The year is 1995. The setting is a picturesque village in Panchthar. The mountains shine through in the background, and the lakes glisten. And in the middle of everything, Dayahang Rai is angry. To be more specific, his character Namsang is. That’s Jaari—an angry man with his angry (but mostly crying) wife.

Okay, maybe I’m being too harsh. Let’s not trivialise the film to that extent. It is not a bad film. In fact, it’s possibly one of the most well-made films in a long time. But still, Jaari could’ve been so much more. It’s unfortunate that it wasn’t.

Here’s the premise. Dayahang Rai plays the angry Namsang, the son of a well-off family. He is married to Hangma (played by Miruna Magar), a daughter of a Subba (historically a post given to Limbu village chiefs). The very beginning of the movie starts with a fight between the two. After rebukes from both sides, a slap and an ‘almost-kick’ sends Hangma back to her maita (a term for a married woman’s childhood home). She eventually meets and runs away with another man, but as her family is unable to pay jaari—a sum paid to the previous husband as compensation for his wife’s elopement—she comes back again, this time as a maid cum slave.

Let’s talk about the good things first. The camera work and the colours are stunning—each still feels like a nostalgic reflection of Nepali village life; the houses, the bundles of corn hung on the roof, and the nearby pipal bot. Cinematographer Shailendra D Karki and colourist Arjun Karki have done justice to the sublime beauty of Nepal’s hilly scapes.

The sound and the music are what make the film. Finally, a Nepali film with sound that actually merges with the visuals and doesn’t feel like crappily dubbed audio. From the ambient sounds—the cows mooing, the gagri (water pot) falling on the floor to the dialogues, everything fits in place, leaving a seamless visual-aural experience. The traditional palam (sung by Tirsana) in the movie is deeply moving. Other songs are good too.

It is also imperative to acknowledge that Jaari is an important film. It moves away from the normative Bramhinical narrative to tell a story of a different culture and tradition within Nepal. The mainstream media, be it films, news, or music, has always been a gatekeeper of indigenous culture, knowledge and forms. This has manifested mainly in cinema via complete erasure or tokenisation (that too is based on harmful stereotypes).

Jaari takes back control of the narrative because director Subba ensures that the Limbu way of life is accurately portrayed, documented, appreciated and perhaps even romanticised (just the right amount). The film is a window into Limbu culture—its unique practices, from singing palam to deriving lore and inspirations from the Mundhum (religious scripture).

What struck me the most was how much the women in that film worked. I’m not kidding. There isn’t a single frame in the movie where a woman—Hangma, her mother, and her mother-in-law isn’t working. They’re either cooking or cleaning or fetching water or cutting grass or making alcohol or feeding the cattle. The list is long. It was almost comical to see how Hangma’s role in the household—from daughter-in-law to maid was almost the same, the only difference was that her room was worse than before.

The movie, intentionally or unintentionally, draws attention to the daily and intense physical labour that village women perform. It shows how exhausting a woman’s life can be—the idea of rest or recreation is a distant dream. In one particular scene, Hangma goes to a neighbour to ask for starter alcohol. As the woman goes to get it, she instinctively reaches out to complete the work left behind—gently spreading the corn kernels laid out in the sun. I mean, just how pervasive is this internalised ‘labour as worth’ idea in Nepali women (and the overall society)?

Okay, now the not-so-good things. Though the film is culturally rich and ethnically sensitive, it fails the characters in the story—especially its women. Dayahang Rai’s character is so angered and cruel that it is hard to root for him, even when he is wronged. The men in the story are mostly just angry and then violent. The khukuri should’ve been added as a cast member considering how often it appears on the screen. Namsang is void of any rationality or sympathy. It is only in the end that one feels cathartic towards Namsang. But by then, it’s too late.

The second husband, played by Roy, is basically just a plot device for the conflict to move forward; his role is severely overlooked. Miruna Magar’s Hangma is well-acted, but one can help but notice she’s restricted by the story. Hangma is a passive pawn moving in the whims of the men around her—her father, husband or brother. The connection and attachment between Namsang and Hangma aren’t built enough for us to root for them or their love.

Jaari could’ve been a lot of things. It could’ve and should’ve given Hangma more depth and autonomy. It should’ve challenged that status quo not only through an indigenous perspective but also via gender and non-patriarchal lens. But the story was surprisingly (and disappointingly) run-of-the-mill. That is Jaari’s one true weakness.

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Jaari

Language: Nepali

Duration: 2 hours 1 minute

Director: Upendra Subba

Cast: Dayahang Rai, Miruna Magar, Prem Subba, Bijay Baral, Roy

Released: April 14

Now showing: One cinemas, QFX cinemas