Maya Mridanga review: This musical drama only touches tip of what could be an iceberg

Jhaksu Ustad (Debshankar Haldar) is a renowned music master of Alkaap (a folk form in Bengal) and travels to different villages with his troupe to perform. Apart from his unparalleled singing ability, what draws audiences to this troupe is Shanti aka Shantilal, the 'chhokra' of the group.

Biologically male, Shanti is trained to live and entertain like a woman. Jhaksu is his master and exercises complete control over Shanti's actions. Shanti is trained by the ustad in singing, dancing and seduction. Men drool over Shanti's beauty and grace and yearn for her though they know Shanti is not female.

Jhaksu is husband to two wives, of whom he prefers the younger, Gangamoni (Rituparna Sengupta). Unlike his first wife, Gangamoni is bold and believes in keeping what is rightfully hers. Things go awry when Jhaksu begins spending his nights with Shanti. A jealous and vengeful Gangamoni makes a move that brings doom on the ustad and his troupe.

Though the director presents an unbiased peek into the lives of the artists, the audience is forced to cut out each character and analyze its treatment and morality. For instance, Jhaksu trains Shanti to believe he is a woman at all times, even while eating and sleeping. Although the cultural setup allowed such training, Shanti's own wishes and pleasures are not given any importance. The scene when Gangamoni succeeds in seducing Shanti is particularly telling of his plight.

Indeed, the 'chhokras' revel in being objects of adoration, but their feminine essence is shortlived. They are not allowed to hope for a future, because they won't be wanted in the future.

Jhaksu's poetry, too, is a fruit of his liaison with Shanti. His inspiration is initially limited to Shanti's beauty, which in turn is a farce. It is only after Shanti's disappearance and Gangamoni's death that Jhaksu delves into existential concerns.

The film tries to bring two generations together. Sanatan, the young, educated and talented master of another troupe, echoes the values that Jhaksu lives by. He momentarily strays from his path by trying to elope with Sudha (his childhood friend and the wife of a priest) but realizes his fate is sealed after Sudha's death.

It is also interesting to note that the marginal characters in the film meet sudden and uneventful ends. Gangamoni's suicide is as sudden as Sudha's rape and murder. And both these seemingly major incidents are conveyed only through the conversations of other characters.

The film has a happy ending, which comes too soon for the characters to leave behind the tragedies they have just experienced. Most dramatic sequences feel stretched, and the actors give in to the urge to overact.

Debshankar Haldar is a fine performer; however, one cannot sympathize with his character's dilemma, partly because he is not convincing enough as the virtuoso composer-performer of Alkaap. Rituparna Sengupta does justice to the bold, jealous Gangamoni. Paoli Dam, too, wins the audience over as the meek and submissive Sudha waiting to be set free.

Each song of the film is a winner. From the lyrics to the music to the singing, the melodies are what truly make the film a tribute to the folk form. Singers Srikanto Acharya, Dipannta Acharya, Raghab Chatterjee, Noor Alam and Lopmudra Mitra pay obeisance to Alkaap beautifully.

Director Raja Sen's filmography runs long with three National awards. With Maya Mridanga, he has picked an interesting and pertinent issue. However, the characters are not given enough time to evolve and mostly are able to just touch the tip of what could be an iceberg.