by Cris Mora-Villa, Contributing Writer
When I reminisce on first-time viewing experiences for movies I adore, I’ll often reflect upon the images that have carved out a deep stronghold in my memory. In the right hands, I believe any still is capable of telling a complete story. Some frames can encapsulate a film’s thematic foundations, while others exhibit facets of character through visually arresting compositions. Be it the wide shot from the perspective of a dark tunnel outlining an impending execution in Memories of Murder, or any dust-filled still from the opening montage in Once Upon a Time in the West, there’ll be no shortage of immaculate images across the history of film that have been captured in a jar for preservation. Not every movie has the luxury of such a distinction, but that just makes the ones that do all the more unique. I bring this up because of all the films I saw at this year’s Chicago International Film Festival, the last frames of Payal Kapadia’s All We Imagine as Light offered what was by far the most aesthetically insightful and thematically precise conclusion not just of the festival, but perhaps of the entire year. The perfect cherry atop a cinematic confection that begs to be seen on the big screen.
Following the film’s premiere and subsequent win at this year’s Cannes Film Festival for the Grand Prix Award, interest in it was palpably high heading into CIFF from what I could infer among festival goers. That anticipation for a rapturous reception carried over into CIFF, as the film was awarded yet again, this time with the Silver Hugo Jury Prize, essentially a runner-up to the top festival prize in the Golden Hugo Award. For my two cents, I can only uphold both decisions as a richly earned affirmation for the degree to which Kapadia absolutely triumphs in her narrative feature debut. While Kapadia had previously directed a handful of short films, her major breakout success came in the form of the widely acclaimed 2021 documentary A Night of Knowing Nothing. Elements of that film do bleed over into Kapadia’s followup in a few major respects, namely the shared theme of how love is affected by dissonant cultural dynamics. All We Imagine as Light pushes this a bit further, as it takes a step back from the focus on one relationship plagued by class structure, and instead aims its focus on the perspectives of two working class women constricted by the turmoil of emotional and societal roadblocks.
The picture tells a story of two overworked nurses and housemates in Prabha (Kani Kusruti) and Anu (Divya Prabha) as they aim to find solace in their lives, most pertinently in their waning and blossoming relationships respectively. On one level, the movie’s synopsis could be read as moderately well-known among moviegoers. There are obviously a great deal of stories that have been told across the history of film, but anyone with a propensity for quietly told character dramas (especially in foreign film circles) will have a loose idea for the kind of story this film centers around. While that train of thought wouldn’t be wholly inaccurate, I would consider it to be a bit of an oversimplification, if not also a slightly cynical point of view for how to view this narrative. In actuality, much of what the film is trying to say is only elevated by the heartfelt and compassionate lens Kapadia uses to imbue the picture with more soul than it could ever possibly need.
Through each perspective offered by the film’s shared protagonists, we are for a limited time allowed full immersion to a world very similar to our own in some ways, but also antithetical in others. I’ve often thought of a place like New York City as the truest form of a concrete jungle. By the very nature of the term itself, what I take that to ascribe is to be inhabited to the brim with a unique populous, and coated with an ambiance that forges a rich culture. In this film, the city of Mumbai makes a strong case for solidifying itself as a true bonafide of what a concrete jungle really is. Rather than a traditionally gaudy approach, where the city’s architecture is propped on a pedestal akin to works such as The Apprentice or Anora, Kapadia embraces the bustling spirit inherent to the many slums we see Prabha and Anu traverse throughout their journey. What this is most in service of is an even grander effect that is engendered by the illustrious use of Mumbai as the place where we come to meet the pair. That effect is the contrasting change in both women when the setting is transmogrified from the environment that symbolizes their internal strife to a village in the city of Ratnagiri.
If looking at Ratnagiri on a map in relation to Mumbai, the distance between the two is roughly equivalent to a pilgrimage from Glasgow to London. By no means a short trip, yet not exactly an expedition across continents. In theory, a minor change to the movie’s primary setting perhaps wouldn’t ring any alarms in the audience’s expectations to expect a significant impact to the film’s theme or resolution. In practice, the change borders on transcendent in what it is able to bring forth to the story, both emotionally and tonally. While the individual significance of Mumbai and Ratnagiri speaks volumes in the corresponding arcs of Anu and Prabha, the reasoning for that is not geographical but spiritual. By film’s end, we aren’t told that the real problem in their lives was where they were residing. Mumbai simply stands to represent a sort of metaphorical epicenter that tied the duo (Prabha in particular) down to their mechanical rhythm of existing. Soon after arriving in Ratnagiri, it becomes clear to the viewer what the significance of the village is before coming to see it the same way our characters do. That being the birthplace of a much needed moment of providence to seek reclamation. For Anu, that moment is broached in an act of honest physical intimacy, resulting in one of the most tenderheartedly filmed scenes I’ve ever seen. For Prabha, it’s the moment in which a mental reprieve is finally bestowed for a wounded heart.
Under the context of Anu and Prabha’s shared arcs, we further are able to grasp a hold of the ways in which Kapadia’s residual influence of A Night of Knowing Nothing manifests. Conveyed through archival footage and dramatized reenactments, the film explores the volatility of modern government against university students, while simultaneously recounting the discovery of a series of letters penned by a woman dubbed “L.” as she writes to her estranged boyfriend after being forced to end their relationship due to a discrepancy in caste systems. In coming to face-to-face with Kapadia’s execution of that premise, a great deal of thoughts come to mind. One of the first being the lasting emotional ties that palpably are felt from Kapadia in her finding of these letters. So eloquent and honest are L.’s words as she bears her soul onto the page that it hardly feels like a figment of my imagination in just how much of that longing spirit was factored into the characterization of Anu and Prabha. Like L., Anu herself is deep in the thralls of an intimate dalliance. Unlike L., Prabha is at a point in her life where one finds themselves past that stage of a relationship where youth drives everything. For Prabha, that point is the supposed pinnacle of a lifetime commitment in a culturally apt arranged marriage. With Anu, a substantive dalliance offers a possibility towards a similar end, but her understanding of what that is for her feels as up in the air as L.’s. What we are left with are three women bound by their limitations of what fate masquerading as societal normality has dealt. And so what do they do in response?
There are moments in L.’s letter in which she expounds on the pitfalls of the caste she was born into; Anu is not explicitly dealt the same hand. Instead, the cultural norms which prevent Anu from forming an honest relationship with her other half comes in the form of religion. We never see the intended recipient of L.’s letters for reasons that later reveal themselves in the context of that story, but that’s not the case with Anu’s lover, Shiaz (Hridhu Haroon), a well-intentioned, humble, and kindhearted individual just like anyone else. He is also a man of Islamic faith, which brings its own issues to the forefront. That fact doesn’t directly propagate the wedge between him and Anu, as that ire is drawn from the wider cultural infrastructure around them. The two may be happy when together, but they’re not a couple when we meet them. Familial bonds on either side bear resemblance to a lurking shadow looming over their prospering happiness. They may wish to forgo any refuting attempts to hamper their emotional instincts, but it’s ultimately up to them to seek that commitment for one another and eradicate the underlying threat of a family set predetermined marriage. I don’t refer to it as a threat from a personal point of view, but instead an inferred perspective from if not the film, certainly from Prabha herself.
You’ll find arranged marriages to be a very common practice in India. In stretching back generations, it’s a concept that extends far past Prabha’s own familiarity with the practice. In comparison to Anu’s rapidly evolving relationship, instability and severance are the pillars which uphold Prabha’s. With an interpretive asterisk that need not be spoiled, the audience does not get to see Prabha’s husband in an onscreen capacity. Removing him from the board gives way to an interesting entry point in the audience’s introduction to Prabha. Refer to almost any still of Kusruti in the film, and you can almost feel the burden filled aura seeping out of Prabha. Major credit goes to Kusruti for her wistfully sensitive performance from beginning to end. Her hardened yet fragile exterior comprise a perspective on life in Mumbai that feels both universal and entirely her own. In reflecting on her own marriage with a husband who is nonexistent in her own life, it brings about a recurring sense of evocation from Prabha as a character which she is able to offer Anu in moments of solemnity. And if it hasn’t been stated already, their relationship is one of the film’s strongest successes. Between their shared housing and overlap in work space, the two are all but inseparable from each other’s lives. In the film’s final moments, there was no doubt in my mind that I was watching a touching story of sisters in arms finding their way to a life anew. And it’s here that I return to that last frame.
A Night of Knowing Nothing for the betterment of its own story utilizes black-and-white photography to invoke a collage-esque modus operandi. Stitching together images that fantasize L.’s viewpoint as a woman who coincidentally loves film, but is also reeling from attack on many fronts. It was a surprisingly stunning film to look at, especially in regards to your normal documentary. Ranabir Das was the cinematographer of that picture, and their work can again be found in All We Imagine as Light. As far as new, under-the-radar working relationships go in modern cinema, their partnership is a welcoming testament to their individual artistry. From Ratnagiri to Mumbai, the vivid use of color and especially light entranced me under a spell I’ve not felt since All of Us Strangers. In tandem with the light is naturally darkness. Almost characters in their own right, the two dualistic concepts work as a transcend force that surrounds Prabha and Anu in their journey. With an understanding of this idea after seeing the credits roll, there isn’t a better coda more befitting to close the chapter on this book than what Kapadia had envisaged.
Rating: Low Side of Loved It
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