Baramulla Movie Review:
Just over three months after Ibrahim Ali Khan and Prithviraj Sukumaran’s misplaced and melodramatic Sarzameen told the story of a family in the backdrop of militancy in Kashmir, we have another film attempting just that with an even more haphazard plot. Baramulla, by director Aditya Jambhale and producer Aditya Dhar, blends the genre conventions of supernatural horror and psychological drama while telling a hyper-Bollywoodised story of Kashmir. Yes, the word 'maqsad' makes an extended cameo in the dialogues, the dreaded militants too keep speaking to a 'bhaijaan' from across the border and ultimately the valley’s complex geo-politics is brought down to a sensational, shock-inducing finale. At its climactic peak in the film, cinematic liberty holds sway and emotional release takes complete precedence. History appears in selective bits and pieces as a populist ideology driven narrative unfolds.
The lack of nuance is not surprising. The film is by the makers of Article 370, the slick thriller from last year which often felt like a hurried state-vehicle brought in to stylistically justify the contentious abrogation of Jammu and Kashmir’s special status. In the opening 30 minutes, Baramulla functions as an atmospheric horror film. A kid disappears during a magic show in a snow-covered town and the fraught magician is thought to be the mastermind. However, DSP Ridwaan Shafi Sayyid (Manav Kaul) thinks it's more than just that. Facing his own personal demons, Ridwaan is a distant father and husband. New to the town, Ridwaan’s family struggles to adjust to life in an old mansion. As is often the case in horror stories with a haunted house, it is the kids who encounter the evil at first. Ridwaan’s teenage daughter Noorie (Arista Mehta) smells a dog in her room while her younger sibling, Ayaan (Rohaan Singh) hears strange noises from the ceiling. As this is happening, two militants are planning to kidnap children to send them across the border.
Starring: Manav Kaul, Bhasha Sumbli, Arista Mehta and Rohaan Singh
Directed by: Aditya Jambhale
Streamer: Netflix
The film constantly cuts between the slowly unfolding supernatural events at the house and the conflicted reality of the state. None, however, is something we haven’t seen before. There are the usual foggy and blue-toned visuals of the Valley which are too generic to stand out. The horror portion is ridden with genre basics of anticipatory jump scares and a familiar mix of cello strings added in the background score on occasions. There is a serious lack of the feeling of dread which often populates a horror film. The monotony enters even the screenplay which leaves little room for the investigation to flourish into something interesting or the family drama to be particularly riveting. Ridwaan’s presence in the story begins to feel like an afterthought. He is the protagonist but we rarely stay invested in his emotional scale. Maybe that’s why even Manav plays it with a touch of confusion, appearing lost for the most part. There is a lack of rigour in his performance, which becomes a bit too understated at times.
Coincidentally, the actor hails from Baramulla too. In his 2022 Hindi book Rooh, a meditative travelogue about his journey back to his home in the valley, Manav details upon his deep longing for the place where he grew up. As a Kashmiri Pandit whose family was forced to leave the Valley, Manav’s reflection never turns bitter. He even mentions a moving conversation between his father and his Muslim friend, who suggests that they exchange each other’s identity to tackle the extremists. Baramulla however, doesn’t offer space for such humanity.
The makers bring out the bigotry even in children as we see a young girl blowing away the cover of a Kashmiri Pandit family to the blood-hungry militants. There is a dramatic mention of a ‘betrayal’ as the camera exploits the immense pain of the Pandits to stage a black and white reality. Their suffering and violent killing is magnified pitiably without a broader, layered understanding which merely adds on to the shock value. So, this isn’t really much different than The Kashmir Files is it? Or maybe it is in how it tries not to make its politics the centrepiece. The genre blend is a luring device to serve the sensorial chills before speaking to the intellect with cracks from history. The use of horror is rudimentary, becoming not just a mood here but a method. Fear, after all, precedes polarisation.