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Rekhachithram: Indian movies have been mistreating women for decades, but Asif Ali’s Malayalam thriller attempts to redeem the entire industry

Post Credits Scene: In Rekhachithram, director Jofin T Chacko observes the doctrines of police procedurals, pays due respect to them, and then sends the movie down an altogether unexpected path in the final 30 minutes.

6 min read
Asif Ali and Anaswara Rajan star in Rekhachithram.

Malayalam filmmakers aren’t just pushing the boundaries of genre cinema in India, they’ve evolved to a stage where they can confidently toy with tropes. In Aattam, director Anand Ekarshi created magic within the framework of murder mysteries by unraveling the expectations that they come attached with. Ekarshi performed a deft act of cinematic misdirection, revealing that Aattam wasn’t a mystery at all, but a sharp satire of patriarchy. In Rekhachithram, director Jofin T Chacko observes the doctrines of police procedurals, pays due respect to them, and then sends the movie down an altogether unexpected path in the final 30 minutes.

Rekhachithram thinks of crime thrillers as inherently exploitative, usually at the expense of women. How often have we seen a female character who seems to exist only to be killed off in the first act? How often must a male character find his purpose in life only after a woman is made to suffer terribly? Why must their ego be equated with the pain and trauma inflicted upon their mothers, sisters and girlfriends? In films such as Maharaj, Simmba, and Teri Baaton Mein Aisa Uljha Jiya, the women aren’t characters, they’re props. Sometimes literally. Of course, there are worse offenders, but those movies don’t even pretend to be progressive. And for a while, Rekhachithram appears to be making the same mistakes as them. Until the third act rolls around.

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Asif Ali in a still from Rekhachithram.

The film’s protagonist is still a man; a police man, in fact. Played by Asif Ali, SI Vivek is introduced as a bit of a gambling addict. Caught playing rummy at work, he’s sent on a punishment posting to a quiet little hamlet called Malakkappara. Not too long after his arrival, a middle-aged man records a video of his suicide, and posts it online. He confesses to having buried the body of an unknown young woman four decades ago, and reveals where her remains can be found. He admits that he has never quite recovered from the guilt, and names four co-conspirators. Vivek unearths the woman’s remains, and eventually discovers her identity. She was Rekha, an aspiring actress — think of her like Margot Robbie’s character from Babylon — who ran away from home and found herself playing an extra on an actual Mammootty film, Kathodu Kathoram.

Rekha made an impression on everyone around her. She was passionate, a little naive, but determined to pursue her dreams. However, she disappeared from the face of the earth the same day she filmed her only shot in Kathodu Kathoram. Vivek’s investigation leads him to a local convent, where Rekha seemingly stayed on the night of her disappearance. The nuns were convinced that she ran away with their money, but decided not to report her to the police because it would invite unwanted interest in their affairs and attract bad publicity for the church. Rekha’s reputation, at least in the minds of the nuns who helped her, remained tarnished for nearly 40 years.

Much like its protagonist, Rekhachithram performs its duties as an investigative thriller with stoic sincerity. The identity of Rekha’s killers is revealed in the very first scene, and their motivation behind murdering her is explained well before the film’s climax. But that’s because Chacko and his writers, John Manthrickal and Ramu Sunil, aren’t really interested in resolving the mystery. They have something else up their sleeve. As the hero of our story, Vivek is expected to get to the bottom of things. And the resolution, when arrives, is as satisfying as you’d have hoped for it to be. But then, with around 30 minutes remaining, Rekhachithram reveals the reason why this title literally translates to “Rekha’s film.”

For the majority of the movie’s run time, Rekha was reduced to a background presence; a plot device, a conduit between the past and present. But it is only in the third act that the movie resolves to treat her with the respect that she deserves. His job done — the mystery behind the skeleton is solved, and the culprits are arrested — Vivek goes on a new mission. He devotes himself to finding out who Rekha was as a person. She wasn’t merely a dead body, swept under the sands of time, forgotten by everyone but her loved ones. She was a living, breathing human being whose promising life was cut short by cruel men (and a woman). Another crime movie would’ve reduced her to the footnotes, but Rekhachithram puts her in the spotlight, as she’d have liked.

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Anaswara Rajan in a still from Rekhachithram.

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How refreshing is this? Remember, Indian cinema still doesn’t know exactly what to do with cop character. They’re either tossing cars at each other in Rohit Shetty’s asinine films, or they’re avenging the murder or mistreatment of their wives and daughters. Others, such as Deepak Dobriyal’s character in the recent Netflix film Sector 36, require personal motivation to do their job. It’s almost as if Dobriyal’s overworked police officer wouldn’t have even tried to solve a series of murders had his own daughter not been made a victim of an attempted kidnapping.

In Rekhachithram, Vivek doesn’t have any skin in the game. His tarnished reputation was merely a red herring. He isn’t on a redemption arc, nor does the movie imply that he’s some kind of hero for going above and beyond the call of duty. By clearing Rekha’s name, he’s clearing his own. By spotlighting her, Rekhachithram is spotlighting all the female characters who’ve been disrespected by our cinema.

Post Credits Scene is a column in which we dissect new releases every week, with particular focus on context, craft, and characters. Because there’s always something to fixate about once the dust has settled.

Rohan Naahar is an assistant editor at Indian Express online. He covers pop-culture across formats and mediums. He is a 'Rotten Tomatoes-approved' critic and a member of the Film Critics Guild of India. He previously worked with the Hindustan Times, where he wrote hundreds of film and television reviews, produced videos, and interviewed the biggest names in Indian and international cinema. At the Express, he writes a column titled Post Credits Scene, and has hosted a podcast called Movie Police. You can find him on X at @RohanNaahar, and write to him at rohan.naahar@indianexpress.com. He is also on LinkedIn and Instagram. ... Read More

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