A ‘Well-Made’ Film Without A Soul 

In 2010, the Sanjay Mondal group, a avenue band fashioned by underprivileged children from the slums beneath the management of an ex-gangster, went to the ultimate spherical of India’s Received Expertise, a actuality present. Making music out of cans, plastic bottles, pipes and different discarded junk, the band made quite a lot of noise however was voted out ultimately. Supriyo Sen’s documentary, Waste Band, made 9 years after the occasion, is about their life after the fact present, and Mondal’s efforts to maintain the collective alive, stopping his boys from falling prey to getting sucked into the native crime syndicate.

Sen has now made a industrial movie with recognized faces out of the identical materials. The issue isn’t that—Gully Boy is an efficient instance of high quality leisure born out of an analogous actual life story of the rise of gully rap stars within the slums of Mumbai. The issue is Sen reveals no aptitude for that sort of storytelling. His documentary touches—accentuated by the presence of fellow documentarian Ranjan Palit, who has shot it—are at first fascinating, however quickly you sense the ever growing gulf between the sensibility of the filmmaker and the movie he’s attempting to make. Sen and Palit, each veterans in their very own sport, lend a poetic eye and authenticity to the movie that’s a rarity in up to date Bengali cinema. The making is first charge—in the way in which the pictures are lit and put collectively, or in the way in which the modifying flows in a few of the scenes—however the movie lacks soul. It looks like an uneasy alliance between two colleges of filmmaking.

The most important flaws are within the writing. The attraction of the story Sen had explored in his documentary is within the aftermath of the fact present—how there’s a life past it. In Tangra Blues they’re made to participate—and this time win—a hip-hop competitors. Your answer to dropping one actuality present can’t be successful one other actuality present. That’s simply unhealthy messaging on the a part of filmmakers who appear in any other case socially aware (the first characters are non-Brahmin—the character is rechristened Sanjeeb Mondal, albeit performed by, Parambrata Chatterjee, a Brahmin; and Samiul Alam is Charles Murmu), or filling up the supporting forged with non-professional faces. The purpose being that sometimes Tangra Blues comes off as an experiment gone improper the place SVF favourites have mistakenly walked right into a documentary shoot.

Even the rap songs appears to lack the sort of hearth that you simply anticipate from a movie like this—an informally filmed YouTube video of Sanjay Mondal group has extra power than those choreographed right here. And that has, I think, a lot to do with the director’s dealing with of actors and the shortage of characters you care about. The performances, in consequence, are both one-note (Chatterjee, as a gruff-coach-like band chief with a legal previous, with a hard-to-buy accent), or only one Trendy Girl cliche wanting irritating (Madhumita Sarkar, because the smoking-drinking feminine lead with a sympathetic outlook). Even Alam and Oishani Dey, who play the group’s little one prodigy rapper and his possessive feminine pal respectively, appear to be attempting to slot in. 

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