The opening stretches of Sister Midnight are dialogue-free and reveal a propensity for the silent gag. Start with the credits themselves, where the credit of the actor playing the husband (Ashok Pathak) is displayed where he should be, beside his wife (Radhika Apte). Instead, he is slumped over, sleeping, already a premonition of his role in their married life.
For about the first third of the film, Sister Midnight is a domestic comedy. The wife, Uma being her name, finds herself inadequate in married life, whether it is cooking or finances or the general maintenance of the household. But the husband is even more inadequate too, finding more joy in the drink than in the woman.
Gradually, the film starts to show its teeth. The silent comedy of the early parts is replaced by venomous words, not only between the couple, but also Uma’s interactions with her neighbours. Through Uma, director Karan Kandhari presents a picture of Mumbai that is repulsive, without a shred of romance.
Even the tourist hotspots are shot unmercifully. When Uma visits the Chowpatty, all she sees are people crying. Heaps of trash are never far away. At one point, a character asks whether to take a turn from the left trash heap or the right trash heap. You can almost smell the dung, the rotten vegetables, the half-eaten food, and the vomit. This is one film you’re glad to see without any 4D or Smell-O-Vision effects.
Kandhari paints such a vivid picture, not only of Mumbai, but also of the martial strife that I started to question whether the film needed its calling card. Because yes, Sister Midnight is a vampire film. It is the same experience I had with the much more popular vampire movie of the moment, Sinners. However, just like Sinners, by the end I had no qualms about the direction the story took. That’s the sign of a good director, when he can make you engaged with the human element of the story while also delighting with genre thrills.
When the vampire section of the film starts,the griminess goes up a level. I would love to see what techniques the director and cinematographer (Sverre Sørdal) used to give off this old-school almost 70s look to the film. Sister Midnight delights in its grungy look, with the dimly-lit home of the couple, the soulless office where Uma works, the always busy train stations, all contributing to a suffocating experience. At one point a character says, in response to being asked whether he is sad, that that’s just how God made his face. Maybe that’s just how God made Mumbai too.
The film is tied together by Apte’s exemplary performance. She is one of the best risk takers we have in India and luckily for us, her wild swings hit more than they miss. Her performance is remarkable on two levels. First is the intensity with which she spews her torrid speeches of hate (and the occasional tenderness). But this is something we have seen from Apte before. What is a revelation is the physical nature of her performance. Whether she is navigating the early silent stages with the zest of a Keaton or coming to terms with being a vampire, she has you hooked all the time.
If Sister Midnight feels a tad bit long, I can forgive it for it is inventive all the way through. Events are unpredictable throughout and there is no dark alley the film is not willing to pass through. Some of the best work in Hindi cinema is happening outside the confines of traditional Bollywood and Sister Midnight is further proof of that.
P.S. If I had my own awards, there would be a Biggest Loser category and every year the winner would be the Indian Censor Board. This group seems to think a ‘Madarchod’ would be ruinous for the Indian audience, all the while propaganda films can get away with umpteenth levels of violence. But it is no surprise, if you look at the political affiliations of the current members of the Board.
In Sister Midnight, Apte’s character wonders when her husband’s ‘lund’ will stand up straight (the word is censored of course). I wonder the same thing about the Censor Board.
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