The Disciple, in Marathi, on the struggles of a Hindustani classical musician to stay true to his art, entirely deserves all its awards and acclaim
Illustration/Uday Mohite
Chaitanya Tamhane’s absolutely brilliant film The Disciple dropped on Netflix last week. While Netflix is presenting the film, its online film introduction comes with the statutory warning: “This movie is cerebral, understated.” Uff! This is appalling labelling, as if declaring a problem child, dissuading those who may otherwise have been delighted to discover it on their own.
The Disciple, in Marathi, on the struggles of a Hindustani classical musician to stay true to his art, entirely deserves all its awards and acclaim. Tamhane won Best Screenplay, and the film won the FIPRESCI International Critics’ Jury Award, at the Venice Film Festival last year, where it was the first Indian film in 20 years to make it to the Competition section. It also played at the Toronto and New York Film Festivals. It has the weight of multiple Oscar winner Alfonso Cuarón (Roma, Gravity) as executive producer. The film is produced by Vivek Gomber’s Zoo Entertainment. Tamhane’s impressive debut Court had earlier won Best Film in the Orrizonti section, and Lion of the Future Award at the Venice Film Festival in 2014.
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Sharad Nerulkar (Aditya Modak), 24, is a Hindustani classical vocalist in Mumbai, being groomed by Guruji (Dr Arun Dravid). Nerulkar’s devotion to his art—inspired by the deeply philosophical lectures on classical music by Maai, Guruji’s unseen mentor (Sumitra Bhave’s recorded voice), leaves him little room to “settle down” with a job and marriage. He fears that without that commitment, he will remain an also-ran, like his father, a failed musician, who had trained him as a child. In the guru-shishya parampara, he assiduously looks after his ageing guruji—massaging him, taking him to the doctor, paying his bills, yet the guruji reprimands his music onstage. Even as he takes a small job helping transfer music tapes to CDs, he sees his friends move ahead. Sneha, a fellow student on whom he has a crush, gets married and even has zillions of subscribers on YouTube. We learn this when Sharad is browsing the internet and we see her using her married name—so much compressed in a telling detail. He sees a Hindustani classical singer on a TV singing competition become a glamorous club singer. Increasingly melancholic and frustrated, sensing that artistic greatness is out of reach, he gets married and promotes his Alwar gharana through a book: the embers burn quietly now. The climax is masterly: it punches you in the gut, yet undeniably offers hope.
Tamhane, who has done the direction, screenplay and editing, is absolutely in control of his craft. There are poignant scenes, as when Sharad begs nearby cricketers to throw him a ball. He explodes when a critic rips his Guruji as “w-o-h Dadarwale” and Maai as an elitist fraud. Sharad is a marvellously realised character, with whose dilemmas we deeply empathise. Don’t be put off by those concerned they won’t follow Hindustani classical music: you simply don’t need to. The struggle is a universal one, of any artist trying to get his artistic and moral compasses to align. Modak and Dr Dravid are superb: both are accomplished real-life classical vocalists, and it shows. The screenplay by Tamhane is brilliant and vitriolic, with some very funny dialogues and scenes. He makes political commentary as he explores how Muslim musicians have greatly enriched India’s Hindustani classical musical heritage, yet some singers “refuse to sing compositions by Muslims” and worse, we fearlessly lynch Muslims today. He makes reference to women singers being slut-shamed.
Polish cinematographer Michal Sobocinski exquisitely mimics the hero’s quest: quietly persistent and respectful: His camera is largely static in the establishing shots, then discreetly zooms in to reveal psychological nuance. Mumbai is also a deeply affecting character, evoked through modest, tubelight-lit sangeet sabhagruhas, one-room kholis in chawls, flyovers and fancy highrises in Parel. The editing by Tamhane is deft: his telling details reveal a lot, and deftly juggles Sharad’s flashbacks with the present. The wonderful music includes many beautiful Hindustani classical ragas, with music design by Aneesh Pradhan. Pooja Talreja and Ravin Karde’s production design is outstanding, as is the casting by Yugandar Deshpande. Anita Kushwaha and Naren Chandavarkar’s sound design is notable as well. Do not miss this jewel.
Meenakshi Shedde is India and South Asia Delegate to the Berlin International Film Festival, National Award-winning critic, curator to festivals worldwide and journalist. Reach her at meenakshi.shedde@mid-day.com
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