SHIVRANJANA RATHORE
Head to Samrat theatre in Panjim to catch Fairy Folk! Like any millennial worth their salt, I was online, (fun) scrolling through reels on a day when the Instagram algorithm nudged me towards @fairyfolk_thefilm. As a headstrong online individual who immediately swipes away when a sponsored post comes along, this one made me pause.
I found two actors – Rasika Dugal and Mukul Chadda – sitting opposite each other at a table, in conversation. This was clearly not a product ad, nor a production based solely for viewing in Mumbai; so what could this be?
Curious, I entered the digital realm of Fairy Folk, an indie (independently made) film written and directed by filmmaker, composer, sound designer and Goa-resident, Karan Gour, starring two well-known faces in a magical realism drama that used improv to make its scenes. This was fascinating to me.
For the uninitiated, improv (or improvisation) is a form of live theatre in which the dialogues are made up in the moment. What this meant for this film, as shared by Gour at a recent Cinephile screening last week, was that before each scene, he told the cast what was happening, what was to be done, leaving the specifics of how the actors got there completely on the actors own decisions, talents and chemistry.
Intrigued, I bookmarked this film as a “to watch” without looking it up to see that it had been nominated for the Gold Q Hugo Award at the Chicago International Film Festival 2022, or when or if even, it would be released in theatres, for when was the last time an indie film got major theatrical release?
Watching the film and listening to the maker made me think about indie films and how I recognised Indian indie films as those curious creative projects that had no massive promotions, no ads, no PR campaigns on their home ground; yet did rounds at international film festivals.
I drew parallels from my area of making – books – where it is often at the stage after creation, where finding audiences outside of existing structures gets complicated. Fairy Folk is no different in that.
The film explores the relationship between a man and a woman, in a routine of coexistence that comes with a long-term relationship. This routine works for them in a way, even if it masks moments of hidden displeasure or wishing for something more.
They do not intend to change anything unless the absurdity of a forest being forces out unsaid truth and change. It plays with ideas of clinical urban boxes versus wide open wilderness, safety and labels of gender roles versus personal truths and fluidity, to weave a tale of modern (co)existence.
Having released on March 1 to about three screens in India – including Samrat in Panjim – this film is a must watch, if only to witness the magic of the film’s nature spirit. The stellar performances and sound immerse the viewer in a world that is like their own, but also somewhat in the realm of myth, bringing our own relationships with the world under the lens, to be examined for all to see.
Running only for the rest of this week, this is a labour of love made by an experimental filmmaker with a group of actors deeply passionate about and in love with their craft.
Having released on March 1 to about three screens in India – including Samrat in Panjim – this film is a must watch, if only to witness the magic of the film’s nature spirit.
For those in love with the green spirit of Goa, this film is a gentle invitation to aliveness, in a rapidly urbanising landscape.
I have seen many indie films and particularly love the wild imagination and possibility, the non-formulaic storytelling that comes from the wilderness of human imagination. I wonder if the premise of this very film can be seen as a metaphor for the uncomfortable and absurd process of birthing the infinite wild possibilities of independent filmmaking.
While structures of big production houses exist and encourage makers, audiences ultimately hold a lot of power to encourage independent filmmakers in India and the support of audiences can change structures and increase possibilities for artists in the endless cycle of making and sharing work.
At the end, I am glad that the Instagram page did at least pop up that one sponsored ad for me to find this film, and as an audience of indie Indian cinema, this not-a-movie-review exists to pay homage to the brilliant talent in India and a nudge to readers to run to Samrat within this week.
