Mayasabha has been advertised as the “second film from the writer-director of Tumbbad”. Rahi Barve’s new movie shares with his brilliant folk horror film its theme of the corrupting nature of treasure and immersive visuals, but not the sustained feeling of dread and uncanniness.
The Hindi-language Mayasabha gets its title from the cinema hall that producer Parmeshwar (Jaaved Jaaferi) shares with his son Vasu (Mohammad Samad), a pesticide-spewing machine to ward off mosquitos, and an array of bric-a-brac. The mouldy cinema has seen better days, as has Parmeshwar.
A slave to his past, the barely sane Parmeshwar lurches from room to room, spraying pesticide all around. Strangely, he does appear to have kept himself in shape – despite an absent manner, fraying clothes and hair that hasn’t seen the inside of a scissors, Parmeshwar has a remarkably ripped body, which is put on display during a pivotal moment.
The guileless Vasu gets out every now and then, which is how he meets the grifters Ravrana (Deepak Damle) and Zeenat (Veena Jamkar). When Vasu lets slip that Parmeshwar has hidden kilos of gold somewhere in the theatre, the pair decides to pay a visit. Zeenat proves to be a particularly shrewd plotter until the moment when, having discovered the treasure’s location, she decides to hang around and expose herself to harm for no logical reason whatsoever.
Barve’s screenplay has a strongly theatrical flavour, most evident in Jaaved Jaaferi’s histrionics – Parmeshwar declaims rather than speaks – and the timeless feeling that prevails inside the decrepit cinema hall. Overwrought, repetitive and sluggishly paced, Mayasabha’s showcase is its moody look and design.
Cinematographer Kuldeep Mamanai, often shooting through thickets of fog, dunks his frames in the shades of the yellow metal that Zeenat and Ravrana are chasing. Production designer Preetam Rai’s magnificently atmospheric, expressionist set has the allegorical qualities that the script seeks to achieve.
Rai floods the place with movie props, barely functioning objects, and articles that testify to the loss and pain faced by Parmeshwar. The floors are paved with dirt; the walls harbour moss. Even the bathroom, with its decaying Duchampian urinal, is striking.
Among the quartet of actors, Mohammad Samad is the most memorable as a teenager devoted to his eccentric and stultifying father. Tucked into a cautionary tale about greed is the more affecting coming-of-age story of a boy who tries to find the strength to escape the lure of illusion.
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