02 August,2024 10:52 AM IST | Mumbai | Mohar Basu
Barzakh
Why do we so often find ourselves drawn to dysfunctional family stories? Be it Shakun Batra's Kapoor & Sons (2016), Christopher Storer's The Bear (2022-2024), Coco Mellors' new novel Blue Sisters, or Asim Abbasi's sumptuous new offering Barzakh - why does losing yourself in the messiness of others' family drama feel so soothing to us? I found myself answering this diabolical question while watching the fourth episode of Barzakh. Shehreyar (Fawad Khan) unexpectedly lashes out at his father at a family dinner and calls him an âasshole'. I had my answer right there - there is something cathartic about watching characters say things to their loved ones that you've often held yourself back from.
Abbasi, the British-Pakistani filmmaker returns after his successful series Churails (2020), with one of the most innovative offerings from the sub-continent in the recent times. He has a knack for telling messy stories, and this time he has allowed himself to be riskier, even esoteric, with his material. As the writer, creator, dialogue writer, director of the show - this is perhaps his most personal work. The wounds are showing - the pain of losing those loved; both to death and to life, the apathy of caregivers that often turn into generational trauma, our deepest insecurities, how far we'd go to not become the worst versions of those who birthed us and mostly, the searing rage of being wronged by those who love us - all these thoughts are recurring motifs in Barzakh, which immediately hit home.
The title itself loosely translates to being in a state of limbo. Abbasi takes the term and adapts it to his stories. His characters are stuck in a limbo between grief and hope. The story shifts between two realms - human and supernatural. The series follows a family reunion of a cruel patriarch, Jafar Khanzada, who invites his estranged children to be part of his third wedding to the love of his life, Mahtab, who died 60 years ago. This is his story of living a life stuck in limbo and damaging everyone who has loved him all along, because his heart has never stopped yearning for Mahtab.
The show is headlined by a terrific cast - Fawad Khan, Sanam Saeed, Fawad M Khan, Salman Shahid - each of who has whole-heartedly surrendered to Abbasi's vision. DoP Mo Azmi's beautiful frames transport us to the mystical âland of nowhere'. Abbasi uses the breath-taking visuals in his storytelling. Shot in Pakistan's Hunza Valley, amidst yellow leaves and red trees, the series intricately weaves themes of love, loss, and redemption. Each episode is dedicated to one character and their journey is explored in depth, revealing their emotional struggles. And then there is the supernatural set-up - ghosts of the people wronged, hurt, pained by these mortals who lurk around in the present. The ghosts are often in frames taking a close look at their living loved ones who are leading half lives, burdened by the untold, unaddressed trauma. Abbasi draws references from Shakespeare's Macbeth to Persian literature to construct the supernatural elements of the show.
What holds you to the show, which is a mix of indulgence and mess, are the flawless performances. Fawad Khan is in top form and owns his part of a single father, whose wife killed herself due to postpartum depression. He is restrained in his quietude and uninhibited in his eruptions. He and Abbasi are at their finest in the fourth episode, when under the influence of an entheogen, he lets himself free from the pent-up rage his character had been holding in. It is probably the best episode I have seen in a series since the jaw-dropping episode Fishes (The Bear Season 2). Sanam matches Fawad's wrath with her potent silences. She plays mysterious with flair, her pain of feeling the weight of her past, visible in her eyes. Fawad M Khan is the emotional anchor of the show, delivering a nuanced performance as the elder child who never got to live as himself and remained burdened by the expectations of the world. Salman, who you would probably remember from Kabir Khan's Kabul Express (2006), is pitch perfect, blending the villainy on paper with the vulnerability it deserves.
But Barzakh demands patience from us. You can't binge it in one night. Abbasi doesn't wish to be taken lightly. He asks you to give your complete attention, and won't have it any other way. His story is a maze. He gets indulgent, loses his way, but eventually leaves you with so much more than you had expected. Mostly, the audaciousness of committing to a story that is so off beat that a common viewer, who expects big-scale escapism from his cinema, won't take to it kindly, is striking. It doesn't want you to escape, the story wants you to look inwards and heal a bit. It takes courage to be original in times when being derivative is the norm. Abbasi and his producers - Shailja Kejriwal and Waqas Hassan - remind you that stories are meant to be a leap of faith. This show is just that. Abbasi drew from Gabriel Garcia Marquez a fair amount and it feels apt to end this review with the Colombian writer's words - "What matters in life is not what happens to you but what you remember and how you remember it." Stands true for Barzakh.
