Ambajipeta Marriage Band Review

One might dismiss Dushanth Katikaneni's story about injustice and inequality almost right away because everything about it feels too familiar. It is the early aughts in the village of Ambajipeta. Malli (Suhas), the son of a barber, a drum-player in the village's marriage band - in other words, a lower-caste boy - falls in love with an upper-caste girl Lakshmi (Shivani Nagaram). It is a doomed love story (obviously). Lakshmi's brother, Venkat (Nithin Prasanna), the mustachioed villain of the story, is a predatory money-lender with a wandering eye that lands on Malli's twin sister, Padma (Sharanya Pradeep). It is also a revenge story (obviously).

With a setup such as this - a forbidden romance, a horrific act, a village that has had enough - the screenplay practically writes itself. Padma is victimized by Venkat; Malli's love story is thwarted by Venkat; an escalating conflict ends horribly for both parties - everything we've seen before. Yet, there are surprises at every turn. Dushanth rewrites the caste-revenge plot, modernizing it for a post-#metoo era. Whereas in the old tropes the star-crossed lovers fight until the bitter end, defying anybody that stands in their way, here they are more pragmatic. And when horrible things happen to women, instead of hanging themselves or hiding behind heroes, they give it back - with their chappals, to be more precise. Which is what Padma does when Venkat humiliates her in the worst sense, and gets away with it, because he is a man, and because his caste makes him "untouchable" in a different sense.

After a very wearisome romance between Malli and Lakshmi, the story turns its attention to its premise: How does a contemporary hero fight a caste-crazy misogynistic villain like Venkat? Is it through bloodshed? That feels too primitive. Through an uprising? That's too filmy. No, for a man like Venkat who hides behind the word "honour" to commit vile acts, shame, humiliation, public disgrace - in other words, "a cancellation" - becomes the ultimate weapon.

The writing is resonant with dialogues about the absurdity of casteism. There is subtext and symbolism for the keen-eyed. In a biting scene, Padma warns Venkat that killing him won't be so difficult - after all, they (as barbers) are the ones holding the knife to Zamindari throats during their Sunday shaves. (This is right before she kicks him in the stomach - a scene where I involuntarily clenched my teeth and whispered "Yes"!).

As subversive as Ambajipeta Marriage Band is, you don't have to dig deep to find instances where it still toes the line of what's expected for a Telugu film. While it makes space for its female characters to express anger and sorrow - emotions they were seldom allowed to show in such films in the past - the greatest anger and the deepest sorrow are still those of the man (Malli). Padma's rage is set aside to accommodate Malli's heroism. What could have been a starkly original story about a wronged woman is instead a semi-original one about her male ally.

Speaking of male allies, Suhas looks to be making a niche for himself with such roles. In Writer Padmabushan, he trojan-horsed a story about mothers and their suppressed dreams inside a comedy. He chooses scripts that speak to our times while addressing age-old societal issues, and still remaining "commercially viable". Ambajipeta Marriage Band even has a few song and dance numbers, a cutesy romance and some village humour (the most boring bits of the movie BTW) that one expects of a Telugu film.

Sharanya Pradeep as Padma gives the film's strongest, most viscerally-felt performance. She is self-assured and formidable, and she makes the art of kicking a man in the guts feel like a personal win for victimized women everywhere. Shivani Nagaram makes a confident debut as Malli's young lover.

Ambajipeta Marriage Band succeeds more often than not at weaving in its feminist themes with its anti-casteism take. It takes its time finding its footing, but by the end, it most assuredly delivers a gut-punching finale.