LFF 2020: The Disciple
lff 2020For a country as large as India – and with its own noteworthy film industry to boot – it seems hard to believe the critical drought plaguing their releases on the festival circuit. The Disciple, directed by Chaitanya Tamhane and produced by Alfonso Cuarón, looks to have broken that spell, becoming the country’s first film in 20 years to compete for the top prize at the Venice Film Festival.
Notching up wins for both its cinematography and screenplay, Tamhane’s follow-up to 2014’s similarly acclaimed Court is a tale of devotion, both professional and spiritual, and the consequences of such things. Sharad (Aditya Modak) is the tortured artist, a reserved young man who seeks to hone his craft as a vocalist in Indian classical music. Under the tutelage of Guruji (Arun Dravid), Sharad dedicates his life to mastering this craft, even if both his grandmother (Neela Khedkar) and father (Kiran Yadnyopavit) harbor worries; the latter, a failed student of the arts himself, knows firsthand the toll obsession can take.
After failing to impress at a competition, Sharad vows to knuckle down and perfect his ability, even if it means neglecting family duties and employment at a local CD store. At night, he roams the deserted roads of Mumbai, listening to the words of the mythical Maai, a woman regarded to have the finest voice of all. Her teachings, handily recorded onto cassettes, speak of the need for inner peace and tranquility, a direct contrast to the unease and nervousness that cripples Sharad when he takes to the stage.
This stillness is mirrored in Tamhane’s visual style, the camera being held back from the focal point before the frame softly narrows. This meditative approach is a natural fit for the style of music, but this is a supremely demanding watch for the uninitiated, owing to the nuance of this particular craft. The emotion and power of this music stems from the slightest shift in pitch and intonation, but the differences are virtually imperceptible to the untrained ear, meaning most information is gleamed based on subsequent moments, whether it be the audience’s reaction or Sharad’s assessment of his own performance.
It’s this distance, both in subject matter and aesthetic, that make The Disciple such an arduous watch. Tamhane isn’t interested in exploring Sharad’s deep-rooted compulsion to succeed, but rather the things he neglects in striving for it, a major issue when the narrative is filtered through such a stoic and lifeless character. Even when the narrative jumps forward 15 years, Sharad hasn’t progressed artistically or emotionally, resulting in scenes that serve the same thematic function as the previous timeline. Tamhane is undoubtedly striving for this monotony, for it reflects the life of the central character, but the long-takes and glacial pacing make the 127-minute runtime seem like an eternity; even a scene in which Sharad’s idol is eviscerated by a critic is diluted by the excess baggage surrounding it.
With such a sizeable jump in time, Sharad is essentially a sketch of a character that retains the same basic drive but showcases little growth. Other than his obsession, there’s no discernible trait and barely a semblance of personality, rendering him vague and distant. The presentation of Mumbai is similarly indistinct, showcasing none of the vibrancy or energy associated with the city; the only glimpses we get of the outside are the aforementioned late-night joyrides, but these grow more repetitive with each use, becoming another routine part of an uneventful day. That’s not to say beauty cannot be found in mundanity, but the dispassionate tone strays into lethargy so often here; in his exploration on passivity, Tamhane has, unwittingly or not, created a truly unimpressionable and unengaging film.