When we talk of Pakistani cinema’s revival, we tend to focus solely on features, when it is in fact our documentaries that have been the country’s more noteworthy efforts in film and television.

Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy has, of course, created the greatest global impact — with her Oscar wins for Saving Face and A Girl in the River. Not unlike Obaid-Chinoy, Mohammed Naqvi is another director whose important work, such as Hidden Shame or Among the Believers, explores societal grievances and gives a voice to the more vulnerable members of society. Arshad Khan’s Abu is another noteworthy example, a deeply personal look at his own sexuality and family history, touching on themes such as immigration, identity, politics and his religious father. 

And then there is Sabiha Sumar, arguably Pakistan’s most well known arthouse filmmaker. While she made a big impression worldwide with her terrific debut feature Khamosh Pani, she has also documented her Dinner with the President. With the latter film, Sumar incidentally shares a subject with Naqvi, whose latest work Inshallah Democracy is a contemporary portrait of former head of state Pervez Musharraf. Now, Sumar is back with Azmaish: A Journey through the Subcontinent and it’s a current topic: 70 years after Partition, she delivers a kind-of status report on where neighbouring countries Pakistan and India stand, both in a general sense, as independent nations, but also in regards to each other. It’s an ambitious undertaking, one in which she is accompanied by her friend, the Indian actress Kalki Koechlin. The women traverse both countries together for the most part, posing a wide array of questions to a wide array of people on either side.

While the overall concept of the documentary Azmaish is great, the execution and structure is wholly unsatisfying

Sumar begins by asking herself three basic questions: “Which direction is Pakistan taking?”, “How do I want Pakistan to be in the next 30 years?” and “How do I, as a modern woman, fit into this society?” These are all important thoughts and they could warrant a single film each. So it’s unfortunate that a lot of these issues have been muddled together in Azmaish without providing any true answers to them. What, for example, is Sumar’s role in this society, as a modern woman who has the privilege to go and speak with men still living in the Stone Age? Which direction is Pakistan taking, when people are ready to kill or die for their leaders, be they religious or political? When fashion shoots are taking place in broad daylight, men arrive in droves to openly ogle at the model, but when they are asked in return if they would ever let their own female family members do such work, they negate such ideas. So what will become of the future? While the film attempts to address all of these points, it seldom offers any convincing solutions. There’s nothing new or revelatory, or at least nothing that one didn’t already know about the subcontinent.

Also, while the overall concept is great, the execution and structure is wholly unsatisfying. Too often, both Sumar and Kalki don’t follow-up their interviewees’ answers, nor do they question their somewhat ridiculous claims. This creates an impressionistic sense of ‘letting the statement speak for itself’, which is fine, but it just doesn’t ring true. It feels wrong for this kind of subjectively narrated and personal documentary. When Kalki speaks with an openly Islamophobic RSS man in India, she can’t get a word in, just nodding along to everything the guy has to say. Only later does she tell Sumar: “When I see these Hindu fundamentalists, who are Pakistan-hating, ‘they’ are exactly what ‘they’ are hating!”

When Sumar is speaking to a Pakistani feudal landlord and tribal chief at the beginning of the film, it’s not really clear how she’s presenting him to us. He loves the good life, good food, expensive cars, but he clearly doesn’t believe in women’s rights. Men and women are segregated on his property, at least that’s what comes across when Sumar asks his son about where they are. So, anything he says cannot be taken seriously, especially when he talks about democracy. And frustratingly, Sumar hardly ever challenges him on his views.

To be fair, while the film has a substantial amount of flaws, it’s completely watchable. It’s not dull or uninteresting, despite the flimsy interviews. There’s a certain sincerity with which Sumar and Kalki go about trying to make sense of their complex countries. There is even some poignancy towards the end, when Sumar cannot understand how people in Pakistan would even have time for terrorism. After speaking to several rural people, she surmises that all they are struggling for is food and a decent living. Terrorism is not at all a concern to them. When she further asks a man by the roadside what his brother does, he says that he has two goats. “To have” is “to do.” That’s the law of the land. It’s tragi-comic and truly heartbreaking.

But putting everything aside, the best parts of Azmaish are whenever Sumar and Koechlin are on their own, just two ladies, one Pakistani and one Indian, talking with each other freely and with friendship. Nothing else matters then, because it’s a genuine and human moment. Most importantly, there’s no mansplaining — no one is there to tell the two how a country is run or what the role of women is. It’s just the two of them and that’s very real. There’s no baggage to what they are saying to each other.

Published in Dawn, ICON, November 5th, 2017