The mark of a good film, apart from so many other factors, is its ability to discern the central conflict of its plot and hold it deftly and guide it toward a satisfactory, yet unpredictable resolution. It requires a very delicate balancing act in the sense that it should not snap under the web of incidents that constitute the main plot while trying to sustain the dramatic tension throughout. Based on the 1964 novel ChanderAmaboshya (Dark Moon) by renowned Bangladeshi writer Syed Waliullah and set against the then East Pakistan’s rural milieu,Zahidur Rahim Anjan’s second feature film after Meghmallar (2015) centers around a poor young schoolmaster’s discovery of a woman’s dead body on a full moon night and his subsequent realization that the man responsible for her death is none other than the younger brother of his benefactor – the powerful spiritual patriarch of the village who has given him shelter. The discovery triggers a deep existential crisis and intense conflict within the young protagonist: Should he report the matter to the police? But who would take his words against the influential patriarch who is widely regarded by the villagers?
The conflict is clear, and the tension emanates from the growing suspicion of certain members of his school faculty and villagers that he could be involved in the young woman’s death when the river washes up the dead body a few days later: Why has he been behaving so strangely of late? To complicate matters is his unwitting complicity in the disposal of the dead body under the pressure of the killer early on in the film that triggers the mind games the antagonist plays with him subsequently, throwing him into a moral quagmire. It’s a double-edged sword that he has to deal with.
Clean as the conflict appears to be on the surface – both internal and external, the film moves beyond its apparent thriller template of good versus evil to delve deeper into the character of the culprit: it seems he killed the woman (the wife of a local boatman with whom he has been having an affair) not out of some evil design but involuntarily, triggered by a sudden burst of nervousness while making love to her at a deserted spot when he heard footsteps in the woods – footsteps belonging to none other than the introverted protagonist who has been following him out of simple curiosity! Suddenly, half the onus of guilt falls on the poor school teacher without him being involved in the sordid episode in any way.
Beyond the apparent simplicity of the external plot with its clear-cut dramatic devices, ChanderAmaboshya is a complex film that packs in a lot of issues and themes that raise fundamental questions related to faith and its relation to the difficult choices it is sometimes required to make. Though set in the 1950s just after the country has emerged from the ravages of partition, the film resonates with contemporary times when Islam’s engagement with ambiguous moral issues is being repeatedly called into question and tested. In its quest for an answer – which is not an easy one, the film also ties up pertinent issues of class conflict and powerplay that are still relevant, unfortunately.Why did the young woman have to die, just to save someone from scandal? Who would believe in the words of the poor schoolmaster against the most powerful family in the village? Impoverished, marginalized people are still defenseless against patriarchal and religious orthodoxy, especially women.
Anjan, who also wrote the screenplay does not take any easy route while characterizing the three primary characters. Despite understanding the director’s sympathies for Arif Ali – the educated but economically disadvantaged protagonist, we also empathize with the antagonists: the equally introverted and deviant Kader Miya who unwittingly kills the woman, and his influential elder brother Dada Saheb who, despite all his spiritual wisdom, is thrown into a moral dilemma when faced with the news of his younger brother’s heinous deed. But nowhere in the film does Anjan overplay the interpersonal conflicts; in fact, that is the hallmark of the film. Despite an extremely dramatic and classical premise, the director firmly holds the reins and chisels away at the emotions and dialogues to arrive at a tone that is minimalistic, and a plot that is sparse. He lets the silences speak, and they do so with eloquence. To convey the complex mental states of the characters and their concerns, their body language and movements have been carefully crafted to express the unsaid moments that pulsate with tension. Editing has contributed immensely toward the treatment by creating the desired rhythm and pace; the shots are held on the screen for uninterrupted durations, an approach that makes the tension palpable.
In terms of its visual treatment, there is a predominance of long shots, quite often from a top angle, that creates a distance between the characters and the viewers. It may take some time for viewers to engage with the style, but once they are able to do so, the audio-visual experience grows on them. But still, the absence of closer shots at some crucial and poignant moments is deeply felt. The production design recreates the period authentically, through colours, textures, and evocative details without calling attention to itself. The sound design too is unobtrusive, and the only song used in the film – a baul number by Kanai Das Baul tries to provide the metaphysical key to the moral dilemma experienced by the central character and catalyses his transformation in a manner that looks seamless. The casting and performances of all the actors display a remarkable restrain that goes wonderfully with the mood and purpose of the film.
In a maze of contemporary films that tries to dazzle with their effects and attitudes, ChanderAmaboshyastands out as a lone voice, but a highly significant one, pointing an unwavering finger at all the warts, foibles, and prejudices prevalent in our society – but it does so in its own cinematic terms.
Ranjan Das is a Mumbai-based writer and filmmaker