Santosh

[Filmin] A film with a special ability to introduce social commentary on the position of women and the relationship between castes in India, through a plot that unfolds within the confines of a rural detective story. But through this new situation of the protagonist, which places her in a position of authority slightly above that of women, the discovery that this is a fictional reality in a corrupt system sends a resounding message that remains with us at the end of the film. And the silences and the glances convey what words dare not utter.

“Santosh,” directed by Sandhya Suri, is a film that leaves you uneasy. Not because it delivers groundbreaking revelations, but because of the weight of its narrative in a world ruled by corruption, sexism, and caste inequality. It’s a deeply political and painfully human work, anchored by a silent protagonist whose eyes say it all. However, despite its initial impact and technically impeccable execution, the film falls short of delving as deeply as it should into the themes it tackles.

The story follows Santosh Saini, portrayed with restraint and nuance by Shahana Goswami. Widowed at 28, Santosh is forced to make an unthinkable choice: between destitution and a police career in a male-dominated system that despises her very presence. It’s a pragmatic decision, but one loaded with emotional heft. The job that should represent security comes at a steep cost, and Goswami plays her with a constant tension, as if she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders in every scene.

Suri, as a director, creates a visual universe that’s as stunning as it is oppressive. The bustling streets of Mumbai and the dusty alleyways of rural villages act as mirrors for the social disparity the film critiques. The camera doesn’t just observe—it accuses, highlighting the glaring contrasts between mansions and slums, the privileges of the powerful, and the vulnerability of the marginalized. It’s a visually rich and carefully crafted portrait, finding beauty even in the most devastated spaces.

But where “Santosh” truly shines is in the dynamic between the protagonist and her more seasoned colleague, Geeta Sharma, played with grit by Sunita Rajwar. Geeta is everything Santosh is not: confident, outspoken, feared, and respected. Their relationship feels like a generational clash, with Geeta embodying the strategic conformity of someone who has learned to survive within the system, while Santosh, quiet and watchful, seems to wrestle internally with what she’s witnessing. This connection, loaded with subtle tensions, could have been the film’s heart. However, Suri stops short of fully exploring this potential, hinting at deeper layers without fully unraveling them.

The biggest issue with “Santosh” is precisely this: the sense that the film is always on the brink of saying something profound but never quite gets there. The choice to keep the protagonist silent might be a critique of the system that stifles her, but it also limits the audience’s emotional engagement. The atrocities Santosh witnesses—from the torture of suspects to the blatant manipulation of truth—are shocking, but without a verbalized response, these moments often feel like visceral observations rather than truly impactful reflections.

Another notable aspect is the way the film addresses gender and caste issues. While these themes are present in nearly every scene, they rarely receive the nuance they deserve. The subplot of the murdered girl, which should serve as the narrative thread, ends up taking a backseat to scenes that prioritize atmosphere over narrative depth. It feels like the film wants to say everything at once but struggles to articulate any of it clearly.

Even so, it’s impossible to ignore Suri’s talent for creating visually arresting scenes. The moral tension that permeates the film is mirrored in the meticulously composed frames, where the clarity of urban landscapes contrasts with the ethical darkness inside the police station. This aesthetic choice creates an interesting duality but feels more like a visual provocation than a fully developed commentary.

What truly saves “Santosh” from drowning in its own ambition is Goswami’s performance. Even with few lines, she crafts a complex protagonist—someone who clearly wants to do good but is lost in a system that turns good intentions into liabilities. It’s impossible not to empathize with Santosh, even as she remains passive in the face of the injustices around her.

Overall, “Santosh” is a film that provokes but doesn’t overwhelm. It makes you think, but it doesn’t transform you. Still, it’s an important portrayal of a society riddled with contradictions, where women are forced to find strength amid oppression and silence. Suri may not have delivered a perfect film, but she’s certainly given us something to chew on—even if, by the end, we’re left feeling like we’re still hungry.