“I'll disrupt and destroy
I'll split all into pieces for the sake of art
There isn't any other way out for Poetry except suicide.”
From the poem “Stark Electric Jesus” by Hungryalist poet Malay Roy Choudhury.
A series of strange and brutal murders baffles the Kolkota police. Investigating officer Abhijit Pakrashi (Parambrata Chatterjee), under pressure to solve the mystery and capture the serial killer before he can strike again, is encouraged by his superior officer Amit Srivastav (Rajesh Sharma) to seek the help of Probir Roy Chowdhury (Prosenjit Chatterjee). Probir has an impressive network of contacts and experience cracking serial killer cases. There’s one problem, though – Probir has been suspended from the police force because of his brutal methods and nasty temper. However, the pressure to solve the case is too great, and Amit feels that Probir’s experience and intelligence are worth taking a risk to reinstate him, and he encourages his young officer Abhijit to learn as much as he can from him during the investigation.
Probir’s methods may be unconventional, but they produce results. Probir and Abhijit soon realize that the snippets of Bengali poetry left at each of the murder scenes not only describe the method of killing each victim; but the dates each murder takes place correspond to the death date of the respective poets. They soon begin to focus on a potential suspect, Hungryalist poet Nibaron Chakraborty (played by veteran director Gautam Ghosh). Chakraborty spends much of his time working on his poetry and on the phone with a publisher trying to get his work published. Disgruntled and disillusioned, having served time in prison for setting fire to the Calcutta Book Fair, he seems to be the perfect suspect.
Too perfect, in fact. Chakraborty’s suicide, complete with a poem that serves as a confession to his involvement in the serial murders, ties the case up with a nice, tidy bow on top. The officers celebrate solving the case, without realizing there is one more important date they have missed, that of Baishe Srabon (the 22nd day of the Bengali month of Srabon), the death anniversary of Rabindranath Tagore.
Bhaishe Srabon is one of the most literate films I’ve seen in a long time. Hungryalist poetry, in particular, with its emphasis on confronting colonial ideas and its focus on those who are disaffected or alienated, has been called the poetry of chaos and death, and its use here in the film – it’s no surprise that all the killer’s victims are from the lowest social orders, and their murders produces a kind of chaos that makes everyone nervous about what will happen next – is brilliant.
The mood of the film is supported by the cinematography and camera work. Dark shadows fall across narrow laneways, and the shaky hand-held camera feel at times serves to emphasise the nervous tension of the film.
If there is one quibble I have about the film, it’s that the attempt to force not only a love story, but a love triangle at that, only serves to diminish the dark, suspenseful mood. Amrita (Raima Sen) and Surjo (Abir Chatterjee) are friends and colleagues, working on a television series about serial killers in order to tap into the mood of a city already in the grips of one (and how much do I love the fact that, in the story meeting for what is obviously a kind of sensationalist programme, their boss wonders if any of the great Bengali writers have written anything about serial killers). Amrita has recently broken up with Abhijit; Surjo wants to be part of her life. The love stories and the songs that fuel them are incredibly distracting – instead of lightening the mood, they only serve to break the rhythm of the film.
One of the relationships I did relish was the one that develops between Abhijit and Probir. Abhijit is nervous, moody, emotional, and at times naive. Probir is dark, bitter, slightly mysoginistic, and brilliant. The two find that loss gives them a little common ground – Probir has lost his wife and child, Abhijit his father and now his girlfriend Amrita. Probir advises Abhijit to get her back – buy her roses, he suggests, noting that the old clichés still work. On the subject of chocolate, however, he is firm: nothing Swiss, only Cadbury will do. Fruit and Nut, he proffers. And to Amrita, pulled between two men, he suggests she learn the difference between Dal-Rice and Biryani. The former, he tells her, is a necessity, the latter, a luxury.
Prosenjit Chatterjee is brilliant as Probir Chowdhury. He gives us a portrait of a man who is difficult, brilliant, brutal and broken. He manages to make Probir likeable even though we know there are dark and unpleasant corners to his personality.
I actually have one more small quibble about Baishe Srabon: the film lays out its cards too obviously, making it really easy to pick up the clues and figure out what’s going on. Happily, though, the film reserved one final surprise that was completely unexpected, and that more than made up for my disappointment at solving the mystery far too soon.
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