Zwigato shines light on the real ‘stars’ of our everyday existence, with an astute sense of ground reality
Sometimes, when we think of ‘realistic cinema’, we get confused as to what’s on the menu. Is it going to be boring? Will it entertain? Will we even like it?
But, I feel, sometimes you should just trust your gut and go for it, before your mind gets corrupted by the myriad voices that are floating on the internet, ready to misguide you at your every choice. Free will isn’t just a concept, if you know what I mean.
I am glad I caught this beautiful film at the theatre despite the negative chatter on the net. And yes, they’re all wrong about this one, and makes you wonder what could be their ‘agenda’? Is it to serve the big-ticket films running at the theatre currently, which despite having poor word of mouth, are running houseful, simply because the audience is starved, and they know if Zwigato does well, it’ll eat into their profits?
Who knows.
Regardless, I came out of the theatre feeling an extreme sense of respect for the makers, and Kapil Sharma specially, for portraying such a challenging role, that demands restraint, yet nuance in performance, acute understanding of the milieu, deep empathy for the section he is representing in the film, and most importantly, for entertaining, and engaging me throughout.
Yes it was a tall order. But, he delivers it, just like the perfect punch lines on his show.
He delivers it just like the perfect punch lines on his show.
Quite often, when we’re stuck in traffic, we see these delivery people on their bikes, ready to hit the accelerator as soon as the light turns green. Their body language has a sense of extreme urgency, and we, the people, sitting in our air-conditioned cabs look at them and feel ‘why are they in so much hurry always’, or ‘it’s so dangerous on the roads now, because they come from anywhere.’ In fact, Nandita Das, the director of this film, who has co-written this film with Samir Patil, has answered this why so humanely, when in a scene we see Manas (Kapil Sharma) drive on the wrong side of the road, saying sorry the to the traffic policemen even as he drives off.
You see, he’s got an order to pick up and deliver!
And that’s not all. There’s a huge price he has to pay if he gets even slightly late in picking up the order, because the app will assign it to someone who has reached. It’s not first come, first serve, but first come, first deliver in Manas’ case. The app plays a huge role in dictating Manas’ every turn, both in his life and on the road. A shortcut here, a new order there. The all-seeing-but-invisible-system is harshly built to keep every delivery agent on their toes, so what if their child is hurt and needs them? Or that they themselves are hungry? Every act for yourself is a cost you pay, which goes ultimately against you. You see the irony?
It’s not first come, first serve, but first come, first deliver in Manas’ case.
The film is set in Bhubaneswar, Odisha, which is a refreshing choice of landscape, as this region is anyway so underrepresented in our cinema. It’s good to see how people live in different places, as it breaks your own walls of imagined truth, that get built when you live in a big city. Also, it makes you more human and empathetic, which is the whole point of this film.
Nandita’s eyes see the people who, despite being the backbone of our everyday lives, are being relegated to faceless people behind masks, who bring our food orders, ask for rating, and wait for their next order. Who pass us in the malls unnoticed, with their cleaning stick in hand, or stand silently in washrooms, while we pee, waiting to clean after us. It’s as if they are uniform-wearing silhouettes, and not actual people. But she boldly puts her camera at them, and tells us to look at them, even as we squirm at the reality, and want to shut our eyes.
But she boldly puts her camera at them, and tells us, look at them
But, what I loved the most, is her approach to the subject. You see, when you want to feed broccoli to a kid, you stuff it inside a tasty paratha, lest they reject it completely. The wise lady treats her audience like unassuming children, who have no idea about this class, the people she’s chosen to showcase, or have no inclination to see them. And, what’s even more commendable is how she achieves this massive feat without diluting her content. Marvellous is the word.
She takes us into the home of Manas and Pratima (Shahana Goswami), who live with their two children, and a flailing old woman, amma, his mom, and we notice the bare essentials they have, like a wooden shelf, a single bed for the mother, the kids who sleep on a cotton-filled mattress on the floor, and how smartphone is shaping this new generation, and their aspirations. You know the writer-director has done her research well, when we see the elder kid listen to rap, a form of music that’s usually used to express inner pain. These kids are in pain, given their circumstances, but perhaps, making rap videos is a way out of this frustration of seeing your father deliver food orders, even as he struggles to find time to eat his own lunch.
Another point, where the film scores big, is just how natural everyone is in their characters. Shahana Goswami as Pratima is the perfect foil to Manas, who plays a silent pillar of strength to him, who takes care of her mother-in-law and kids, while trying to find ways to make more money for the household. She is someone who, despite life being tough, faces it head on, without shedding her individuality or vulnerability. The fear of tomorrow might be there in her eyes, but she chooses to forge on, as this is the way (yes, The Mandalorian is streaming on Disney+ Hotstar). Kapil Sharma is legit an actor post this film, who proves that doing comedy is serious business. And, how you have to have a deep well of emotions, to reach for this kind of a sincere and engaging performance that not just stirs your frozen heart, but also melts in by the end.
At no point does the tone of film become manipulative, or judgemental. In fact, we are also told about the positives of this gig economy when Sayani Gupta, who plays a zonal head of Zwigato schools Manas about how the company doesn’t differentiate its delivery partners on the basis of caste and religion, and how flexible the system is for their convenience. It’s another thing that these ‘partners’ aren’t the same as business partners, who have rights or even freedom to attend to their personal needs without losing out on potential orders. The commentary is on the system that’s tilted towards the customer, who can give a bad rating based on their mood, and how drastic its effects are on the so called partners, who are on a hamster wheel everyday, chasing ratings and incentives.
But, do we even want them to have these incentives, or are these just the carrots we dangle in front of them, to keep them going?
The subtle commentary on the shift of shopping for groceries from big supermarkets, instead of your local kirana shop, even if the latter is closer to your home is fantastically delivered and had me in awe of the director. She leaves these brilliant crumbs of social commentaries throughout the film, for the audience to gather, like when a high society woman points towards the service lift when she sees Pratima waiting for the lift next to her. You feel the acute apathy the rich class of the country has developed, even as they have risen the ladder of success, or in their case, material wealth.
It’s as if they feel, ‘we haven’t reached the top, to still see the bottom, have we?’
But, it’s this exact apathy that makes the system against the people who are providing us these essential services, where even one bad review can change their daily earnings, and be a factor in whether they can afford their kids’ school fee or not. And then, we, the privileged class have no right to say that the problem of this country is the uneducated youth. How are we even helping in educating them, when their parents are simply asking us to rate them 5 stars?
Nandita adds another feather to her storyteller cap when she doesn’t just end the narrative here, where the onus is on the rich and the apathetic class to grow the human bone. The stars of her story, people like Manas and Pratima too have a life to live, and have a right to do it as gracefully as anyone else. There’s also a very important commentary on how a woman who contributes to the household income, can uplift the entire family, and even break the shackles of the deeply ingrained patriarchy. You see this in a very cute scene where Manas tells Pratima to sit like a man, behind his motorcycle, now that she’s earning like a man. It’s simply astounding how small acts of bravery can bring a couple closer, and enable them to find happiness in the everyday moments we take for granted.
Contrary to popular opinion, the film doesn’t feel long or slow at all. In fact, if you want to see a film that can kill you slowly due to it’s pace, you can watch Tar (yep, I love Cate Blanchett and I don’t beg your pardon). Kapil Sharma does justice to the story, which isn’t the greatest of all, but the best part is that, they are okay being not great. Because sometimes, in search of great things, good things do get lost.
You will understand this line when you see the brilliant ending of this film.
P.S: Just like Ranveer Brar says “swaad aa gaya” to a Masterchef contestant who stirs his taste buds, Film Profile feels the need to say “feel aa gayi” to the entire Zwigato team for stirring our soul with such a beautiful film.
Salute and respect.
And 5 stars to team Zwigato,
from Film Profile.
