Marriage is not for everyone, and some of us are not entirely cut out to lead a conventional domestic life for various reasons. However, we still live in a world where entire societies are built on the concept of heteronormative, traditional pairings – and in many cases, someone’s future is predetermined for them from childhood. The concept of arranged marriages has proven to be an extraordinarily contentious topic, with some seeing it as a remnant of outdated patriarchal practices, and others considering it an integral part of their culture. There is ultimately very little agreement on the subject, but the conversations are always intriguing and worth exploring, even if it can sometimes be quite daunting to try to comprehend all the nuances that tend to go into these practices. It often helps to seek out work that examines these subjects in an engaging and enthralling manner, which is where we find Sister Midnight, the directorial debut of Karan Kandhari, which is not only one of the most fascinating examinations of arranged marriages that we’ve seen committed to film, but quite simply one of the year’s most surprising works. The film follows Uma, a young woman whose arranged marriage starts the film (in fact, our first encounter with her takes place in the aftermath of the wedding), and whose own inexperience in running a household serves as the impetus for the central tension, especially since her husband Gopal has proven to have enormous expectations, but very paltry skills of his own, leading her to take command of all the affairs in their small home in rural Mumbai, despite her lack of domestic skills. As time progresses, Uma finds herself growing increasingly more resistant to the tasks that have been unfairly placed on her by society, and her growing disdain for the limitations of being a housewife begin to erode her sanity, leading her to develop some unorthodox methods of satisfying some growing cravings, which eventually spiral out of control, leading to a complete departure from reality for the previously composed young woman. Sister Midnight is a deft blend of darkly comedic social satire and body horror that sets out to examine a topic that very rarely is subjected to this kind of interesting commentary, especially a work that defies not only conventions, but entire genres in the process, becoming one of the year’s most unconventional but unquestionably brilliant artistic achievements.

While every film should aim to succeed in one specific area, it’s always a delight to find one that is able to communicate to different audiences, who will likely react to the material in radically different ways depending on the extent of their knowledge of the themes being explored. Sister Midnight is a peculiar cinematic curio, since it functions as a sardonic satire that tackles a topic that is part of the everyday life of the people of India, while also touching on ideas that are familiar to those of us who exist outside that cultural sphere. No satire should ever feel compelled to make itself absolutely comprehensible to everyone, but it is always wonderful to see a film that is steadfast in its willingness to be accessible to as wide an audience as possible, especially when communicating some of the ideas that are seated right at the heart of this film. Arranged marriages are a contentious topic, and while it would be misguided for anyone who exists outside that cultural context to assert any kind of judgment on practices that have never been a part of their own life, it is obviously a subject that has inspired a lot of conversation. The key here wasn’t to assess the validity of the practice, but rather look at it from the perspective of someone who represents the myriad of women who are placed into these marriages, showing the inner turmoil and fear likely felt by those placed in these positions. The intentions of the film become very clear as it progresses, with Kandhari working to make what is essentially a steadfast feminist statement, looking at Indian culture through the lens of someone who refuses to be a victim of the patriarchy, and instead rises against the system in a way that is compelling and frankly quite unsettling. The adage “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” was the guiding principle behind Sister Midnight, which combines social satire with horror and fantasy to tell what is essentially a story steeped heavily in Indian folklore and history, showing Uma’s journey from placid domestic wife to someone who takes command of every part of her life, even if it means sometimes going against the grain in creative ways. There’s some genuine surprises embedded in this film that would not be appropriate to spoil (especially since they take the viewer on a journey that none of us would anticipate), but needless to say, Kandhari ensures that we are taken on an unforgettable journey into the heart of this culture, one that is both respectful to the traditions and customs, but also not afraid to provoke with the intention of challenging the system.

Sister Midnight feels like the introduction to a major new voice in contemporary cinema – somehow, it exudes both the rambunctious ambition of a debut, and the world-weary charm of someone who has been through life and experienced its many challenges, all of which have been elegantly and creatively condensed into a single story that somehow reflects themes far larger than could ever feasibly be contained in an individual film. It would be absolutely bewildering if Kandhari didn’t come to be seen as one of the most exciting young auteurs of his generation, since everything about this film conveys a clear message about his extraordinary talents. While we can attribute a lot of this to the story and what it represents, we also have to recognise that what truly makes this film extraordinary is found in the actual execution of its ideas – the narrative is strong, but it would mean nothing without certain technical and aesthetic decisions that immediately draw the audience in. The cinematography by Sverre Sørdal is some of the most fascinating of the year – the symmetry of every shot, coupled with some fluid camerawork that changes depending on the tone of a particular scene, and supported by exceptional production design and costuming that both celebrates the culture and uses some of its more memorable visual components as cues for what is essentially a genre-defying existential odyssey. Kandhari is a very gifted filmmaker – his approach is simple but evocative, and he brings so much heart and humour to a story that needed someone with a keen directorial vision, since while the themes may be strong enough to pique our curiosity, it would only be through the careful construction of the film that everything would truly fall into place. The music by Paul Banks (otherwise known as the frontman for alt-rock band Interpol) is also equally as important to developing the tone of the film, since the blend of traditional compositions and pre-existing songs (such as an unforgettable use of The Band’s timeless classic “The Weight”, which takes on even more meaning through its use in this film) indicates a dynamic and thoughtful approach in which absolutely every scene is given attention, functioning as compelling vignettes in this exceptionally captivating dark comedy that intends to unsettle and provoke in very creative ways.

A film like Sister Midnight doesn’t need to rely on its actors to deliver strong work in order to be effective (since the story and execution are captivating enough), but it certainly is an additional merit that this film manages to be so surprisingly captivating when it comes to its cast. The central character is portrayed by Radhika Apte, whose performance is absolutely spellbinding. In much the same way that we can assume that Kandhari is going to be a defining figure amongst his fellow filmmakers, Apte is likely going to draw a lot of attention for her impeccable talents, all of which are fully on display in this film, which functions as a daring and enticing character study built entirely around her as a character. The extent to which the director goes to showcase her as a performer is staggering – everything from the subtlest microexpression to the most grandiose moment of extreme physicality is featured prominently, and all play a part in crafting what is essentially one of the year’s most incredibly compelling character studies. Playing a woman descending so deeply into a state of complete madness that she becomes something of a supernatural entity herself (the extent to which we will not spoil, but it is part of the many brilliant surprises that pepper this film) is not an easy task, but Apte is more than up to the challenge, and delivers a performance that may not be a traditional acting vehicle in the usual sense, but has a complexity that many of us won’t realise leaves as much of an impression until long after the film has ended, and her incredible work lingers on in our minds. It also helps that she’s paired with Ashok Pathak, an actor who is so gifted at playing a truly despicable character that we actually cannot even look at him without feeling deep disgust, which is all entirely by design. Both pathetic and unsettling, his performance as Gopal is wickedly funny, representing the lazy husband tropes that this film intentionally critiques, showing how someone as capable as Uma is forced to have her potential squandered solely to honour the social contract she involuntarily was forced to sign years before she reached a reasonable age, and that her supposed childhood sweetheart is actually far from her ideal. It’s excellent work from both actors (and there are even some fantastic supporting performances, such as those by Chhaya Kadam and Smita Tambe, who have small but memorable parts), and it helps anchor Sister Midnight as more than just what meets the eye, which aligns quite well with the film’s intentions as a whole.

If I can make one suggestion for anyone who is intrigued by this masterful gem of a film, it would be to seek out some of the excellent pieces by writers who are either of Indian descent or have a much deeper knowledge of the themes reflected throughout Sister Midnight (either before or after watching it – perhaps the latter is better, since a lot of those pieces do tend to reveal some of the twists and turns that are best experienced without prior knowledge), since there are layers of cultural knowledge that are not entirely necessary to enjoy the film, but do supplement the experience in a way that feels so compelling, enriching our understanding of what the director is attempting to communicate. It’s very much a film that depends on our ability to abandon all logic and simply embrace what we are shown on screen, and any expectation that we are going to get an easy explanation or any kind of justification for some of its choices is entirely misguided, since this is far from a film that intends to provide any kind of solution. Instead, it employs a stream of consciousness approach as a means to highlight the absurdity of outdated cultural conventions, combined with a deeply unsettling sense of unease at the cultural institutions that still view women as objects, which is ultimately what the film is rebelling against, and certainly its most intriguing quality. More people need to be introduced to this film, which seemed to have flown entirely under the radar, despite being one of the most original and inventive works of the year – and the exceptional filmmaking (Kandhari is both a skilled storyteller and visual stylist), astonishing performances that master both the physicality and emotional complexities of the roles, and overall cohesion all work together to create a film that is as bold as it is captivating, a darkly comedic work of genre-bending brilliance that is as enticing as it is deeply and profoundly compelling, both in terms of style and substance, becoming one of the year’s most unique films and something well worth seeking out for anyone with a taste for the absurd and unconventional.