Mrs
succeeds
in
riling
you
up
for
all
the
right
reasons.
And
without
resorting
to
high-pitched
drama,
applauds
Sukanya
Verma.
Few
films
have
boiled
my
blood
like
Jeo
Baby’s
The
Great
Indian
Kitchen,
which
documents
the
daily
drudgery
a
nameless,
newly-married
young
woman
undergoes
as
patriarchy
claims
another
soul.
Every
single
day,
it’s
the
same
routine.
She
cooks
and
serves
all
the
meals,
sweeps
and
mops
the
floor,
washes
the
utensils
and
the
clothes
in
a
household
whose
men
are
only
too
happy
to
thrust
down
their
ideas
of
a
domestic
goddess
and
shun
any
external
assistance
—
help
or
home
appliances.
What
plays
out
is
a
portrait
of
misery
in
monotony,
imagine
a
reverse
Perfect
Days,
wherein
director
Wim
Wenders
discovers
poetry
in
the
fixed
pattern
of
a
toilet
cleaner
in
Tokyo
as
he
goes
about
his
daily
chores
and
banal
schedule
across
a
gentle,
mediative
rhythm.
The
main
difference
here
is
autonomy.
He’s
acting
out
of
free
will
while
she’s
slaving
to
fulfil
a
history
of
expectations
forced
down
upon
her
by
men
conditioned
generation
after
generation
to
believe
they
can
be
the
boss
of
a
woman’s
life.
Given
how
universal
the
theme
of
a
woman’s
subjugation
is,
Arati
Kadav’s
Hindi
adaptation
of
the
modern-day
Malayalam
classic,
written
by
co-producer
Harman
Baweja
and
Anu
Singh
Choudhary
doesn’t
in
any
way
feel
like
a
repetition
but
yet
another
exasperating
reminder
of
the
rot
running
deep.
Mrs,
starring
Sanya
Malhotra
at
the
receiving
end
of
domestic
servitude,
offers
a
glossier
but
impactful
retelling
of
a
reality
that
is
depressingly
true
of
a
bulk
of
Indian
homes.
The
action
shifts
from
a
rustic,
religious
lifestyle
of
Calicut
to
the
uptight,
bone
china-loving
kothiwalas
of
Delhi
—
where
misogyny
is
anyway
an
easy
fit
—
when
Richa
(Malhotra),
a
passionate
dancer
coyly
agrees
to
an
arranged
marriage
with
Diwakar
(Nishant
Dahiya),
a
soft
spoken
gynaecologist.
The
red
flags
pop
up
from
the
word
go
when
he
introduces
himself
as
a
doctor
of
female
anatomy
and
orders
pasta
for
a
pizza
lover.
But
the
forces
behind
benefit
of
doubt
don’t
make
much
of
it
and
devour
the
hustle
bustle
of
big
fat
Indian
weddings
and
lip-smacking
visuals
of
elegantly
prepared
mithai
and
pakwans
by
female
hands.
What’s
unsettling
is
how
easily
the
injustices
of
this
social
arrangement
are
camouflaged
when
carried
out
through
the
framework
of
festivity
and
tradition.
Cinematographer
Pratham
Mehta’s
use
of
soft
lighting
and
colour
palette,
combined
with
Prerna
Saigal’s
astute
editing,
readily
point
out
at
the
dichotomy
of
genteel
decorum
and
silently
suffered
strain.
Kadav’s
move
into
a
South-to-North
cultural
context
aims
to
showcase
an
entirely
new
household
and
its
own
brand
of
chauvinism
and
problematic
gender
expectations
putting
a
damper
on
Richa’s
spirit.
Watching
her
decline
from
an
eager-to-please
bride
to
a
domestic
robot
slogging
away
day
and
night
—
save
for
when
it’s
that
time
of
the
month
—
even
as
her
own
dreams
and
desires
are
put
on
a
back
burner,
find
a
striking
metaphor
in
the
kitchen’s
plumbing
issues.
A
character’s
suggestion
to
get
rid
of
the
decay,
‘Leakage
ki
problem
poorani
hai.
Poori
pipeline
hi
change
karni
padegi‘,
is
a
shrewdly
phrased
wakeup
call
to
start
protesting,
stop
enabling
and
smash
the
patriarchy.
From
the
perennial
left
hand
use
outrage
to
menstruating
women
taboos,
forsaking
foreplay
for
mechanical
sex
to
mother-in-law’s
way
or
highway
or
perfectly
healthy
men
posing
as
permission-granting
pigs
wanting
everything
on
a
platter,
Mrs
succeeds
in
riling
you
up
for
all
the
right
reasons.
And
without
resorting
to
high-pitched
drama.
There’s
no
violence
or
argument,
just
a
casually
callous
pair
of
father-son
and
their
cheerfully
conveyed
demands
to
enslave
her.
Nishant
Dahiya
believably
gets
under
the
skin
of
the
entitled,
deceiving
charm
of
the
commonplace
misogynist
but
it
is
Kanwaljeet
Singh’s
courteous
Betajis
coating
his
deep-seated
sexism
that
remind
you
what
a
smooth
devil
he
can
be
since
Maachis.
Wolfing
down
cholesterol-rich
breakfast
yet
needing
ajwain
water
to
poop,
the
doctor
duo’s
rituals
of
hypocrisy
go
on
and
on,
which
is
what
makes
Richa’s
first
and
final
act
of
retaliation
so
satisfying
to
watch
even
if
you
are
well-versed
with
the
original.
Nimisha
Sajayan
in
The
Great
Indian
Kitchen
is
a
tough
act
to
follow.
You
can
actually
feel
her
exhaustion
day
in
and
out
over
the
course
of
hard
labour
and
simmering
rage.
Sanya
Malhotra,
always
on
the
top
of
her
game,
steers
clear
of
comparisons
and
gives
her
own
poignant,
‘prime
number’
spin
to
the
portrayal.
A
qualified
dancer
herself,
there’s
palpable
joy
in
the
way
she
surrenders
to
the
magic
of
melodious
beats.
The
actor
brings
a
certain
naivete
to
her
character,
the
more
earnest
her
attempts,
the
more
heartbreaking
its
impact.
All
the
while
her
goodness
is
taken
for
granted
and
hopes
to
win
hearts
goes
in
vain.
Until
the
unbearable
stench
of
the
great
Indian
kitchen
makes
her
wonder
if
the
burden
of
a
title,
advertised
by
marriage
as
some
kind
of
blessing,
is
worth
the
never-ending
grind?
Most
Mrs
wonder,
few
Richas
realise.
More
power
to
her.
Mrs
streams
on
ZEE5.
Mrs
Review
Rediff
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