Films, especially the ‘festival’ ones, depicting the struggles of the economically disadvantaged, are generally labelled ‘poverty porn’, usually deserved—and rightly so— for attempts that have ‘award bait’ written all over it. The ones that make it plainly evident the makers behind it had only one intention, for which some virtue-signalling festival juries reward them, even when that work lacks finesse or subtlety. Despite having an unemployed protagonist, Amal Prasi’s Baakki Vannavar (The Leftovers) cannot be placed under the above category because its filmmaking is sincere; it doesn’t have ‘award bait’ written all over it, but I would champion any jury who wants to give it all the acclaim they can.
What elevates Baakki Vannavar above the usual ‘festival’ fare —and such examples are a rarity these days, with or without awards—is its potently personal approach. One reason for this is the leading man Salmanul, who also co-wrote the film, has first-hand experience as a food delivery boy. So whatever pain his character feels comes from deep within, one can tell. There are no forced attempts to make us feel empathetic towards him, no attempts to manipulate our emotions through ‘sad’ music. That’s not to say there isn’t music, but whatever background music accompanies the circumstances in the film (by Faizal Rasi) merely serves the purpose of a soft, single-layered cushion instead of trying to inform us what to feel in a given situation. Salmanul becomes an exemplary performer by simply embodying the pain of numerous struggling individuals from the working class like him.
Take the opening single-take interview sequence, for example. Anyone who once had been in a similarly intimidating situation might absorb what Salmanul is going through. The best part of this scene, or the entire film, for that matter, is that there is no intention to find an answer for whatever problem is ailing the protagonist or even the country. Even taking this interview sequence as an example, you know the interviewer is not entirely wrong: entrusted with picking the apt candidates for a job, he can’t afford to mess up. On the other hand, you feel bad for Salmanul too, whose dishevelled clothes, lack of confidence and inability to speak with the necessary assertiveness are major red flags for the former.
Instead of taking a stand as to who is right and wrong, the film suggests you put yourself in the interviewer’s shoes and think about what you would’ve done if a candidate like Salmanul appeared before you. And if you were in Salmanul’s shoes, would you have mustered enough courage and confidence to bypass whatever inhibitions or internal agony you were experiencing to brave all the humiliating questions?
And speaking of internal agony, Salmanul is supremely convincing in his depiction. His body language, his voice... this is a tired, browbeaten man who seems to have gone through a lot. It’s all there on his face. No backstories are needed. He lacks the energy to make grand reactionary gestures or stage a loud protest. His voice is feeble, like in a scene where his house owner calls him to express displeasure over late rent. You can’t expect him to flip the bird to whatever establishment is responsible for creating many unemployed guys like him. But there are characters in the film that address these issues at the top of their voice. When Salmanul hangs out with his former batchmates at Kochi’s Maharajas College, some of whom are underprivileged and belong to minority groups, he merely sits and listens to their conversations; even when he partakes, he doesn’t contribute anything significant. His friends represent the anguished voices in his head that are always waiting to explode.
In another brilliant single-take conversation, Salmanul and his friend Anekhan are spectators to a heated debate between two roommates. It begins with one of them mocking the other for reading Chetan Bhagat, to which the latter responds that he does that to escape, momentarily, from his miserable existence and problems. He is not concerned about the writing being remarkable or whether the story is ‘realistic’. Now this guy wants to know what ‘problems’ he is referring to, and you get a long, furious, expletive-laden debate about unemployment, the lack of opportunities in this country, the possible causes, the possible solutions and whatnot. The rant is chaotic and hilarious at once, owing to the organic usage of—and the apt placement of—the expletives. After it ends, both parties don’t have a solution, but that’s not the responsibility of Baakki Vannavar or its makers.
Being how Baakki Vannavar is about a few humiliating episodes in the protagonist’s life, the film has multiple instances of him all by himself, driving, or lying down. Rahim Ibn Rasheed’s camera often frames him against the city’s vastness, caught in a perpetual state of helplessness. Some of the most moving situations involve Salmanul’s bike breaking down on two occasions while delivering food at two different times of the day. Can you imagine the only machine (or tool) crucial to your profession suddenly failing to operate? It’s scary!
I also like how there are far fewer cuts. In this age of rapid editing in most movies and shows, Instagram reels and YouTube shorts, films like Baakki Vannavar arrive like a breath of fresh air because they capture life’s mundanity as it is. When your life is not really ‘moving’, it’s only fair that the camera capturing it, and the solitary characters that lead it, also remain stationary.
When I got out of the screening, I remembered that the theatre is in close proximity to the Maharajas College campus, whose alumni the film’s principal crew members are. I also spotted a Swiggy delivery boy driving past and wondered about the struggles he must be facing. (Backed by Rajeev Ravi, the film was screened independently at Shenoys, Kochi on Tuesday. The team plans to organise more such screenings in Kochi, Thiruvananthapuram and other districts in the coming days.)
Film: Baakki Vannavar Director: Amal Prasi Cast: Salmanul, Anekh Bose, Lejeesh Leju Rating: 4/5
