Her: Women On Screen (& Off) Need Better

H(er)story

Considering women have had to fight for representation on and off screen, it is of course gratifying to witness more stories centred on them. But certain concerning patterns emerge, writes Neelima Menon.

LIJIN JOSE’s Her, written by Archana Vasudev, maps a predictable narrative trajectory, weaving together five individual storylines. A job seeker’s encounter with an ant in her sari foreshadows internal turmoil. A female producer who moonlights as a YouTube influencer is called out for duplicity. After being in a seemingly happy relationship, a young woman is undecided about marrying. An elderly woman has to fight with technology to reconnect with her husband. And finally, there is an IT professional who breaks free from her conservative family to live the life she wants.

Her reinstates every trope the (few) female filmmakers and writers in this sphere are often associated with, despite the progress made. Considering women have to fight for representation on and off screen, it is of course gratifying to witness more stories centred on them. But certain concerning patterns emerge: tokenistic women’s liberation themes, lack of nuance, overemphasis on cliches rather than providing original, entertaining cinema. When you prioritise simplistic, feel-good portrayals of empowerment, it undermines the complexity of women’s experiences.

The first episode follows a young woman (Aishwarya Rajesh) as she has to navigate public transport to attend a job interview. The glitch starts when she tries to get on a bus, and later a rikshaw as she realises that a pesky ant is creating havoc inside her sari. The scenario not-so-subtly highlights the lack of safe and clean public washrooms for women in this country, which in turn disrupts her daily life. This was perhaps meant as a loud billboard for the everyday struggles women face when they step out for work due to poor infrastructure and also the gender inequality in public spaces. However, the execution feels like a public service announcement; therefore we are left nodding at the message rather than emotionally investing in the woman’s journey. Predictable tropes like the rikshaw driver’s antics only end up further detaching the viewer. When the message outweighs its narrative impact, you recognise the need for more nuanced storytelling.

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In another segment, a female producer (Remya Nambeesan) — who is also a YouTube influencer — is seemingly inspired by a prominent figure currently in the news. So not only is the character sketch in poor taste but is also counterproductive. When you are pitting women against women, the narrative undermines its purpose. Though the narrative is perhaps intended as a satire on social media absurdity, it doesn’t quite land due to weak writing, and unsubtle humour (especially in how they attempt to call out her hypocrisy). The narrative pretensions sink under their own weight.

The most promising segment in the anthology features Lijo Mol as an ambitious young woman, betrothed to her college sweetheart. She is portrayed as independent and assertive, contrasting with her smitten partner’s readiness to settle down. There is a nice scene when she snarls at her father for giving him preferential treatment, thereby subverting typical new bride tropes. She gets a well-developed arc that pays off in the finale. Having said that, one felt addressing female desire and agency required a lot more deftness in dialogue and execution than what was on display in the end, especially when you contextualise these within societal pressures as well as emotional complexities. What’s also impressive is how the narrative doesn’t vilify the man, despite the obvious conflict of interest between them.

The Urvashi-Prathap Pothen segment regrettably tackles a dated theme, impaired by the predictability of the narrative. They play an elderly couple (no mention of children anywhere in the picture) who are besotted with each other. He is that typically dependent spouse who can’t function without her, while she indulges him. The minute ‘Alexa’ is delivered to their home, we get an inkling of how their relationship dynamics will evolve. The presence of two stalwarts notwithstanding, the segment's archaic portrayal dents its potential. Not only is the woman reduced to a stereotypical homemaker, but even the supposed “happy ending” reinforces harmful gender roles. This was a missed opportunity to explore complex relationships as well as challenge societal norms.

The final segment is also the weakest and most laboured. Parvathy Thiruvothu plays Ruchi, an IT professional who seems to have fallen out with her conservative family. We get a quick, nice scene with her brother that underlines this conflict, but the narrative fails to build momentum. And Parvathy’s Ruchi seems to be stitched together from several of her previous characters (or is it the actor being repetitive?) — she is temperamental, assertive, and dismissive of societal niceties. But the rest of the narrative fails to capitalise on the promising start and lands nowhere in its attempt to pile tension to reach a forced, inorganic closure. Again all challenges to “normalise” the representation end up as an involuntary joke as we are still trying to process what’s real and what’s imagined.

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