Netflix’s 'Soni': Ivan Ayr gives us the superheroine we all need
A story about two women cops, and how they negotiate patriarchy in very different ways.
In Ivan Ayr’s Delhi-set debut film, Soni, two women police officers bond as they confront the menace that is patriarchy.
Only, each has a vastly different approach on how to cope with it.
Soni (Geetika Vidya Ohlyan) has low tolerance for the misdemeanours of men and less patience to reason with them. Her boss, Kalpana (Saloni Batra), is less cynical and more rule-bound.
Ayr observes his sheroes at home and on duty to conjure up a nuanced portrait, where their strengths and weaknesses are visible. His biggest success is the manner in which he psychologically profiles his leading ladies.
Soni is separated from her husband, who is desperate to sort things out with her. Kalpana, married to a higher-ranked khaki-clad officer, faces pressure to have children, even though he too is occupied with work and not too inclined towards starting a family.
Central to the drama is society’s expectations of the ‘kind of women’ Soni and Kalpana should be. Interestingly, the questioning often comes from other women.
In Soni’s case, this is from her concerned neighbour aunty who believes that she shouldn’t alone. In Kalpana’s case, her mother-in-law, who wants her to stop night duty. In Soni, Ayr finds his angry young woman — his rebel with a cause. Her hot-headed ways culminate in physical aggression, which lands her in trouble.
Ayr makes his point without dramatic fanfare: when a man does the same, it is desirable ‘machismo’ (see every Hindi cop film). When a woman does it, her defiance is unattractive.
It’s left to Kalpana to handle and defend her subordinate — only, she gradually finds her worldview challenged as she interacts more with Soni.
Ayr packs these exchanges with empathy that never heightens to catharsis, for he’s always conscious of the power dynamics in the relationship. Gestures as much as words show how they become increasingly considerate of each other.
The men in Soni’s life come in many unattractive but realistic avatars. There’s a molester; a drunk, privileged man; a dazed, entitled brat and some who are derisive of women. In fact, the only man who walks away with his head held high is Kalpana’s subordinate officer-driver, who, rather fittingly, speaks the least.
Tension lurks in every frame, especially when Ayr puts his petite eponymous heroine in perilous situations, as she takes on men twice her size. In one striking scene, Soni prowls an alley late at night, waiting for an opportunity to direct her rage. Denied, she feels agitated.
But the most telling point Soni makes comes in one of its many richly detailed routine scenes. Transferred to a desk job to attend calls on the police helpline, Soni hears her trainer get hit on by a caller. The trainer dismisses it cheerily, while Soni looks on, incredulous.
Soni won’t adapt to the toxic masculinity that surrounds her. She will challenge the status quo.
She’s the superheroine we all need.