Rape is one of the most horrific singular
acts a person can inflict upon another. As
such, when broaching the topic in media like
film, said approach requires a certain degree
of compassion and awareness. It’s far too
easy and, sadly, all to common for rape to
be exploited in a manner that’s insulting
and harmful to the survivors of such violent
acts. And today I wanted to go over such a
film and discuss the many ways it failed victims
of sexual violence..
Netflix’s original ‘Bulbbul’ is a film
written and directed by Anvita Dutt, published
on the 24th of June, 2020. The film is a horror
mystery, centering on an aristocratic family
from a remote village that has come under
siege by a demon. In the relatively short
time following its publishing, ‘Bulbbul’
has become a rather polarising film. And I
can see why. The film does have good aspects.
For example, it did a decent job of displaying
the patriarchal power dynamics present in
Bengali households, especially those under
the influence of Babu or ‘Lord’ culture--elements
which still survive in some households to
this day. Unfortunately none of that can soften
the blow brought about by an exploitative
depiction of rape.
Before we continue, I’d just like to give
a content warning for the following subjects:
Rape & Sexual Assault, Domestic Violence,
Child Marriage, Sexism, Ableism, Death by
Suffocation, War, Incest, and Execution. I’d
also like to note the fact that I am a survivor
of both child rape and domestic abuse. This
is my standpoint, so please understand that
I’m not throwing around claims for the sake
of doing so. These are things I take seriously
precisely because of what I’ve been put
through. So if you’re here to tell me that
I’m trivialising these matters by being
critical of how they’re portrayed in film,
just be aware of who you’re saying that
to. Also be aware of the fact that I’ve
worked in mental health fields and given talks--both
in video and in person--about my experiences
of child rape and domestic violence. Similarly,
all three texts I covered in my first year
of English A-levels--The Lovely Bones, The
Kite Runner, and The History Boys--contained
narratives involving the sexual predation
of minors. So I’m not intrinsically angry
at the fact that such things are touched upon
in media texts; I’m furious at the sadistic
way movies like ‘Bulbbul’ exploit said
horrific acts.
Now I’ll have to give a short breakdown
of the film, but feel free to skip ahead using
the timestamp below. Also, spoilers if that
wasn’t already clear.
So with that said, what is ‘Bulbbul’ about?
Well, as noted, the film centers on an aristocratic
family who are effectively the lords of a
remote village in colonial Bengal, and a young
woman--the titular Bulbbul--who is married
into the family as a child. The film has two
timelines: The current (or ‘present’)
timeline set in 1901, which focuses on the
mystery of a demon woman that haunts the village;
and a chronological telling of our protagonist’s
youth, starting with Bulbbul’s wedding in
1881, steadily revealing details surrounding
the origins of the demon. And it’s at said
wedding that we first meet the three brothers
belonging to the aristocratic family: Satya,
Mahendra, and Indranil.
Satya is the youngest of the three and the
only one who’s a child like Bulbbul when
she’s married. The two quickly form a close
bond, centering on stories they tell one another
about a demon woman with twisted feet who
dances among the treetops and swoops down
to prey on her victims. Mahendra is the middle
son and is depicted as visibly neurodivergent,
having the intellectual, verbal, and emotional
capacities typically associated with children
of around two years of age. Mahendra himself
is married to an adult woman--Binodini--who
is clearly very resentful of her position
in the family, being portrayed as more a keeper
than Mahendra’s wife. Lastly, we have the
eldest son and Bulbbul’s adult husband--Indranil--who
is master of the house, a fact that confuses
Bulbul at her wedding as she assumed she was
getting married to Satya.
The present day narrative starts with Satya
returning from England, revealing that Mahendra
is dead, Binodini lives in a widow ashram
(aka ‘shelter’), Indranil no longer resides
in the family home, and Bulbbul is acting
lady of the village with the support of the
local doctor--Sudip--who feeds Bulbbul information
about the women and children of the village
who are being mistreated. Seeing the men of
the village scared of the demon woman that
apparently murdered Mahendra, Satya assumes
command and sets out to disprove her existence,
only to have one of his hunting party quickly
slaughtered and strung from a tree. Coincidentally,
the man killed was someone who had been accused
of domestic abuse and someone Satya had defended
despite having just arrived home. It’s worth
noting that the man’s excuse was that his
wife had fallen down the stairs, and that
the only house in the village with a second
floor is Bulbbul’s.
Returning to Bulbbul and Satya’s youth,
we discover the pair’s passion for telling
stories about the demon has evolved into them
writing a book. However, a resentful Binodini
uses the pair's closeness to start feeding
Bulbbul’s husband, Indranil, suspicions
about a possible affair, culminating in him
sending his little brother, Satya, to England
under the pretense that an English higher
education will open the world to him. This
crushes Bulbbul, causing her to burn the half-finished
book. Later that night, a suspicious Indranil
comes across the remains of the book and finds
a burnt piece of the author’s page, listing
Bulbbul and Satya’s names together. Now,
we know it was just the author’s page, but
all Indranil sees are the burnt remains of
a love letter. So, he takes the hefty iron
poker and drags it along the floor, heading
towards the bathroom in which Bulbbul is relaxing.
There, he grabs her by the hair, throws her
to the ground, and proceeds to beat the back
of her legs and feet so badly that Dr Sudip
has to surgically remove her jewelry before
he can put her feet in casts which are then
suspended from the bedposts. Indranil then
leaves the family house, claiming that Bulbbul
had fallen down the stairs before declaring
that there’s nothing there for him anymore.
And it’s here, with Bulbbul trapped in bed,
that the rape occurs. Bulbbul finds herself
awoken by a curious Mahendra, taken by the
bells hung around Bulbbul’s bed and feet.
As Mahendra plays with the bells, he also
touches the wires suspending Bulbbul’s feet,
causing her to cry out in pain as he remains
oblivious to the harm he’s causing. Then,
without warning, Mahendra’s focus changes.
He climbs onto the bed and rapes Bulbbul as
her feet start to bleed once more. This scene
goes on for two minutes from the point that
Mahendra mounts Bulbbul. No detail is spared.
The scene ends as Mahendra notices that Bulbbul
is no longer moving, having been suffocated
by him. Suddenly realising what he’s done,
Mahendra runs, and the moon turns blood red
as the village statue to the goddess Kali
literally breathes new life into Bulbbul.
Binodini is awoken by an inhuman scream as
Mahendra crawls into bed and hides under the
covers.
In 1901, Satya accuses Bulbbul of having an
affair with Dr Sudip, leading Bulbbul to call
him out on his jealousy. When Satya threatens
to tell Indranil everything, Bulbbul snaps
back that he’s the same as his brothers.
The rest of the film has Satya confront the
fact that the demon does exist, leading him
to set the forest on fire in an attempt to
destroy it. Only as he succeeds does he realise
that the demon was Bulbbul, and that she has
her powers due to the violence she suffered
at his brother’s hand. Satya then writes
a letter to his brother, explaining why he
no longer wants to be a part of the family,
narrated as an older Indranil returns to his
now-abandoned family home. The final scene
has Indranil wake up in the middle of the
night to see a cloud of burning embers materialise
as Bulbbul. She smiles, we hear a ritual cry,
and the film cuts to black as the credits
start to roll.
So that’s the film, and I’d have few complaints
if I was reviewing just the first hour or
so. There is good to be found in this movie,
it’s just a damn shame that all of it is
pissed down the drain in the final third,
starting with that rape scene at one hour
and six minutes in. Where do I even begin
with this? Well one of the things we need
to discuss is the way the writer/director
treats Mahendra.
However, before we can talk about said topic
I feel I must define a few terms, starting
with the label neurodivergent, as I used earlier.
Neurodivergent refers to “Someone whose
neurological development and state are atypical,
usually viewed as abnormal or extreme. The
term was coined in the neurodiversity movement
as an opposite for ‘neurotypical’.”
[1] Building on from that the Neurodiversity
Movement can be defined as “A social justice
movement that seeks civil rights, equality,
respect, and full societal inclusion for the
neurodivergent. For example, the autism rights
movement (ARM) is a social movement within
the neurodiversity movement that encourages
autistic people, their caregivers, and society
to adopt a position of neurodiversity, accepting
autism as a variation in functioning rather
than a mental disorder to be cured.” [1]
Another important concept is ableism, a term
that refers to "The belief that disability
and neurodivergence are inherently bad and
the subsequent prejudice, stereotyping, and/or
discrimination against disabled and neurodiverse
individuals based on this belief."
‘Bulbbul’ is riddled with these harmful
stereotypes, something that has a real impact
on the way society perceives those of us who
are neurodivergent, yet, just as importantly,
it impacts how we perceive ourselves. In having
Mahendra be the one to rape Bulbbul on screen,
the film is being very selective in the sort
of message it is putting out, especially when
we acknowledge that Bulbbul was a child bride
and had been raped by Indranil her entire
life. It is telling the audience that neurodivergent
people are a danger, particularly towards
women and children.
Now, I know what some people are going to
say. They’re going to try and justify said
portrayal on grounds that neurodivergent people
can be violent, and that said violence includes
sexual violence. Indeed, a recent article
published by Feminism in India stated that
quote; “First of all, the use of the ‘mentally
ill sexual predator’ trope is borderline
offensive though it is undoubtedly a reality
in our country that close relatives rape women
and children, and that such crimes are silenced
to protect the family ‘honour’.” EQ.
[2] Okay, firstly, there’s nothing borderline
about it. The depiction was through and through
offensive on all accounts. Secondly, when
people criticise such depictions as ableist,
they’re not saying that such situations
never happen. They’re saying that the sheer
volume of said depictions is highly disproportionate
and gives the public a false impression about
the danger neurodivergent people pose. That
this is another example of what criminologist
Ray Surette would call the ‘Law of Opposites’,
a label that describes the ways in which:
“The nature of crime, criminals, and victims
portrayed in the media is generally the complete
opposite of the pattern shown through official
crime statistics or victim surveys.” This
is why, in spite of what the media depicts,
the WHO found that quote: “children with
disabilities are almost four times more likely
to experience violence than non-disabled children.
The review indicated that children with disabilities
are 3.7 times more likely than non-disabled
children to be victims of any sort of violence,
3.6 times more likely to be victims of physical
violence, and 2.9 times more likely to be
victims of sexual violence. Children with
mental or intellectual impairments appear
to be among the most vulnerable, with 4.6
times the risk of sexual violence than their
non-disabled peers.
The systematic review on violence against
adults with disabilities, published in February
2012, found that overall they are 1.5 times
more likely to be a victim of violence than
those without a disability, while those with
mental health conditions are at nearly four
times the risk of experiencing violence.”
EQ. [3]
So, to return to the earlier FII quote and
show just how repugnant it is on a basic level,
imagine a world exactly like ours, the only
difference is that instead of mostly depicting
cases of male on female rape, the media depicted
female on male rape as the norm. Now, people
call this out as patriarchy--after all, most
rape is male on female--and they’d be right
in doing so. Only for one person to come along
and say that whilst yes, this reversal of
reality could be seen as borderline patriarchal,
we have to remember that female on male rape
does occur. This is reframing the conversation
to distract from the real issue. They’re
shifting the focus away from harmful ableism
to stress something people aren’t just aware
of, they’re oversaturated with the thought
of. The fact is, Bulbbul isn’t the only
movie that depicts this kind of ableism. This
is a narrative that was made famous in 1960
by Alfred Hitcock’s ‘Psycho’ and has
sadly remained with us ever since. And it’s
not borderline offensive, it’s cruel. Imagine
being a neurodivergent survivor of rape and
not only having your suffering ignored, but
seeing yourself constantly depicted as a rapist.
Now to be clear, I’m not claiming that media
portrayals like those seen in ‘Bulbbul’
are the only factor at play; ableism didn’t
start with the invention of cinema. However,
there is undoubtedly a causal relation, leading
from the way neurodivergent people are portrayed
in the media to how they are treated in society.
It’s not a question of if but rather to
what degree, something corroborated by the
way we’ve seen other demographics, such
as Black people and trans folk, treated as
well. When the media continuously presents
a demographic as a danger to women and children,
that not only creates new prejudices, it reinforces,
and--in the minds of bigots--justifies pre-existing
prejudices. It’s no longer just about how
neurodivergent people make them personally
feel uncomfortable, it becomes about how neurodivergent
people are a threat that needs to be dealt
with. But not only are they a threat--they’re
a threat that cannot be reasoned with, a threat
that acts on pure primeval impulse, a threat
that requires nothing short of a violent response
to put down.
Perhaps the most direct way this has been
seen recently is with all the posts arguing
why police are necessary, a large number of
which forward hypotheticals of a psychologically
troubled person--typically naked to stress
that point--doing something extreme such as
flinging feces, allowing the writer to mock
the idea that a social carer has the skills
to deescalate such a situation. And this is
done in spite of the active danger police
pose neurodivergent folk. According to the
Ruderman Family Foundation, up to half--I
repeat, half--of all police shootings in the
US target a disabled person, with 80% of those
having disabilities classified as falling
under mental health. [4] A white neurotypical
man can walk into a store with a gun and be
protected by police, yet the moment a neurodivergent
person is perceived to be the slightest bit
dangerous, their life is forfeit.
And that’s not the end of it. The stereotyping
of neurodivergent people can result in other
forms of less obvious harm. The very first
time we’re introduced to Mahendra is when
he comes across Bulbbul as a child bride,
sitting alone on her marital bed (or phool
shojja) at night and mistakes her for a doll.
As he goes to play with her, Indranil appears
and stops him, at which point a flustered
Binodini hurries into the room, only to be
scolded by Indranil, who asks her, quote “Can’t
you keep your husband in check?” EQ, which…
touches on how a lot of people believe those
of us who are neurodivergent should be handled.
That we should be stripped of basic autonomy
and hidden away. That’s how the family deals
with Mahendra. Now, I understand that this
ill treatment is in character for the family;
it wouldn’t make sense for people such as
them to try to help Mahendra understand things
in a grounded and compassionate manner, such
as by using the early cases of him violating
others’ personal space to teach him boundaries.
But this signals to me that they simply should
not be writing a neurodivergent character
in the first place. That’s not to say a
film can’t depict mistreatment of a neurodivergent
character, but if you do so, you need to be
critical of what you’re depicting, otherwise,
you’re normalising said abuse. Best case
scenario, you’re using neurodivergent suffering
as spectacle.
Yet perhaps even more damaging is the way
that we, neurodivergent people, can internalise
that message or--at the very least--allow
it to dictate our behaviour. We know how society
sees us. There’s a reason I threatened to
quit watching Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
when I discovered she had a neurodivergent
cousin that had been kept hidden from us until
it seemed like he might be guilty of not just
one, but two murders, of young girls. They
weren’t, thankfully, but the fact that I
had to mentally brace myself was telling.
I mean, when was the last time a neurotypical
person had to brace themselves over the possibility
of a neurotypical person being the culprit?
Yet that’s what it’s like for us. Every
time we see ourselves portrayed, it’s not
a compassionate or a validating portrayal:
It’s a caricature. It’s what neurotypical
people think we’re like, whether played
for terror or for laughs. And it’s at a
point where our first thought when we see
such characters introduced, characters we’re
meant to connect with, is dread. It really
is a case of no representation is better than
bad representation.
As minor as being made to feel like shit over
a TV series might seem to some people, it
can have a larger impact in that it can force
us to limit the amount of time we go out or
to constantly police ourselves, to mask who
we are just so we’re treated like human
beings. Which again, are common experiences
shared between Black, trans, and neurodivergent
folk, though each has their own set of unique
challenges. The point is, you don’t have
to suffer from abuse directly to feel its
impact, which is why hate crime is legally
differentiated from non-hate crime. A hate
crime harms not just the individual, but the
entire demographic.
So as you can hopefully appreciate, there
are numerous ways the constant stream of ableist
depictions can and do hurt members of the
neurodivergent community as well as those
of us with mental health issues. There are
real life consequences to how writers present
us--both in how others perceive us and how
we perceive ourselves, things that influence
actions--and said writers need to be aware
of those consequences when they’re writing.
Thing is, Mahendra’s actions in the film
as a whole leads us to an even more disturbing
conclusion, (if we take them to be intentional
rather than the product of lazy writing),
that leads us into the section about the ways
in which the film fails all survivors of sexual
abuse, not just the neurodivergent ones. Mahendra
is written with a mind akin to that of a two-year-old
child and yet has a clear understanding of
sexual penetration. When Mahendra climbs on
top of Bulbbul and proceeds to rape her, he
knows exactly what to do. This isn’t simply
grinding that he may have stumbled across
on his own, no. Mahendra reaches down, unclothes
his phallus, and forces it inside Bulbbul.
This begs the uncomfortable question of where
exactly he learned this behaviour. If we take
this act to have an in-world explanation,
he must have been raped himself, most likely
by Binodini. And whilst he might enjoy the
sensation and seek to replicate it, Mahendra
does not have a comprehensive understanding
of the act and by extension cannot give or
receive informed consent.
Rape by proxy refers to “an act of rape
committed for a third party by a proxy.”
While there is a new phenomenon of 'hit rapists'--men
recruited to rape on behalf of other men--historically,
the term has referred to a proxy who is coerced
or manipulated through an imbalance of power.
Now, the usual scenario thought of in these
situations are those at gunpoint, with one
of the best historic examples being the Nanjing
Massacre of 1937, during which Imperial Japanese
forces made Chinese civilians perform incesteous
acts before executing them. [5] However, this
is not the only sort of power imbalance that
can be used. When I was raped inside the refuge,
the person responsible, my rapist, didn’t
do me the basic decency of just assaulting
me herself, no. Instead what she did was pin
down my brother as she goaded my then six-year-old
self into performing sexual acts--including
penetrative ones--on him. My abuser was reliant
on my ignorance as a child and my uncritical
obedience to adult authority to get me to
do things I didn’t understand the full nature
of. That I couldn’t understand the full
nature of.
Now, here’s the difference in what happened
to me and what was depicted in ‘Bulbbul’.
My rapist was present and was actively seeking
a sense of sexual pleasure or power from what
they had me do to my brother; the same is
not true of Binodini. So as much as I sympathise
with the realisation that Mahendra was a victim
of rape, what happened to Bulbbul wasn’t
rape by proxy, not in the strict sense. Yet
rape by proxy is an important tool in demonstrating
how the blame for rape doesn’t neccisarily
rest with the person physically committing
the act. Back in my case, if I had gone on
to sexually assault others as a six-year-old
child due to the ‘games’ my rapist had
taught me, the responsibility for that would
fall squarely on the shoulders of my rapist.
The same is true of Mahendra. Whilst Binodini
and, by extension, whoever arranged their
marriage, was not present or seeking personal
gain from the act, the only reason it took
place was because Mahendra had been taught
that this is a normal thing to do. Once we
realise this, we also realise that Bulbbul
is not a victim of rape by Mahendra. Bulbbul
is a victim of rape by Binodini and, by extension,
those who arranged and facilitated the marriage--those
who were more than happy to have Mahendra
raped for life. Mahendra is innocent. And
yet, out of the three brothers who Bulbbul
declares as the same, it is only Mahendra
who suffers on screen for his actions, showing
a double standard in how ‘justice’ is
brought against the neurodivergent vs the
neurotypical. Yes, in Mahendra’s death Binodini
is relegated to the life of an Indian widow,
stripped of all real power and barred from
simple luxuries. But Mahendra suffers literal
divine justice at the hands of the goddess
Kali, who is associated with destroying evil
to preserve the innocent. If it’s divine
justice for a rape victim to kill another
rape victim to hurt the rapist then what’s
the fucking point of divine justice? Where’s
that power fantasy we are promised?
Can I even ask you all to put yourself in
my shoes for a second, to imagine that you’re
watching what some have classed as a feminist
movie--a movie that tackles the topic of rape
with all the scorn and fury it deserves--only
to see someone like you being butchered in
a horrific fashion, and that being held up
as divine justice. One of the reasons it took
me decades to come out about what I went through
is because I’ve already tortured myself
enough over this. I have vivid memories of
what I was made to do, yet when they force
their way into my mind, I don’t see them
as I did then. I’m made to watch what happened
with the hindsight I have now. It’s like
a form of sleep paralysis in my head: I can
only watch as the horrors I’ve come to know
play out again, and again, and again… I
was so afraid when I told my mum about what
happened, that I thought she’d react with
anger targeted towards me. And that’s all
thanks to narratives like these. If someone
with the mind of a two-year-old deserves to
be murdered for these actions, what then--I
must ask--do I deserve for doing the same
aged six?
As a writer and a director, you cannot pass
that off as a proggressive lesson. Because
when you do that, you are casting judgement
on survivors of childrape by proxy, like myself.
You’re telling us that we should be judged
as adults and that our lives are forfeit.
Not even the Vatican goes so far in trying
to excuse institutional childrape. Sure, they
argue that children are responsible for tempting
priests and that they should beg God for forgiveness,
but at least they don’t run around claiming
children deserve to be murdered for it. I
honestly don’t think I can express just
how fucking much I hate this movie for what
it implies should happen to victims of rape
by proxy.
Fact is, this scene is entirely unnecessary.
Now, I know what some people are going to
argue. They’re going to tell me said rape
was the turning point of the film, how said
act of violence endowed Bulbbul with her supernatural
powers, allowing her to take revenge on all
those who had wronged her. That it’s her
phoenix awakening moment--what turned her
into the Rape Revenger. [6] Except it’s
not.
Bulbbul already had an awakening moment in
her beating at the hand of Indranil. In fact,
when I initially saw the movie, I was certain
that this would be the moment that Bulbbul
became the demon. There’s actually one scene
in particular which I thought worked really
well in that regard, taking place in Bulbbul’s
mind as she lay unconscious. In it, Bulbbul
is depicted dragging herself across a tiled
floor, the room stretching ever onward any
time she made progress, giving a sense of
neverending torment that she needed to break
free from. And with the injuries she’d sustained
to her feet, she very easily could have bled
out or even died from shock as she was treated
by the doctor, only to come back with her
newfound powers. And part of me wonders whether
this was how the movie was planned originally.
Either way, the rape scene was gratuitous
in every way imaginable. All it did was pile
on more abuse for shock value. It didn’t
humanise Bulbbul, it didn’t make her character
stronger. It just fucked up the core message
of the film in having another rape victim
killed for actions they could not comprehend
the horrific nature of.
But there’s another reason the scene was
completely unnecessary. And that’s the fact
that--as already mentioned earlier--Bulbbul
was a lifelong victim of rape. Bulbbul was
a child bride married to an adult man in 1880
Bengal, and we’re even shown her husband
asking for her in the middle of the night.
Yet this childrape is never commented on throughout
the entire film. The closest it comes to doing
so is in Bulbbul’s vicarious revenge by
killing a child rapist as he’s bathing with
one of his victims, and at no point is that
connected to her experience. I’m having
to reach for that myself in attempts to be
generous with the film. They make a point
of demonstrating that Bulbbul was repeatedly
raped as a child, only to sweep it under the
rug. A decade or more of abuse and suffering
is entirely eclipsed by the writers’ desire
to include an exploitative, shocking, and
hopefully award-winning scene. And what’s
worse is this effectively gives Indranil’s
child rape a free pass.
And this difference in how Indranil and Mahendra’s
actions are treated narrative-wise further
feeds into the ableism discussed earlier.
In spite of Indranil being a life-long child
rapist who also beats his wife, he’s spared
any and all on-screen suffering, since the
film shows he pays no mind to his abandonment
of Satya or the degradation of their home.
Meanwhile, we’re repeatedly shown scenes
of Mahendra lying in a pool of his own blood
as the life leaves his body. So, what’s
the difference, here? Well, one character
is a neurotypical man who has full comprehension
of his actions, while the other is a neurodivergent
man who does not. What the writers have done
with these characters demonstrates bloody
clearly that they view violence against neurodivergent
characters as more palatable than violence
towards neurotypical ones. Despite Indranil’s
actions being malicious and much more violent
than Mahendra’s, he’s afforded a level
of dignity that the writers deny neurodivergent
characters by virtue of their neurotype. Something
made all the more on-the-nose in how Indranil
and Mahendra are played by the same actor.
So, the scene is unnecessary, and completely
fucks up the core message of the film, but
that would almost be forgivable if it weren’t
so painful to watch. There was no warning
as to what was coming when Mahendra played
with the bells around Bulbbul’s bed. He
just went from a very whimsical, childlike
state, to full on assaulter within seconds,
creating a real sense of whiplash. Compare
this to how the domestic violence was handled
earlier in the film. Not only were there stages
which led up to it, but by the point in which
Indranil slowly dragged a heavy iron poker
along the marble floor towards the bathroom
where Bulbbul was bathing, it was pretty clear
where this was heading, giving us, the audience,
a chance to opt out if we thought it was going
to be too much.
Then there’s the difference in how the two
scenes are shot, with the beating scene being
shot indirectly: We’re shown the poker and
we’re shown Bulbbul’s pain, but we’re
spared most of the graphic details. Versus
the rape scene, which spares no detail, being
filmed up close in perhaps the most claustrophobic
manner possible. The beating scene conveys
what’s happening without traumatising the
audience.
Lastly we have the way in which this scene
stretches out, with the entire rape sequence
lasting a full two minutes from when Mahendra
climbs ontop of Bulbbul to when she dies,
nearly twice as long as the scene depicting
Bulbbul being beaten. And this is in spite
of the fact that the beating was also shown
in slow motion, quite literally softening
the visual impact.
The juxtaposition of how these two scenes
are handled by the director is disturbing.
It shows that the writers can depict violence
in a sensitive way when they chose to, but
that they saw no reason to extend this to
the topic of rape. So it really scares me
how the movie is being marketed and discussed
in feminist circles. Part of the reason Udita
and I wanted to watch it is because we had
heard that it was a feminist take on abuse
and empowerment, so I worry that many viewers
will be lulled into a false sense of security
before they’re struck with an exploitative
and potentially triggering depiction of rape.
Yet those are just the ways this specific
scene fails victims of rape and sexual assault.
The sad fact is the movie as a whole has similar
issues in its very nihlistic outlook for victims
of sexual assault. Something that can even
be found in the description on the movie’s
official trailer published by Netflix that
reads, quote; “A story set in the late 19th
Century Bengal, Bulbbul traverses the journey
of a young girl from innocence to strength,
as the legend of a chudail (demon woman) casts
a looming shadow over her world.” [7] EQ.
The ‘innocence’ narrative is very upfront
throughout the film, found even in the very
name ‘Bulbbul’, a name shared by a group
of small songbirds which are very often kept
in small cages. And from her toe ring meant
to stop her flying away to the framing of
her marital bed, we’re sold this notion
that Bulbbul is contained. Indeed, she’s
entirely passive in her youth. Even her relationship
with Satya amounts to a crush at most. The
problem with which is, when she dies and becomes
more powerful, and by extension self-assertive,
there’s no more of the old Bulbbul left.
Outside of her obedience we knew of two things
she enjoyed: Climbing trees and writing stories.
Well, she no longer writes stories after she
destroys the book she and Satya were working
on, and as for climbing trees, that becomes
wrapped up in her revenge. When Bulbbul dies,
she doesn’t just change--her character is
obliterated. The result of which is symbols
of self-empowerment such as smoking and flirting
with men are left open to a negative interpretation
by the conservative portion of the audience:
That of becoming spoiled goods. Now, this
might seem silly to some people, but for social
context, parts of modern-day India have gender
segregation and literal ‘anti-Romeo squads’:
Police who roam the streets looking for young
couples showing affection, and they will beat
them.
And we can’t just ignore the language used.
Indeed, what is the loss of innocence if not
the loss of being guiltless? A subtle form
of victim blaming. This idea that discovering
the harshness of the world equates to a ‘loss
of innocence’ is strongly linked to the
Christian belief that to think of sin is to
sin in itself. That to know lust is to commit
adultery. This is from the same book that
treats the rape of an unpledged virgin as
a property crime against the father--in which
the resolution is to force the victim to marry
her rapist--rather than a violent crime against
the woman. [8] And whilst this is no longer
applicable to law, the feeling of rape devaluing
a person’s worth still persists. A feeling
not helped by the sense of violation we as
victims feel, as if we have had something
taken from us.
The loss of innocence and loss of self--which
for Bulbbul are the same thing--are two very
damaging narratives surrounding rape. It implies
that to be raped is to be lessened and defined,
possibly even erased, by the act of violence
inflicted upon us. Yes, rape is an experience
with extreme and long-lasting effects on its
victims. But it doesn’t eclipse us--it shouldn’t
eclipse us. One of the many reasons public
figures are so hesitant to come forward and
share their experiences of rape and sexual
assault is how they can find themselves stripped
of every achievement, every won battle, everything
they have ever fought and bled for, to be
defined as little more than the person who
was assaulted. And that’s assuming that
they’re believed. It’s almost a second
form of assault, stripping a victim of their
right to an identity separate from their rapist.
And a simple way the movie could have tackled
this is to show us, in some way, that Bulbbul
maintained parts of her youth. That she went
on to write more stories, even if only for
herself. That she still climbed trees for
her enjoyment whenever the opportunity presented
itself, ignoring the discouragement of others.
These things, alongside her newfound confidence,
with the smoking and flirting, would have
made for a much more compassionate and grounded
reading of life as a victim. That yes, rape
is traumatic and it does change you, but that
doesn’t mean you lose who you are.
Another issue this leads into is the way in
which Bulbbul is never given the opportunity
to heal. Besides losing everything that made
her who she is, Bulbbul is dehumanised in
the most literal way in that she is made into
this supernatural being. Her being brought
back to life is not the second chance it might
seem. Rape robs Bulbul of a chance at a fulfilling
life, defining her as no more than a reactive
force to her abuse and the abuse of others,
stripping her of both autonomy and humanity.
We need more narratives that reassure victims
that life can go on after they’re raped
and that they’re not set on a path of destruction
like Bulbbul is. Because Bulbbul is shown
to still feel pain as Satya sets the forest
on fire, at one point falling from the trees
after burning her feet. Later she’s trapped,
blistered and burnt, before disappearing in
a sudden burst of flame. The film also shows
her smiling at Indranil when she materialises
at the end, demonstrating to us that she can
still feel emotions, so imagine how she must
feel each time she comes face to face with
another victim. That is not a comforting narrative.
In being bound to hunt men who abuse others,
she’s destined for an eternity of pain.
By this point, you may have picked up on the
fact that I’m not impressed by the film’s
feminist messages, something that bleeds over
into Satya and his role in the film. We find
a major problem seen in a lot of films purporting
to be feminist, especially when written by
men, where incredible amounts of female suffering
are used to teach a single man some basic
respect for women. Bulbbul is raped her entire
life, beaten, raped some more, hunted like
an animal, burnt, and even destroyed in a
ball of flame, all for the audience, which
is looking through the eyes of Satya. So,
how does Satya respond to all this? Well,
by screaming a dramatic ‘no’ before the
movie cuts to his letter addressing Indranil,
stating, quote; “Dear brother, I always
thought that when I grew up, I would like
to be like you. But I am leaving this house
forever because I’m afraid I might become
like you. Because I’m afraid I might already
be like you. Now we are literally related
by blood: The blood that has stained our hands.
Now we are all the same.” EQ. And that’s
it. That’s the great conclusion of the film.
I’m running away to save myself from becoming
you. No pledge to take up arms, no pledge
to stand behind women as they march for their
liberation. Just me, me, me. This would be
fine for, like, a cheesy drama in which a
dick male protagonist says something shitty
to to a woman and spends the rest of the episode
having his eyes opened to the harm he’s
doing, not for a rape revenger film. The film
seemed to be doing something smart for the
first hour--it seemed to be playing with the
audience in how, in spite of being told through
Satya’s eyes, Bulbbul was the person going
through this journey. But all of that is pulled
out from under us in this last scene which
centers a relationship between two brothers.
Now, I get that there’s a time context element,
but the fact is, with the amount of suffering
Bulbbul is realised to have gone through and
the added element that she’s become imbued
with divine power, it should have more of
an impact on Satya. Otherwise, what’s the
point of introducing the divine element in
the first place? It should be world-shattering
for him. Not only are women people, but there
are divine forces that can hold Satya accountable
if he fails to do right by them. But we don’t
get any of that with his letter. He doesn’t
even name the specifics of his or his brother’s
crimes or even Bulbul’s name; he just talks
vague euphemisms about blood. Now I get graphic
symbolism and all that, but this is the closest
he comes to apologising to Bulbbul since she’s
believed to be destroyed. This should share
with us what Satya has learned from his experience
and how it’s changed him. This letter should
be the real takeaway for the audience, what
ties together everything the last hour and
a half has been about, seeing as it’s the
last real dialogue. And it fails so hard.
It also sets the bar so incredibly low for
male feminists--it’s a joke! This idea that
‘respecting’ women is the pinnacle of
the male character arc really fails to acknowledge
the work men need to put in to supporting
women and, by extension, feminism. How we
don’t need allies, we need accomplices.
This shitty take of “it’s enough for men
to ‘respect’ women” is how we get wokefishers:
Toxic men who give the false impression of
being progressive so that they can invade
closed circles to prey upon the people within.
Well, I say not good enough! Expect better,
both from the men and the media in your life.
Another failure the film has comes in that
no real change is brought about or even suggested
on a social level. Even if we take the ending
to mean that Bulbbul now presides over the
village as the protector of the abused, that’s
not healthy. That fails to address the issue
as a systemic one that needs to be tackled
at its source by holding those who cover for
abuse or turn a blind eye accountable. It
effectively handwaves the problem of rape
as requiring a reactive supernatural force
in place of a real systemic solution, which
is a problem because the supernatural does
not exist, and, therefore, cannot be relied
on to resolve issues in the real world. However,
the film could have used its supernatural
element as an explorative device by, for example,
having Bulbbul punish not only the abuser,
but also everyone who covered for him. And
again, I realise this is a quasi-period piece.
However, Bulbbul is above that once she becomes
divine. Such a simple change could have given
the audience a practical solution to the horrors
depicted. Because, whilst we may not be divine,
we can choose to hold enablers of abuse accountable
for their actions. So I really think there
was a wasted opportunity here in having it
so even the divine cannot touch those who
enable abuse.
‘Bulbbul’ is a story of wasted potential.
It began as a strong, fascinating, intricate
piece with a powerful message, but it ended
up as a horrific film that fuels the fires
of ableist violence, an exploitative piece
that abuses rape for cheap shock value, a
cowardly parody of feminism. I only hope Anvita
Dutt can learn from this experience and avoid
making another ‘Bulbbul’ in the future.
So with that said, I’d just like to thank
Levi from the ALeviCalledBird YouTube channel
for helping me out with this video. It was
a pretty rough one to work on, it took the
two of us longer than a month with it going
through three separate drafts, so I’m not
sure how I would have done it without him.
A link to his channel will be provided in
the video description, just below the transcript.
Also know that you can support us via Patreon
if you appreciate what we do here on the channel.
So with that said, we’d just like to thank
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from myself and Udita, take care now.
