Indian cinema has long been dominated by tales of upper-caste men narrated by upper-caste men. The country’s films have only intermittently focused on dalits and adivasis. Filmmakers from these historically oppressed social groups are rare. Which is why the commercial success of Tamil and Marathi anti-caste films by dalit writer-directors in the past decade has been so significant.
Ghaath (attack or ambush) doesn’t possess the trappings of mainstream cinema that have translated into massive box-office returns for the likes of Pa Ranjith, Mari Selvaraj and Nagraj Manjule. What makes this indie-minded film precious is that it, too, is a voice from within.
Ninawe is a member of the indigenous Halba tribe. He has told the media that most of his actors are dalit or tribal, a casting choice that powers the film’s all-round authentic feel.
Ghaath first made news when it was selected for the Berlin International Film Festival 2021. In an unprecedented move, its then principal producer, Jio Studios, reportedly barred the festival from screening the film. There are conflicting accounts about what spurred this move. Sources say the reason was a business dispute between Jio and Drishyam Films, which was also a producer on the project. (Drishyam is still named in the credits.) Subsequently, Platoon One Films acquired Ghaath, and Jio exited the picture.
Last year, Berlin once again extended an invite to the film. A year-and-a-half after earning acclaim at the Berlinale, this week Ghaath makes it to cinemas in Maharashtra. If the reception is positive, it will be released in other states. Ghaath is divided into three chapters, each one taking its title from an element in the adivasi slogan, ‘Jal, Jangal, Zameen,’ (Water, Forests, Land) each devoted to one of the film’s three protagonists. Falgun (Dhananjay Mandaokar) is an adivasi man out to avenge an injustice done to his family. ACP Nagpure (Jitendra Joshi) is anxious for a transfer to a station where he can be with his family. And Raghunath (Milind Sinde), a Naxalite leader, wants a new life. Falgun’s meticulous planning with near-zero resources is intriguing. Ninawe also cleverly builds empathy for Nagpure by dwelling on his desperation, before springing his callousness on viewers.
Raghunath’s segment is less compelling, since the character is given little interiority. Villagers are also shown expressing their gratitude to him. But we don’t get to see what he, or the other rebels, actually do for their people, or the extent to which successive governments and corporates have exploited and suffocated adivasis. The film would have benefited from contextualising Raghunath’s actions and fleshing out his character.
There is only one woman of import in the plot. Kusari (Suruchi Adarkar) is memorable. But her limited presence in the script underlines the irony of women being routinely marginalised in Indian films on the marginalised.
In Nagpure’s segment, an adivasi man called Perku (an utterly charming Janardan Kadam) serves as a metaphor for Nature itself, savvy yet innocent, unspoiled by human intruders. Udit Khurana’s spartan cinematography is especially effective in Nagpure’s scenes with Perku in the jungle.
The sum of these parts makes Ghaath both thought-provoking and surprisingly gentle in its tone, although several characters commit acts of extreme violence. As important as its quality is its struggle. In a film exhibition environment that continues to be hostile to cinema with independent sensibilities, Ghaath’s journey so far is nothing short of an achievement.
The writer is author of The Adventures of an Intrepid Film Critic