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There are many picturesque shots in Halkara that will be applauded for its cinematography. The lush green hills and clouds paint the frames of Halkara. The problem is that praise for its cinematography might be limited to the lush greens and painting-like frames. The DOP, Chinatan Rajbhandari, and co-writer, editor, and director, Bikram Sapkota, through staging, have managed to include a close-up as well as a wide shot within a single scene. For instance, take the scene where tired Ram (played by an on-form Mahesh Tripathi) tries to help Mia (played by an excellent Binita Thapa Magar) carry her load. The scene begins with a medium shot, and then we shift to a close-up of Ram, with his clenched chin, holding back all his secrets, and the camera pans as we move along with Ram who is trying to persuade Mia and help her carry the load. Halkara manages to convey its drama through the use of excellent staging most of the time, even though some scenes feel too staged at times. Halkara is set in times when manpower agencies were beginning to mushroom up, and the only mode of communication in most parts of Nepal was a letter. The letter plays a crucial role in the lives of both characters. Ram, a drunkard, wants an escape from his past, but he’s forced to be a mail carrier by Thul Dai (a subdued Deepak Cheetri). Mia, since two years ago, has been waiting for her husband's letter. Their lives intertwine when Ram visits her village to deliver the letters. Both of them are haunted by their past and the absent partners in their lives. In her case, her husband hasn’t written a word since the last two years, while in his case, it’s the death of his wife. Similarly, both of them have thought of suicide. Ram drinks like there’s no tomorrow; heck, he even has a gun in his room. It’s not exactly Chekhov's gun, but it wouldn't be a stretch to say that he’s thought of suicide. During a key scene, Mia reveals her suicidal thoughts to Ram. A lot remains unsaid between the two as well. Both of them understand what it means to be alone and to struggle every day to survive. Then there’s also a connection related to children. His wife had a miscarriage, and Mia always helps children study, maybe because their fathers are absent, and mothers are too busy to look after them. It could also be because he wants some companion other than her mother-in-law, and it could be a child. Elsewhere, children are running the family, doing their father's work. There’s only a single young man in the whole village whom everyone depends upon. Even though it’s a period piece, the reality of the villages is even worse as the children are also leaving now. Halkara manages to work as an intimate drama that paints a macro picture of the situation of foreign employment. The letters sent by the migrant workers paint a picture of the blazing heat and harsh employers as well as the sleazy manpower agencies. During a visit, Mia offers to read the letter. She’s been waiting for more than two years for a letter from her husband, and now she’s willing to read for others just so that she'll know what it feels like. The pain is better than the numbness. There’s also the elderly couple played by Sarda Giri and Bishnu Bhakta Adhikari, who could be any of the parents eagerly waiting for their children. The performances by all actors, particularly the leads, more than cover up for the flaws. Mahesh Tripathi, with his unkempt hair and beard, manages to convey both the anger and deep wounds of the character. Binita Thapa Magar plays a woman who, like her character in Yet Another Winter, is resilient despite being left alone by her husband. During the initial scenes, she appears to be cold, almost blank-faced, and later we realize that it’s an image she has created to remain resilient against the words of society and her sister-in-law. She portrays numbness better than any other actress of her generation. For all the subtleties, Bikram Sapkota can’t resist the temptation to over-explain. For instance, in the scene where Sarda Giri serves three plates instead of two, her son has been away for a long time without any letters. Even after all these years, the couple hasn't forgotten their son even while eating. It’s conveyed well, but the scene doesn’t stop there. After realizing that she’s served three portions, both the couple look towards the horizon, showing that their son flew away. But why explain the same thing twice within a scene? Also, we get flashbacks (extensive ones in the case of Ram) for both characters, and both of their stories are implied and mentioned in the dialogue itself. These flashbacks drag the pacing of the film, particularly in the second half, and you just wish the film will return to the main story. Elsewhere, there are portions that feel a bit stagey. The scenes feel 'staged' in the morgue house where officers stand in perfect poses. Directors can stage the scene however they like, but the way scenes are staged in the morgue doesn’t fit with the staging in other scenes where the staging doesn’t call attention to itself. Although the film sometimes relies on flashbacks to evoke an emotional response, the subject matter and the story are relevant to everyone, so even the slightest bit of drama can trigger a flood of tears. Today, with the advancement of technology, we don’t have to rely on letters, but we should still remember that some bodies do return inside wooden boxes.

Disclaimer: Contains minor spoiler The male characters in films directed by Ram Babu Gurung share some similarities with those written by Imtiaz Ali. They are often portrayed as man-child who feel more comfortable around their male friends than in the presence of females. However, unlike Ali's characters, they lack the sufiness (madness) and romance, and their responses to women are often filled with anger. The mention of Gurung is relevant here because Upendra Subba, who wrote and directed Jaari, also co-wrote Kabaddi, a popular franchise that started and remains the archetype story for such male characters. Like Imtiaz Ali’s films, both Jaari and Kabbadi, despite being political and social at heart, are love stories. In Jaari, Dayahang Rai portrays Namsang, a character who, like Kaji, expresses himself through anger and irritation. He doesn’t hesitate to insult his wife Hangma (played by Miruna Magar) by comparing her to an infertile buffalo. In the opening scene, Namsang even slaps and nearly kicks Hangma which causes her to leave and vow never to return. The story follows their journey over the next few months.  In recent times, no other writer has managed to make us care for such gray characters. Despite the characters repeatedly hurting each other, we don’t hate them and are always invested in their story. One of the main reasons why audiences feel empathy for the characters in Jaari is that it’s not an ‘issue’ film. Instead of going for a documentary-style exploration of the larger social impact of the Jaari tradition, the movie remains focused on the personal stories of the characters, particularly women, who are impacted by it. The men in the film behave callously, and the responsibility of taking care of the household always falls on the women. Women’s fate is determined by men who win them over in Palum or through kidnapping using brute force. Unfortunately, those whose fate is decided by their parents don’t fare any better. Hangma, whose marriage was arranged by her parents, is forced to live in a shed with her in-laws and work as a servant when her family can’t repay the ‘Jaari’. She's treated like a prisoner, fed enough to survive but not enough to thrive. Despite accepting it as part of their fate, the women do voice their concerns. Hangma leaves Namsang’s house after a fight, but their protests don’t come from a place of empowerment. It’s not a rebellion, but rather the act of a wife who’s had enough. The film is set in the 1990s, a patriarchal time that isn’t ready for their awakening yet. It’s ironic that over 27 years later, things haven’t changed much. After the success of Loot, Kabbadi popularized snappy, character-driven dialogues in Nepali cinema. It's an understatement to call these dialogues just ‘realistic’. The mix of Limbu and Nepali languages effectively captures the authenticity of the setting while maintaining the film’s pace. Although the dialogue has a sense of improvisation, it’s clear that a lot of thought went into the script as well. Unlike in the Kabbadi series, the dialogues in Jaari flow smoothly, allowing viewers to fully engage with the more serious moments. As a result, scenes burst open, generating both humor and pathos in a single moment. The script is just as impressive as the dialogue. The linear storyline sets the conflict of the story clearly from the explosive opening scene, even though we don't get to see the previous sparks that led to the conflict. The film’s most brilliantly written and staged scene is when Hangma, played by Miruna Magar, breaks down after meeting her brother. At this point in the story, she is working as a servant in her in-laws’ house because her family couldn’t pay Jaari. The scene is crafted so well that we anticipate her breakdown, but she manages to hold it together until the moment when she finally breaks down.  The camera slowly pushes in, and the background score intensifies the emotion of the scene. In the subsequent scene, Hangma’s brother vows to take her back, and the sunset in the background matches the mood of fury and broken-heartedness. Throughout the film, slow-motion shots (such as a close-up of Hangma’s feet entering and exiting the house) and push-in shots (captured by DOP Shailendra D Karki) elevate the dramatic tension of the scenes. In a more lighthearted moment, there's a visual gag (edited by Nimesh Shrestha) where Bijay Baral appears half-bent like a bull ready to mount a cow, coinciding with a pair of bovines seen mating in the background.  The impact of the moments in Jaari is not easily forgettable, thanks to the skillful writing. As Hangma begins to forgive Namsang, the hurtful words and past fights are not overlooked, as evidenced by the stains on the white walls. This allows the audience to empathize with the couple’s slow journey towards reconciliation, which is further complicated when Hangma’s brother arrives to take her back home just as Namsang tries to remove the stains. Upendra Subba’s writing in Jaari demonstrates his prowess as a screenwriter, building upon his earlier works that have a sense of groundedness, such as Kabbadi in Mustang. Jaari is perhaps his most personal work yet, as it is set in his birthplace of Angsarang-8, Panchthar, with characters that reflect his own Angdembe heritage. The film is steeped in Eastern culture, from the scent of Marcha and Jaad  to the casual use of curse words. Despite this, Subba avoids being overly nostalgic, creating a film that is both authentic and accessible. I have mentioned Kabbadi and Ram Babu Gurung many times in this review. It is inevitable, as Upendra Subba, one of the important figures of the Srijanshil Arajakta (creative anachronism) movement, has stated that he learned screenwriting from Ram Babu Gurung. Additionally, fulfilling the desires of film critics to connect the director's personal style and their screenwriting adds context to see if the latter simply capitalized on the themes of the former or truly has a personal touch. Upendra Subba has managed to create a heartfelt movie with minimal missteps. However, the opening scene, while explosive, is sudden and lacks context for their marriage or previous fights. This lack of setup affects the latter scenes, particularly when Hangma must decide whether to leave with the man who won her over in Palum. Additionally, repeatedly cutting back to the same scene in later parts of the film diminishes its impact. The similarity between the characters of Namsang and Kaji (of Kabaddi), both played by the same actor, creates a feeling of déjà vu in some scenes. Nonetheless, the actors’ performances mitigate these minor missteps. Jaari may be too small, delicate, and intimate to encompass the lasting impact of the Jaari tradition. Nevertheless, it serves as a reminder that a heartfelt apology can still go a long way and that atonement for our sins is possible if we are open to it.