Venice Days review - LABOUR OF LOVE (Asha Jaoar Majhe) by Aditya Vikram Sengupta

Love lives, even in Calcutta's frantic working class poverty. That is the key message in the feature film by Aditya Vikram Sengupta, Labour of Love, which was presented in the Venice Days section of the 71st Venice Film Festival.

The set up is very simple, in fact the narrative is almost secondary or rather secondary to the narrative. A man and a woman's love for each other. The way in which this is all brought to the screen is the most charming and fascinating element. There is virtually no dialogue, at least none spoken in any recognisable manner by the characters. Despite this, Labour of Love is no silent film. In fact, sound and vision are equally as important as each other in creating the perfect environmental charge and setting of Calcutta. Calcutta, already a place identified with poverty with a situation worsened by a whole world's recession, is a violent and over crowded place. However, it is still a beautiful place where people carry on and even fall in love.

The action more specifically takes place among its working class and it is also very simple. Sengupta is very much interested in capturing its essence with an eye for both realism and cinema. Thus, we see the man and the woman cooking, cleaning clothes, working, grocery shopping and on repeat. On top of that, as a compelling arthouse movie, it is pretty admirable in replicating the patience of the working class - the same patience that must be endured in their everyday life and which is universally understood. Thus, the silence enjoys an added depth and often some shots are dragged out for this purpose as well as for revealing this everyday beauty. For instance, the shot of a sunset with the sun disappearing on the horizon is allowed breathing room and the camera does not cut away until the sun has finished descending.

Structurally speaking, the film is split into two parts. It starts with a black screen and a voice over methodically speaking about working class struggles on the airwaves. In the middle of the film, the pace is split up abruptly by a decisive and even threatening voice informing the people of the death of a working class man and using the death as a start off point for a violente revolution. These are really the only times when the human voice is heard and understood, almost as if it were symbolising a real threat to the flow and nature of life. Their inclusion also works for this reason. The influence of music is much more delicate, and their old time vibe recalls a type of nostalgic romanticism that amplifies the sweetness that lies at the core of Sengupta's film. In fact, one may even liken the work as a city symphony with defined narrative where the editing is dictated by a precise and yet far from being methodical melodious rhythm.

Labour of Love is an arthouse excercise, thus patience is a great part of it. This very same patience is part of its interactive nature with its audience, and anyone willing to go along with it will find it quite a rewarding meditative experience.