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In 2023<\/span>, director Anuparna Roy reinvigorated conventional South Asian cinema\u2019s themes of poverty, privilege and patriarchy with her debut short film\u00a0<\/span>Run To The River<\/i>. With this work, set in British-occupied Bengal during the early 1900<\/span>s, Roy positioned herself as a\u00a0confident storyteller, committed to expanding the repertoire of subcontinental stories on-screen. With her feature debut\u00a0<\/span>Songs of Forgotten Trees<\/i>, Roy returns now to modern-day Mumbai, but her attempt to curate a\u00a0slow, rhythmic narrative is compromised by weak character development and an incredibly short 77<\/span>-minute runtime.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The film follows two female flatmates, Thooya (Naaz Shaikh) and Swetha (Sumi Baghel), as they navigate the ever-present tensions in between the folds of patriarchy, domesticity and urbanity. Our introduction to Thooya is defined by her uncharitable and apathetic nature almost instantly, as she reluctantly decides to part with money for her father\u2019s funeral. In contrast, Swetha is amicable and polite, out of her depth with Thooya\u2019s loudness and choosing to ignore rather than engage. As the first fifteen minutes \u2013 nearly a\u00a0quarter of the film \u2013 close out, it becomes apparent that Thooya has an arrangement with her landlord Nitin (Bushan Shimpi): she indulges his physical pleasure instead of paying rent.<\/span><\/p>\n These opposing mannerisms and demeanours give Shaikh and Baghel the opportunity to demonstrate their competency as actors, with standout snippets towards the end of the film elucidating the clear contrast in their values, through Swetha\u2019s well-acted disapproval of Thooya\u2019s sex\u00a0work.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n It takes a\u00a0little longer to understand Swetha\u2019s part to play in the city, but her first meeting with a\u00a0potential husband \u2013 found through a\u00a0matrimonial matchmaking platform \u2013 exposes her main insecurity: she is lonely. Seeking companionship for the sake of companionship fails to satisfy the craving for connection that she begins to seek out through the united mundanity of domestic life with Thooya, offering them both a\u00a0brief sense of belonging.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n There are ample junctures for Roy\u2019s screenplay to steer these two women towards an inkling of fulfilment rather than leaving them to fester in alienation, but despite cinematographer Debjit Samanta\u2019s skilful utilisation of a\u00a0minimalist apartment to showcase said opportunities, Roy is determined to maximise her brief runtime and instead missteps by introducing a\u00a0third unseen character \u2013 named Jhuma \u2013 as a\u00a0confusing motivation for Thooya\u2019s values.<\/span><\/p>\n It\u2019s only from Roy\u2019s directorial statement accompanying the film that Jhuma\u2019s inclusion becomes clear; Roy\u2019s childhood friend \u2013 also named Jhuma \u2013 was married at 13<\/span> and subsequently vanished from Roy\u2019s life. The unseen Jhuma in\u00a0<\/span>Songs of Forgotten Trees\u00a0<\/i>only manages to burden the film with more questions that it never really ends up posing, let alone answering.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n There are glimpses of Payal Kapadia\u2019s\u00a0<\/span>All We Imagine As Light<\/i> in Roy\u2019s direction, with conversations clouded by traffic, streetlamps uplighting faces, and songs sung in a\u00a0kitchen amidst dinner preparations. These sentiments help highlight the female intimacies of Thooya and Swetha\u2019s connection, however unexplored it may be as the film concludes. Roy remains able to balance location, culture and pace well enough, but in the absence of an airtight character arc, Roy\u2019s conceptual musing on urban resilience remains fragile and potentially misconstrued.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nGet more Little White\u00a0Lies<\/h3>\n<\/p><\/div>\n