
THE BENGALI

Fatima Shaik, an African-American author (Economy Hall) from New Orleans, and whose family has lived in Louisiana for four generations, embarks upon an unlikely quest from The Big Easy to a part of India where no African-American (or American) has ever gone. Her search for the past is fraught with uncertainty as she looks for her late grandfather Shaik Mohamed Musa’s descendants, the land he claimed to own, and the truth behind the stories she grew up with. Her incredible journey is told in New York City-based award-winning filmmaker Kavery Kaul’s (Cuban Canvas, Long Way From Home) new feature documentary THE BENGALI.
In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, people lost homes, heirlooms, family, and stories. In The Bengali, African American writer Fatima Shaik leaves her birthplace of New Orleans to follow the path of her grandfather, Shaik Muhamed Musa. His history becomes the mystery Fatima seeks to unravel. Director Kavery Kaul was born in Kolkata. These two women travel to India on a mission of recovery and emotional enlightenment.
I lived in India from the end of 2008 into the beginning of 2009. In many cases, I was the first Westerner many of the locals in Hyderabad had ever seen. Most certainly, the first white woman. I was fascinated by the lush history of my surroundings. I watched as the landscape changed around me, sometimes quite literally. I witnessed the erection of modern malls and office buildings, as tent cities surrounding the community we initially lived in were simultaneously bulldozed over. The difference in culture was overwhelming. But unlike Fatima Shaik, I had no familial connection to the country. In The Bengali, Fatima and Kavery are there to seek answers and validate the stories passed down from Fatima’s grandfather. The greater the roadblocks, the more she questions. The locals are suspicious, and rumors begin to fly about her presence. Is her entire family history a lie?
Watching The Bengali is like a time warp for me. Fatima is just as lost and overwhelmed in the country’s bureaucratic ridiculousness. It’s a palpable frustration I know all too well. Merely attempting to travel from point A to point B is a challenge. Never mind the daunting sense of direction within street signs and, in many cases, house numbers. The handheld camera work immerses you into the chaos. In most cities, the people speak at least a few English words. In a small village, that was always less likely. Thankfully, Fatima had Kavery to assist in translation. Attempting this journey without her aid would be near impossible. But, like my own experiences, the most intriguing conversations occur between her and the village women. Discussions of gender roles, education, arranged marriage vs. love marriage give us insight into rural Indian culture. Religion becomes a point of contention, but that should not be of any surprise. But it is the often forgotten story of immigrants that rings the loudest. There is an entire history of Indian and African American culture in America that I had never heard of. The documentary became a new page in our history.
Finding roots changes a person, no matter the outcome of information. The Bengali is a candid and revelatory dive into past and present, and thus the future. It breaks social and physical barriers, showing the viewer we’re all part of a much larger community than we could imagine.
Winner of the Special Jury Award at Roxbury Film Festival and the International Humanitarian Award at Flickers’ Rhode Island International Film Festival, The Bengali will make its New York Premiere at DOC NYC, America’s largest documentary festival. The film will screen in person on Saturday, Nov. 13th at 4:45 pm at IFC Center with additional virtual screenings from Nov. 14-28. For tickets, visit https://www.docnyc.net/film/




Elizabeth Guest

Grief is a personal journey. When your person gets ripped from your orbit, all bets are off. “Coping” can mean destructive behavior in the form of alcohol, binge eating, even self-harm. Or, grief can manifest itself into the most creative outlets. In Zowie’s case, pain and darkness are where she’s become comfortable. It’s also where her sister appears to her, bringing her momentary joy. In

IDA RED
Sofia Hublitz
“Traditional” relationships structures were created by, well, who knows. Love is weird and complicated, no matter how hard we try. We’re only human. We have urges that are as basic as they come. Anyone who claims to not be attracted to a person outside of their monogamous relationship is a liar. Love is messy and ever-evolving, and writer-director Hannah Marks gets that. Marks popped onto my radar with
Tin Can


As
The palpable sadness of 
Mimi Kuzyk
Performances across the board are phenomenal.
Giant Bear (*shown alongside Don’t Say Its Name)
The Death Doula
Watershed
Creepy Bits- Chapter 1- “Baby Face”
Narcoleap: S2
GHOST- A Primitive Evolution
Midnight Lunch Break
The Revenge of the Snowflakes
We All Dream (*being shown with Motherly at 9 pm this evening)
Disquietude (screening with Tin Can Sunday night at 11:30 pm.)

Two kickass female leads in one film? Thank you. The cast generally consists of more women, and I am not complaining. It’s inspiring to watch these actresses communicate with each other. Leads, 

Sisters With Transistors beautifully brings to life a niche history that you didn’t know you were missing but will surely recognize. The film seamlessly weaves together the personal stories of innovative composers like Clara Rockmore, Daphne Oram, Bebe Barron, Pauline Oliveros, and Suzanne Ciani through live performances, archival footage, and visual interpretations of their music. Some pieces are moody and atmospheric; others are challenging and experimental. Yet, all of them reverberate with unique genius, creativity, and passion. The overall effect is a captivating documentary on an unsung history that is endlessly engaging to watch.





Amy Smart
Ed in Kansas has an elaborate estate titled “Subterra Castle”. Above ground, it appears to be a menagerie of land gardens with 
Masao is coming to terms with his mortality in a quietly epic fashion. They say your life flashes before your eyes when you are about to die. In Masao’s case, we are a party to the type of man he was years ago. He is ushered into death by the ghost of his wife Grace, who takes him on a journey through time. There is a bit of a Christmas Carol quality, as Grace brings him into the memories of different and defining times. We come to learn his shortcomings, self-sabotage, doubt, adoration for his wife, and finally, acceptance of his fate. 

The cinematography is gorgeous. The setting, the costumes, everything pops. The main set is magical. The walls adorned with landscape paintings, the massive rooms filled with antique furnishings, and the ceilings boast curious murals. The score is perfectly whimsical. The stunning fx makeup is never too terrifying for its intended audience. 
Each segment of the film has a very different tone. The early scenes on the farm (where, years earlier, Josiah’s wife mysteriously committed suicide) are filled with eerie unease. Josiah and Thomas’ relationship is tense and cold. It feels very much like a haunted house film. I feel like Robert Patrick has been playing supremely creepy characters for my whole lifetime – he slips into these roles without even trying. There’s a scene where Josiah gives Thomas some fatherly advice that is some of Patrick’s most squirm-inducing work to date.
The hook is irresistible, and the image of the killer’s surgical mask smeared with a bloody smile will stick with me for a few nights. Unfortunately, the overall plot can’t quite keep up. The narrative dances back and forth between quarantine flashbacks and the harsh reality facing the players trapped in the deadly game. I love a tight 90-minute feature, but this is one film where I wished we had a little bit more exposition.

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