Why ‘Sing Geetham’ Sings

To watch Sing Geetham after Dug Dug, which I reviewed yesterday, is to witness the stark difference between an experienced filmmaker and one who is still finding his footing. Both films essentially navigate the same thematic terrain: religion vs. business, the tension between greed and blind faith. Both are also products of whimsical minds that state their message through eccentric, imaginative touches. But Ritwik Pareek's gaze never penetrates the surface. Dug Dug feels sanitized and overly safe despite tackling a hot-button, discomforting subject. Singeetham Srinivasa Rao, on the other hand, expands the scope of his material and digs into the story, its issues, and its characters with such mighty force and precision that he delivers a sharp rebuke to a society driven by avaricious humans. Sing Geetham is undoubtedly one of the best films of the year.

It's also very, very personal—so personal that it gets its name from its writer-director. You shouldn't, then, be surprised by the emotional potency of Sing Geetham. Rao's treatment of both tragedy and humor carries a subjective undercurrent. These elements are not merely tones that define certain scenes; they are the very voice of this filmmaker. When a sacred tree cherished by Gowri (Ahilya Bamroo) is cut down and dragged away by the villagers, you don't just get emotional melodrama. You feel Rao's agony and anger seeping through the frames as he uses this moment to make a larger comment on current events. Sing Geetham is primarily guided by Rao's admonishments, which bloom with a creative, cinematic fervor. It takes an ingenious mind to devise a godly curse whereby the characters first express themselves by singing their thoughts and then are compelled to sing the truth out loud, as if by an invisible force.

What this curse does is turn Sing Geetham into a musical after a point. There is joy in watching characters sing while simultaneously being puzzled by this new mode of communication forced upon them. Rao takes the humor inherent in this idea one step further through Dasu (Vamshidhar Goud), the village drunk, who initially thinks he has been uniquely blessed with this "talent." This might seem like a minor joke—something Rao does simply to produce chuckles. However, it's much more than that and shouldn't be filed away casually as one of the many amusing moments. It reveals how fully invested Rao is in his setting and his characters. He traces their behavior with remarkable logic and reveals it through an inquisitive, exciting lens. He doesn't merely create the fictional mining village of Kuberapuram and endow it with the quirky detail that it sits atop gold mines, whose residents worship Kubera, the god of wealth. He also introduces his characters through their defining traits: two brothers who fight and tear each other's clothes apart, a barber who drags a customer around with shaving gel still on his face, a widow who is looked down upon by others, a highly qualified doctor, and a man who hates songs. Rao places these people in an arid settlement that can only be reached by crossing a bridge, giving Kuberapuram the unmistakable feel of a world detached from the outside, governed by its own rules and atmosphere.

Sing Geetham's surface is marked by magical realism, but Rao doesn't stop at superficial aesthetic choices. The writer-director goes beyond computer-generated tricks and into the minds of his characters. What he unearths is a covetous mindscape that prioritizes wealth above all else. It's not just the doctor (Junior Relangi) and the priest (Jabardasth Geddam Naveen)—science and superstition—who exploit the prevailing conditions to extract money from their customers. The villagers, too, in their hunger for gold, shoot themselves in the foot by readily accepting every form of exploitation. "We have already become comfortable with singing," says a man who, like the others, digs up his land in search of gold. But I've jumped ahead. Let me provide some context. After Pratap Mannem (Ayaan) gains a moral consciousness through a story narrated in flashback—which is as scathingly critical of unquenchable desire as the rest of Sing Geetham—he returns the villagers' land to them with the hope that they will plant trees and reverse the singing curse. Instead, they begin digging their land for gold and even strike a deal with their enslaver, Renu (Shalini Kondepudi), to sell the precious metal in exchange for enormous wealth.

It should be noted that Renu isn't a cartoonish villain. She is also a victim of greed—greed for her father's approval. While she may appear tyrannical from the outside, she has a softer side. Appearances are deceptive in Sing Geetham. That priest and that doctor, after all, only pretend to care about the villagers. What's more, Rao extends this idea, hilariously, to a couple who profess that they would die for each other. When everybody begins to involuntarily speak—or rather sing—the truth, the boy discloses that he likes the girl for her father's property, while the girl admits that she likes the boy for his visa. Rao's writing is meticulous without ever feeling labored. He effortlessly connects all the thematic and narrative dots without drawing undue attention to his stylistic choices.

Sing Geetham is sharply critical of the general human mindset. It argues that unless people educate themselves and become morally conscious through catastrophic personal experience, they will continue to be their own worst enemy, even when someone tries to do good for them. This is why the villagers dig for gold rather than plant trees to save themselves after getting their land back. And they only realize their mistake in the end, after, in a brilliant touch, they all begin to turn into objects of gold themselves. It's hardly surprising, then, that the film was a commercial flop. Films as personal as Sing Geetham are unfairly ignored during their original theatrical run. Blame should also go to multiplex chains that don't provide enough screens or suitable showtimes for projects like this. At my location, it played in only one or two theaters, and even then, only in inconvenient late-night slots.

At the time of writing this review, I can see nearly sold-out shows for Dhamaal 4 in every theater. How will producers, actors, directors, and the usual "Twitter experts," who recycle the tired cliché about "good content reaping great financial returns," explain situations like this? If our audience is really smart and OTT has exposed them to every kind of "greatness," then why don't films like Jugnuma: The Fable, Assi, Mastishka Maranam, Agra, Bandar, Joram, The Song of Scorpions, and Sing Geetham work at the Indian box office while Peddi or Bhooth Bangla emerge financially victorious? I think that, like the residents of Kuberapuram, we simply don't know what's good or bad for us. A filmmaker may pour his soul into his work, but we'll spend our money on whatever looks shiny, slick, and glamorous. We buy into appearances and are deceived by them. That's what Sing Geetham, in which the villagers are blinded by the glitter of gold to their own detriment, ultimately tells us. Rao, in a sense, pays the price for telling the truth. But this 94-year-old filmmaker has made something so giddily inventive that it will be cherished by those who discover it in the days, months, and years ahead, thanks to its availability on Netflix. Sing Geetham dances with zeal and sings audacious tunes. It's undoubtedly worth seeking out.

Written by - Vikas Yadav
Follow @vikasonorous on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times