A still from ‘To Kill A Tiger.
| Photo Credit: Netflix India/YouTube
To Kill a Tiger, directed by Nisha Pahuja, first premiered in Canada in 2022 and became available in India on Netflix on Sunday – the same day as the presentation of the Oscars for which the film had got a nomination. The timing of its release in India on an OTT platform raises suspicions, as it was supposed to premiere much earlier.
Besides the flagrant violations of Indian law, the film has landed on ethical minefields on multiple fronts. While it may give some understanding to a larger audience of the travails of a family and survivor of child sexual violence navigating the criminal justice system, the treatment of these aspects is also very trite and superficial.
It is true that the real-world response to sexual violence currently is anywhere near marginally satisfactory. However, the context of a family from a marginalised tribe grappling with these odds, and against the background of the exotica of rural India seemingly taking precedence – leaves one wondering as to the exploitative implication of the motives behind the choice.
The filmmaker’s objectives are unclear. While the film ostensibly presents Kiran (the purpose of a name change is to conceal identity, but showing the face seems contradictory) and her family’s quest for justice look like active stakeholders, Kiran consenting to reveal herself to give courage to other survivors gets lost in translation, with the central characters only serving as puppets to the core of, unfortunately, their own story.
While some aspects are poignant, the film lamentably and irresponsibly fails to honour Kiran’s experience.
An adult recounting their experiences of sexual violence in their childhood is very different from an adult agreeing to the worldwide showcasing of a recording of their experiences shot during their childhood. We wonder if Kiran had an inkling of what it would open her up to – barrages of questions and sideways looks in future interactions with the world.
The authenticity of often traumatic and searing disruptive situations seemed at times contrived – hamming for the camera. Perhaps the use of props was to make the film even more cinematically appealing. It then raises a doubt about whether the depictions of the NGO’s interventions (which come off as sheer callousness) were introduced only for the film. The film exemplifies the wrong way of dealing with sexual violence.
One wonders about the impact the intrusion of the camera in all spaces of the village, the court hallways, and the house have on Kiran, her family, and others in the community.
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In the beginning, the film notes that the filmmakers “have taken great care to provide a safe environment for the children during the filming”. It would be indeed educative to understand how they actually managed that- considering the camera’s constant presence, the orientation of Kiran and her siblings – the feeling of voyeurism the film casts. What were the consenting procedures facilitated? Were all the obvious implications discussed in a manner that was understood? Later in the end, while there is a mention of women’s rights activists being consulted extensively across India before the release – a listing of their names is noticeably absent. A glaring omission, perhaps almost purposefully, is any consultation with child rights groups.
We wonder how many more cameras Kiran and her family might have to face, given that the film is out in the OTT space.
To Kill A Tiger is currently streaming on Netflix
