QUICK AND DIRTY: LIVE FROM CANNES

Devika (Omara Shetty) is a fragile, utopian Indian teenager who aspires to be a rapper. She lives in a community of devadasis, and is keenly aware that in time honoured tradition, she will have to submit to a parade of eligible men who can use her body as a sexual vessel. Suddenly, up pops Renuka (Anasuya Sengupta), an older, more irascible prostitute who shows an interest in the wannabe singer. Devika’s mother disapproves – to her eyes, Renuka is nothing more than a “road-whore” – which only increases the teenager’s desire to meet Renuka and try the forbidden fruit. Invariably, Renuka and Devika start kissing, though Renuka’s commitment to her work – there are men standing outside the door – threatens to put a damper on things. When Renuka makes a shocking discovery, she pleads with her younger lover to stay with her, but Devika suspects that there are more things in heaven and earth that could derail them.

The premise is a solid one; brave for a drama from India too. The Shameless showcases an ugly, incurable side to male society, and although there are men in the picture, it’s evident that they are self-serving at best, morally bankrupt at worst. Rohit Kokate effectively plays the villain, a moustache-twirling, Hindu-practicing politician who asserts dominance on Renuka by virtue of his status and wealth. His character threatens Devika, causing the two women to reevaluate their situation as a queer couple in a conservative, secular town. Braving a date at a cinema, the ladies are harassed by a man behind them, who mocks their way of living. All around them, the hatred towards lesbianism flowers and grows. The romance is solid, although a little stiff: Devika jumps from a vague curiosity about female romance, to obsessively in love with Renuka in a matter of minutes. It’s also unclear whether Devika is a lesbian, or if she is pursuing Renuka to avoid possible encounters with agile, aggressive men. Unlike Renuka – who only interacts with male clients for fiscal gain – Devika’s position on the LGBT spectrum is a little airier, and far less transparent.

Indeed, the only friendly masculine face is worn by Devika’s younger brother, who acts as a go-between and sometime messenger. Every other man poses himself as an implicit or explicit threat to their relationship, which might explain why director Konstantin Bojanov films one protracted rape scene in a guttural,grim demeanour. Over the course of the journey, Devika transitions from girl to woman, but the voyage is let down by an absence of passion. Her commitment to Renuka is clear, when she offers to help the older woman obtain the medication she needs to combat illness.

Of the two leads, Shetty fares better as the headstrong, angular adolescent. Sengupta, on the other hand, performs Renuka with haughty, incredible grandeur; a pantomime character blown up on the big screen. Whether it’s the cigarette puffs or the epithets, it’s all too big and actorly, making it difficult to believe this is a person who will cut someone’s tongue out when she says she will. It’s like watching an anti-heroine from a Michael Bay production: high on adrenaline, low on substance.

If there’s a standout performance, then Auroshika Dey is the one most deserving of attention. Dey co-stars as Devika’s mother, a stern woman who stands by her convictions, knowing that her daughter, like she before her, will have to perform coital acts with strangers as part of a devadasi custom. When she comes face to face with the suitor who intends to “gift” Devika with money and penis, a flicker of doubt begins to burn behind her eyes. Devinka’s mother must decide whether it’s right to stand by ritual or to fight for her family, and the trepidation ploughs up and down her body; the weight of ancestry hanging over the parent. Dey is excellent, bringing pathos and compassion to a queer drama that needs the added gravitas.

The Shameless is showing in the Un Certain Regard section of the 77th Cannes International Film Festival.