“Until lions have their own historians, the history of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.” – African proverb
I haven’t written a movie review in more than three years and I had no intention of watching Bulbbul (I did watch the trailer but my current phase (of movie watching or lack thereof) is not inclined towards “supernatural” stuff so I thought of passing on it). However, I did pick a habit of browsing the newspaper daily (is this the sign that I’ve reached adulthood? *gasps*) and I read this article which described the movie as a “feminist fairy tale” (that was enough for me to read the entire article) and I learnt that Ms. Dutt (the writer-director) is a fan of Neil Gaiman, Terry Pratchett and Ursula Le Guin! I immediately opened Netflix and watched the movie.
The earlier fairy tales (such as the original versions of Grimm’s Fairy Tales) are pretty graphic and dark. Bulbbul fits into this category and is deftly told with beautiful imagery, stellar acting (the casting is brilliant) and soundtrack.
To begin with, those expecting this movie to be a thriller or whodunnit mystery should be forewarned that this is neither. Go in with a clean slate and enjoy each frame as it richly weaves Bulbbul’s story.
*Spoilers ahead*
Bulbbul is a child bride married to an older man – she is playful, inquisitive and has an innate sense of freedom. She asks her Pishima on why she needs to wear toe-rings (the initial scenes are of her wedding day) and is too young to understand her aunt’s reply. (Her aunt tells her how there’s a nerve in the toes which if not pressed, makes girls fly away. Bulbbul is thrilled, “like a bird?” she asks. Her aunt, mildly saddened replies, “No, it’s a way to control you.” Our way-too-young child bride later asks her aunt what is meant by “control”).
Bulbbul finds a friend in Satya (brother of the Thakur, her husband). He is of similar age and is interestingly the only one who understands that this young thing who has come far away from her home might be frightened and lonely. He tells her ghost stories – of a chudail, who gobbles up people and becomes her only companion in the next 15 years.
The story is told non-linearly, which builds up the tempo to the crucial revealing scenes. When we first meet the adult Bulbbul (20 years after her wedding) – she is very different from her child self. She is no longer naive and while she smiles and laughs (Tripti Dimri is a revelation), you can sense her disdain and cynicism. The older Satya who returns home (after 5 years abroad) is a bit discomfited to find this new Bulbbul.
Upon his arrival, we know that things have changed in these five years and the Thakur has left the house and his other brother (who is mentally challenged) is killed three years prior (Satya thinks an animal did it). Men keep getting murdered shortly after Satya returns and he takes up the mantle of finding who this murderer is (his initial assumption which he never corrects is that the murderer is human and a man – the locals think it’s the chudail).
Every time Satya is presented with new information that challenges his own assumptions – he blindly disregards them. He is also in denial of his feelings for his bhabhi. He is in constant turmoil.
Bulbbul in contrast is always in control. Having experienced despicable forms of brutality by both her husband and the other brother, she doesn’t really have any hopes on Satya, who is clung to old (patriarchal) ways. In general, she has realised that only she can save herself and maybe even be of help to those in need.
I love how masterfully her relationships with all the significant men in her life are showcased. And all of them have let her down in one way or the other.
- With Satya, its childhood love and companionship – similar age – someone to talk to and have fun with. He leaves for London and that’s that.
- With her husband, she is dutiful, obedient, at times afraid – he is patient with her, good to her and indulges her in numerous occasions but the dark side comes out quickly once he is led to believe of his young wife’s alleged affair.
- With Dr. Sudip, the one she meets after she loses her innocent self – there’s a deep bond of unspoken understanding. But he too disappoints – he draws boundaries and even decides to leave the place (In his mind, despite his love for her and hers for him, he thinks she’s way out of his league.)
The so-called murderer is called many names in this film – “animal”, “chudail”, “Goddess Kali” among others. Each name differs from the perspective it is looked from. From a biased view, the killings seem monstrous. Add in the context, the perspective changes – one supposed victim is a rapist, another commits domestic violence regularly, another is a pedophile. So, for the child who is rescued (from the pedophile), the one who is seen as a chudail or a monster appears as Goddess Kali in all her glory.
This all builds up to the climax where Satya is bent on hunting down this monster.
“Prejudice is an emotional commitment to ignorance.” – Nathan Rutstein
So when he finally sees the truth, it crashes down on him. Thankfully, he seems to come out better (by the voice over at the end of the movie) where he decides to not be like his brother (the Thakur), who he always admired and wanted to emulate.
Thank you, Ms. Dutt for this movie and for waiting for many years till things fell into place. We need more of these stories – more indigenous folklore, more unheard voices and the very basic urge of pure storytelling. Kudos!
Suma Mandalapu 