While we often rely on ‘content’ or writing to classify films as good or bad – or perhaps ‘strong’ or weak would be a more accurate characterisation. It’s rare for a film to have a visual language and conviction that could almost shake that long-held belief – Vasan Bala’s Jigra is one such film.
Jigra is quintessential Vasan Bala and the director’s visual style plays a huge part in making the film what it is – the Neo noir sensibilities mixed Bala’s affection for the colour ‘red’ make the scenes come alive on screen. Even if doubts, rising mostly from the screenplay, niggle at your mind, you can't help but be swept in by the film. Everything about Jigra is visceral and while the film’s dream-like mood contributes to that, it's the lead cast’s sheer tenacity that maintains it.
Alia Bhatt is a force of nature in Jigra – true to her character of a sister who has sworn to protect her brother at all times; she will place herself as a shield between him and danger if that's what it takes. This becomes the string that ties together every new sequence that comes up. Most of the times we see Satya falter is when there’s nobody else around – only the audience is allowed to meet ‘Satya’ without pretensions. From the very first shot, Bhatt hooks you into the film and keeps you there, constantly waiting for the next time she is on screen.
Vedang Raina matches her step for step as her younger brother Ankur – his convincing portrayal only makes the film stronger. While we don’t get a lot of in-depth build up of their relationship, the actors, through the little details they bring into their interactions, make the relationships between the siblings feel visceral. Satya’s desperation to reach Ankur even at her most practical and Ankur trying to find a sense of self outside her constant protection are some of the most effective parts of the film.
Of the supporting cast, Ankur Khanna as a fellow prisoner Ryan gives an impressive performance. To nobody’s surprise, Manoj Pahwa’s mere presence feels like a breath of fresh air – here is an actor who doesn’t seem to ever fall prey to over exposure. It’s the natural comfort he radiates that makes his relationship with Satya heartwarming.
Jigra’s weakest link is its script – surprisingly, the issue isn’t that it isn’t a novel concept, the real problem is that the script isn’t strong enough. One of my favourite things about Jigra is it's 'language' - the film primarily plays out in a South East Asian country and the details we hear in the way people are speaking set that up.
Even with two characters who seem to both have spent longer in that country than Satya has, the use of the colloquial 'lah' differentiates one from the other.
Satya (Bhatt) has stood by her brother Ankur (Vedang Raina) their entire life, shielding him from everything. However, when he ends up in a foreign jail in South East Asian waters, things rapidly start unraveling far beyond Satya’s reach. In her fight to save her brother, she runs into two others – Bhatia ji (Manoj Pahwa) and Muthu (Rahul Ravindran) who both also have people they care about behind bars.
As friendships and alliances are forged both in and outside the prison walls, two prison escape plans are hatched – as intrigue deepens, the cracks also begin to appear.
In the absence of a strong script, intuitive time design would’ve helped the film but, despite multiple shots of watches standing for a rush against time, the ‘design’ doesn’t always pan out the way it should. You’re often left wondering how two different actions are happening in the same duration. Characters become cogs in a machine, sometimes waiting for the action to reach them.
And while I stand by my initial thoughts about the film – of the conviction plastering over all else – the sheen does wear off in parts. The questions that had been pushed to the back of your mind take a more prominent scene up front – ‘How is this logically happening?’ you find yourself asking often. You could choose to suspend disbelief and that would make this film a much more enjoyable experience. It hits the logical reset button a few times and your feelings and patience with that will colour your feelings about the entire film.
The mood and energy of Jigra feels like the video game Stray and I mean that in the best way possible – lights, shadow, and colour constantly play with your vision. Bala uses the gullies of the film’s setting most effectively. Some shots are so visually stunning you can’t help but marvel at the vision that went behind them.
The film is not all style and no substance though – from the get go, the film explores the power dynamics between all its characters. From the relationship between Satya and Ankur bordering on her smothering him with concern to the meaning of the word ‘family’. The siblings’ idea of family is one of protection and sacrifice but for their extended ‘family’, they are expendable.
Even when Ankur is presented with a choice, he is aware that he doesn’t actually have one because he doesn’t have the social capital to back that choice. Even words of encouragement feel hollow to Satya because she knows she and Ankur aren’t ‘part of the family’.
The film also speaks of police brutality and revolution – characters often proclaim ‘Long Live Revolution’ and you’re given the pieces of the puzzle to figure out that this revolution perhaps arises from their lives in a police state. And while these themes peek through from behind the curtain, you can’t help but wish that they would completely push through.
We often speak of male saviours in Indian cinema - the 'hero' goes on his hero's journey while everyone else, usually the damsels of distress, wait for him to come and save them. They are helpless and hapless and they will be rescued. But Jigra takes a hard look at that trope and not just because this is not a 'female saviour'.
What the film lacks in story, it sometimes makes up for in characterisation - while Satya is the 'saviour' in the film, Ankur's reliance on her stems from their relationship.
He does not cower behind her, he does not wait for her to rescue him - when he does stop putting up a fight, it is not because he is helpless, it's because he simply trusts his sister.
The pros and cons often weigh heavy on your mind as Jigra plays but one jarring con is the dialogue-writing. While there are smart alecks and some homages to film history, there are way more dialogues than necessary. Exposition replaces emotion; a traumatic moment from their childhood is brought up often in flashbacks and off-handed dialogues but the emotional effect only lands when we see the effect the event has had on Satya.
Those scenes are further proof that some of the film’s most effective scenes are ones that have little to no dialogue. The background score that could have easily felt overwhelming ends up becoming foot-tapping and one can't miss the magic music composer Achint brings to the film.
Bhatt spends the entire film rushing from one corner to another to save a life – ‘Ankur nahi marr sakta’ (Ankur can’t die) she often says; almost like losing her brother is not even a possibility – and soon you begin to realise that the film’s safety lies on her shoulders too. The good thing is: she makes you believe.
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