Entertainment

Rukmini Vasanth in ‘Kantara: A Legend Chapter 1’.
| Photo Credit: @shetty_rishab/X

Something bad has happened to Agnes. We know this almost immediately in Eva Victor’s devastating debut feature, in which she also plays the lead role. We don’t see it happen, and the film doesn’t seem concerned with suspense. The damage is already done, and the question now is how a life folds around it.

Set across five chapters, told out of order, Sorry, Baby traces the long arc of impact without resorting to dramatic flourishes. Agnes is a literature professor at a small New England college, the same one where she went to graduate school. She lives alone in the house she once shared with her best friend Lydie (Naomi Ackie), who returns for a visit after some time away. Lydie has moved on, more or less. She is married, pregnant, and living in the city. Agnes has stayed behind, teaching in the same department, occupying the same rooms, and carrying something inexplicably heavy. But lest anyone be concerned, she assures us that she won’t be killing herself anytime soon.

Victor handles this morbid sense of humour with a comical diffidence. Nothing in Sorry, Baby is overstated. The film is exact in how it builds Agnes’s world, through offhand jokes, old routines, and the way conversations stop just short of saying too much. Agnes and Lydie fall back into their rhythm with ease, but something hovers. There’s affection, but also distance. Agnes is not the same person Lydie left.

The chapters move back and forth in time. In one, we see Agnes and Lydie as students, trading barbs in their cluttered kitchen. In another, Agnes is in her current role, fielding awkward flirtations from her neighbour (Lucas Hedges) and managing an antagonistic relationship with a colleague. The tone shifts as the timeline does, but the film never loses its footing. Even when it moves into the darker material, with the chapter where the assault takes place, it resists the urge to escalate. Victor films the incident obliquely, from outside a house, over the course of the day, and its silence is deafening.

A still from ‘Sorry, Baby’
| Photo Credit:
A24

The assault is committed by a professor, Preston (Louis Cancelmi), who praises Agnes’s writing with a troubling kind of enthusiasm. The grooming is subtle, and the power dynamic is unmistakable. The next time he’s mentioned, he’s just gone, with no consequences. Agnes is left with the work of going on.

And she does. She teaches, she tries to date, she talks to Lydie on the phone. She deals with a frustratingly indifferent doctor, with an administration that responds to her report with flat empathy. (“We are women,” one says, as if that ought to cover it.) There is pain, but there is also persistent absurdity in jury duty, roadside sandwiches, and a stray kitten that seems to arrive out of nowhere and stay. Victor’s humour is structural and never on the defensive. Her background in comedy shows, but so does her understanding that pain often heightens wit.

Victor’s reading of survival also resists the neatness that often flattens stories of assault into cautionary tales or narratives of triumph over trauma. She is especially attuned to the small, unremarkable moments where trauma shows itself, like when a word lands wrong and catches Agnes off guard, or when she rushes to bolt the door late at night. Agnes doesn’t become a different person, nor is she returned to the one she was before. She is altered, but not undone.

A still from ‘Sorry, Baby’
| Photo Credit:
A24

What keeps Sorry, Baby from slipping into any formulaic templates is how carefully it tracks the passage of time. We witness Agnes navigating the long, uneven process of building something that resembles stability. That she remains in the town, at the college, in the same house, isn’t a failure to move on, but a complicated kind of endurance. Victor, here, suggests that sometimes staying put is a form of resistance too.

As Lydie, Naomi Ackie brings an understated warmth to the film. Their scenes together, particularly in the early moments of the reunion, are some of the strongest. There’s a lightness between them that comes from years of shared shorthand, but also a subtle negotiation of what hasn’t been said. Agnes needs Lydie more than she lets on, and Lydie, in turn, isn’t always sure how to show up. That Victor allows for these tensions without forcing resolution is part of what makes it so persuasive.

Sorry, Baby doesn’t offer catharsis, or clarity, or closure. It offers a more honest recognition that people don’t always recover in ways that are easy to follow, and just keep going. Victor’s writing is patient, and her direction is confident in its stillness. Her film is about the aftermath, but it’s also about the smaller dailiness of keeping yourself upright when no one’s watching.

There’s grace in how Sorry, Baby refuses to shape itself into something more dramatic or satisfying than it is, and Victor trusts the rhythm of real time. Something bad happened to Agnes, and she’s still here. That’s the story, and it’s beautifully told.

Sorry, Baby is currently running in theatres

Published – August 08, 2025 11:09 am IST

Arabia Kadali starts with an obvious disadvantage, basing its premise on incidents that have already inspired a widely watched Telugu film, Thandel (a major hit this year). It tells the story of fishermen from Andhra Pradesh arrested in Pakistan for straying into foreign waters, waiting tirelessly to return home and reunite with their loved ones, which feels like a distant dream by the day.

The show, co-written by Krish Jagarlamudi (and Chintakindi Srinivas Rao), underlines the extraordinary grit and persistence of the fishermen, while a woman back home fights tooth and nail to ensure their release. The VV Surya Kumar directorial begins by casting light on the mundane realities of fishermen, their debt-ridden families, the air of hopelessness that pushes them to migrate to Gujarat for employment and the exploitation of the corporates.

The only solace in protagonist Badri’s (Satyadev) life is his childhood sweetheart Ganga (Anandhi); theirs is a love story that’s expected to hold the show together. Unfolding over a flashback, Arabia Kadali brings to life the unfortunate circumstances in which the fishermen find themselves in Pakistan and how growing political tensions between the nations dampen their chances of a return.

The main issue with Arabia Kadali is its inability to make compelling characters out of the victims and build meaningful interpersonal relationships. Those pitted against them are portrayed as caricatures. The show portrays their struggles employing the usual cliches on the ‘inhuman’ neighbouring nation, without building a solid foundation. There are stock situations all around, and the detailing is sketchy.

Even as Badri and Ganga are teenagers, the latter, as a testament of their love, proclaims that she’ll wait for him, come what may, in any given situation, leading up to the premise. 

As Badri rots in jail, we get glimpses of what their relationship could have been, but never quite enough to justify its epic-ness. The obstacle in their way is a cliche as old as the hills — a father wanting to get his daughter married to a wealthier man.

While conflicts keep multiplying for Badri and the group over time, the drama is hardly captivating. The storytelling, establishing the tentative political situation and the characters set in Pakistan, lack honesty. Their hostility is intentionally aimed to provoke, and to avoid generalisation, a few good people exist there too, doing their bit to help Badri get back home.

How exactly do Ganga’s efforts take her closer to her pursuit? There’s no clarity, and the convenient writing and liberties never help the show’s cause. Arabia Kadali nearly makes a saint out of Badri towards the end, as a man who wouldn’t even intend to harm his enemy. An Indian’s large-heartedness is supposedly enough to melt the heart of a hot-blooded Pakistani cop seeking to settle scores.

The later episodes, centring on the infighting among the fishermen, their subsequent change of heart, confrontations with an army officer, are mechanically shot. The subplot around Ganga’s brother, who goes astray in the absence of his father, makes no impact. Time and again, you hear of jetties being the panacea for all ills, but how would it exactly alter the fishermen’s destinies? You don’t get to know much.

Amid all the disappointment, Arabia Kadali is gorgeously shot, capturing life on and beyond the seashores, binding the fortunes of two warring villages. The final line of the show — ‘what we do with our newfound freedom is all the more crucial’ — is thought-provoking. Satyadev and Anandhi’s performances bring some respectability to the proceedings.

Kota Jayaram, Surabhi Prabhavati, Harsh Roshan, Ravi Varma and Poonam Bajwa make a mark among the supporting cast, while the big names — Nasser, Dalip Tahil — don’t get anything worthwhile. Arabia Kadali had everything in it to be a heart-wrenching drama, but the moments just don’t linger enough. Better writing, imaginative filmmaking could have saved the day, but all such hopes are drowned in the waters.

(Arabia Kadali is streaming on Amazon Prime Video)

Published – August 08, 2025 10:50 am IST

An outside view of Asif Qureshi’s residence, who was killed over a parking dispute at Jangpura Bhogal Lane, Nizamuddin, in New Delhi on August 08, 2025.
| Photo Credit: Shashi Shekhar Kashyap

Comedian and actor Kapil Sharma’s Kap’s Cafe in Surrey, Canada, was targeted in a second firing incident within a month on Thursday, August 7, 2025, raising concerns among locals and fans alike. 
| Photo Credit: AP

In an interview published in Illustrated Weekly of India in March 1990, artist Madhvi Parekh talks about Manu Parekh, her husband and fellow artist, describing, among other things, his ability to explain various aspects of life to her. “There is one thing which I find very nice about Manu, and that is his ability to explain things in a very simple and lucid manner. Also,” she adds, “in spite of having lived in cities all his life, he is very aware about village life and the compulsion of villagers.”

Village, for anyone familiar with her work, holds a central place in Madhvi’s art. It is the heartbeat of her practice — the village and its people being the mainstay of her work over the last six decades. Recognised as one of India’s influential artists, Parekh is a pioneer in the realm of folk modernism, drawing deeply from memories of her childhood in a village in Gujarat.

“Though confident as a person, Madhvi was unsure about art in the beginning,” says Manu, who is recuperating from a severe leg injury. Meanwhile, Madhvi is busy in the kitchen, preparing masala chai and snacks to go with our conversation. “She’s always happy to avoid interviews,” laughs Manu, adding, “I have to do all the talking on her behalf. Ask me about the dimension of any of her paintings, and I will tell you everything in detail,” he says. Madhvi, on her part, reiterates, “I don’t like to talk much. I have done my work, you can decipher what you have to,” she laughs, urging us to eat well.

Sitting in the couple’s home in South Delhi’s Chittaranjan Park is a calming experience. On the walls of the house hang paintings made by the artist-couple who have been married now for 66 years. “I was engaged to Madhvi when I was 12 years old and she was 9 — [she was] a real village tomboy, full of high spirits, and a rebel at heart,” he is quoted in a 1992 piece published in The Times of India. In another piece, Manu recalls how they exchanged letters before their marriage — Madhvi, he notes, took six months to reply.

Artist Madhvi Parekh
| Photo Credit:
DAG

He has no clear memory of their first meeting nor does she. But both agree that, over time, they have built a rapport — a quiet and unassuming support system in each other. In a world where the institution of marriage often faces strain — marked by growing complexities in relationships, disconnection and irrevocable breakdowns — Madhvi and Manu have navigated their journey with a simplicity that feels increasingly rare to find and observe. “Who doesn’t have problems?” Madhvi says matter-of-factly. “You have to cope; can’t just leave.” Manu acknowledges the complexities of relationships, especially in the times we live in. In his view, what matters most is a man’s ability to recognise a woman’s pehchaan (identity), her talent — acknowledging her beyond the conventional roles of a wife, mother, daughter or sister, letting them truly thrive. Just as much as he may have guided her, he admits that she, too, has been a grounding force in his life and has kept him focused.

Art and marriage

Madhvi Parekh with her artist husband Manu Parekh.
| Photo Credit:
DAG

Having spent time with them over a couple of meetings, it is not difficult to notice how they guide each other effortlessly. Whether it is growing used to each other or having a shared rhythm, they are clearly each other’s home. Back in 1994, The Hindu began a series titled Artist Couples: How They Cope with Art and Life. In the opening piece, writer Anjali Sarkar gave several examples of such couples from the western world who had both benefited and been ravaged emotionally by their respective partners. “Dorothy Pearlstein gave up her painting career in order to support the ambitions of her husband Philip Pearlstein. Edward Hopper’s wife, Jo, did the same,” states the piece. “Spouses and friends have also proved vital in the continued activity of many artists. Almost the entire Abstract-Expressionist movement of the 1940s and ’50s was supported by the wives of the major artists… Mark Rothko’s wife worked as a model to support him… it was a tradition for artists to marry working women.”

Sitting in his room, Manu says with a sense of pride, “Even today, when we speak to each other, I am interested in her point of view. What is she thinking about her work, her art, as a woman? I like to engage, and so does she.” He further adds, “That’s why our relationship is going so strong.” According to him, it’s at a very cerebral level — and yet with utter simplicity — that they talk to each other. “We are artists interested in each other’s work, and our talks are about everything related to our lives together and whatever comes with it,” he says. On her part, Madhvi agrees that Manu is a mentor, friend and husband who first spotted her potential as an artist. “I still feel, I would’ve been a good teacher,” she laughs. While Manu shakes his head laughing, “See, she can gain all the recognition as an artist, but she still wants to be a Montessori teacher.”

Decades ago, when they lived in Bombay — having moved to the city in the early 1960s — Madhvi took a course in Montessori teaching. She loved her interactions with children and was completely taken in by the innocence of their art. Interestingly, her art, while mature in execution, continues to retain a sense of childlike innocence. Fascinated by the art she saw, she began to doodle in her free time at home. “I was the first one to spot her talent,” says Manu, adding that her questions about art during their visits to various exhibitions and galleries — especially in the early years of marriage — fascinated him. “It was the beginning of our deep bond as husband and wife, and art was a major factor connecting us,” he reflects.

Together they have travelled across the world, attended artist residencies and experienced life while managing the day-to-day affairs of domestic life. Through it all, Madhvi credits her husband for guiding her through the numerous lanes and bylanes of various streets in unknown locations. “By myself, I don’t like going out at all,” she says.

Distinctive strokes

Manu firmly believes that what keeps their marriage strong, even after so many years, is the genuine interest they continue to take in each other’s lives. This is especially meaningful, given that both of them are artists. While they do not force their respective opinions on each other’s work, they offer guidance without interference. “Mere dimmag mein, aadha main hoon, aadhi vo (In my mind, I’m half and she’s [my other] half,” he says, acknowledging the depth of their relationship. He admits he never imagined that Madhvi’s recognition as an artist would reach such heights. In his view, she was filling the gap of a folk modernist — there was no one recognised for that ability after Jamini Roy. “I knew her work was different, and I knew that she’d always have my support. What we both didn’t anticipate was how far she’d go and how much appreciation her art would garner,” he says.

Paintings by Madhvi Parekh

He’s observant of her ways, quietly glancing at her when she is working around the house, giving instructions to the staff or just bringing him medicines, notebooks or his sketchbooks. “Freedom,” he says reassuringly, “is so important in any relationship. You can’t tie anyone else [down] according to your whims and fancies. Look at Madhvi,” he continues, “she’s such a strong, confident person. Now imagine, tying a person like her down, taking away her talent. What good would it do to any man if he stifles his partner’s creativity?” Madhvi, too, agrees, that the one constant guidance Manu has offered her over all these years is to keep exploring her individual inclination and interests, a reason why her work continues being so distinctive.

Manu claims that he has no formal understanding of feminism: “Maen kuch zyaada bol nahi paoonga (I won’t be able to say much)… all I will say is that men should stop being scared ofstrong and confident women. They’re excellent company. Also, a woman should have innumerable chances — just like a man does — to prove her worth to herself over and over again.Just back her, she’s already capable of achieving anything on her own.”

Madhvi Parekh: Remembered Tales is on view till August 23 at DAG, New Delhi.

Excerpted with permission from Remembered Tales, a collection of essays published by DAG.

Maharashtra Minister Ashish Shelar.
| Photo Credit: EMMANUAL YOGINI