‘Sthal’ (2025) ZEE5 Movie Review - Jayant Digambar Somalkar's Layered, Potent Drama

If Jeo Baby's The Great Indian Kitchen was an attack on the individual, Jayant Digambar Somalkar's Sthal (English translation: A Match) is an attack on the institution. The Great Indian Kitchen was designed to evoke a response. Sthal, though, is more...observed. You don't need Somalkar to tell you that this film is a result of his own personal experiences. However, it's worth noting that those experiences are rendered rich thanks to a keen-eyed filmmaker who doesn't merely film his script but also sees a whole world in motion. You find Somalkar's alertness in small visual moments—such as the scene where the family of a potential groom visits Savita's (a superb Nandini Chikte) house. As they wash and dry themselves, we notice a woman quietly doing her chores in the background. The impression one gets immediately is of watching a world where daily activities are unfolding, even outside the range of the plot. It's easy to turn a material like this (women trapped in an oppressive patriarchal environment) into a sharp lecture, but Somalkar has little interest in scoring brownie points. With Sthal, he digs deeper and deeper, and the more he digs, the more potent his film becomes.
 

Consider what Somalkar could have done with Daulatrao Wandhare (an impressive Taranath Khiratkar), Savita's father. He could have turned him into a monster with red skin, a tail, and two horns, boiling his daughter in the regressive pot. Daulatrao, though, is painted with a more complex brush. He is okay with Savita going to college, but he can't bring himself to give her the complete independence she deserves. When a man informs him that another potential groom is coming to meet Savita on Sunday, Daulatrao's first reaction is to worry about Savita's MPSC exam. He even asks the man if the meeting could be rescheduled for a day earlier or later. It is here that we get a complete picture of Daulatrao — a man who regrets that his daughter will miss her exam, yet is so deeply conditioned by orthodox viewpoints that he, like a helpless, hypnotized victim, ends up sacrificing Savita's career path. Then again, it's not as if educated men like Khapne sir (Sandip Parkhi) are any better. He teaches his students about women's empowerment, but doesn't object to his own family's demand for a dowry of Rs. 5 lakhs.

When Gauri (Swati Ulmale), Savita's friend, says the same thing to Savita, we get a plaintive, powerful line about Khapne sir sounding progressive only because that's what's written in the book, and that's what he is teaching the students. If someone like Khapne sir speaks the language of a college textbook, then people like Daulatrao and his wife act according to the textbook of tradition. Everybody is simply a victim of habit, a habit learned by rote. A Khapne sir doesn't understand the meaning of women's empowerment, a Daulatrao doesn't understand what grave he is digging by following the rules of society like a robot, and a little girl doesn't understand the significance of Savitribai Phule's struggles, which she delivers in the form of a fancy dress lecture. That last point holds another key to Somalkar's intentions. He suggests that we often study great figures superficially—to pose, to impress—without truly comprehending or incorporating their greatness. It's one of the reasons our society is currently so rotten, so backward. Figures like Ambedkar are merely plastered on doors and walls, like posters dispensing "cool quotes." What they taught us, what they wanted us to look out for, are things we have neither grasped nor passed on.

For Somalkar, the whole arranged marriage setting is a tedious bureaucratic process. The repetitious questions (What's your name? What do you study?), the precise seating arrangement (the girl sits on a stool at the center), and the ridiculous rituals (discussing whether to accept the girl or not just outside the house and giving her money when she touches everybody's feet toward the meeting's end) are depicted with an accuracy that both mocks the routine and shows how seriously society has embraced this absurd business. At one point, Savita's lips are sealed, while her answers echo in the soundscape, giving rise to a feeling that whatever she says doesn't really matter. Given the constant rejections, you can actually say that her words mean nothing to the people judging her. Savita can speak better English than the man asking her questions, but in the end, they reject her based on her height or some other ridiculous reason. And even the family that accepts her shows no interest in her personality or education. What they seek is Rs. 5 lakhs.
 

Daulatrao becomes so frustrated that he even takes Savita to a state-level community wedding program, where young men and women present themselves as alluring prospects, like candidates who will work hard for their employer. Scenes like these carry a strong scent of humiliation. They suggest that parents would rather present their kids as products than empower them through education. It stings and hurts because it is the truth in its raw form. I could easily identify with Savita's anger, sadness, irritation. I especially recognized that face she makes whenever somebody talks about her marriage. It's not as if Savita is wholly opposed to the very idea of marriage. It's just that she wants to finish her education — she wants to have a career. But look closely, and you will realize that if she isn't entirely against the concept of marriage, that's also because marriage has been extremely normalized by people around her. Her friends have their own love interests; one of them even elopes with her boyfriend. However, these friends and other young characters are greatly influenced by Bollywood romances. While Savita and her friends wait for the bus, Pehla Pehla Pyar from Hum Aapke Hain Koun..! plays on the radio, and Gauri and Ganesh (Sachin Tonge) exchange shy glances. Later, when Mangya (Suyog Dhawas) turns into a heartbroken Devdas, Sach Keh Raha Hai Deewana from Rehnaa Hai Terre Dil Mein makes its appearance.
 

Hence, you can say that Sthal criticizes all those Bollywood romances that prettify marriage. They bury all the ugliness behind glamorous songs and dance — ugliness that Somalkar reveals with full strength (one character rejects the idea of meeting a family because of their caste). I think I might have described Sthal as a gloomy vehicle, which is not entirely accurate. Humor erupts here and there, and one of my favorite bits involves a car acting as a streetlight during a wedding function. To understand the joke, you need to know that the groom-to-be works in the electricity department, so someone jokes that the bride will live in a house without power outages. That car—a "gift" for the groom—then solves the problem of the power cut during the function by, in a way, taking over the professional role of the bride's soon-to-be husband. You see, even Somalkar's jokes come with many layers. Somalkar also does something interesting with characters' eyes, using them as a means of flirtatious communication and a way to reveal secrets. Like Gauri and Ganesh, Mangya and Suman (played by Mansi Pawar) also share their own secret, lovey-dovey exchanges. Savita and Khapne's romance is first clearly established through one of those slow-motion eye contacts. During a wedding, Mangya catches Savita and Khapne looking at each other and understands what's happening between them.

In Sthal, you will find parents creating a ruckus over good morning WhatsApp messages exchanged between a boy and a girl, while these same parents will go ahead and talk endlessly about their kid's marriage. Somalkar facepalms, and you facepalm as well. Then again, the director establishes the reality of this world by opening the film with a dream sequence. It's his way of showing that women's empowerment remains a distant dream for Savita-like individuals. Even the ending feels dreamlike; here, however, the aim is to wake the audience. If this wake-up call comes in the form of a slap, it's because almost every character discards the voice of logic and reason. Sometimes, action must be physical; some people only respond to a firm hand, not words.

Final Score- [8/10]
Reviewed by - Vikas Yadav
Follow @vikasonorous on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times