When the doctor asks Qala about her symptoms for her health condition, she is firmly articulate in the way she says it’s not physical ailment, but more of an emotional turmoil. “It’s like,” she begins to whisper, “I’ve been waiting for something to happen. And it is happening.” The doctor tells her not to overthink, and concentrate more on her singing. That’s precisely the point everyone tries to make, where Qala’s mental health is not to be given too much importance. Given the setting is Calcutta in the 1930s, it is almost an outlier as a topic. Yet, this particular scene, that arrives quite early in Anvitaa Dutt’s sophomore feature film directorial, establishes the narrative’s revolving theme of mining out the inner landscape of an artist.
Qala follows the eponymous protagonist (played by Tripti Dimri) as a young girl who wishes to become a great singer, mostly to win her mother Urmila’s (Swastika Mukherjee) approval. The flashback tells us how they live isolated in a dimly-lit house in the Himachal, where her mother tells her that she has to work harder than any man to achieve success as a playback singer. Qala tries her best, but there’s an extent to which hard work can lead up to talent, which Qala lacks. Urmila notices this, and rebukes her- “akal mein zero, shakal mein zero, talent mein zero.” Qala is left with a blinding sense of inadequacy, as she yearns only to seek Urmila’s approval above everything else.
When an orphan named Jagan (Babil Khan, making his debut) appears out of nowhere, and charms his way through his gorgeous vocals, Qala notices how her mother responds so willingly to him. Qala is devastated when her mother gives him the space at their home, and sets him up for regular practice sessions and introduces him to eminent film personalities to help him with his career. What is to become of Qala then? Urmila tells her that a daughter’s place is always with her husband, so she should get married as well. What can Qala do now to safeguard her artistic pursuits?
The good writing extends to the characters that really do feel like living, breathing people. Given the character, many other actors would have descended into melodrama, but Dimri portrays Qala with rare, refreshing nuance, giving a full-bodied performance. Even Urmila, certainly a loathsome character, is given a humane touch. Even she earns sympathy, in the end. Swastika is fantastic in the role.
Babil as Jagan is not given a lot of dialogue, but he does appear to carry an intensity in his eyes similar to his legendary father. The young actor clearly has talent.
Like ‘Bulbul’, ‘Qala’ is also an absolute visual feast. The period setting is realised in immaculate detail. Whether it is the snowy, desolate landscapes of a hamlet in the Himalayan foothills, or the interiors of a recording studio, the images are crafted with the precision of a surgeon by Siddharth Diwan, who also handled the camera for Anvitaa in ‘Bulbul’. The sumptuousness of the imagery also translates to set and costume design.
Qala is out and out a director’s film that has ample room for the technicians and the actors to give full rein to their skills. Meticulous to a fault, parts of the film might seem somewhat overwrought but the issues and concerns that it embeds in a story set eight decades ago have an unfailingly contemporary resonance.
Music is an integral part of the narrative. Amit Trivedi tunes, however, prove to be a mixed bag. While the songs manage to hold our attention, they aren’t really all that catchy. The cinematography (Siddharth Diwan) is one of the highlights of Qala. The film has a distinct rich look and feel. To sum up, Qala is an ambitious and sincere attempt at storytelling that needed a better screenplay to pack a punch.