Monica, O My Darling is about the power games of men. Women only open doors and serve as secretaries

It seems we are in a timelapse of sorts, that is how naturally Bala’s universe divides the robotics to the men while the sexy female secretary, a hackneyed stereotype (yawn) struts wearing heels and a pantsuit around the office with files and tea cups. What is disconcerting and somewhat surreal is how comfortable these women are shown to be in these roles. None of them has any personal ambition except fussing over these men. The non-descript sister, Shalu Vartak (Zayn Marie Khan) of the tech genius, Johnny, Jayant Arkhedkar (Raj Kumar Rao), basks in her brother’s glory as she wafts in and out of his room. Similarly, Nikki Adhikari (Akansha Ranjan Kapoor) the daughter of CEO Satyanarayan Adhikari’s (Vijay Kenkre) is shown to have a keen understanding of relationships in her family, is aware of her father’s connections and is ruthless about using them when needed for her friends and family but somehow totally infantilises herself otherwise and is satiated with her barbie existence around a very absent fiancé, obviously chosen for her by her father.

Monica Machado (Huma Quereshi), the femme fatale is pushed into this universe too. Just as the film begins, Monica is an archetype femme fatale character with little reinvention. Monica, enjoys her powers of seduction, sexual prowess and promiscuity, but soon enough an attempt is made to make her morally acceptable. Monica, the fierce seductress, is choosing to blackmail these men to afford a baby. Why not for herself? Wonder what would we think of Monica if she wanted it all only for her ravenous pleasure. Just plain unadulterated blackmail for greed.

Despite instigating the plot, soon Monica becomes a passive outsider to the whole story. When the trio decide to kill Monica it is not because she would keep wanting more money but because they are convinced that in the end, she would want them. Nishikant Adhikari (Sikander Kher) lays it bare for the other two, “But Monica does not want money now. She wants your affection. Your care. Because you are good men…” In no time, the duo Johnny and Bagavathi Perumal as Arvind Manivannan are convinced of Monica’s ultimate goal. Monica would want to be their wife. Indeed, they are the final prize. The good middle-class men are terrified now. Because how dare an unattached woman imagine a good life on her own terms without the men but with their money.

Here in the hotel, with the metaphoric chiaroscuro lights on the face of the trio of Jayant, Nishikant and Arvind, Bala delivers a fine cinematic moment, a powerful mockery of the many good middle-class Indian family men who think they are good “affectionate” husbands. As they sit down to hatch a murder, Nishikant describes these lying, cheating, dubious men as, “good husband material” and “good fathers”. Don’t we all know these men around us in real life? We often bump into them in our homes searching for affection.

After the first attempt on her life, Monica resurrects. When she returns the next morning, I am hoping she has become a player in the plot by killing Nishikant. The hunted becomes the hunter. But finally, Monica is killed in the intimacy of her own home — though her character is rendered useless in the film much before her actual murder. In the end, her death seems like a punishment. Monica is not dead because she is a blackmailer. She is killed because she has dared.

It seems the only woman unsettling this power transaction between men is the sharp, eccentric ACP, Naidu (Radhika Apte). But in the end, she catapults and chooses the status quo. Indeed, the goal is never to make her a real investigator. Or perhaps the role would need more time and a male detective. She gets limited screen time. Naidu leaves you wanting to see more of the complex persona of this female detective, beyond a set of colourful dialogues.

Today, the industry wants “new” interesting women characters on the screen. This demand comes from the changing world. A world where women constantly feel misrepresented by men and male imagination. A world in which the audience asks for more accountability from their storytellers. A world in which women got the tv remote and the bucks. A #metoo world. A post #metoo world.

“Strong women” is the buzzword thrown around quite often in development meetings in the industry today. The OTT platforms want them. The big screen wants them. But, of course, the story still has to be around men, about men. So, this strong woman has to be accommodated as the minor chorus. Considering 95 per cent of the screenwriters (and writer-directors) are male in the industry, it is now on them to write these women. Most Indian men have a very flat understanding of what makes a textured “independent”, “fierce” and “progressive” woman even today. Often it is reduced to how open-minded she is around sex and sexuality. This marks itself in Anurag Kashyap’s oeuvre, for example. Often, Kashyap’s women characters are hypersexualised, memorable just for their sexuality in a hypermasculine story universe. Vasan Bala’s Monica, O My Darling seems another case in point.

The Unicorn (the robotics firm at the centre of the drama) it seems, is the real woman.

Yadav is a writer-academic-filmmaker, who teaches at Kamala Nehru College, Delhi University