It’s not that the issues of the Dhuliya culture of Kamrup and their struggle for existence in the present times have not been a part of films in Assam before. There have been multiple documentaries about it, and of late, fictional narratives around these performers have also made their way onto the big screen, as seen in films like Bhaworiya (2019), directed by Biswajit Kalita. But what’s striking in Dhiraj Kashyap’s Amateurs (2024) is that he makes his film directly about how this traditional art form is dying in the face of other creatively enhanced and technically sophisticated forms of entertainment. Also, while Bhaworiya (2019) was a story set in contemporary times, Dhiraj Kashyap’s film is set in the early eighties – an already turbulent time for people in Assam.
The ongoing Assam Movement boils infrequently in the background of the narrative in Amateurs (2024). In its attempt to present the struggles of Jairam, a devoted Dhuliya Chong artist in Assam, the direction of the film takes force as a trigger to arrive at certain kinds of emotions in the film. The force is a sudden and strong use of music, complemented by a mid-close-up of the character, used repetitively to the point that any bit of emotion, if left, soon dissipates. The emotion that the story seeks to establish is empathy, and more precisely, empathy through tragedy. Jairam’s tragedy is that he is always the victim of circumstances in his life. If life gives him a lemon, there would come a rotten egg along with it.
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The context is that jatra plays are slowly taking over the market of art and performances in any kind of celebration in the villages. Failing to reinvent themselves as new opportunities dwindle, the dhuliya party team soon splits. Some seek alternative forms of livelihood, while others make their way to the jatra plays. But Jairam is not able to move on. In dire poverty and desperation, he still clings to his dear drum used in his performances. In Amateurs (2024), director Dhiraj Kashyap fails to hold onto this aspect and make use of more such moments to convey the agony of a man who is left behind.
Instead, his film becomes more about the struggles and the ‘obvious.’ To list a few, Jairam is facing a crisis of existence – his team abandons him. Jairam is unable to provide for the family – his wife erupts in frustration. Jairam’s grown-up daughter works in a rich man’s house – there are attempts made to molest her. Jairam’s son suffers from fever – he dies. Jairam’s performance lacks creativity and engagement – his audiences leave. Jairam is apolitical – his house gets burnt. And the struggles pile up to the point that there is nothing else to lose – so Jairam loses his mind. He takes a sharp da (a single-edged sword) and attacks the members of the jatra party. But the ultimate moment of grief is when the film spells out its message. A character toward the end of the film verbally declares, “According to Greek philosopher Plato, art never dies.”
The filmmaking honesty lurks in some less-visited corners. For instance, the longer takes of the dhuliya performances would surely allow audiences to absorb the performance and build a cognitive notion around it. And there are also the thematic similarities of opposites throughout – Jairam’s passion for the dhuliya tradition versus the jatra parties, his ideals versus the needs of his family, regionalism vs. the State, communism vs. regionalism, life versus death, commitment to art versus the larger issue of survival, etc. But in its lower appeal, the film is just another derivative of the same old cultural obituary of a dying art form. The lowest appeal still remains the poster of the film.
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The structure of the film and the style are too dated for Amateurs (2024) to be called a film of the moment. A character in the film issues a statement, and the editing cuts to a reaction shot of the other character with a sudden burst of strong emotional music. Two examples: Jairam asks around for money for the treatment of his sick son. A person says, “Even I am struggling with money right now.”
Immediately, there is a mid-close-up shot of a sad Jairam with an emotional burst of music. Again, the rich employer asks Jairam’s daughter to stop cleaning the front yard and escort him inside, and immediately the film cuts to a mid-close-up shot of his daughter’s unwillingness with a heavy emotional essence. In another situation, Jairam loses his cool and attacks the jatra party members and their instruments. Here, too, reaction shots come in with strong music. It is such insensibility of music that is used pro-effectively throughout the film to create an aspect of sentiment rather than the actual conditions of reality of the characters.
On one occasion, a thunderstorm and darkness have been used to foreshadow a death, while in another, a burnt house symbolizes a livelihood in ashes. Such visual resonance exists, but perhaps the most interesting bit of Amateurs (2024) is the fact that a two-rupee note, an Assam-type house with tiled flooring, a vintage car, and a freshly painted pucca Namghar (prayer hall) feature in the same narrative set in the early 1980s.
It’s ultimately a set formula, where a once-celebrated art form goes through a decline due to competition or neglect, and ultimately it leads the artists to abandon the craft, adapt to changing times, or endure the fading relevance of their art. Previously, Rajen Das directed Life in a Puppet (2021), which tackled the dying art form of puppetry, in the same formula. It’s true that films like Amateurs and Life in a Puppet show the beauty and history of a dying cultural treasure, but can filmmakers of Assam present us with a new narrative over the formulaic one now ?