Debut director Karan Kandhari finds an exquisite balance between camp and creeps in challenging cultural institutions
Uma (Radhika Apte) arrives at her new husband Gopal’s (Ashok Pathak) home in Mumbai under the cover of darkness. However, it’s many minutes into Karan Kandhari’s Sister Midnight before they–or she–exchange any words. Thrust into an arranged marriage with a man she’d only met a handful of times, Uma’s adrift in a sea of domestic expectations. She can’t cook or keep a house, earning her scorn from her nosy neighbors. Moreover, others blame Uma and Gopal’s mutual awkwardness around each other solely on her. If Uma wasn’t complaining or standing up for herself, instead being wholly servile to her husband’s every whims–he might be more interested in her and they’d fit in more with the neighborhood.
At first, Sister Midnight plays like a whimsically deadpan skewering of Indian social norms, full of bright colors that clash the characters’ blunt and harsh treatment of one another. These contrasting elements, and the natural humor found within them, would be at home in the films of Wes Anderson or even his more bleak satirist counterpart Roy Andersson. However, it’s the director’s keen eye for the gender-based cultural specifics of Uma’s low social standing in Indian society that allow Kandhari’s direction to truly sing, and forge an emotional foundation for Sister Midnight’s bittersweet, cynical tone.
Apte’s cutthroat performance makes it thrilling to watch Uma come into her own. Already fiercely independent from the start, she gives her new circumstances an even shot before Gopal’s bemused avoidance underscores how Uma’s new home is far more comparable to a prison. She finds no solidarity with her fellow housewives, and when domestic life allows a mysterious illness to take hold, all anyone can focus on is Uma’s skincare routine–highlighting colorism as another otherizing aspect within a society already rife with inequality. Doctors, in turn, barely listen to Uma’s needs, wanting to treat her incessant headaches and whitening skin with flat Coca-Cola. While Uma’s harsh callouts of everyone’s off-putting behavior further her isolation, Apte and Kandhari seize each opportunity to position Uma as a straight-woman for the irrationality of such behavior.
It’s a fascinating, brutal dynamic comprising Uma’s world, which Kandhari mines for both comedic and dramatic tension–and that’s before Uma gets a taste for blood.
While the film’s unique tone is already enjoyable, it takes quite some time for Sister Midnight to reveal just why it was making its debut at Fantastic Fest. To Uma’s surprise, drinking the blood of animals cures her illnesses; ironically, becoming a vampire provides Uma with an injection of the life drained from her as an arranged bride. It’s a thrilling new take on vampire stories within this context–while Kandhari plays up the laughs in Uma’s haphazard attempts to keep her new rituals a secret, he doesn’t position the act of being a vampire as a world-ender for Uma. Rather, she seizes opportunities to change her appearance and forge new bonds with nonjudgmental Hijra in the neighborhood. In juxtaposing Uma’s nightly journeys with her coworker who doesn’t want to leave his job as an elevator operator, or a gaggle of salarymen who silently drink at individual tables at a bar, Kandhari also suggests that becoming a bloodthirsty creature may make for a better life than being a member of society’s living dead.
Kandhari’s underplayed playful tone extends to his world-building. Aversions to sunlight and other touchstones of Vampire lore make nuanced appearances here, as well as how the animals Uma drains over time come back to life as cartoonish stop-motion creatures. When we least expect it, they emerge from underneath Uma’s hiding place under her bed, screaming and whistling with zany new vigor far surpassing other human beings. To Uma’s surprise, some of these creatures form a bizarre attachment to her, becoming a loyal flock to her reluctant surrogate motherhood. And, in an interesting pivot, Gopal slowly learns Uma’s secret–while they don’t develop the chemistry expected of them as husband and wife, they manage to eke out a mutual helpful bond and admiration, something Sister Midnight suggests is more meaningful for them in the long run.
Kandhari’s ability to infuse his social critiques with such a rich blend of comedy, drama, and horror makes his debut feature film one of Fantastic Fest 2024’s most memorable outings, anchored by a ferociously punk rock performance by Radhika Apte.
Sister Midnight had its North American premiere at Fantastic Fest 2024, where it won Best Picture in the Next Wave Features category. Magnolia Pictures has acquired the film for future US Distribution.
