Kolkata, as the crow flies

Sthaniya Sambad (Spring in the Colony), 2010

Dir. Arjun Gourisaria and Moinak Biswas, Language: Bengali (with bits of Hindi and English)

Sthaniya Sambad, which really translates to ‘Local news’, is an unobtrusive film about the intrusions of urban development schemes which add to the paradoxes of inclusive growth by creating newer displaced populaces. The idea which sits at the base of the film is the journey of people between displacements. The quiet, but often brutal, scenes and a stubborn elegance open up a space in Bengali cinema at least, which was largely abandoned in the early 1980s and especially after the death of Ritwik Ghatak. However, the brutality must be qualified here. It’s a polite re-creation that obeys the laws of old cinema giants like Robert Bresson and even Luis Bunuel who trusted in a quiet narration that appends a central, often disruptive, idea. It cannot and will not sully itself with transgressive images that can really ‘shock the audience out of its complacency’, as they say; instead, it chooses to prod somewhat pedantically and hopes that the uneasy grammar will provoke a discussion and debate. Watching the film is like being immersed in a flowing dream with vaguely dangerous shrapnel floating past the ears.

Divided into three chapters, the film flies across locations to juxtapose the growth and development of localities in Kolkata. It begins in Deshbandhu Colony, in the southern fringes, largely inhabited by East Pakistanis who had settled there over the years since 1947 and the late-60s. A bizarre, disruptive act of symbolic violence kicks the narrative into life when a couple of thieves cut a plait from a girl’s hair in a busy bazaar in the colony and run away. This seems to be a part of their odd scheme to learn computer-programming and impress a land developer, called Mr. Paul of Paul and Paul (“not Pal and Pal”). ‘Paul and Paul’ is engaged in reclaiming land, providing educational programmes and constructing a high-rise in the colony that fails to unite a coherent opposition. In another strand, a young poet wanders around the colony trying to discover what happened to the girl who was so strangely violated in the first scene. He is a figure of mild amusement, giving in to passionate and sonorous readings of his own poetry and generally looking lost. His mentor, Dipankar- played by Suman Mukhopadhyay- is someone who tries to understand the modern codes of love and belonging and accompanies the poet in his quest to find the girl, a parallel to the quest undertaken by the thieves too, to find Mr. Paul. Unfortunately, although Mukhopadhyay fits the part of the benign para-intellectual cum armchair activist, his lines often border on embarrassing clichés or mild non-sequiturs. In the second chapter, they go to Saheb-para (Park Street) in search of the girl and encounter a dreamy swarm, instead.

The third part is situated in the nascent New Town, Rajarhat, and features a bizarre and ominous Bratya Basu as the prophetic and prehensile Mr. Paul who talks into the distance- into the dark night, illuminated by electric flashes from construction joints- and mixes poetic elegance with commercial ruthlessness. He compares his position to that of Job Charnock who had columbused his way into the settlements to create a city, ‘one thousand years ago’. Three hundred and seventeen, he is quickly corrected. The effect is so odd that he comes across as a dark double of Mukhopadhyay; a lapsed intellectual searching for the right thing to say that will restore him to the eternal glories of creation and cancel the guilt engendered by a necessary greed.

For a film that attaches itself strongly to a controversial social issue, it provides very little in terms of a decisive answer or even a new channel of argument. It serves only to wrap the issue in a stream of images that highlight in fragments the tragedy, strangeness and comedy that underlines the stories we read on these issues in newspapers. The film chooses to stick to its theoretical base on encroachment and development and is therefore unable to fit the madness of North Kolkata into its scheme of things. The contradiction it flaunts as its signature of maturity- the irrepressible attractions of growing into a postmodern metropolis versus the sad shock of displacement- does work in fits and starts, and is perhaps the greatest reason to watch the film. The film was shot with the inexpensive RED camera, and it really looks beautiful. It only pushes the possibility of making cheap, independent movies. The silent scene towards the end, when a small strip adjacent to the plot that will be turned into an apartment complex is summarily razed in the middle of the night is one of the indicators of the politely uncomfortable violence of the movie. In order to understand the enormity of this violence, one cannot do without a thorough immersion into the stream of the film’s consciousness. If it proves to be too demanding, the effect is completely lost. However, the flabby verbosity at several points, something sub-standard Bangla cinema has always suffered from, could have been avoided.

It is unfortunate, however, to see what a slight impression this film is making in Kolkata itself. It’s not a major revelation, but not all movies can be expected to fit that role. It merely tries to engage the audience in a conversation. Relegated to two time-slots at Nandan, it is expected to slip away in a week.