Chris Flackett
As you might expect from a film that takes its title from an old (and wonderful) Iggy Pop song, Sister Midnight, the debut feature-film from director Karan Kandhari is a righteous, colourful and quirky celebration of the outsider figure, in this case the newly-married Uma (Radhika Apte), defiantly refusing to, as society expects, fit in where she cannot fit in, and staking her own space in which to ultimately, unapologetically, be herself.
Because of this, Kandhari has claimed the film to be “punk rock”, stating that Sister Midnight “questions things that don’t make sense. Just because something is tradition or old doesn’t mean it’s right”. And while I wouldn’t go so far as to call the film a ‘punk’ film, it does capture something of that genre’s spirit of rebellion and autonomy.
The plot itself is basic: set in India, Uma, newly arrived in Mumbai from her home in the country, has come to make a home with her new husband (via an arranged marriage), Gopal (Ashok Pathak). The marriage is doomed from the start: Gopal seems to be too meek, too mild, and curiously frightened of his bride, or at least her sexuality—he’s more comfortable shaking hands with Uma when he gets into bed than anything else. Uma, for her part, is disillusioned, irritable and far from suited for the role of a housewife. However, a bout of sickness leads Uma to make a shocking—and blackly hilarious—discovery about her own body that disrupts the mundane existence she has found herself in, as well as the lives of everyone around her.
Much praise must go to the celebrated Radhika Apte, who throws herself into the role of brilliantly temperamental Uma with clear relish, making the most of the opportunity to be stubborn, rude and and provocative in-role to those who conform to a monotonous existence and a judgmental personality. For such a larger than life role, Apte is surprisingly subtle, using quick little changes of facial expression and sharp, sudden physical shrugs and gestures to express a wealth of frustration in a darkly comic way. You might get behind Uma because you agree with her that the rituals and expectations around her of modern life are ridiculous, but you keep with her all the way through because of how captiviating and funny Apte makes her to watch.
This black comedy streak runs right through Sister Midnight. By no means is the film a belly-laugh-a-minute caper, but it perhaps shares more with the languid, absurdist humour of Roy Andersson, or more recently the work of Matthew Rankin. Kandhari presents the film as a series of vignettes linked together by short black-outs, giving the feeling to certain sections of being like comic sketches. Kandhari allows these scenes to breathe, letting them unfurl at their own unhurried pace, and allowing the absurdity of the moments Uma finds herself in to build up or to catch the viewer unawares.
It’s an approach that wants us to laugh, but also wants us to take a moment to contemplate the absurdity of the world and its relations that we are being asked to laugh at, such as why Uma finds herself between two people openly crying when sat at such a beautiful place as the beach. Uma runs off in an amusing moment, unable to handle the cavalcade of tears, but Sister Midnight asks us to do the opposite; to question this world, to interrogate it.
Previously, Karan Kandhari has made a living out of directing music videos, and while Sister Midnight does not display the kind of frenetic editing and energy required to sell a song to the audience in that medium, the film does betray Kandhari’s previous work and love of music. Visually, while there is a lot of use of static shots and slow movement, the opposite of what you might find in a music video, the latter half features a regular use of stop-motion that recalls the gentle surrealism and fun other-worldliness of videos such as Bjork’s ‘Triumph of a Heart’ and its enlarged dancing cat, or the monkeys with human faces in the video for Basement Jaxx’s ‘Where’s Your Head At?’ Such images and mixture of humans and stop-motion creatures are hooks to grab the viewer’s attention, and they function well here in a similar capacity.
Furthermore, the film uses its soundtrack to create an energetic, colourful tapestry of music, like an eclectic jukebox found outside an old cafe on a hot summer’s day. Not only does Paul Banks of Interpol score the film, but Kandhari shows himself to have incredible taste in music, with songs ranging from fascinating Indian songs to Buddy Holly’s frothy ‘I’m Gonna Love You Too’, The Stogges’ mounrful, proto-Sabbath ‘Ann’, Motorhead’s celebration of amphetamine abuse, ‘Motorhead’, and, most surprisingly but happily for this writer, ‘Mambo Sun’ by T. Rex (indeed, the last two years in cinema have been very good for the music of Marc Bolan).
It’s this jukebox quality that offers a satisfying contrast to the languid pace of the film, which is where the film may fall down for some viewers. It does feel occasionally as if the film is moving a little too slowly for its own good, where sometimes a punchier approach may have worked better. Ultimately, though, if you take Sister Midnight for what it is, a darkly-humorous, celebratory character study of a woman unwilling to pretend to fit in anymore, then the film succeeds splendidly, with much to offer to those who are open to it.
Sister Midnight is in theaters from May 16th.
