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Despite an eventful week, in which we relaunched the print edition of The Annapurna Express, I finally succeeded in committing myself to a series that had been on my watchlist for almost a month now. Co-produced by BBC One and Netflix, “The Serpent” has been a trending topic of discussion for film lovers online and I couldn’t put it off any longer.

The eight-part crime drama serial has a strong connection with Nepal and features the life and crimes of serial-killer Charles Sobhraj, also dubbed the ‘bikini killer’ and ‘the serpent’ based on the nature of his crimes and his cunningness. Told in different timelines using flashbacks to switch between the past and the present, The Serpent chronicles Sobhraj’s criminal activities from the early 70s till his arrest in Nepal in 2003, where he is still imprisoned, serving two life sentences for the murders he committed back in 1975.

The plot of the series is already known to the world with plenty of online resources available on Shobhraj’s life. It is the execution of these available timelines, with some creative liberties of course, that makes The Serpent deservedly get so much attention.

Algerian-French actor Tahar Rahim plays Shobraj, the French serial killer of Vietnamese-Indian origin, embodying his beguiling personality with much conviction. Compared to Randeep Hooda’s Sobhraj in “Mein Aur Charles” (2015)—which I thought would remain the best on-screen portrayal of the mysterious serial-killer—Rahim’s personification is what apples are to oranges. While Hooda’s Shobhraj had the style and suave befitting a Bollywood production, Rahim’s is more raw, gritty and tenacious. With the character of Charles Sobhraj itself covered in a number of multi-ethnic, multi-lingual layers, Rahim does an excellent job of personifying the bundle of complexities called Shobhraj.

In the supporting roles, Jenna Coleman plays Marie-Andrée Leclerc, Sobhraj’s Québécois girlfriend who assists him in smuggling, robbing, and unknowingly in murder. In this adaptation, however, Coleman’s Leclerc is just one of the lost souls who Sobhraj captivates and uses to commit his heinous crimes. Amesh Edireweera as Ajay Chowdhury—Sobhraj’s partner-in-crime—has the simple task of showcasing unrelenting evil and violence on screen. While Sobhraj seems to have at least some method to his madness, Chowdhury is utterly evil and actor Edireweera portrays the role convincingly. Billy Howle as Herman Knippenberg—a Dutch diplomat in Bangkok whose investigations lead to Sobhraj’s capture and incrimination—is also one of the strong onscreen presences that make the series enticing.

Attention to detail is another strength of The Serpent. The makers have put in a lot of effort into research and execution as they recreate the 70s hippie era in countries like India, Pakistan, Thailand and Nepal. Jhochhen (Freak Street) featured in some parts of the series is extremely convincing, as if it was actually shot back in the 70s itself. The attention to detail is so intricate that the makers recreate the iconic Snowman Café of Jhochhen—a hip joint back in the 70s—which still exists.

Told in so different timelines and travelling to-and-fro across many countries, The Serpent manages not to break the story’s continuity. The series retains a healthy pace throughout and every episode is enjoyable. The only complaint with the producers, who have otherwise worked so hard: the use of Indian actors for Nepali characters, and recognized faces at that. The Nepali film industry, although nowhere as big as Bollywood, definitely has actors who could have fit the supporting roles. Honestly, it feels wrong to see Indian actors take up Nepali roles when such faux pas could easily have been avoided.

Who should watch it?

This review is for those who have not watched The Serpent yet. I know quite a few who are apprehensive about starting a series lest it disappoints and wastes their time. This one, I would assure, is worth every minute spent on Netflix. If you like crime thrillers or dramas based on real-life people, this one is for you.

Rating: 4 stars
Genre: Crime, drama
Actors: Tahar Rahim, Jenna Coleman
Directors: Tom Shankland, Hans Herbots
Run time: 7hrs approx.

“Roohi”, released theatrically on March 11, was one of the first movies to be played in Nepal’s cinema halls after the lockdowns. Those who could brave being inside confined spaces of cinema halls with their air-conditionings on might have probably watched the movie, which is still showing in some of Kathmandu’s theaters. For others not brave enough, Netflix released the Hindi-language film on its platform this week. 

Set in a village called Bagadpur in India, “Roohi” the movie is about a girl called Roohi (Janhvi Kapoor) and the extraordinary things that happen in her life. Bhawra (Rajkummar Rao) and Kattanni (Varun Sharma) are members of a kidnapping gang in the village where bride-kidnapping is a custom. Under the leadership of Guniya Bhai (Manav Vij), the duo kidnap girls and force them to marry grooms that pay them for their services. 

An innocent Roohi becomes one of the gang’s victims when a prospective groom hires them to kidnap her. But due to a death in the groom’s family Bhawra and Kattanni are forced to hide her for a few days in an abandoned shack in the middle of a jungle. The two men hold their victim hostage in a shed. Little do they know they are dealing with a sinister force.  

It turns out Roohi is possessed with the spirit of Afza, a ‘mudiyapairi’ (a ghost with feet turned backward). Terrified at first without the option to escape, Bhawra then falls in love with Roohi. To complicate things, Kattanni falls in love with the spirit Afza. From then on, the film’s plot tries to explain what transpires in the lives of the three people and one ghost. 

To be blunt, “Roohi” doesn’t offer much to the audience. The plot itself is a ghastly attempt at replicating some successful Indian horror-comedies. For horror-comedies to be successful, they need to be either scary or funny, or both for best result. Either that or they have to have a lot of adult content to at least cater to one group of audience. “Roohi” has nothing of the sort.

The film’s writing and Hardik Mehta’s direction are not the only let downs though. Janhvi Kapoor, who comes from one of the most influential families in Bollywood and is heiress to the legacy of the legendary late Sri Devi, embarrasses herself in the film. She is utterly unconvincing as Roohi, a kidnapping victim. And disaster strikes the screen every time Kapoor’s character is possessed; her portrayal of Afza (mudiyapari) is painful to watch.

The same can be said about the more established Rajkummar Rao. As a small-time ‘good-hearted’ goon from a rural village, Rao is unable to display even half the skills he’s shown in films like “Newton” and “Bareilly Ki Barfi.” (Both 2017 movies with Rao in the lead.) It is probably the writing that gives his character a confused appearance, not allowing Rao to get into his elements as an actor. Or playing the same kind of roles in low-budget movies has made him mundane.

The exact same words can be used for Varun Sharma of the “Fukrey” fame. The 2013 comedy film propelled him to fame in Bollywood, with a string of other comedy films to follow. Unfortunately, Sharma has not been able to grow as an actor. It somehow does not feel right watching him do the same thing again and again. If he fails to shed his “Choocha” image he’s been carrying from Fukrey, he will soon age out of Bollywood.

The writing is again to be blamed. Both Rao and Sharma’s characters try to caricature the rural Indian youth. But instead the writing ends up mocking and stereotyping them. The film does try to address the issues of casteism and religious dogmas but the message is easily lost in such a pointless plot.

Who should watch it?

“Roohi” is tolerable only if you have a strong palate for horror comedies. You must be really bored and free to indulge the shoddy acting and direction. Or be a big fan of one of the main characters.

Rating: 1.5 stars
Director: Hardik Mehta
Actors: Rajkummar Rao, Janhvi Kapoor, Varun Sharma
Run time: 2h 14mins

Fiction

The Song of Achilles

Madeline Miller

Published: 2011

Publisher: Bloomsbury

Language: English

Pages: 352, Paperback

I knew that the mythical figure of Achilles, the central character in Homer’s ‘Iliad’, was the son of goddess Thetis and Peleus, King of Phthia. I wouldn’t necessarily call him a ‘hero’. Achilles stopped fighting at Troy because Agamemnon, his commander during the war, insulted him. He then watched as his fellow Greeks were slaughtered by the Trojans and only resumed fighting when his friend, Patroclus, was killed and he was shattered and angry.

He took his revenge by killing Hector—who had killed Patroclus, Achilles’ best friend—and then refused to hand over his body to his family. Instead, he dragged the corpse around the city. Achilles wanted Hector’s soul to forever wander and never be at peace. It still wasn’t enough for Achilles and legend has it that his ghost still thirsts for blood. That’s definitely not how I picture a hero.

But Madeline Miller paints a completely different picture of Achilles in ‘The Song of Achilles’ that won the 2012 Orange Prize in Fiction 2012 (now known as the Women’s Prize in Fiction). Here, you see a romantic, loyal, and loving side to Achilles. Through the eyes of Patroclus, the novel’s narrator, Achilles appears to be beautiful, smart and skilled—living up to his demi-god status. His actions, as unjustifiable as they once might have been, seem to stem from love. Finally, he is the hero he was always meant to be.

While Homer’s Iliad is a story of pride and stubbornness, Miller’s retelling of the epic is a powerful love story. The author beautifully captures the budding camaraderie and love between Patroclus and Achilles, and so much is conveyed by leaving things unsaid.

There is a sense of impending tragedy as you get to know early on that Achilles must choose between a long life where no one knows him or a short, glorious one. But that in no way makes the story bleak. Instead, Miller paints a wonderful three-dimensional portrait of Achilles as a son, father, hero, and lover as he battles his conflicting thoughts. Patroclus is also a fascinating character and a reliable narrator. The story doesn’t just unfold from his point of view and every character is given its due.

The good thing about Miller’s story is also that you don’t need to know anything about the Trojan war or the Greek mythology to understand what’s happening. Miller starts at the very beginning and her prose is smooth enough for you to get sucked right in. Miller took 10 years to write the book and the meticulous research shines through. The sparse prose makes the story a riveting read where nothing seems stretched or unnecessary. The Song of Achilles is an unforgettable story about love that reads like a thriller. 

I am a big fan of Robert D. Kaplan. The American journalist-cum-scholar has perfected the art of weaving an expansive geopolitical narrative based on his extensive travel, a deep study of history, access to the right people and unique insight. Even if you don’t see through his Realist lens, you cannot but marvel at the hard work put into his books, each dripping with untrammeled enthusiasm for his chosen area of study. Reading Amish Raj Mulmi’s new book ‘All Roads Lead North: Nepal’s Turn to China’ reminded me of Kaplan’s works.

Both take in broad sweeps of history to make their case, and each leavens the heavy history bits with on-the-ground anecdotes. But there are also important differences. While in his writing Kaplan is palpably bubbling with enthusiasm, Mulmi adopts the tone of a more detached observer. Another difference is that Mulmi relies more on historical archives than on his travels or conversations with powers-that-be. (The author has not been to China save for his visit to a tiny border area.)

One of the first things that strikes you about the book is its neutral tone, as Mulmi holds back from asking Nepal to pick and choose between China, India and the US, the three main foreign powers discussed. Making extensive use of archival records in India and Nepal as well as the CIA’s declassified documents, Mulmi draws an arc of China’s progressively heavier engagement in Nepal. Over time, it becomes a story of the Communist Party of China appropriating Nepal’s traditional links with Tibet.

In the name of balancing India, Nepali political establishment has moved closer to Beijing. To appease the dragon, it has cracked down on Tibetan activities. Harking back to the era Mao’s red buttons were ubiquitous in Nepal, Xi Jinping too seems minded to export his ideology on the back of his signature Belt and Road Initiative. Thus, as China pledges billions of dollars in grants and loans, Nepali ruling class has to agree to be trained on ‘Xi Jinping thought’, and to blindly back China on Taiwan, Tibet and Hong Kong.

But the book’s deterministic title is also a touch misleading. Even Mulmi concedes that as Chinese influence has shot up, the Nepali political class is still in a position to calibrate its relation with the northern neighbor. He wants them to do so to their country’s benefit. “[Relations with China]… need to be sustained, nurtured and developed as they evolve,” Mulmi writes. “It is in Nepal’s interest to do so, and imperative to do it in a way that acknowledges its own aspirations.” This means engaging China in Nepal’s development process while also being aware of the risks of unquestioningly doing the dragon’s bidding. 

It won’t be easy. For instance, the author advises the Nepali government to engage with Chinese people and “not just its unitary government system… [to] fully realize the potential of Nepal’s budding economic relationship with the country.” But how can Nepal directly engage the people of China whose lives, and especially their dealings with the outside world, are controlled by the CCP? Nor is the tiny Nepali state in a position to bargain with the Chinese colossus on this.

Mulmi travels to various places on the northern border to grasp how the Chinese influence is seeping into Nepal. He also talks to ex-Nepali businesspersons who previously worked in Lhasa, Tibetan refugees in Nepal including former Khampa rebels, and Mustang locals to knit together the long history of China’s engagement in Nepal.

His argument is that Nepal’s turn to China did not start with the 2015 border blockade; it was a process set in motion by a long history of Nepal’s relations with Tibet, the Chinese emperors and then, after Tibet’s annexation, with the communist China. The author relies on the CIA’s declassified files from the second half of the 20^th century to gain a better understanding of the triangular Nepal-India-China relations—and there are quite a few revelations.

A central theme runs through most of Kaplan’s books: all discussions on international relations must start with geography. This couldn’t be truer in the case of Nepal, which finds itself precariously sandwiched between its two giant neighbors. Yet Kaplan also believes that wise leaders can minimize the effects of geography and even use it to their country’s advantage, as did Lee Kwan Yew in Singapore’s case. And this is what Mulmi is advocating for. Given Nepal’s perilous location, its leaders have to show foresight in charting its foreign policy course.

All Roads Lead North is perhaps the most readable book in English to date on Nepal’s contemporary relations with China. For its deep scholarship, ease of reading, and a historical perspective of Nepal-China relations, the book will be read by generations to come, by scholars and non-scholars alike.

Non-fiction

All Roads Lead North: Nepal’s Turn to China

Amish Raj Mulmi

Publisher: Context

Pages: 290