieved mother of Varun, hoping that one of the family members stray from their story; but, none do. The police are left with no other option but to set the family free. After all, the body of Varun still lay buried and undiscovered in its secret location, and without a body, there is no probable cause to hold the family responsible. Throughout this gripping tale, Direct Jeethu Joseph intelligently orchestrates the finer nuances of the drama, setting the stage for a sequel in the near future.
Six years later, in Drishyam 2, the story continues. It picks up the thread from where it left it off in the first part. Georgekutty’s family is settled, but still anxious. An aura of guilt surrounds their movements. Anju still feels the tremors of that night, and she panics every time she sees a policeman closely. George still refuses to discuss the happenings of that night in the open. There is a conscious reticence, perhaps, born of the desire to protect his clan, or George is just being cautious — we don’t know. He now owns a Cinema hall and plans to make a movie himself soon. George has contacted a well-known writer to shape the story, and he casually mentions to one of his associates that the story is already out as a book with only a few copies published, just to protect the copyright of the tale. Again, we don’t see a grand design in such small acts. Director Jeethu constructs these sequences with unwavering precision, and Mohanlal plays the part to perfection. The viewer is held spellbound at the moment, with the nagging thought that something is amiss but unable to place a finger on it. However, the atmosphere around the town has changed. The wave of sympathy towards George’s family has, with the passage of time, turned into gossip and suspicion. Tongues begin to wag, and the police are still restless about the uneasy and inconclusive closure of the case six years ago. George has new neighbors, a couple: a seemingly abusive husband, and a wife who leans on Anu for solace, and in turn becomes Anu’s confidante as well. It is all very natural — this flowering of empathy between two housewives who have their own burdens to carry.
Like the still ocean before a storm, the movie glides along serenely at a languid pace for quite some time. There are no dramatic turns and twists for the first hour or so of the story, and viewers excepting a fast-paced narrative may begin to squirm in their seats. But the mellowed flow of sequences, the subdued anxiety in the characters, the forced normalcy of their daily lives, builds a sense of growing tension, and the viewer is steadily led to expect a cataclysmic event to ruffle the feathers of George’s calm nest. The director leads us into deflecting pathways and insignificant conversations. And about an hour into the movie, when our guards are down, the story takes a dramatic turn; George’s closely guarded secret is threatened by unexpected disclosures, and once again, George will have to use his imagination to conjure a story, orchestrate a satisfactory interpretation of events, that could protect his wife and daughters – this time, perhaps, permanently.
Drishyam 2 clicks because of its screenplay, the impeccable performances of all the actors, and the deceptively beautiful visual narrative that succeeds in creating the right atmosphere for the story to unfold. The solution to the mystery is definitely a little fanciful when compared to the powerful and the real climax of the first part. Agreed!! But there lies the very essence of the story. That a man, guilty of a crime, however inadvertent and justified the crime may have been at the time of committing it, suffers the consequences, even if the law doesn’t catch up with him. His life will be one of constant vigil and planning against possible exposure at some future date. The torment of this anxiety is his lifelong punishment for the crime. Legally, George manages to cleverly plan and exonerate himself and his family from the clutches of law, but the burden of carrying the truth in his heart, living with the reality of a brutal crime committed, is like walking with a heavy stone tethered to one’s leg. Each step of the journey will be hard toil. After all, what is hell, but the agony and heaviness of a suffering heart, without recourse to closure or redemption of any kind?
It is a sign of the creative audacity of director Jeethu Joseph that he didn’t deem it necessary to include a synopsis of part one ( as a flashback, voiceover, or in any other manner) for the viewers of part 2. He took it for granted that they must have seen the first part, and will therefore understand the context and the continuation of the story, regardless of the gap of seven years between the two films. Even the great Francis Ford Copolla chose to include enough backstory in each of the three Godfather movies so that viewers are not left in the dark, but Jeethu decided otherwise. Nothing wrong with that!
The most impressive aspect of the film, apart from the directorial and cinematic touches, is the consistently good performances by every member of the acting crew. There is an earthiness to the acting, and all the actors have performed within the boundaries of their characters without overreaching or overacting. A very clinically executed piece of work.
Both the parts of Drishyam are cinematic experiences at their best. They showcase the power of the medium and its enormous possibilities. Pls watch, if you can.
God bless…
yours in mortality,
Bala