Women Filmmakers Chart A Bolder Path At IFFI
By Manu Shrivastava
The afternoon sun slanted through the windows of the IFFIWood auditorium, casting long shadows across a stage where four women sat not as stars, but as architects of stories often left in the margins. Rajni Basumatary, the actor-filmmaker from Assam whose lens catches the quiet aches of her homeland; Fowzia Fathima, the cinematographer whose camera has lit up tales from India's shadowed corners; Rachel Griffiths, the Australian powerhouse known for roles that crack open raw human truths; and Meenakshi Jayan, the Kerala-based storyteller whose films pulse with the unspoken weights women carry. They weren't there to recite lines. They were there to rewrite the script of independent cinema – one where women's voices don't just echo, but command the frame.
The panel, titled "A Global India Through Independent Cinema: A Women’s Panel," unfolded like a film reel unspooling in real time: it started with the spark of an idea, built through the grit of production, and landed on a horizon of possibility. It was the kind of conversation that lingers, the sort that makes one lean in, wondering how these women – mothers, mentors, mavericks – keep the reel turning amid the cuts and fades of an industry still stacked against them.
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| The panelists during the discussion at IFFI 56 |
Fowzia leaned into her microphone first, her voice steady as the tripod she swears by on set. She explained that empathy serves as the core of her process, from the first flicker of an idea to the last frame locked in. For her, filming goes beyond cold mechanics; it involves holding space for the overlooked. She described turning local whispers into global roars, noting how a woman's gaze behind the lens picks up the tremors others miss: a mother's weary shrug, a child's fleeting defiance. Rajni nodded, her own experiences from Assam's hills bubbling up. She added that women notice the small things, the details that stitch a life together, and in their films, those elements become the stories that finally get heard.
It was a thread that pulled the room closer, this idea of empathy as women's secret weapon in a man's game. But as the talk shifted to the ground beneath their feet – representation, that elusive promise of being truly seen – the air grew thicker with hard-won truths. Rachel, with her decades in Hollywood's trenches, offered a wry smile. She observed that more women are calling shots as cinematographers and producers in her world, marking progress, though it remains patchy. She paused, glancing at Fowzia, and encouraged her to share about the collective.
Fowzia's face softened, a rare unguarded moment amid the panel's polish. Back in 2017, the Indian Women Cinematographers’ Collective had been a fledgling group, barely a handful of women banding together against the isolation of a male-dominated craft. Today, it stands nearly 200 strong, from wide-eyed juniors to battle-scarred seniors. She detailed how they mentor and collaborate, providing the support they've craved – not charity, but a ladder they build together. She name-checked two peers shining at this very festival: Shelly Sharma's luminous work in Vimukti, capturing freedom's fragile dawn, and Archana Ghangrekar's warm glow in Shape of Momo, where every bite tells a tale of survival and spice.
Rajni chimed in with a personal nod, recalling how, just two years back, that same collective handed her a lifeline – a cinematographer who turned her vision into celluloid gold. She emphasized that such networks act as lifelines. Meenakshi, drawing from Kerala's fertile soil of state-backed dreams, shared how government funding opened doors for women-led films. Her own Victoria – a quiet storm of female resilience – was born from that pot, though not without thorns. She revealed that men started submitting under women's names, a reality that demands constant vigilance.
The room hummed with recognition. These weren't abstract gripes; they were the daily skirmishes of women who juggle reels and real life. Rachel didn't mince words about motherhood's toll. She described raising three kids amid endless shoots as a juggle that drops balls one never sees coming. She floated ideas born of her own late nights: staggered work weeks, shared loads that let women breathe. Fowzia echoed the ache, admitting how returning to her lens after her son arrived felt like relearning to walk. Yet gratitude edged her voice – for a career that bent but didn't break, for her next big swing, Train, a commercial leap opposite Vijay Sethupathi. She reflected that motherhood sharpened her, making every frame matter more.
On set, where power plays out in whispers and who gets the final cut, the women dissected how actors like them nudge the narrative. Meenakshi, still building her path, confessed the newbie's bind: one takes what roles come, collaborators included. But as she rises, she chooses – and wants more women at the table. Rajni credited OTT's quiet revolution, platforms that hand women meatier parts, not just the side glances. She stressed depth, noting that women are no longer ornaments. Fowzia watched the ripple: women actors stepping into production, expanding the circle of who decides what stories get told. Meenakshi dreamed aloud of producing one day, while Rachel reflected on Hollywood's old guard of women bosses – and the glass ceilings that still spiderweb above them. On pay equity, Rachel stated that men must first own the gap, then step aside.
As the sun dipped lower, the talk veered to the bone of creation: writing from the gut. Rajni rooted her scripts in Assam's scarred earth, generational wounds that demand telling. Her latest features an all-women ensemble probing gender's jagged edges – a choice that flips the frame on its head. Meenakshi mirrored it in Victoria, another female-only cast that raised eyebrows just by existing. When asked why all women, her answer stood firm: why not?
Sustaining the dream, though – that's the reel that often jams. Rachel urged faith in stories that find their crowd, advising to make what burns inside, as the right eyes will come. Rajni laughed softly, recounting her shoestring budgets backed by women producers who bet on heart over spreadsheets. She noted no losses, just stories that pay in ways money can't touch.
The close felt less like an end and more like a fade to credits with promise. Asked for must-watch films, Rachel picked Dangal for its fierce cheer for girls; Fowzia, The Power of the Dog for its unflinching gaze; Rajni, Article 15 and Eye in the Sky for their moral mazes; Meenakshi, Shiva Baby for nailing anxiety's tight coil – and, with a grin, her own Victoria. Then, a spark: Meenakshi praised Australia's forward stride, reminiscing a gem from the Adelaide Film Festival she'd kill to join. Rachel's eyes twinkled. She proposed why dream – let's make it, the four of us. Laughter rippled, warm as Goa's breeze, sealing a pact unspoken but sealed.
In the lobby after, as festival-goers milled with badges and dreams, the weight of their words settled. Independent cinema, they reminded everyone, isn't just films – it's futures forged in the dark, where women like these light the way. At IFFI's 56th edition, against Goa's crashing waves, that light feels brighter, the path surer. And for the stories still waiting in the wings? They're coming. Frame by frame.
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