Lion

On Tuesday the nominations for this year’s Oscars will be announced. A series of films and performances will be whittled down into a shortlist, precipitating a month of back-slapping electioneering before the die is cast. Despite recent criticism of the Oscars for being too white- and hosts for being too blue- I always enjoy the event. I never grew up loving movies; I always preferred books. It was until university I began to fall under their spell. 

Books provide an intimate experience; films a communal one. You can’t say to your flatmate in the evening, “Fancy reading Catcher in the Rye? I’ll do the narration and you do the dialogue.” (I say this, but one time at university a female flatmate, high on E, stood in the living room performing all nineteen parts of Twelfth Night. The laughter her performance generated felt pretty communal.) However, for the most part books remain a private pastime. Film, on the other hand, can be enjoyed with others, which meant those low budget university evenings were often spent in front of the box, trading favourite films like playground stickers. On leaving Uni I would augment this interest, meeting regularly with a mate at Soho’s Curzon Cinema to catch the Oscar contenders. From being indifferent to the allure of cinema, I now frequently visit its chambers, feasting on its beauty.

My education.

With so many good films coming out in such a short period the difficult decision at the moment is what to see. With last week’s rave reviews, The Girl and I knew we had to go with industry insiders and back La La Land. This week was more difficult: critics enjoyed both Jackie and Lion- which one should we go with? The First Lady of our household took the executive decision and put our money on Oscar outsider, Lion. The decision yielded a wonderful return.

Lion is based on the amazing story of Sheru Khan. Born in the Talai neighbourhood of Khandwa, there was nothing to suggest Sheru would live anything but a village life. Devoted to his mother, in awe of his older brother, he would do anything to please them. Struggling under the strangle of poverty, the brothers would go out to work, making money to keep their home in food and milk. Aged five, the two brothers rode the train looking for work; a tired Sheru -he was only five- couldn’t continue the journey; his doting brother told him to wait whilst he looked for employment. The seconds ticked on. The big hand shifted. More ominously, the little hand did too. Afraid and alone, Sheru took refuge in a train, believing his brother would soon join him. The discontinued train started and didn’t stop until it was 1500 km from home, in what is now Kolkata. To be five in a big city is scary enough, but to be five and alone in that big city doesn’t bear thinking about. To make matters worse, Sheru didn’t know the language, having swapped a Hindi speaking region for a Bengali one. In one train journey, a garrulous little boy is rendered voiceless and motherless – it takes him a long time to get back to both.

The film is based on the true story.

This outward-bound leg of the journey has had critics salivating. Newcomer Sunny Punwar is a revelation as Saroo (his name change will become apparent later on in the movie). Within his impish face, he turns in a performance adult actors could only dream of. In the beginning, his eyes dart and jump; he is the cheeky shadow of his older brother, wanting to emulate his every move. When lost his eyes change, carrying instead the burden of separation. The sadness of seeing his light blown out is heart-wrenching. 

The face to floor a thousand hearts.

One of the most distressing scenes involves Saroo looking for help at a busy train station. Instead of acknowledging the authenticity of the child’s cries, the commuters take it for manipulation, reasoning it akin to the boy who cried wolf; consequently he’s repelled by the adult world, slapped back into isolation, forced to find his own way home. Seeing the treatment of a little boy lost is not a world away from how we treat our homeless: with the media quick to paint people as villains, we’ve grown distrustful; therefore, it should be no surprise when people act callously to people in need. Saroo slipping between the cracks will leave a bad taste in your mouth, and so it should: this isn’t a story exclusive to India.

The return leg of the journey hasn’t received as many favourable reviews in the press. Some estimable scribblers have labeled it ‘boring’ and ‘over-long.’ The second half of the story takes place in Australia, where Saroo struggles with the fruits of his Australian adoption. I believe reviewers are wrong on this half of the movie. Dev Patel, playing the adult Saroo, bewitches as a man torn between two homes. Like all good acting, it’s in the eyes. Any actor can raise or lower their voice to show anger or shyness; few can speak with their pupils. Etched across Patel’s face is the dilemma of every adoptee: should I search or not? Exacerbating the ordeal is his complete ignorance of where he’s even from: he can’t remember the home he wishes to seek. Volcanic frustration assumes squatters’ rights in Patel’s being, making for a masterclass in pained acting. Rightly, Patel has picked up plaudits for his nuanced showing; the critics are wrong though to say he carries the weaker half - it’s every bit as interesting as the first.

Dev Patel is on great form.

Lion will hit you in the head and in the heart. One place it won’t hit though is the wallet: to be moved by a beautiful story is a price worth paying.

Lion is out now.