Clever ‘Sister Midnight’ unleashes a monster bride
Marriage, like parenthood, is something you’re left to figure out on your own. There are no written instructions, just trial and error, and hope for the best. Most couples settle in over time, but many others discover that they just can’t achieve wedded bliss. For them, it’s closer to wedded amiss.
Exhibit A is Uma and Gopal, the mismatched newlyweds in Karan Kandhari’s delightfully subversive “Sister Midnight.” They are like fire and water, two people with no business sharing the same zip code, let alone a conjugal bed. But that’s where they find themselves, courtesy of an arranged union.
We meet them shortly after they’ve exchanged vows and boarded a train to their new hovel in Mumbai, a strange city where two strangers have been deposited. Uma (Radhika Apte) has zero inclination for cooking, cleaning, or any other preordained gender role. The feckless Gopal (Ashok Pathak) is even more inept, opting to spend his wedding night hiding out in a bar instead of participating in the activity he fears most – sex. From there, things only get worse, much worse.
What ensues is beyond bonkers, as the London-based Kandhari launches a spectacular writing-directing debut with a Kafkaesque take on female empowerment in a society that doesn’t smile fondly upon wives breaking bad. As Kandhari has stated, Uma isn’t a criminal, she’s an outlaw, a folk hero who defies whatever the establishment dictates. And it doesn’t take long for Uma to rebel. Against what, she’s not entirely sure. All she knows is that playing house ain’t for her. And the longer it goes on, the more feral and unhinged she becomes.
Kandhari shares that independent spirit, playing by his own rules in crafting a film that perfectly reflects his two major influences, Buster Keaton and Wes Anderson. It can be hit or miss at times, but mostly it’s an impressive undertaking in which he flawlessly blends elements of the Silent Era with Anderson’s love of abrupt smash cuts and flat compositions, often accentuated by classic pop tunes.
Accordingly, the film projects an insane fever dream vibe in which words take a backseat to physical comedy, emphasizing posture, facial expressions and absurdist illusions involving mummified critters who mutate into zombies. The trick is calculating how much of what we witness unfolds exclusively inside Uma’s vivid imagination.
Are those atheistic female monks really there, or a byproduct of a head injury sustained when Uma literally falls flat on her face? And what’s with all the goats? Are they being sacrificed to the carnivorous, nocturnal creature Uma is slowly becoming? Is she the “witch” her self-righteous neighbors accuse her of being?
Kandhari particularly scrutinizes the latter and issues an emphatic rebuke against stereotyping strong, liberated women as nefarious and evil. “Go f–k a shovel,” Uma vehemently tells her critics.
It’s not that Uma is malevolent; she’s merely exasperated by being restrained in a country where males hold almost all the power. And she’s proclaiming her emancipation one rotting corpse at a time.
In that respect, “Sister Midnight” resembles last year’s Amy Adams entry, “Nightbitch.” But where that film faltered in its attempts at pitch-black satire, “Sister Midnight” abounds with sardonic inventiveness. I can say with certainty you’ve never seen another film like it. Sure, at times it can be frustrating separating the real from the surreal, but Apte is so mesmerizing, you go with it. She is excellent at conveying Uma’s bipolar behavior, ruthless one minute and apologetic the next, immediately feeling remorseful for her violent outbursts.
Lucky for Uma, she has at least one shoulder to cry on in her cynical neighbor, Sheetal (Chhaya Kadam), who has accepted her dismal fate, but remains glib in her assessments of foolish, unappreciative husbands. At one point, Uma asks her friend what the reward is for cooking, cleaning and bearing children. “Romance, excitement and adventure,” Sheetal replies with caustic wit.
Uma also establishes a kinship with a few other marginalized nonconformists, including an insular elevator operator and a group of transgender sex workers who fondly dub her “Moonchild.” It’s an apt moniker for a woman who seems to attain the upper reaches of lunacy when the Earth’s satellite is at its fullest. In Hindi, it’s called the Purnima, a catalyst for personal growth and enlightenment. Will the magical phenomenon transform Uma? I’m not telling.
Movie review
Sister Midnight
Rated: Not rated
Cast: Radhika Apte, Ashok Pathak and Chhaya Kadam
Director: Karan Kandhari
Writer: Karan Kandhari
Runtime: 102 minutes
Where: In theaters May 16 (limited); going wide May 23
Grade: B+
