As a film enthusiast who has had the privilege of traveling through various countries, experiencing diverse cultures and their cinematic expressions, I must say that “The Wrestler” by Iqbal H. Chowdhury stands out as one of the most compelling debuts I’ve witnessed. This Bangladeshi film masterfully encapsulates the intricacies of a rural lifestyle in a way that resonates universally, transcending cultural boundaries.

In Bangladesh, the traditional sport known as “boli khela,” or wrestling, is meticulously and methodically played out, a depiction that filmmaker Iqbal H. Chowdhury skillfully portrays in his first feature film titled “The Wrestler.” The movie subtly walks the line between being observational and indirect, aiming to intrigue and perplex in equal proportions. It hints at the boundaries of masculinity within a rural, frequently gloomy coastal environment, without explicitly stating them.

Through relying heavily on intuition and introducing a climax that veers into the surreal, Chowdhury skillfully constructs a meticulously paced drama centered around an obsession, which, though mysterious, carries a deeply tragic undertone. The main character is Moju (Nasir Uddin Khan), an elderly wrestler/trainer who is also a fisherman, grappling with his inability to catch fish recently. This struggle propels him to confront the local champion Dofor (AKM Itmam). However, it’s important to note that Moju’s economic hardship is just one of several factors driving him towards self-destruction; he appears to be well on this emotional journey even at the start of “The Wrestler.

Moju’s son, Shafu (Angel Noor), has recently wed a woman named Rashu (Priyam Archi). Despite their concerns for his mental and physical health due to his recent change, Shafu often takes out his frustrations on them both. Interestingly, the relationship between Shafu and Rashu serves to highlight some of the movie’s main themes about masculinity. At first glance, we see Shafu applying makeup in a mirror, much to Moju’s disapproval. Upon returning home each night, he bypasses Rashu’s tentative advances and instead sleeps on a floor mat, ensconced within a mosquito net. Whether he is hiding his true identity as a queer man or simply rebelling against traditional masculine norms, Shafu creates distance between himself and others.

The subtle symbolism of the mosquito net, portrayed as a self-created confinement, permeates throughout the movie, noticeably during its quietest scenes. A significant portion of the film consists of unsettling stillness and extended shots, where seemingly nothing is happening, yet everything is. Similar to wrestlers idly spending time in a small pub while Bangladeshi romance classics play silently on TV (such as Mostofa Anwar’s “Kashem Malar Prem”), these scenes exude a palpable irony considering the rough nature of their pastime. Even the expansive coastal setting appears as a liminal space, filled with gentle waves and punctuated by sparse, dreamlike compositions from composer Ranadas Badsha.

As the film shifts its focus to the repercussions of Moju’s challenge, it delves deeply into surrealist ideas. On one side, this leaves the motivations of the characters shrouded in mystery. Yet, on the other side, every action, inaction, and response feels eerily relatable, making Chowdhury’s reserved style seem fitting. Occasionally, his camera zooms in closely or uses formal techniques such as slow-motion action, which stands out like a flash of lightning. However, for the most part, the camera maintains a distance, observing the characters to examine their masculine appearance while trying to understand their masculine purpose.

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2024-12-18 03:48