In Nil Battey Sannata, a mother channels her energies into giving her daughter a good education so that she can break free from the confines of poverty. In Panga, a mother makes a comeback in the field of kabaddi and becomes an inspirational figure for women everywhere who wish to keep pursuing their dreams. In System, Ashwiny Iyer Tiwari continues championing the motherly spirit by giving us a woman who fights for justice with the cunning of a master strategist. She is Sarika Rawat (Jyothika), and she has an almost graceful presence in the movie. Her warm face and lovely eyes don't bend under the pressure of her hectic routine and financial difficulties. Apart from being a courtroom stenographer, Sarika gives tuition to a child, which reminds you of Chanda from Nil Battey Sannata, who eventually becomes a mathematics teacher. One can imagine a government-job-obsessed Chanda landing a modest courtroom stenographer's job to carve out, in her own little way, a sense of purpose. Sarika takes crowded public transport, looks after her wheelchair-bound husband, and sells courtroom transcripts to a journalist. When Kusum (Aashriya Mishra), Sarika's daughter, says she won't go to a science fair because she wouldn't be able to sleep without her father, Sarika catches the subtext and assures her that money won't be a problem. One can also imagine Apeksha from Nil Battey Sannata turning into Kusum after embracing education. The girl who once lacked dreams, stole money from her own house, and hated mathematics while barely passing her other subjects now makes cool science projects and is deeply attuned to her family's financial situation.
System, though, is not exactly about a mother-daughter relationship. The focus this time is on female friendship against the backdrop of the legal justice system. The friendship develops between Sarika and Neha Rajvansh (Sonakshi Sinha), and there is a beautiful scene early in the film where both characters, still strangers, meet in a bathroom as they adjust their clothes in front of a mirror. If Sarika travels on crowded buses, Neha commutes comfortably in a chauffeur-driven car. Sarika prefers normal homemade tea, while Neha visits expensive, aesthetically pleasing cafes for lattes. Both women exist on different ends of the social and financial spectrum, but join hands when Neha asks for Sarika's help to win court cases. Neha, you see, has to continuously win ten cases if she wants to join her hotshot father's (Ashutosh Gowariker) firm—she has to prove herself. It's a solid framework: a prosecutor and a stenographer working together in court while gradually getting to know each other. Tiwari, with her four co-writers, however, writes stilted, impersonal dialogue. All it takes for Neha to win her first case is a basic, pseudo-intellectual-sounding line from Sarika about focusing on what an accused person has not done. In fact, nearly all the conversations between the two women are burdened with plain lines that call attention to themselves. When Sarika says justice is like a god and not everybody gets it, or when she comments that everybody hides their real face from the world, her expression turns grave, and the dialogue lands with the emphasis of thesis statements.
It's only at the end that you realize those lines were meant as clues all along, revealing their significance during the climax. The writers don't write dialogue to convey the characters' innermost obsessions and desires; they write it as setups and payoffs. I am not a fan of Tiwari's earlier films, but what I admire about them is that they offer stunning, sublime moments of performance that one can fondly recall years later. I smile when I think about that scene in Nil Battey Sannata when Chanda arrives home to find Apeksha boisterously dancing with her friend—her moves are comically exuberant. Bareilly Ki Barfi is blessed with Rajkummar Rao and Ayushmann Khurrana's duel-like performances. Then there is Kangana Ranaut in Panga, energizing every scene with expressions both minute and grand. Tiwari knows how to pick her actors and give women jobs so unusual that they themselves bring an air of freshness. Ranaut's Jaya, for instance, was a reservation-counter clerk, while Bitti of Bareilly Ki Barfi worked in the electricity department. Sarika may be a stenographer in System, and Jyothika may be a superb actor, yet Tiwari's dull direction leaves her regurgitating lines with only the illusion of dramatic flair. There are no emotional inflections or pauses that make dialogue memorable and personal—that make it a feast for the ears.
The blandness starts with the performances and infects the images as well. Tiwari's images have always been self-contained—they merely illustrate what's written on the page. It might be due to her background in advertising that Tiwari feels a compulsive need to use every scene to drive the story forward. She never allows her scenes to breathe; she never allows a moment or thought to linger long enough to register. When Alok (Addinath M. Kothare), Neha's brother, confesses that he is jealous of her because she can stand up against their father, you, too, like Neha, are taken aback. When did this thought build inside him? Tiwari doesn't feel the need to investigate. She simply drops the confession to dispense information. To coax Sarika into helping her, Neha mentions that, as a stenographer, she must have experienced high-profile cases from the perspectives of both the defense and the prosecution, and that this experience is precisely what Neha wants for her personal mission. It's an enticing thought—one that Tiwari leaves hanging in the air. What does it mean to possess such an experience? Apart from having a good vocabulary—see "purported"—what has Sarika learned from her observations? The advice she shares sounds extremely generic. What does she see from her vantage point as she types the transcripts? She always seems to know what verdict the judge will deliver and which sections will apply. But does she ever make her own judgments? She must have opinions regarding those high-profile cases even if, in the courtroom, she's supposed to function as an objective recorder. What are they? Does she discuss them with her husband?
It's funny that neither Neha nor Sarika displays much curiosity about the other's life. Neha doesn't ask how Sarika became a stenographer, and Sarika never asks whether Neha ever imagined herself in another profession. I was surprised by the scene where Neha inquires about Sarika's husband's condition, which Sarika quickly explains away as the result of an accident, and Neha doesn't follow up with questions like, "What type of accident? When did it happen?" Tiwari's own incuriosity regarding her characters' psychology and personalities reflects the style of filmmaking in System. Her entire priority is the plot, which yields a neat twist that closes open brackets and ties up loose ends. It gives certain lines and expressions their significance and cleverly sums up the film's central idea about justice being a god that isn't easily found or delivered. One has to rig the game and manipulate the system by entering it and gaining knowledge about its workings and mechanisms. Tiwari is so pleased with the satisfying click of puzzle pieces falling into place that she neglects to create memorable characters or memorable moments of performance. If, in her previous films, Tiwari showered care and attention on actors, she now showers care and attention on the screenplay in System—solid in a manner that mistakes cleverness for depth. If this is Tiwari's way of advancing as a filmmaker, then it should be noted that the progression is occurring backwards. Instead of evolving, Tiwari is undergoing a severe devolution.
Final Score- [3.5/10]
Reviewed by - Vikas Yadav
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Publisher at Midgard Times