‘Just a slap, then?’ That is exactly what it never is. Anubhav Sinha’s Thappad is much more than a film. It is a comment on the deep-rooted patriarchy we all suffer from, and this social structure (men and women) advocate.
In a world where women are fighting relentlessly for dignity, liberty and respect in the physical world beyond the home, it is a much harder battle within it. The personal, political, and the uncomfortable realities of the home, where we face each other, looking into each other’s eyes, need to be seen with a sharp, mainstream gaze. Accountabilities need to be articulated, and the double standards need to be called out.
Thappad does that, well, and refuses to remove the gaze it places in the dysfunctional relationships we are expected to make work, at the cost of happiness, peace and respect that we deserve.
The winner in this film, like Anubhav Sinha’s previous Mulk and Article 15, is the script. The dialogues given to each of the women in the narrative are sharp, poised and poignant. But more than anything else, they are real. What women go through in their quest for respect, empathy and love, is personified by each character. And what to do when it is one’s respect that’s on the line.
Relationships are fragile. Do they need constant work, effort? Or are they meant to be effortless? Who makes the effort? How much is the effort? With whom the ownership of making the relationship work lie with? Why is it only the woman? How does a man get the authority which he exercises over a woman — physically, emotionally, sexually and verbally? Thappad asks all these questions again and again, in different ways. And the resounding echo of that Thappad doesn’t leave you in any frame.
What I specifically want to call out is the banality of the normalcy after an act of violence. Thappad scrutinizes that beautifully. The numbness, the banality, the silences and the reactions. One can easily juxtapose the ringing meaninglessness of normalcy after the brutal acts of violence we see in the society around us — in our cities, in our country. Similarly, how does one recover from an attack when it is on one’s own person … and done by someone close? The film examines this beautifully.
Another shout out to the politics of language. ‘Ho jaata hai kabhi kabhi’, ‘people move on’ — these words, and the way the film has been shot, also make the audience understand and question much as the protagonist does. And therein lies the film’s strength. It doesn’t preach. It makes you ask questions — deeply feminist questions in the most subtle, unassuming ways.
The most important bit that the film captures though is that patriarchy and domestic violence are not restricted to one class. It is prevalent across each class through culture, with varying intensities within each. Those who believe that the phenomenon is restricted to one class alone are in for genuine reflections in the film.
The idea of men being consumed by themselves and oblivious to others is interesting. But what is beautiful in the film is the varying degrees of it. Despite being sensitive, men ignore obvious signs. Being called out and to understand and absorb those issues is testimony to growth.
Before anyone else in the film, one has to call out Kumud Mishra. His beautiful calm presence, true love for his daughter, sensitivity and empathy, and a deep feminist man at the centre of his character – these are the fathers we need today. There is a scene with predominant silence as he falls sick when he knows his daughter (Amrita played by Taapsee Pannu) is upset. That scene is testimony to what true love is. His expressions, voice, and silences make him perhaps among the most underrated actors of our time.
Ratna Pathak, Tanvi Azmi are veterans who bring magic and depth with every pause, quiver and word. Women succumb and perpetrate patriarchy, as they have for generations. That cycle is called out within the film by two formidable actors who bring alive the pain they have been through, and the perpetration of the same belief that caused them pain, because that is still the way of the world. With that is the contrast of Dia Mirza’s elegant, strong character. She exemplifies the young, strong, liberal, single parent of today — the kind of mother young girls need.
Geetika Vidya is outstanding. In her nuance of the craving-for-freedom – woman, oppressed in every way, she is endearing, steadfast, and gets the nuance of the language pitch-perfect.
Pavail Gulati is arresting. He stands his own in a formidable ensemble cast. Taapsee Pannu is getting some of the most nuanced and relevant films of our time. And she is doing credit to them as well. More power to writers, directors and her for doing films that matter.
The final word though is for the script, the intent and the making of this film. And to the ‘thappad’ to other mainstream directors who believe violence is a depiction of true love. It isn’t. If you truly love her, you would automatically respect her. Thank you Anubhav Sinha, for yet another impressive film after Mulk and Article 15.
Saumya Baijal is a bilingual writer, poet and an ad woman
(Views are personal)
