Pinki Elli? is as uncomplicated a movie as its title is self-explanatory. The film starts with an eight-month-old baby going missing from her home and ends with her being taken back home safely. What happens in between is a story so understated and matter-of-fact that you are left overwhelmed at the end of it all. Prithvi Konanur, the writer-director of the film, treats the story as a mystery, but early on in the film, we learn that that's only the first layer. His true intention is to probe into something deeper and more personal, and expose a dimension of Bengaluru and our existence that we are only aware of but have never truly comprehended. It's a probe into urban life in a simple but haunting manner.
Perhaps that is why Bengaluru is such an integral element of this film. Prithvi’s cityscape is highly recognizable — from the ubiquitously designed one BHK homes and the dense and labyrinth-like slum dwellings, to the towering flyovers and bridges that offer shelter to countless people, while also withholding their secrets. It is under one of these flyover bridges that Pankaja, nicknamed Pinki, is first lost and a lot of intense drama unfolds in the vicinity. Everything transpires within a small radius and almost everyone, including us, knows where the little girl is and who has taken her.
Pinki Elli? has the complexities of any high-stakes thriller. Looking for the missing baby are her young parents who are also currently embroiled in a bitter divorce battle. There's organised crime, culprits, police investigation, eyewitnesses, and even a race-against-time kind of pursuit.
But what Prithvi quite apparently strives for is authenticity and not just the thrills of the genre. He wants us to absorb the mundanity of the setting, listen to the characters speak their natural language, and realise that for practically everyone except for the stakeholders, an event of this magnitude is almost an everyday occurrence. He intentionally dials down the drama because his world is not a closed one like the ones usually shown in movies, where the story finds its natural end once the central problem is solved. His is a film that borrows its ethos from the disciplines of realism we see in Iranian and older Italian cinema. There are no heroes, no villains, or any kind of character archetypes, but only a vibrant story that is empathetic to every person involved.
Take Pathu, the woman who believes Pinki is rightfully hers because the tiny tot's parents, quite obviously, don't care enough to leave her unguarded under a sprawling flyover. Pathu lives in Bengaluru's Syed Palya along with her husband, who, like many others in the neighbourhood, tries to earn a living by fishing out tiny remnants of gold from the debris found outside jewellery showrooms. The fumes of the acid required to do the cleaning have made him sick but there is nothing else that he can do to survive. Pathu accuses the city for their plight and says, "It has given us diseases and taken away three of my children."
Or consider the small group of transgender persons who briefly become the suspects in the missing case. One of them, having waited for hours at the police station, says, "Sir, even if a mobile phone goes missing, you think we are the culprits."
The film is mindful of every side of the story and perhaps that is why we don't hear the word 'kidnap' at any point. Even Pinki's own mother Bindushree (played by the incredible Akshatha Pandavapura) never once believes that her child has been taken away for any reason other than force of circumstances. Each character is only trying to survive and harm intended at any point is simply unavoidable.
In the last 20-30 minutes of the film, Prithvi manages to spring a surprise and subverts our expectations. From the turbulent streets of Bengaluru, we reach a mini-courtroom where decorum is of primary significance. From a police investigation, we are brought to a custody battle and all this happens so inconspicuously that you are left in awe. Terrible secrets spill inside the courtroom, accusations are made, and bottom lines are drawn, leaving nothing the same as before. Everything is disrupted, but the film stays detached, observing the simmering disquiet from afar and never allowing anyone to intervene.
Pinki Elli? is a film that's driven not just by plot but also by the writer-director Prithvi’s restraint. Even though his material is imbued with incredible fierceness and catharsis, the filmmaker never seems interested in appeasing us or offering a never-before kind of experience. He simply uses a style of storytelling to impart something extraordinary about ordinary lives and keeps things unembellished till the very end. Sure, his restraint and lack of cinematic energy (the one we are so used to in thrillers) can be a little tiresome. But the collective impact of the sensitive material, the style of filmmaking, and the overall authenticity is undeniably overwhelming. I walked away from the film theatre feeling both light and heavy-hearted because within a span of 1 hour and 50 minutes, a lot happened, a lot changed, but very little was expected.
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.