Nirakar Chhaya has to be one of the more curious oddities I've stumbled upon in recent years, a film that's sustained by the cinematic language toiled over and mastered by established directors, yet, its existence remains entirely absent. A piece of post-modernist work that simultaneously evokes the alienation of Michelangelo Antonioni's modernity trilogy while delivering performances and framing not too dissimilar from the essay reads of a Straub-Huillet exercise. There are even hints of 50s era Agnès Varda emanating throughout, mise-en-scène sharing a striking resemblance to La Pointe-Courte. All these points of influence mentioned aren't meant to devalue what Ashish Avikunthak has accomplished here, but rather to highlight what's perhaps a well-cultured creative whose biggest limitation seems to be budgetary and audience exposure.
A smattering of styles and influences, a digression into form. Textural black and white sequences heightened by the unnerving sounds of a violin and piano-backed soundtrack, striking with the kind of punctuated arrival reminiscent of Akio Jissoji's Buddhist trilogy. The unnerving tones of its sonoristic/modern classical music are left to simmer beneath the surface, leaving the audience in a state of discomfort. These sequences of cerebral quality are then juxtaposed beautifully with an approach reminiscent of guerrilla-style documentary filmmaking. Shots that capture the mundanity of modern culture. Walking through a marketplace, riding public transport, viewing the remnants of a forgotten town. Moments of normalcy that allow its highbrow sensibilities the means to remain grounded, by the mere fact that these are places we can visit. Run our fingers across. Touch and smell.
This film has all of the trappings as well as liberations of a DIY effort. Limitations announced when certain shots pick up the bellowing sound of a windy day, further accentuated by captured audio of the surrounding environment. However, none of this takes away from the ambition on display, and in many ways, it lends to its charm. That rare good kind of "low polish" (think along the lines of Lav Diaz's work). Here's someone who's accomplished something that's possible by anyone determined enough to see it through. What this film accomplishes with its still-life compositions, gorgeous pillow shots, and experimental storytelling has won me over.
A story about the subjectivity of stories, how reliant they are on the perspective of the narrator, and the paranoia conjured up when the unreliable narrator trope is applied to predatory behavior. When a relationship is built on deceit. A story about the power of a lie and how it could be utilized in forming its own version of the truth.
