Written and directed by Anshul Khatri and Madhav Rathi, 'Anti-Literature', is a three-minute experimental short film that is a provocative meditation on intellect, awareness, and the human condition, wrapped in a surreal, dreamlike package. It starts with an epilogue featuring Fyodor Dostoevsky’s quote: “To think too much is a disease.” This is ironic, considering the three-minute experimental film does everything in its power to make us pause and reflect on what we just witnessed.
The opening shot, a tableau of a rural Indian woman, knelt on the grass of a farm, reading 'Crime and Punishment' while tethered to a man and a goat, is a jarring juxtaposition of the traditional and the intellectual. It’s an image that lingers; an unusual sight that demands attention and contemplation on the incongruities of modern life.
The audacious choice to employ French dialogue in an Indian setting is a striking subversion, to say the least. Unexpectedly, this entirely Indian 3-minute production unfolds entirely in French narration. It's a bold subversion of expectations that aligns with the film's overall absurdity and creates a strangely fitting linguistic dissonance.
The narrative, if it can be called that, unfolds in a series of seemingly unrelated vignettes. One subplot involves a girl raiding her parents’ closet for money, only to discover her adoption papers, a revelation that shakes her world. Another follows a chess prodigy who, on the verge of calling checkmate, suddenly realizes his true passion lies in flamenco dancing in Barcelona. These seemingly random narratives converge around a provocative thesis: the perils of conscious thought.
At the heart of Anti-Literature is a radically persuasive argument: intellectual superiority is a curse that leads to despair and restlessness. When the protagonist encounters a young man reading 'Crime and Punishment' on a bus, he feels a profound urge to protect him. Yaduk believes that intellectual superiority breeds grief, despair, and a constant restlessness. He posits that awareness leads to degradation, arguing that only the mediocre thrive - those who shun Dostoevsky and embrace simplicity. In essence, he champions inferiority as a path to contentment.
While I find myself disagreeing with the protagonist, Yaduk’s pessimistic outlook, I cannot deny the film's power to provoke thought. The notion that awareness can be a source of suffering is undeniably resonant in our complex world. The constant bombardment of distressing news and the inescapable grip of capitalism contribute to a pervasive sense of helplessness. However, to relinquish critical thought and abandon literature in favor of simple pleasures would result in a different kind of degradation - a loss of depth, curiosity, and the richness that intellectual pursuits bring to life.
Yet, the film asks us: does dismissing intellect entirely risk a form of intellectual and spiritual impoverishment? The film, then, invites us to grapple with another profound dilemma: is ignorance bliss, or is it a form of surrender?
Regardless of where one stands on this controversial take, there’s no denying the solidity of this French-language, experimental Indian short film. While its brevity might vex some viewers craving a more developed narrative, it is precisely this concision that allows the film to linger in the mind long after the credits roll. It speaks on the burden of awareness, drawing inspiration from drama-comedies while maintaining a distinct and original voice.
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