This highly-personal microcosmic drama highlights the problems women face in Muslim countries - in this case, conflict-beleaguered Kashmir - on family matters we take for granted in the West. The protagonist is in the limbo state of being a "half-widow", which is apparently common there, due to all the warring factions in and around that highly-contested piece of turf. So many men are wrenched from their homes by one army or another militia, with no word of their fate for years, their wives are stuck emotionally and legally with uncertainty as to whether they still have a living spouse. Hers has been gone for seven years when the film begins.
As the system is presented, after four years of unexplained absence a woman can remarry, but she can't claim title to her husband's land and estate until he's been declared legally dead by the State. In this case, that's within the sole discretion of a registrar who refuses to simply stamp the essential document unless she either sells the home to his friend (assuring his own 20% commission), pays a bribe she can't afford, or provides other repugnant services. Years of persistent applications and regular visits to his office get her nowhere, and no other recourse seemingly exists for her plight.
The story unfolds in a slow, low-key manner, as we share her frustration and the cumulative toll of oppression from the system and its corruption, if not perversion, mounting on her and her family. We also learn that even if she gets the Death Certificate, she'd get the humble home, but retain only a small fraction of their other for herself and the children, with the bulk reverting to the husband's family. That's true even though she has always worked as a nurse, thereby creating a fair amount of their net worth. How would that kind of probate law play in the West, even without the corruption?
In the past year or so, I've watched many films from India and the surrounding region in which crooked practices by police, politicians and/or bureaucrats drive the plot. Some are comedies; most are not. Widow of Silence, which has already garnered 14 awards and nominations internationally, may be the most emotionally compelling, since it focuses so intensely on one undeserving victim, with just enough sidebars to show that she's but one of many suffering identical hardships.
Though I'm often critical of slow-paced movies with long silent stretches, in this case those scenes serve a valuable purpose in creating empathy between the audience and the women our heroine represents. If you're in the mood for insightful, important glimpses into inequities faced by many millions around the world, this film delivers a powerful experience.
As the system is presented, after four years of unexplained absence a woman can remarry, but she can't claim title to her husband's land and estate until he's been declared legally dead by the State. In this case, that's within the sole discretion of a registrar who refuses to simply stamp the essential document unless she either sells the home to his friend (assuring his own 20% commission), pays a bribe she can't afford, or provides other repugnant services. Years of persistent applications and regular visits to his office get her nowhere, and no other recourse seemingly exists for her plight.
The story unfolds in a slow, low-key manner, as we share her frustration and the cumulative toll of oppression from the system and its corruption, if not perversion, mounting on her and her family. We also learn that even if she gets the Death Certificate, she'd get the humble home, but retain only a small fraction of their other for herself and the children, with the bulk reverting to the husband's family. That's true even though she has always worked as a nurse, thereby creating a fair amount of their net worth. How would that kind of probate law play in the West, even without the corruption?
In the past year or so, I've watched many films from India and the surrounding region in which crooked practices by police, politicians and/or bureaucrats drive the plot. Some are comedies; most are not. Widow of Silence, which has already garnered 14 awards and nominations internationally, may be the most emotionally compelling, since it focuses so intensely on one undeserving victim, with just enough sidebars to show that she's but one of many suffering identical hardships.
Though I'm often critical of slow-paced movies with long silent stretches, in this case those scenes serve a valuable purpose in creating empathy between the audience and the women our heroine represents. If you're in the mood for insightful, important glimpses into inequities faced by many millions around the world, this film delivers a powerful experience.
