Phule Movie Review: Jyotiba and Savitribai’s anti-caste legacy left powerless in a dated film

Two weeks is a relatively short time. Yet, a lot can transpire in two weeks. When Phule was earlier set to be released on April 11, it was just another biopic that showed some promise in its trailer. There was little buzz around, as it was set to be released just a day after Sunny Deol’s Jaat, the title of which ironically resonated with caste pride, something which Jyotiba Phule and Savitribai Phule fought to negate all their lives. I was concerned then that the film, which chronicles the lives of these anti-caste social reformers, may go unnoticed in the battle for the box office; I felt that it needed more recognition. Be careful what you wish for.

In the two weeks, the film has seen everything. It invited the ire of the Brahmin community, who, worried about their ‘villainous’ portrayal, forced the Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC) to re-issue the ‘U’ certificate after censoring references to caste, removing ‘3000 years of slavery’ from a dialogue and modifying any mention to Manu. It also saw a wider outrage with debates on freedom of expression, censorship and an angry Anurag Kashyap who got martyred in the mayhem. Two weeks later, the Ananth Mahadevan directorial has essentially come of age. Yet, it is barely enough as the film itself is urgently lost in time.

Director: Ananth Mahadevan

Cast: Pratik Gandhi, Patralekhaa, Vinay Pathak, Joy Sengupta, Sushil Pandey and Darsheel Safary

Watching it is often like going through the bullet points in the life of Jyotiba (Pratik Gandhi) and Savitribai (Patralekhaa). It begins with a jolt during the great plague of 1897 where a visibly old and tired Savitri helps in bringing an infected person to the doctor. In a scene that lacks coherence and feels rather shoddily put together, she mentions Jyotiba, whom she lovingly calls ‘Sethji’. The story moves back in time to gleaming yellow flower fields in 1848, Poona. In passing references, it is mentioned that Jyotiba went to an English medium missionary school, something which his father doesn’t quite approve of. In another disjointed flashback, a young Jyotiba is seen teaching a teenage Savitri. The two later decide to teach girls, much to the anger of the Brahmin folks, who find it against their ‘Dharma’.

Writers Muazzam Beg and Ananth seem satisfied in the mere recollecting of the life of the revolutionary couple. Their story is spelled out without creating moments that stand out in any manner. The fact that Jyotiba was inspired by the ideas of the French revolutionary Thomas Paine is depicted in an unimaginative scene where he is reading a book by Paine and is prompted to a conversation by Savitri. He goes on to explain some of these ideas with methodically written lines devoid of much involvement. It strangely carries the aftertaste of a middling TV serial on Doordarshan. As if it’s packaged as a 2025 film, with new actors, the digital format and bright colours, while its spirit lies in the eighties.

Shyam Benegal’s Bharat Ek Khoj, which aired on Doordarshan in 1988, also featured an episode on the Phules. Modest in its production, it still managed to carve out the fierceness of their ideals in just under an hour. It was quietly radical. Cut to even before, in 1954, the Marathi film Mahatma Phule understood the life and times of the revolutionary in simpler, albeit starker, terms. Jyotiba was shown there as a sensitive, inquisitive youngster who faces discrimination for being from a lower caste. In a scene, he is told to leave from his Brahmin friend’s wedding as he is not allowed to walk along with the upper castes. “This is what the Dharamashastras say,” an old Brahmin retorts. Disgruntled and angry, Phule leaves and questions his father back home about this prejudice. A conversation follows with another Brahmin at their home as to why Jyotiba, being a Shudra, cannot read religious books. Later, Jyotiba’s sorrow finds some resolve when a Christian missionary offers the Bible to him, leaving him surprised with joy that he is allowed to read a religious book. The sequence beautifully captures the reality of the times and Jyotiba’s lively coming-of-age. None of this is shown in Ananth’s film, where the friend’s wedding is just hinted at in a conversation. We don't know what shaped his fierce thoughts, what made him a feminist. Jyotiba doesn’t go through a journey of realisation; he is already enlightened. For the film, it is enough to spell out the problem without touching upon its roots; it is enough to just have angry Brahmins banging on the door whenever Jyotiba challenges the status quo. There is no fruitful dialogue about the nature of oppression. Politics of conviction diminishes; politics of convenience takes over.

Even the performances by Pratik and Patralekhaa don’t quite sprawl up the rebellious spirit of Jyotiba and Savitri. Their tone is more reactive than contemplative. Pratik, who usually slips quite well into his characters, feels a bit out of place due to the lack of rigour in the screenplay. It seems to have been designed only to have actors wear the costume and say their lines. But where’s the grit? Where’s the weight?

Narrative truth is sidelined for a plain, emotionless unfolding. The broad strokes become broader in the end. “Uch nich khatam hoti jaa rahi hai (Caste differences are coming to an end),” the voiceover proclaims, sounding like a statement made in a vacuum. It also defeats the purpose, being an antithesis to the film’s own journey in the past two weeks that laid bare the conceited existence of Brahmanical forces. If Jyotiba and Savitri were to exist in today’s fractured reality, they would still be met with the same outrage; trolled for their fiery ideas, cancelled for their identity.  Phule doesn’t seem to realise this as it looks at the two figures in isolation, having existed in a bygone era in a conservative time. The film is too busy looking at them with reverence that it forgets to build solidarity with their thoughts. After all, Jyotiba and Savitri are not just relics of the past but rebels still feared by the present.