'Santosh' review: Indian drama about police corruption is dazzling

A policeman's widow picks up her late husband's badge in the noir-tinged thriller “Santosh” by British-Indian writer-director Sandhya Suri, whose background in documentaries gives this moody character study a criminal procedural edge — and a powerful critique of institutional abuse in India. the air of something patiently witnessed and carefully crafted.

In the wake of her husband's death in the line of duty, a grieving Santosh (Shahana Goswami) comes face to face with how precarious her situation is, as a childless woman in a sexist society with no visible means of support (and disdainfully petty). laws to start). Financial relief comes from the unlikeliest of sources: an Indian “compassionate appointment” law that can give the job of a deceased government employee to the surviving spouse. Santosh, who has nowhere to go in his rural corner of India, quickly changes his traditional outer clothing for a khaki police uniform.

She's a cautious, wide-eyed learner, as you'd expect from someone who suddenly breaks out of a domestic cocoon and into potentially dangerous territory. It is also relegated to “female” cases where the appearance of a gender-balanced police force seems more important. Sometimes a smeared palm can be all it takes to handle wayward men, like when a girl's complaint about a bad boyfriend buys her, for the right price, her chance at some good beatings behind closed doors. But when the missing 15-year-old daughter of an impoverished, low-caste family ends up dead, and the bumbling and indifferent police, under pressure, bring in a veteran inspector named Sharma (a standout Sunita Rajwar) to oversee the investigation, Santosh realizes. . she is uniquely positioned to participate in sisterhood-driven justice.

The charismatic Sharma takes Santosh under her wing and, although some aspects of her attention seem hidden, progress is made both in Santosh's self-esteem and in the case, which points to the involvement of a Muslim boy. And yet, in Suri's scenario (drawn from the aftermath of a 2012 Nirbhaya gang rape that brought the country's problem with violence against women to the forefront), the other mystery to be solved is intricate and internal. : If something in Santosh is disappearing, too. The allure of his new status and authority becomes a problematic prism through which to view an unjust world.

After all, what is the price of female solidarity and empowerment, if the weapon of actualization is an abusive system, one that invariably drags Santosh into its disdainful and vigilant club mentality? When the anger inside her is finally given an outlet, in a scene that (perhaps too clearly) closes her first glimpse of police-sanctioned violence, “Santosh” becomes nothing less than a tragedy of identity. Aiding this descent is Lennert Hillege's cinematography, which coldly observes the confining darkness and stultifying daylight, not quite naturalistic and not quite noir.

And yet, as slyly clinical as Suri's direction is, there is a point at which “Santosh” operates that prevents it from becoming a shocking classic. He charts his path and makes his compelling arguments (especially about police cliques), but sometimes at the cost of human drama. To watch “Santosh” is to feel the undeniable power of a resonant and insightful case study. However, fully knowing this character is a goal well outside the considerable scope of this otherwise cleverly crafted film.