Ahead of the release of Raat Akeli Hai, Nawazuddin Siddiqui, Radhika Apte, and debutant director Honey Trehan talk about smaller films and OTT releases, fixation with fairness, mental health and more Our cinema theatres are notorious for their lack of quiet, and while this makes them tremendous spaces of revelry during screenings of mass cinema, genre-loyal…
If not for the pandemic, I think the James Bond film, or something else, may have eclipsed us. Regardless, this is an honour, and we are happy.
I’m talking of the Cobb-Mal romance that occurs in a dystopian wasteland, a romance that unravels more in our minds than in the film—which is only fitting, considering that much of Inception happens largely in its characters’ heads.
Much like this cocktail made by Yogi Babu and friends is a mixture of drinks that have no business coming together, the story of this film is an unsettling union of bizarre ideas, including a replica of a smuggled idol, a dead woman who may or may not be drunk, and a cop (Sayaji Shinde) whose boss yells, “En thaaliya arakaadha”, in a bid to pressurise him to solve a case.
Krishna and His Leela manages to do this beautifully, treading the delicate line between vilifying and idolising him. It simply paints him as an average young man, prone to the very human follies of instinct and desire. It achieves this neutral ground because it’s not in love with him.