The debut feature written and directed by Sandhya Suri, “Santosh,” is a workaday venture that nags at the memory like a burr in one’s sock. If that doesn’t sound like a commendation, consider the deluge of entertainment to which we subject ourselves on a regular basis and how little of it makes a dent. Ms. Suri seems to be bringing us more of the same with this police procedural: Don’t we have enough of the damned things? Given the quality of Ms. Suri’s film, I would say not.
“Santosh” ventures along well-trod ground. Among the themes dealt with are class division and, with it, social condescension. The radical changes that can result from the death of a loved one is another motif, as is the careerism of governmental agents and its potential abuses. Appearance is emphasized: Clothes make the man, sure, but they can also unmake the woman, in this case Santosh Saini. More on those clothes shortly.
As portrayed by Shahana Goswami, the title character is a walled-in individual who finds it difficult to square the contingencies of life or the hypocrisies of culture. We are introduced to our heroine in the company of her in-laws. The discussion is contentious and derisive. What is to be done with the young widow?
Santosh’s husband was a police officer killed in the line of service. He wasn’t on the job for long: The benefits offered to his widow aren’t much to speak of. And what about the dowry Santosh brought to his family? So much chicken feed. Our protagonist’s mother-in-law is particularly callous about the burdens posed by the situation. She speaks about Santosh as if the woman wasn’t sitting directly in their midst.
The setting for Mr. Suri’s picture is a rural community in the north of India. Its center is jerry-rigged in infrastructure and marked by neglect; the surrounding areas are verdant in topography and economically poor. The unnamed township is dominated by traditional ideas about womanhood that border on misogynistic. When Santosh breaks with her in-laws and reaches out to the local constabulary for assistance, she becomes even more despondent: Eviction from her government-provided housing is imminent.
A police functionary informs Santosh, almost against his better judgement, that there is a provision in the law that allows the spouse of a deceased officer to inherit the position. This is where Santosh is transformed, not only by taking on a thankless job but by donning a uniform of state. From here on out we see Santosh in an anodyne shirt-and-trousers keyed to the blandest variation of taupe. A newfound authority has been conferred upon her by this raiment. Santosh’s response to this situation is a gamut of barely discernible emotions.
As befits a rookie, Santosh spends her early days treading gingerly. She suffers the disdain of the veterans, registering their every slight. She also takes careful note of protocol, however dicey or unsavory it appears to be. When a young girl goes missing, Santosh takes a special interest in the case — only to be rebuffed by her superiors: The girl’s family belongs to India’s lowest caste, the Dalits. Why should a Hindu police officer take seriously the worries of an “untouchable”? Better to apply your energies elsewhere.
When the girl’s body is found at the bottom of a well, the authorities are taken to task by the press, aspiring politicians, and, ultimately, the government. Santosh is subsequently appointed to work with a veteran cop, Geeta Sharma (Sunita Rajwar). She’s been around the block, our Inspector Sharma, and doesn’t suffer fools gladly — which very much includes the male officers in her orbit. Ms. Rajwar essays the role with a blunt, all but immovable physicality. The actress inhabits both the character’s tenderness and ferocity with a sly verisimilitude.
The bond between Santosh and Sharma is nowhere near being preordained, but when it does occur its naturalism is all the more convincing after things get ugly. Some critics have pegged Ms. Suri’s film as a “fiercely feminist empowerment saga,” and they wouldn’t be wrong. Yet the description sells short the range of complexities touched upon, not least the unruly frictions that can come to dominate a pluralistic culture and the depravities to which the human animal is susceptible.
The director is helped in this venture by two extraordinary actresses, Ms. Goswami and Ms. Rajwar, and a context that is, for all its regional specificity, familiar in its contours. “Santosh” is as incisive as it is rattling, and recommended.