To Kill a Tiger Movie Review — Sucharita Tyagi

• A Canadian documentary that was 8 years in the making, was nominated for an Oscar award last night. Have you heard about ‘To Kill A Tiger’?
• Trigger warning — sexual assault, minor involved

Streaming now on Netflix, To Kill A Tiger tells the story of a family that refused to be a statistic. A story of parents who refuse to call their 13-year-old daughter “kalankit” after she is r*ped by 3 men. A study of what it takes to win against insurmountable odds.

Filmmaker Nisha Pahuja introduces you to “Kiran”(not her real name), a sexual assault survivor from a tribal community in Jharkhand. You also meet her parents as they go to courts, the police, local NGOs, and anyone who is on their side in their attempt to have the perpetrators of the crime brought to adequate justice. When you meet the family, the r*pists are imprisoned, and Kiran’s father Ranjit is already connected to everyone he needs to know, lawyers, local leaders, neighbors, even eyewitnesses, everyone is aligned. So, it might seem that director Nisha Pahuja along with cinematographer Mrinal Desai, is simply following the proceedings, which are well underway. But in this doing, in this following, lies the real story the film is trying to get at. The vast gap between empathy and the law, the chasm in between social shame and justice, where the weak flames of hope flicker and die.

Nisha Pahuja

Nisha’s film also offers a perspective that’s unflinching and hard to make eye contact with. ‘Kiran’ appears in many scenes in the film, her face on display, and recounts the assault. Recorded with the consent of the family, these visuals were meant to be blurred out before the film was released. But as the movie begins, a text on screen tells you, that Kiran, who is now an adult, asked for her face to be shown, with which the filmmakers complied. This is asserted again right before the end credits. It’s a controversial choice (India has detailed provisions under the POCSO act), but it ultimately is a choice that gives Kiran what the assault took away, her agency. The ability to control her narrative and decide how she would like her story to be told. The film makes its intentions clear, it exists to aid the family, and the local NGO workers, in documenting their impossible fight on the path of justice. A horrifying ordeal that must be recorded, preserved, and displayed without stigma.

The film also chooses to insert the filmmaker’s literal voice in some scenes, almost playing a part in how the case and everything around it is being perceived in the village while the documentary is being shot. This choice is also controversial, should a documentary filmmaker get involved with the lives of their subjects? Narrative non-fiction is a tightrope walk. To Nisha’s credit, she makes no attempts to hide her participation. In one of the scariest moments of the film, the presence of the documentary crew enrages the neighbors enough to arrive at the survivor’s house one evening, asking for the shoot to be stopped, which it promptly is. But there is also a sense that the presence of the camera is welcomed by Kiran and her parents. You don’t hear them say the words out loud, but it’s clear that no one in the family is taking issue with the proceedings being recorded, occasionally the father Ranjit even seems emboldened knowing someone is there to bear witness.

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Kiran appears throughout the documentary dressed in her school uniform, a constant reminder of her young age, and it is devastating each time. Dressed like a schoolgirl, she talks to the film crew, does her chores, and tells stories about her life. But perhaps, in the most gut-wrenching scene in the whole film, Kiran prepares her testimony, like she’s preparing for an exam. Sitting with her father, recalling the events of the dreadful night when she was assaulted by three men, men whom the family knew and hence didn’t suspect she would be unsafe around, she repeats her lines over and over, like a lesson she must learn, an exam she must sit for. In the years since it occurred, the incident has become such an intrinsic part of the family’s lives, recalling it is almost mechanical for Kiran. The whole family practices the testimony, there is no shame, barely an averted gaze.

The presence of the camera in the room at that moment does feel like an invasion. You aren’t supposed to be listening to this, partly because the victim is a minor at this moment, but you also realize you’re uncomfortable because you’ve never heard what happens the day before a testimony, and how must a person, whose only recourse is to follow rules to the best of their capability, must prepare it as a performance of sorts. As someone who has experience recounting my assault to the police, it took me back to that rainy Mumbai night when I had to lodge an FIR explaining first in English, then in Hindi, as another officer translated to Marathi, how some drunk men touched and grabbed me and my female friends in the middle of the night, as we left a movie theatre. The experience was humiliating at first, but once I was on my third iteration of “that drunk man fell on my breasts and squeezed them”, it could be a script for one of my videos. For Kiran, the passage of time has only made her resolve stronger, the family has wrung the incident dry of emotion, not allowing it to define them anymore.

It’s heartbreaking to see Kiran appear in “ghar ke kapde” for the first time right before showing up to court. A child who had to deal with things most adults barely can. As she applies lipstick and a tiny bindi, and looks at herself in a mirror, in this sweet moment of indulgence, her demeanor is telling you again, that the only way to win seemingly impossible battles is by showing up for yourself. Seeing Kiran’s father Ranjit at the Oscar ceremony last night with Nisha Pahuja only reinforced it further.

To Kill A Tiger is streaming now on Netflix.