"Just images are not sufficient; what's essential is the length of each image, what follows each image: it is the very eloquence of the cinema that is constructed in the editing room." The quote is from Orson Welles, and I recently discovered it on the website of Shreyas Beltangdy, editor of several notable Indian independent films, shorts and music videos. His latest work, Aakhri Ride, an oddly comforting Halloween short, is testament to Welles's maxims. The premise is film-school basic, but it's elevated by the clever construction, by an involving central performance by Chandan Roy (Panchayat), and, above all, by Beltangdy's brisk, confident cutting.
There are films where rhythm and assembly, more than form and story, dictate the experience. At a fluent, stimulating 24 minutes, Aakhri Ride is one such film. Aman Yadav (Roy), unkempt, sleep-deprived, is a homeless driver and gig worker in Mumbai. Trailing his targets, he is always on the clock. He ferries passengers around in a car and, whenever he can, beds down in the vehicle, resting his tired feet on the window sill — an eternal image of migrant repose, however fleeting. Aman has two, actually three, voices in his head. Like a three-headed Betaal astride a mousy Vikram, they bear down on him one morning.
The first is his mother, who calls to inform that, unless the family can rustle up a hefty dowry by the next sunup, his younger sister's wedding is in jeopardy. Second is the car's owner, who checks in frequently with abusive threats and taunts (Aman, understandably, has his number saved as 'bhadwa'). Last but not the least is Raju, or 'Scam Raju', an old contact our hero reaches out to in his hour of need. This resourceful gentleman, entertainingly voiced by Roy's Panchayat co-star Faisal Malik, persuades him toward petty thievery, a life that meek, mild-mannered Aman had long left behind.
If the above summary suggests a tense and desperate crime drama — or even a crime comedy — Aakhri Ride hangs a sharp left from that intersection. It is, instead, a strange brew of noir stylings, zany verbal and physical comedy, and genre-baiting nocturnal horror. "Hum se cheena jhapti nahi hota hai (I cannot rob anyone)," Aman confesses after a female passenger he attempts to mug retaliates hilariously. He's then encouraged to steal the car itself, driving it to a far-away handler who can disable the GPS and let him off the hook. "You will find a black, fat, dirty man there," Malik instructs him over the phone, with relish, as though mocking his own past characters.
The plot turns on Aman completing his 'final ride' before embarking on his great escape. Will he escape, though? And who is the mysterious woman in his passenger seat, with spectral eyes and straggles of matted hair, as seen in a flashforward? Aakhri Ride is positioned as a Halloween release, and unfolds, as we are told, over 'a dark night in October'. Without getting into particulars, it's fair to report that, if taken as a horror film, this is a godawful small affair. But the bait-and-switch of genre works. The filmmaking and editing keep up a baseline of suspense, teetering on the edge of absurdity but always drawing back. It's one of the slickly angular films you struggle to brand as anything: not horror, not comedy, and certainly not horror comedy.
There is a 'reveal' of sorts, and a last-ditch attempt at earnestness and empathy. The ending feels desperate (and somewhat illogical). It's as though directors and co-writers Vijesh Ranjan and Yashoda Parthasarathy were tying a bow of respectability to their bag of tricks (and treats). I enjoyed the film more as a sensory ride, from the steel-blue colour grade to the crossfire of Mumbai accents during an interrogation. In a single scene, we get the earthy sweetness of North Indian migrant Hindi, some Marathi manus malevolence, and even a SoBo drawl with its elongated 'bhaaayaa'. The funniest delivery comes from Aamir Dalvi as an incredulous Inspector, who, having heard out Aman's story, remarks: "So she ghosted you!"
Chandan Roy, with his gently pleading voice and careworn manner, stands at the precipice where Nawazuddin Siddiqui stood a decade-and-a-half ago. What shall become of him? Cinematic journeys are maddeningly hard to predict, but I wish he continues to find more challenging and invigorating work. As Aakhri Ride demonstrates in flashes, there is more to him than his easy likeability on OTT.