Nation’s Notion: Review – Midnight’ Children (A Deepa Mehta Film)

As a nation, we have transcended and befell before rising amidst tumultuous weathers. Freedom in 1947 is alright, but the transition was as beleaguered as the nation itself that was standing amongst perennial ruins. The sacrifices were largely destructive; the indelible impressions of such are still fighting the storms, till date.

Deepa Mehta dwells India from the darker blemishes to the brighter convoy. We, as a nation, have evolved – socially, economically, financially, and culturally. But we have never managed to rise above our inhibitions that remain to be a colossus out of pervasive root. Talking of roots, I am fond of them. But if they are a form of parasites living upon the bricks of incessant atrocities, I tend to shy away with discretion. Well, I probably, am dating back albeit numerous episodes but Midnight’s Children does have an anecdote of a marauding legacy.

It begins with the times of legions when women are morally and physically, living in captivation of human taboo. It’s more of a defining statement at a time when a nation lies embedded in its own tatters and is crawling its way out of debris to attain rejuvenation. We have always been a country with so much inside our cultures, and introspection reveals stunning facts; facts that are often so unacceptable but are immersed within and continue to wager around in inexplicable overtones. The hidden magic and their exponents of the wavered art are depicted with rustic beauty and roll over syndrome. It peddles around 2 gruesome partitions that tore the nation apart, and juggles between the immediate pre–post-independence that threw the nation in to a post traumatic celebration of freedom from known devils.

In accordance, the film is a reflection of our conjugated manifestations and the seeds that were sown amidst precarious monsters and selfish brilliance.

The performances are closely stitched with the script and sways between the eras of baffled poignancy. All play in with nuanced and restrained acts and held their own.

If freedom is what we celebrate each year, it remains unaccomplished. Yet.

Note: this has been lying in my archives for sometime now and I have been struggling to catch up with time, delayed but don’t think will disappoint my readers!!                                                                      

Published by lifeoholic

Flamboyance meets me, and I could be contagiously luring. It kind of comes off in my writing, as my stories of passion and indulgence unfold.

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