Denied Awards but Unforgettable: Memorable Films at the 19th MIFF India
Focusing specifically on worthy films that did not receive awards, Japanese critic Kyoko Endo reflects on outstanding entries from the 19th Mumbai International Film Festival, celebrating the human dramas and cultural richness that transcended the competition results.
The 19th Mumbai International Film Festival offered a treasure trove of exceptional documentaries. Waai, which won the Best Documentary Award in the International Competition, is a precious cinematic document capturing the devotional chants of the last four surviving practitioners of Sufism. I was utterly spellbound by its visual poetry and haunting melodies. Hug of Emptiness, selected by our FIPRESCI jury as the Best Documentary in the National Competition, was another formidable work. I was deeply moved by the protagonist’s resilience, unyielding spirit, and refusal to succumb to despair despite being pushed into the depths of poverty. Yet it is the films that moved me most—but unfortunately left empty-handed—that I wish to write about here.
The camera captures a rural landscape in a long shot, accompanied by the rustling sound of a farmer walking through the grass. As it gradually moves closer, however, the roar of traffic and relentless honking bleed into the soundtrack. The urban noise feels overwhelming. Through this masterful use of sound, Mohak Gandhi’s Here Among Strangers focuses on Sudhakar Bhujbal, who stubbornly continues farming on the outskirts of Mumbai despite relentless urban expansion.
Three of his brothers have already sold their land; only two remain. Hemmed in by towering apartment blocks, the seventy-year-old farmer quietly remarks, “There are only outsiders and strangers everywhere.” His words are delivered without bitterness or nostalgia—simply as a statement of fact. He still tends to two ageing, barren cows, decorating them with bells. While the residents of the surrounding high-rises have become entirely disconnected from the land, the film suggests that Sudhakar’s way of life will remain unchanged, regardless of how dramatically his surroundings continue to transform.
“I couldn’t even think about travelling by bus,” he says while visiting his older sister in her apartment tower. Her sons abandoned farming a decade earlier and sold their land to real-estate developers. Although the building is impressive, she appears lost within its anonymous corridors, navigating rows of identical mailboxes and a stark, monochrome elevator. As she quietly chants to her village deity, the film cuts to footage of yet more apartment blocks under construction. The deafening sounds of the building site overwhelm her prayer.
The human desire for profit and migration toward cities seems limitless, steadily replacing fertile land with concrete. Developers continue building higher to maximise returns from increasingly scarce land. Yet humanity ultimately depends upon the natural world for survival. Few people stop to ask whether civilisation can truly endure once it becomes completely detached from the soil. Everyone claims to value nature; the film even shows a billboard advertising “homes around trees.” But who, then, will care for those trees? In just thirteen minutes, the film elegantly encapsulates the environmental consequences of unchecked development.
I was equally captivated by Arghya Mukherjee’s Jatra Pala, the Echoes of an Open Stage. Produced by the Satyajit Ray Film and Television Institute, the documentary explores Bengali folk theatre, which continues to attract enormous audiences even in the twenty-first century. I was astonished by the sheer scale of these open-air productions, with their enormous stages and intricate microphone systems designed to capture performers wherever they move. Equally striking was the audience’s enthusiasm, with some spectators camping overnight simply to secure a good place.
To attract younger audiences increasingly absorbed by smartphones, theatre companies have adapted by incorporating more contemporary musical elements into their productions. Every individual on screen possesses remarkable vitality and distinctiveness. I found myself overwhelmed by the richness of Indian popular culture, sustained by performers and playwrights whose extraordinary commitment is matched only by their unwavering belief in the traditions they preserve.
A few years ago, a documentary about traditional Japanese folk singers became an unexpected box-office success. It reminded me that a nation’s cultural identity resides not only in prestigious art forms performed inside climate-controlled theatres, but often in popular traditions that more directly reflect the lives of ordinary people. In Jatra, justice always triumphs, even when reality suggests otherwise. I was particularly moved when the lead actor spoke of their collective responsibility to ensure that justice ultimately prevails on stage.
All of these films—including the award winners—reveal universal truths through deeply human stories. This year’s documentary programme included many works devoted to preserving traditional culture or promoting environmental sustainability. Yet unless such films remain firmly rooted in human experience, they risk becoming little more than beautifully produced promotional videos. A model gracefully twirling in a sari may be visually striking, but I found myself drawn far more strongly to stories built around genuine human commitment, perseverance, and struggle.
While the festival introduced audiences to many remarkable cultural traditions, I occasionally wished for more contextual information designed for international viewers unfamiliar with Indian culture. Even Japanese audiences often require explanation to fully appreciate Noh or Kabuki, and cinematic representations of those traditions usually provide enough context to guide viewers without undermining the mystery. By contrast, hearing narration such as “There is M Thakar and K Thakar” may leave international audiences feeling completely lost—rather like characters wandering through a Kurt Vonnegut novel.
It also felt profoundly mottainai—a uniquely Japanese sense of regret over wasted potential—to see films with fascinating subjects relying too heavily on an endless succession of talking heads seated in chairs. Even so, I found these documentaries considerably more rewarding than visually spectacular films that resemble glossy travel advertisements. Their conviction and affection for their subjects resonated far more deeply. I would also note that one animated short advocating environmental conservation possessed both an excellent concept and strong execution, although it seemed better suited to the festival’s animation competition, where it might have found a more appropriate audience.
Ultimately, every film I encountered offered something valuable. I leave the festival profoundly grateful for an experience that proved both intellectually enriching and deeply rewarding.
Kyoko Endo
Edited by Robert Horton
© FIPRESCI 2026