Abu’s film, Virus is brilliantly crafted and feels astonishingly economical for the sheer breadth of the trajectory it encompasses: the eruption of the medical epidemic in Kozhikode and Malappuram districts of Kerala , and its eradication.
Ashwin Saravanan’s Game Over (streaming on Netflix) — an affecting portrayal of a woman living with trauma and attempting to overcome it — deftly captures the dread, woman, especially those staying alone, live with.
The Loudest Voice takes time to pick up and despite its stellar ensemble is not consistently engrossing. But the show, even with its flaws, is a necessary watch for how timely it feels on more than one account.
Women, hailed as a symbol of chastity and biological reproducers, stood at the heart of the brutality of violence that Partition entailed, with men wrestling their power and domination through and on them.
Unlike the novel or Satyajit Ray’s film, where the politics of the author is not only blatant but his allegiance is foregrounded, Aparna Sen is more nuanced, less blatant in her adaptation of Gharey Bairey.
If a hero is what a hero does, he is also the way he is perceived: the gaze not only elevating him but also putting a shroud of impunity over his misconducts. In Kumbalangi Nights, this gaze — unquestionable in its devotion — is corrected.
Affection, like other cousins of love, has its own private language. Unlike the linguistic specificity of love, whose mere admission serves as manifestation, sometimes, affection eludes such succinct expression.
Rooted in debilitating relationships is the bond shared by Fleabag and Claire. But it is the dysfunctionality, often regarded as the fundamental and accepted tenet of sisterhood, that makes the relationship most functional.