Bulbbul – Anvita Dutt’s Film Flies and Falters

Bulbbul

‘It was innocent,’ said my friend of the relationship between two characters that forms the crux of Bulbbul. Innocence, to me at least, is subjective. What is innocent to one person could be insidious to another. A lot of the friendships we make outside of our gender in our teens are viewed with suspicion, just to quote an example. There is always something kaala in the dal that is the friendship. The sight of the kaala in the dal through the eyes of one of the characters of Bulbbul is what lays bare the narrative, but it’s a case of too little, too late in the otherwise comfortably-timed film. The film is set over twenty years, from 1881 to 1901, in the Bengal Presidency of British India. Pondering over it now, it’s not just the protagonist that comes of age through the course of it but also the country, after years of pillaging by the powers that be. And like the country, her growing up coincides with a desire to break off the shackles placed on her.

Writer-lyricist Anvita Dutt (Queen, Shaandaar), whose directorial debut Bulbbul is, crafts, along with cinematographer Siddharth Diwan (Queen, Trapped) and production designer Meenal Agarwal (Phillauri, Pari), an atmosphere that is both striking and jarring. Some shots stand out for the good, especially those inside the haveli occupied by the titular protagonist. Yet, in the scenes where the frames are drenched in red, there is something artificial about the setup. It sticks out like a sore thumb. Even when one looks past the topsy-turvy visuals, there remains the writing, also leaving a lot to be desired. It’s not the film’s fault that it is essentially following on from what is one of the country’s best folklore films in a while – Rahi Barve and Adesh Prasad’s Tumbbad. It is, however, incumbent upon the filmmaker to create some depth in the material they are filming. It is in this particular department that Bulbbul fails. The writing is all surface. Nowhere is the culture of Bengal (I am going with a generic culture since the film never specifies which part of Bengal it is set in) evident except the initial wedding sequence. After that, it is strictly restricted to functional words in the dialogue, the grandeur of the haveli, and the set decoration. Barring the inclusion of Raja Ravi Varma’s Jatayu Vadham, which ties in with the scene it appears in wonderfully, the film is largely window-dressing.

When a film comes to that, it ends up leaving one clutching at straws. One such straw was Tripti Dimri’s performance. Equal parts toned-down and temperamental, Tripti essentially saves the film from becoming just a series of interesting images with a catchy concept behind them. She captures the innocence (no wonder the character is named Bulbbul, or Bulbul, whichever you prefer) and the cheekiness of the character equally well. Of the remaining cast, Pauli Dam stands out for her portrayal of the film’s most complex character. Parambrata Chattopadhyay is sadly getting stuck in the mould of the “decent Bengali fellow” in Hindi films; that he manages to do something with the same old sketch each time speaks volumes of his acting ability. Rahul Bose is in fine form in a double role, but Avinash Tiwary is saddled with a character that has to do little more than being charming, and assertive, from time to time. Like the Panchatantra tales we grew up with, the film too has something to say, and the messaging is not smashed on one’s head. Instead, it is weaved into the screenplay seamlessly, and it is one of the major positives of the film.

What Bulbbul needed was a tighter, more rounded screenplay. Anvita Dutt knows her way around setting up a film without a doubt, and she evokes folklore with a certain ease. The film just needed to have more of that for it to pull through.

Bulbbul, written and directed by Anvita Dutt, is now streaming on Netflix