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In the first novel by Prayaag Akbar, Leila (2017), the setting – "a digitized city in the near future" – comes to life with a disconcerting geometric precision. It includes giant quadrangular areas – homogeneous autonomous sub-caste and religious havens – surrounded by walls of more than 60-foot sectors, guarded by repeaters, which allow strangers only after a check rigorous identity. The city is also separated vertically: here, the "air routes" transport privileged civilians; clean air is bottled and sold; and streams of rubbish, thrown by the rich, flow along the walls of the sector.
All this is settled on the greetings and dictates of "purity for all" – a new state, called the Council, which "protects" and treats its children as a domineering Indian father: crosses are frowned upon and dissent punished. In a world of organized chaos, Shalini lost her daughter and, most likely, her mind. Her name is "Leila" – the child of a Muslim man and a Hindu woman, she may be what you want her to be: Leela (Hindu) or Laila (Muslim) ). It may be one or the other thing – a lost sea among the islands.
The novel was recently adapted to become a Netflix series of the same name, co-directed by Deepa Mehta, Shankar Ramen and Pawan Kumar. Movies and literary journalism are subject to an urgent limitation: they do not usually grant you access to a person's mind. Leila told through the limited point of view of a third person, erases the distance between the inner and outer worlds of Shalini, a privilege that is not granted to the designers of the Web series. So there are changes in the original text – structural, ornamental, thematic – as one could expect from a serious adaptation.
Unlike the novel, the series rooted history in time: the year is 2049, the country Aryavarta. In the novel, mother and daughter have been separated for 16 years, in the Web series, for two years. If the novel opens with a hook – a wandering mother who is thinking about her daughter and looking for her – the series then begins with an Inciting Incident: a female rehearsalwoman entering her house, murdering her husband (Rahul Khanna) and removing Leila, a scene that is around the middle of the book. If the novel presents itself as haleem – a delightfully slow-burning delight – the series is a cup of noodles: too impatient, too impatient to be consumed.
Which, it must be said, is not automatically a bad thing. It is simply a matter of aesthetics and comfort zone. But if you deviate from the original text (which this series does considerably – there are new characters, secondary intrigues, themes), then you should at least respect the mechanisms.
The novel questions the nuances of his world. in chilling and penetrating details – developing a language of almost unique terror – while the series, evident from its opening, is more than happy with a bird's eye view.
[1945] 19659002] After the first sequence, the series turns into Aryavarta purity camp two years later. It is a place for the socially excluded who are subjected to humiliating diets. This world has its own rule and mind, but the makers see it through a tired lens. The camp has menacing guards (two of whom are transgender women); the detainees are called " randi " and there is a certain volume and a melodrama in this whole part, which is theatrical and, what is more disappointing, generic.
Except some scenes – where Shalini (Huma Qureshi) rolls on the floor, on pieces of food, chanting "Jai Aryavarta" or another inmate marrying a dog for breaking the rules of Aryavarta or a pyramid materializing in the open air for purity testing – the rest of the segment lacks penetrating details essential to such a story.
The construction of a world is crucial for any dystopian fiction. Leila, the series tells us "what is it?" Aryavarta is a heavily militarized state, obsessed with the ideas of purity, but does not adequately show the "how". Instead of looking closely at this world, the series begins in a chase between Tom and Jerry between Shalini and Bhanu (Siddharth), a labor camp officer, where she was transferred for disobeying the purity test. This long sequence – again, seen countless times in many movies – does not do enough to reveal the character of Aryavarta or Shalini.
She speaks of " doosh " – a group of people living in abominable misery. and poverty, rejected by the state, which has begun to rebel – but does not dive deep into the mechanics of Aryavarta itself. Then there is a scene where Shalini, still on the run, goes to his in-laws' home. This would simply not have been possible in a country governed by strict sectoral boundaries and the watchful presence of Repeaters, similar to a hawk. The series violates some crucial rules of the novel instead of an easy and dramatic mileage.
There are also dialogues that oscillate between artificial and clumsy. Some examples: " Shudhi pariksha kyun? Kyunki pariksha Hussein shudh karti hai "(Why is there a purifying review? Because the examination purifies us); "I am you and you are me"; "We would be together today if we had not done so" – the last two courtesies Khanna (a charming and charming man, sincere with a capital letter), in a short role, who really trouble acting. Worse, it is interpreted here as a ghost – a manifestation of Shalini's illusion – whose steep lines continue to interrupt the rhythm of the story.
None of the other functional dialogs is memorable. This always indifferent writing, sometimes of bad quality, is a surprise, because the series employs three writers of great fame: Urmi Juvekar (writer of Oye Lucky! Lucky Oye! (2008), Shanghai (2012)), Suhani Kanwar (additional writer of Lipstick Under My Burkha (2017)) and Patrick Graham (who wrote and directed a powerful dystopian series for Netflix, of Goul (2018), last year).
One of the most frustrating aspects of dystopia is that you have more questions than answers, that your agency is limited and that even the most unfounded rights must be pursued and earned relentlessly. . But here, the story is often motivated by a convenient writing, giving Shalini appropriate allies, at different times of his search, softening the edges of a totalitarian regime. When she is in trouble, she drops something – tea or a fishbowl – to distract her executioners, thus ensuring vital information.
In fact, the finale of the series has intriguing twists (which can not be discussed here for the fear of spoilers), so out of sync with the pulse of the story that you get the impression that the writers come give up. Compare this, again, to the book where we discover, with Shalini at any moment, crucial information at different times. Nothing is given to him on a platter – you can feel his frustration, feel his sweat – which also illuminates the chances of winning.
Qureshi, a promising actress, is also the centerpiece of the series and is deeply pushing her claws. role of a bereaved and resilient mother. The character faces a psychological disintegration and a fading physiognomy – it becomes dark and fragile as the series progresses. That said, his performance would have been richer if the script had adequately tested it, giving it more varied nuances.
The rest of the cast, Siddharth, Arif Zakaria, Seema Biswas, is composed of accomplished actors, but their performances – surface level and routine – never elevate the story. Even the conception of production (by Abhijit Gaonkar and Sonam Singh) is, at best, superficial. We have some sci-fi clichés – futuristic computers and phones – but the world of the series never really informs the story.
But the most disappointing point about the series is that it is not even half as complex. difficult, as a source material. Akbar – in his sinister and devastating lines – highlights the hypocrisies of the liberals: that they are not as empathic, as compbadionate as they think; that their "progressive" vision of the world hides many sordid truths. Shalini and her quest for Leila were also ambivalent enough: is her daughter still alive? Is his intuition correct – or is it simply an extension of his madness?
This novel, like most effective fiction, allowed you to draw your own conclusions – your answer reveals less about the story than about yourself. But the series – like the threatening sector walls – closes its doors firmly and quickly. It is paradoxical that in an adaptation on disappearances and regrets, the most important meeting between Leila (2017) and Leila (2019) proved to be of little value – as a Siamese dissatisfied with twins who demand individual liberties.
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