There’s so much that I’m dying to say about the film, but I’m restraining myself in case you have yet to watch it. I don’t want to spoil even a second of it for you, because the suspense is oddly dramatic in how you await, with bated breath, the big reveal about the identity of the thieves, and yet, you are distracted by the series of events that lead the investigators from one place to another, on the hot trail of stolen fruit. All the characters are relatable, and, to a certain extent, they perform as stereotypes, and the costumes exaggerate their tweaks, serving as a constant reminder of the theatricality of it all, which is undercut by skilled acting. There’s this delicate line between farce and reality that is constantly threaded, accounting for the film’s entertaining qualities. The comedy doesn’t come at the expense of narrative authenticity. Every single plot twist feels wholly believable and convincing; totally plausible. This is its biggest strength.

We wondered about all the ‘in-jokes’ that were also place-specific; little nuances that were embedded in the script that would render it even more relatable to small-town audiences less anglicised than us. I found my partner frequently returning to scenes in the film, re-watching them to laugh all over again, or to revisit a detail. What floored us both was how the filmmakers and scriptwriters never forgot about their allegiance to the plotline as well as to the genre of satire, which comes across so well in the casting choices. The light-heartedness inures you slightly from the inherent darkness of the themes, but it also allows you to find traces of yourself in the lead character, which I enjoyed.

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The worst thing about watching a film like Kathal is that it sets a precedent. You want more films that echo its tenor, but that’s difficult to find because most other films tend to disappoint mid-way through. This film had a feminist, intersectional core that really spoke to me. I already feel the void of there being too few others like it that are new and resonate with the bizarreness of the times we are forced to inhabit. Because when our political realities start to feel stranger than fiction, we need fiction to step up its game.

Deliberating on the life and times of Everywoman, Rosalyn D’Mello is a reputable art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover. She tweets @RosaParx
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The views expressed in this column are the individual’s and don’t represent those of the paper.