Silent Waters

    So where to begin with Silent Waters? As far as films go, this is a solid film. The well-drawn characters motivate the audience to take an interest in the coming of age stories of two Pakistani youths one generation after partition. Shot on location in a Pakistani village we get a “real” look at day-to-day Pakistani life 40 years after the nation’s creation. Although, most critics heaviest criticisms were applied to this section of the film, its meanderings through the daily life and customs of the people gave me time to invest in this “other” culture, so that when the film took a darker turn I was in it for the long haul.
    And this film was bound to take a dark turn as it wasn’t really about Zubeida and Saleem’s young love affair. It was really about the pitfalls of religious fundamentalism and nationalism. This story was really about Ayesha.
    We’ve seen this character before, only last time we were in India. And this, for me was where the movie fell short. If I made this connection than others surely did too, and given the message of the film — religious fundamentalism and nationalism is bad for society, and especially for women — then this film is a political statement. There is evidence to support this as it appears Silent Waters has only been shown in Pakistan through the will and means of the director herself. Thus, the film must be addressed to an international audience. However, for this to be a successful political statement (in my book) it must inspire at least feelings of wanting to take action in the viewer. The message is certainly pretty clear in this well crafted film and audiences will leave viewings feeling pretty negatively about Islamic nationalism, but that’s it. Where the book (not the movie) Cracking India succeeds as a political statement, Silent Waters fails. It offers no political prescription.
    Cracking India delivered essentially the same message as Silent Waters, but it didn’t end there. In a “think globally, act locally” kind of a movement readers saw women banding together to provide aid to those victimized by partition. But in Silent Waters, there is none of that. In fact, we get the opposite. In order to cope with the particulars of his nation’s birth, Saleem becomes a leader of the oppressive Islamic nationalist movement and Zubeida goes on with her oppressive Islamic life. And what of the Sikh (or other minority) women living out their lives in Pakistan: there is no place for you in this idealized Muslim world and you will eventually be crushed by the weight of the façade.
    And it is, after all, a façade. In Silent Waters Ayesha’s tragic fates shows that extremism requires that you ignore the reality of things. And the reality is that Pakistanis carry a muddled past into a confused present, but ignoring that fact does not make it go away. Distorting the truth to fit some idealized picture of what you are serves no one. But what is the audience suppose to do with that? Apparently nothing, because that’s exactly what Zubeida and Saleem do: nothing. Thus, the audience is left enlightened, but unaffected by the film as it affects no action.
    It is interesting that the films we’ve watched have, overall, been extremely pessimistic about the present state and possible future of things, while the books we’ve read have, overall, been less so. The films Cracking India, Silent Waters, and The Wind that Shakes the Barley have portrayed a dismal and tragic state of affairs with little hope for peace. However, books such as Cracking India, Out of Place, and even The Shadow Lines may present a dismal view of the past they have an ounce of hope for the future with their ideas of acting locally, hybridity, and truth.
    One thing I have taken from all the works we’ve discussed is how a few extremists can sway the many to violence and equally, how just a few with peaceful intent can help a nation heal.