Beauty, contradiction run deep in 'Water'

Robert Denerstein, Rocky Mountain News

Published May 5, 2006 at midnight

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The Indian movie Water begins when a poor father leaves his daughter at a "widow house." Now that she's a widow and a financial burden, she's placed in an ashram where she'll be shunned by the larger society.

This might be the beginning of any number of socially conscious movies about Indian life during the 1930s, but the scene is made all the more poignant by the fact that the widow in question is 8. Young Chuyia never actually met her husband and has no memory of being married.

Director Deepa Mehta's Water - the third in a trilogy of movies, following 1996's Fire and 1998's Earth - is a clear-eyed, heartbreaking piece of moviemaking. Water speaks to oppression, yet its imagery can be achingly beautiful. It levels its criticisms within a climate of respect, a combination that creates a work of true humanity. And cinematographer Giles Nuttgens' camera allows the story to unfold in a near-holy light.

To make her movie, Mehta had to battle adversity. Her production was shut down when Hindu fundamentalists staged protests. Sets were tossed into the Ganges. Her likeness was burned in effigy. It took four years before Mehta resumed work on the project, this time in Sri Lanka.

Water derives much of its power from its performances, particularly from Serala, the young actress who plays Chuyia, the improbably young widow. Serala is Sri Lankan. She learned to speak Hindi phonetically, and, amazingly, she's able to convey the child's rebelliousness, as well as her ability to adjust to seemingly impossible conditions.

Chuyia's very presence in this ashram feels like an affront to nature. She's an energetic child. When she arrives at the widow house, the widows shave her head and give her white robes that separate her from society. She's probably not aware of what she's doing, but the irrepressible Chuyia battles to keep her girlhood alive.

Given the hermetically sealed quality of life in the widow house, it's no surprise that intrigues develop. The place seems to be run by Madhumati (Manorama), a crone who turns a beautiful woman named Kalyani (Lisa Ray) into a prostitute; Kalyani's labors support the 14 women who live in the house.

The stern Shakuntala (Seema Biswas) takes Chuyia under her wing. Later in the picture, a handsome lawyer (former model John Abraham) with progressive politics becomes involved with Kalyani, who lives in a shack on the house's roof.

Ray's astonishing beauty underscores her character's blessing and curse. Pushed to the fringes of society, where she's exploited, Kalyani is allowed to keep her hair long and seems freer than most of the women. Although she supports the house, the other women scorn her, reminding us that sometimes the oppressed can make the worst oppressors.

The Indian-born Mehta divides her time between Toronto and New Dehli, so it's arguable that she brings international influences to the project, but she clearly relishes the rich tapestry of Indian life, with its beauty, bourgeoisie hypocrisies and religious impulses, some of them quite sincere. One character, a priest, treats Shakuntala with quiet kindness that's quite moving.

It's no surprise that a movie such as Water offers a mixture of tragedy and hope. Mehta looks at India at a moment when parts of the country were moving forward (Gandhi was beginning to make his mark) and other parts were standing still.

This duality produces an involving story that brings us into a world resonant with contradiction, perfumed by beauty as surely as it's corrupted by narrowness of view.

Mehta locates this story at the place where individual yearnings and the warped dictates of tradition collide. Deliberately made and carefully imagined, Water, with its powerful imagery, makes us feel as if our eyes are being opened to a story of profound significance.

Just as important, Mehta's movie reminds us that single acts of conscience can begin to transform the world.

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