Review | Chalay Thay Saath – But To Where, and Why?!


Kamran Jawaid  |  The post is the unedited copy of the feature published in DAWN’s ICON on 30th April 2017, which can be read here with jpegs of the print copy at the end


“What would make my film different. How would it stand out from the rest of the pack?!” asks a worried little voice inside a filmmaker’s head. The most obvious answer, and logically also the most effective one, is to use a “Cold Open” as the very first scene of the film.

Cold opens are a devious storytelling tool: they often use a dramatic scene from the middle or end of the film, and if need be, explain its relevance through a narrator.

Right now, these openings are notoriously popular with Pakistani filmmakers. Take for example the one in WAAR, which introduces Shaan Shahid’s gung-ho character in a good-cop bad-cop scene (there was no good cop in that room, by the way). Or the one in Jawani Phir Nahin Aani where a pre-intermission suicide scene is used as a ploy to heighten the film’s tension. Or the one in Bachana, Wrong No. and Dance Kahani.

The list is finite, but only because we have a limited number of motion pictures to count off.

The cold open in Chalay Thay Saath (CTS) has a voice-over from Resham (Syra Shehroz), who in somberly tones introduces the film’s cast in a montage.

Resham tells us that she is a doctor who loves to doodle and write to her dead mother in a private diary. Her widower daddy (Behroz Sabzwari) lives somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Hunza valley. Her best friends are Zain, Tania and Faraz (Osama Tahir, Mansha Pasha and Faris Khalid). Zain and Tania are a bickering couple who used to be college sweethearts, and Faraz is a U.S. returned burn-out with no life path.

The scene, made-up of shots we will see later in the film, feels like an easy way out of character development. It is also tonally out of place and amateurish – as if the montage was the only way audience’s may get to know these characters.

In film school, (or a “proper” film industry), there is a solution for such screenwriting mental blocks: you show, don’t tell. Elaborate backstories into scenes. Apparently, no one gave CTS’s makers that advice.

When the montage ends, we see Resham and friends on a sightseeing trip in the Gilgit-Baltistan region with a tag-along aunty called Aqsa (Shamim Halai). On the way, their tour-guide adds Adam (Kent S. Leung), a Chinese-Muslim who makes a love-connection with Resham.

Adam does not speak Urdu, and his main mode of communication is a translation app that excels in picking out the gist and tone of conversations. And yes, this aspect alone opens a wealth of comedic prospects.

With Adam’s inclusion – a foreign tourist smitten by Pakistan and Pakistani’s – CTS is brave enough to walk into unorthodox territory. Some would call this cultural propaganda, (or kissing up to China); others will applaud the always-topical boldness of racial biasness and cross-cultural marriages.

Adam’s inclusion leads to a trivial fisticuff between men (kindergarten fights are far fiercer), a slight father-daughter disagreement on her choice of life-partner, and eventual resolves of whatever issues the film’s secondary set of characters have.

I say “eventual”, because the running time is about one hour too long.

The screenplay by Atiya Zaidi – a documentary and advertisement copywriter and an attendee of Aaron Sorkin’s Master Class – presents superficially written characters and weightless conflicts that overlap and tip-over near CTS’s final thirty minutes.

By then the only thing we care about are the end-credits. Not one of these people are real enough, or their issues dire enough, to warrant a one-hour conversation, let alone a two-hour plus motion picture.

Umar Adil, the debuting director and one of the film’s producers, banks on his director of photography (Shahzad Khan) to capture the lusciousness of Pakistan’s northern region. Adil, unfortunately, also feigns obliviousness on CTS’s principal fault – a lack of plot.

The film’s cinematography takes charge – but only by default.

However, at this point, I would argue against the intellectual depth of the craft. From what I saw the camera work is pretty standard, with low-angled tracking shots moving either left or right, or crane moves going up or down. Yes, everything was in focus, and in some situations, the lens captures light-streaks from the sun that almost eat-up the cast. They look lovely – but almost anyone with a DSLR (or even someone with a high-quality phone camera) can get these beautiful, vibrant images.

Although the film credits Shahzad Khan as the cinematographer, and co-producer Beenish Umar as the production designer, I would credit God Almighty for about 80% of what we see on-screen.

Adil, nevertheless, is blessed with some very fine actors (kudos especially to the very natural Kent Leung). These people are making do with whatever lack of material they have at their disposal.

Somewhere in the middle of the film, the cast adds Zhalay Sarhadi as a beautiful, tough-to-woo, independent young woman who runs a carpentry workshop. She, of course, has as much significance to the story as any other supporting character.

In a way, CTS reminds me of Thora Jee Lay, which came out a few months back. This film too had fresh young cast and an uncannily similar story angle that included a road-trip and characters whose marriage was on the rocks.

Now that I think about it, Thora Jee Lay too started with a similar cold-open. I guess, Pakistani filmmakers are officially out of ideas – or, maybe, they all think alike.

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