Very rarely do I see a movie that has my eyes welling up with tears for the better part of the last act; even rarer is a Bollywood movie accomplishing this.
In an industry where ‘Kabir Singh’ exists and broke all records on opening day, ‘Thappad’ belongs to the rare breed of movies that has achieved this. Thappad is a powerhouse in itself – capably made, phenomenally executed, and refuses to pull any punches in the story it chooses to tell.
Thappad tells its story in a very meandering yet balanced pace – the grim reality of what goes on in a typical ‘normal’ marriage is juxtaposed with everyday occurrences like brewing a cup of tea in the morning.
The opening shot that introduces the audience to the cast is just a series of vignettes of the characters enjoying and bonding over an Orange Bar. (This is one of the many subtleties that struck me while viewing the movie). There’s Amrita, the protagonist and her husband, Vikram, Sunita, the help, and her abusive husband, Sachin and Sandhya, Amrita’s loving parents, Swati and Karan, Amrita’s sister-in-law and brother, troubled lawyer Nethra and her extramarital affair (I do not remember the guy’s name, but I do remember that he cooked well) and neighbor Shivani and her daughter, Sania. All these stories converge into one house where Amrita brews a cup of tea with some lemongrass and a generous helping of ginger. Ironically, the house does not even bear Amrita’s name on the nameplate. Patriarchy and entitlement run deep in this story, and Amrita is hardly the only victim.
Amrita’s world comes crumbling down when Vikram lands a mighty slap across her face as an outlet for his frustration at a party to celebrate his corporate success.
You know the scary bit?
Nothing changes after the slap. Amrita is just supposed to go on with her life as if nothing had happened. Even the background music is the same.
The slap is so normalized that no one sees anything wrong with that.
When Vikram slaps Amrita, every one of the relationships unravels. Yes, domestic violence and abuse is one of the topics this film chooses to address, but that’s not all. Entitlement is at the center of this story. It’s about decades of conditioning and flawed social structures and outdated gender expectations. The slap makes Amrita realize that her husband never viewed her as an equal. As Shivani so eloquently put it, rishte banana asaan hai, par nibhaana mushkil – if you can’t even respect yourself because of a relationship, then you have to wonder whether the relationship is worth all the turbulence it causes. Interesting sidenote here – Vikram does not apologize to Amrita till the very end of the movie.
Shrewdly the very premise of the film and Amrita’s escalating reaction to the slap is plotted in such a way that you’re frequently compelled to ask: “Isn’t she taking it too far?” or “Surely she doesn’t need to make such a big deal of it?” The answer to those questions may be found in Vikram’s unmistakably selfish handling of the situation.
But the thing is – and this is key – there are no easy answers here. The husband is no villain. Vikram is selfish, entitled, conditioned to put himself and his own pride before his wife, but he’s not a bad guy. He’s just every other Indian man. Knowing that, you’re confronted with the same question again: “Isn’t she overdoing it?” Don’t be embarrassed if you’re leaning dangerously close to answering yes; it’s exactly the position the director wants you to take. In fact, in a scripting masterstroke he raises the stakes at the halfway mark, putting the couple in such a situation that now you’re thinking: “Okay, this is too much. She must let it go.”
But Thappad isn’t a film about a wife teaching her husband not to take her for granted. It’s about a woman rediscovering her sense of self, contemplating what is fair and what isn’t. It’s about no longer disregarding the deep-rooted sexism and selfishness, and the casual insensitivity that women contend with everyday. If any of this sounds like activism or social-message disguised to look like a movie, it’s honestly not. You’re very much invested in Amrita’s story. She is the fulcrum of Vikram’s uppercrust home in Delhi; she’s a supportive wife and a caring daughter-in-law. In one bristling moment she points out that the sacrifice of every woman who chooses to be a homemaker can be understood from the simple fact that no little girl when asked what she wants to grow up to be says ‘housewife’.
Like so many films in this cluster of content-driven cinema, the supporting cast excel. Sachin is the man who stood up for his daughter when the society said beti hai, beta nahin. Sandhya is prickly and rough around the edges, but you know why she is the way she is when you realize shaadi mein compromise unhone bhi kiye hai, despite a seemingly understanding husband.
Amrita’s mother-in-law fights for her identity within a loveless marriage, hoping she’s more than a wife and a mother and that someone will hold her hand and tell her that. Shivani is a widow still madly in love because no man can ever match up to the man she lost. Nethra is a tough divorce attorney fighting for the woman’s right on the outside, but struggles to come to terms with the fact that agar rishta jodke rakhna pade to toota hua hai on the inside. Swati is woke, aware and strongly sides with the right, especially when she’s literally the first one to back Amrita, but finds herself up against a wall at the realisation that the man she’s with, doesn’t understand where and why it hurts. And Sunita, stuck between fighting for basic self-respect and getting regularly beaten up by her husband, accepts et al as fate, simply because agar bade gharon mein ho sakta hai toh main kya hoon?
Towards the climax, Amrita is given the mammoth responsibility of a monologue, with her entire family as audience around her. It’s her baby shower and she’s in her husband’s house only for the pooja, even as the divorce papers are being filed and stamped behind the camera. You cry. Multiple times. It’s really simple – Usne mujhe maara, pehli baar. Nahi maar sakta. Bas itni si baat hai.
(And also realise how monologues are actually done, as opposed to the Kartik Aaryan way.)
The music of the film (by Anurag Saikia) is beautifully melancholic in tone and blends in with the narrative. It is safe to say that Anubhav Sinha has rendered his career best in this strong-worded social drama. He deserves an applause for the depth-handling of the various characters in the film, their greys, complexities, dilemmas without ever getting too loud, overbearing or trying too hard to make a statement. Yet, the film drives home a solid point and leaves you with enough to ponder upon. The fine and nuanced writing, by Sinha and Mrunmayee Lagoo, deserves a special mention as that is what takes the film notches higher.
Thappad is incredible – from the writing to the visual storytelling and cinematography to the performances by everyone. Thappad resonates, as it is supposed to. It is a must watch for everyone.
-Anant Shri
