Kantara (2022): A review
When you translate a book, you lose some things in transition—rooted meanings, a whiff of emotion here and there, a touch of familiarity, unspeakable context; basically intangible elements endemic to certain places and people. And yet, the process of translation bridges the gap between cultures and helps bring the world closer. The wall of foreignness is as much a human construct as it is circumstantial; we can’t always break down barriers but we can try. That said, I wonder how the dubbed versions of Kantara (2022) will sound like in Hindi, Tamil, Telugu and other tongues. For a Mangalorean, it’s imaginably impossible to get the cultural nuances across in any other language except Tulu.
Which might make you question – ahem, but isn’t Kantara a Kannada film?
Yes, it is.
However, the forest spirit god showcased in this spectacular movie is entirely a Tulu Nadu phenomenon, with its coastal origin intact despite featuring Kannada and Malayalam celebrations over the past few centuries. To most people, the concept of spirit dance (Buta Kola) is tribal at best and regressive at worst. Not to Dakshina Kannada’s coastal areas though. Since time immemorial, the villagers, including my ancestors, have paid respect to nature and have participated in these annual events where the spirit god—the anointed protector of the village—dances through the night and converses with the villagers at dawn. To my parents’ generation, there was no bigger event than this. Even if you were running a high fever, you’d sit through the nocturnal performance. That’s how important Buta Kola has been for Tuluvas. Which is why the ‘50s and ‘60s migrants to Bombay, Bangalore and Madras try their best to return home when it’s time to show up for the spirit gods.
With such a deep historic connection in place, one can easily gauge the challenges the makers of Kantara must have faced during its writing as well as production. Had they not understood the significance of Buta Kola inherently, they would have easily turned this spectacle into a mockery. Fortunately, when you have somebody like Rishab Shetty at the helm, you can expect the best possible outcome. He not only wrote, directed and acted in the film but also ensured that he roped in the best local talents to get the job done. The whole package can be a lesson in filmmaking.
Those familiar with the recent rise of Kannada cinema would know what the 3Rs (Rishab, Raj, Rakshit) stand for today. Last year, the three collaborated to create another masterpiece Garuda Gama Vrishabha Vahana (2021). It’s natural to compare GGVV with Kantara and my verdict would go in parts: GGVV is a relatively better made movie overall with little puncture points whereas Kantara is a cinematic equivalent of a boxing match. It starts with a bang and parades on a high for 30 minutes, and then it takes some hollow punches to fill in the fun bits, and then it rises again and delivers a crashing punch in the form of an unforgettable climax ever. Not just in the history of Indian cinema but perhaps cinema itself.
When you leave the theatre, you are thinking about Rishab Shetty’s incredible performance as an irresponsible man-child who graduates into the very manifestation of the spirit god. That transition is the sort of stuff legends are made up of. You don’t get to witness very often on the big screen.
Yet, what really works for the film is the team’s collective ambition: you’ll notice some camera angles that aren’t supposed to work in a paddy field but they do; you’ll be in awe of the meticulous fight sequences shot in a rainy backdrop while bellowing out embers all around; mixing devotional Carnatic music with rock music can be a ludicrous endeavour except that it isn’t in this case—it elevates the climax to an altogether different scale—and Kantara is able to do this because they roped in the finest; the plot twists keep you engrossed as you didn’t expect character shifting gears so quickly.
There are many more reasons why Kantara is a must-experience film but in the interest of spoiler alerts, let me conclude by sharing that the final moments puts you back in the light of right over wrong; the fabled victory of good over evil. Yes, faith in gods restored. Also, when the gods hug humans, it’s amazing to see that it’s humans hugging each other, and that’s when peace and prosperity prevail. And if you aren’t holding back tears during that epic scene, the whole movie and its cultural bearings are lost on you.
Lastly, filmmaking is a massive work of trust. Production houses get together and so do the writers and the actors and musicians and the technicians and so many more nameless folks pitch in. And when such a collaborative effort hits the right buttons, you realize why it happened in the first place. In the climax, you can notice how almost all the onscreen characters are given fitting screen presence. Nobody feels left out. In fact, the comical character who was humiliated the most during the whole movie is the one who gets to have the final shot.
[From reviewing movies every Friday a decade ago as an entertainment journalist, I’ve finally become that person who tweets more and writes fewer long pieces on cinema. Anyway, if you are interested, you can read my reviews of Photograph (2019), Super Deluxe (2019), Soul (2020), Malcolm & Marie (2021).]