Nagarkirtan is an Evocative Love Story That's Dark and Imaginative

Kaushik Ganguly has dedicated his 2017 Bengali film 'Nagarkirtan' (which means the religious song of the city), to Rituparno Ghosh, the ultimate queer icon of Bengal and India. And kicks off, then, a vivid, vivacious portrait of love- love, as a form of song. Love, as a form of story. Love, as a form of the telling of the story. But as the dramatics unfold, you realize that this is all about love as a form of love as the characters from a story. Even if you don't, I prefer seeing this film like that, because when you see Radha and Krishna in Parimal and Madhu, you achieve the essence of their kind of love. 

This is an LGBT love story, or simply the story of an unconventional love. The story of a cross-dressing transgender woman who falls in love with Madhu, a part-time delivery boy of a Chinese restaurant who also works as a flautist of Vaishnava Kirtans. This isn't a tale of one-sided love, because Madhu also loves Pari, or 'Puti'. This is an intensely affectionate romance, one which excites the senses. Both of them love each other, both of them being men. But wasn't even the pair of Radha and Krishna, the film argues, unconventional? According to the scriptures, Krishna was a boy, while Radha was an older, married woman. In fact, some say Radha was Krishna's 'Mashi' (Aunt) by the strands of relationship, but the Hindu lore sexualizes the relationship playfully and profoundly, to produce popular, mainstream and ritualistic results. 

The film doesn't waste its time in religious politics though. It keeps its love story as personal and intimate as personal. And it has terrific performances: the one who steals the show, though, is Riddhi Sen. The actor accomplishes what Vijay Sethupathi did in 'Super Deluxe' last year, with equal conviction. But this feels a better performance because you are not for once reminded that she is but 'he'. Sen aces the body language, but he also gets the emotional language: he doesn't meander to sentimentality. Its a progressive performance. Ritwick Chakraborty, hailed as Bengali cinema's own indie actor, frequently seals the deal with as much prowess as his co-star. His portrayal of Madhu-da remains a curiously affectionate one: primarily because the writing uncovers his character, takes off the peels, bit-by-bit, throughout the running time, and perhaps also in the climax. Like Chaitanya Mahaprabhu, he is born at Nabadwip. And like him, he is not Krishna, he is Radha of the story. He belongs to Parimal, not otherwise. 

The most refreshing aspect of this narrative is that these two characters don't carry their sexuality like their emblem. They are as they are, and that's offbeat, the film says. But there's no preaching. It's the film's charming quietude, its faith in the bitingly harsh and unlikably colourful atmosphere that adds to the film's unraveling, ravishing set-pieces. There are few moments of depth here, but those that are, leave a lasting impact. The portions involving Manabi Bandyopadhyay's cameo as the first transgender principal of a women's university in India (she is the principal of the Women's University in Krishnanagar) are too one-note and on-the-face, but they bring great subtlety to the stage of the dance of love these two eloped lovers are performing. The film does have a series of glaring flaws though- the film engages you through its evocative colours in the running time, but a few sidelined portions in the romance, especially the humor, doesn't work. The editing, veering from past to present, feels dull in a few places. 

Despite the minor flaws, there's a lot to love in Nagarkirtan. Its a harsh, dark and brutal film that leaves you with a period of grief, an edgy quietness. This is the story of two people who managed to fight the society, but failed before the everyday realities. But I assure you that the exquisite romance will stay for a long time with you.