It has become almost a tradition for me to start a film festival with a film in my native language: Kannada. To be fair, I’ve only ever been to two film festivals, both in Asia, so I’ve been lucky to see some representation. But in all seriousness, it’s shocking to me how introspective Kannadiga men nearing their middle age are feeling right now. Anybody who has a sibling knows that they’re your first point of contact, whether it’s exciting news, a downer, or you’re just feeling like absolute crap. Sibling bonds make for perfect film fodder, and the most interesting part is that both these films I’ve seen, Don’t Tell Mother and Mithya, feel like a time capsule you lock away until you’re fully aware of what you’ve done or been through as a child.
Anoop Lokkur’s debut feature film is a clever autobiographical snapshot of a childhood memory. It’s delivered in the form of a family drama that’s been produced completely independently. What I love about this is that it’s not tarnished by the touch of big corporations. Not to sound skeptical, but film today looks so touched up; nothing feels natural, real, or raw; everything feels made up or AI-fied. It’s when we see films like this one that we truly feel like something’s being awakened inside of us. The cinematography of Don’t Tell Mother is classic; it’s a picturesque film that is set in the 90s, and the film perfectly encapsulates the city of Bangalore in its garden city era. Despite the very high-quality camera work, there’s something natural about the lighting and setup of the film, making it feel grounded.
From the little details of “Amma” (mom) making rangoli in front of the house to the dad buying tickets in black for the screening of Jurassic Park, there’s a palpable authenticity in the film that makes it especially touching. But it’s one thing to capture nostalgia on screen and another to deliver an actual plot with anecdotes of the past. Lokkar uses his tainted memory as small steps to reach a conclusion that’s especially impactful because of how we get there. The film is short, introspective, and heartfelt.
Don’t Tell Mother, on the surface, sounds quite sinister. It could almost read as a horror movie, or maybe I just watch too many horror movies. But the title, literally translated from the Kannada Amanige Helbeda, is an emotion shared between siblings. Specifically between the two brothers in this film, and it’s equal parts loving and frustrating, if you know what I mean. Sometimes, in the process of concealing our truth from others, we forget to observe what may be hidden in plain sight, too. In Don’t Tell Mother, the main character isn’t the guy who tells his younger brother not to tell Mother about him throwing out the leftovers from lunch. It’s not the young boy who craves validation from his elder brother. It’s actually “Amma” herself. This is what makes the film so intriguing. The one person who always gets left behind or forgotten as a supporting character in everyone’s lives, “Amma” or “Mom,” is who we find ourselves focusing on in this movie. Ironic considering the title, eh?
Aishwarya Dinesh plays Amma, and when I watched her walk in after the screening of the film for the panel, I was surprised to see her demeanor and how entirely different she was from the character. The film is set in the 90s, so as a character, she’s reserved but fierce at the same time. She’s caring, but the role of the mother ages her; she seems mostly exhausted, but the actress herself was the very opposite of those things. I quite enjoyed this contrast, and it reminded me of the power of good acting chops. She’s got to be the main character, but I can’t deny the highlight of the film is the boy—well, I suppose the character who is mostly based on Lokkur himself, Akaash, played by Siddharth Swaroop. I’ve said this a million times before, but I’m always in awe of child actors, especially when they have to embody such complex emotions while simply grasping what’s written on paper. It can never be easy, and I’m always applauding it, but this boy does way more than just understanding the script and putting on a show. It’s like he feels the emotions of Akaash, and he’s genuinely going through them himself. He’s also very sweet and excitable, as gauged from how he answered the questions.
While I describe this film, I can imagine it sounds all fluffy and nostalgic, but there’s something dark and sinister underneath the surface. I’m not going to give anything away, because it’s best to go into such a film completely blind, but I will admit I didn’t see it coming at all. I think Don’t Tell Mother is the kind of film you should watch with your family to see how they react. Maybe they’ve been through something like that. Maybe it’ll remind them of a childhood incident that’ll open up an array of memories for them to sift through. It can be thought-provoking, if nothing else.
Lokkur doesn’t desire to give us any of that, though; all he truly cares about is remembering what’s gone by in the past, the moments he possibly misses, and the things he wishes he could’ve changed. From the outside, it may look like a mindless winding journey that doesn’t really have an end, something that’s half-baked, but this is the beauty in Lokkur’s simplistic choices. While I might see the mistakes I made as an elder child in the way I treated my sister when I was younger, my mother could see what she missed out on (don’t tell her I said that). That is what makes art so beautiful: it’s inviting, it’s wholesome, and it’s teaching, so make of it what you will. I give Don’t Tell Mother 3.5 out of 5 stars.
