There’s a Bengaluru that has slowly been invisibilised in pop culture. It’s almost like they’d like you to believe India’s Silicon Valley is all about skyscrapers and pubs, people with laptops waltzing into swanky hotels and coffee shops, and health-conscious folks ordering flour from chakkis. But, there’s another Bengaluru, the one that was once the mainstream and is now the outlier — made up of locals and migrant workforce, all of whom fall under the broad category of the middle class — whose members walk hesitantly into star hotels, drink happily in open-to-the-sky bars, who stand in a queue to grind flour in a machine, and who struggle to pay their loans on time, every single month. The kind of people who wear unbranded inner garments and smell of sweat, as a character in Maryade Prashne says. The only thing they have for themselves is maryade or self-respect. What does one do when that is questioned? When intent is rubbished? That’s what Nagaraj Somayaji’s taut two-hour-long Maryade Prashne is all about.
Three friends since childhood — Suri (Rakesh Adiga), Sathish (Suneel Rao) and Manja (Poornachandra Mysore) still meet up regularly, drink together, and are clued into each other’s lives. Suri aspires to be a do-gooder corporator, Sathish is recovering after many failed businesses with his food delivery job, and Manja drives a cab. Sathish’s sister Lucky or Lakshmi (an incandescent Teju Belawadi) loves Manju. Of the three, we are only introduced to Sathish’s family — his mother (played by the ever-dependable Rekha Kudligi) and father (Nagendra Shah) who is unwell and has memory issues. Suri has lost his parents and still has nightmares about how his father died. Suri sees the other two as his family and is there to bail them out with money, which they always return, and his presence.
You know that while they get away with drinking and driving, they are not doing the right thing. One day, life changes. And, then two of the friends are suddenly made aware of their place in society. And, they decide to change their fate. This is the ‘story’ (credit RJ Pradeepaa) part of the movie, but the beating heart of the film is how middle-class Bengaluru has been portrayed, and the poetic family dynamics.
A film can be beautifully written, directed and framed, but at its core is good performances. This film has a pitch-perfect cast, and how they deliver!
Rekha’s character could have been a one-note sacrificing mother, but she lends it so much life — the angst of a woman dealing with a husband who does not remember whether he had coffee or not, among other things, the mother of a boy who smiles and does not reveal his difficulty and of a girl who contributes her mite to the house. And, she takes pride in what her kids do. When Sathish sends home vegetables through a delivery person, she tells him proudly, “My son is also with Zomato”.
Sathish is a child raised in a loving home, and his best birthday gift is probably his father remembering his name, and wishing him ‘Happy Birthday’ with a slightly blank look on his face. And Suneel smiles his way through life’s trickiest moments. Lucky is that sister he’s incredibly proud of. You realise how lucky Sathish is when Suri says that he does not miss family because Sathish’s mother sends him food and his sister calls him ‘anna’ with all the affection in the world. Manju soaks in their love and splits his free time between them and his favourite passenger Lucky.
The film is nearly flawless in the first half. The second, which is set like a revenge drama, trundles past a little too fast, with some resolutions taking place a little too conveniently. Shine Shetty plays a person on the opposing side who tries to do the right thing. And, Suri ensures things come to a satisfactory end.
Some things rankle. An acerbic cop who gets violent eventually seems to help Suri’s cause. When Manja recalls what happened to Sathish’s father, he seems to know what happened inside a car when he was on a scooter. Minor issues, but when the rest of the writing is so good, you don’t expect these.
Cinematography by Sandeep Valluri captures the feel of a Bengaluru that you’ve not seen on screen in a bit. Arjun Raam’s songs hit the sweet spot and editing by Sanketh Shivappa allows the film to breathe even while running at the pace it does. There’s a scene after Lucky gets caught at her workplace for trying on a new garment. She’s insulted and takes it on the chin. The scene does not end there. You need to know why she stood stoic when she was yelled at. When she’s walking with Manja, she says she has a problem only when she does not do wrong and is yelled at. Much later, that same garment is in her hands, and her smile could have lit up a town.
The film’s intent is commendable, and the way they have shot it ensures you never lose sight of the intent. And, after an incident, the friends don’t touch a drop of alcohol. Which conveys the message better than a lengthy dialogue would have.
In a scene towards the end, Suri recalls his now-dead mother speaking of how his father used to tell them that Bengaluru would grow big one day. “I only asked him one thing. Will we grow too?” This captures the spirit of the movie best. Maryade Prashne is an ode to those who were left behind in the gold rush that software brought to Bengaluru.
Subha J Rao is an entertainment journalist covering Tamil and Kannada cinema and is based out of Mangaluru, Karnataka.
Disclaimer: This review was not paid for or commissioned by anyone associated with the film. Neither TNM nor any of its reviewers have any sort of business relationship with the film’s producers or any other members of its cast and crew.