“Every shot feels like a painting of solitude”
Cinema is, at its most powerful, a mirror — a reflection of the true face of society. At times, it acts as a weapon; a language of protest that screams against the systemic injustices of the world. Ishtiyak Ahmad Zihad’s debut feature, The Blind Girl and An Elephant (Shakota Dulche), is exactly such a mirror. Celebrated internationally, the work of this 25-year-old director signals the arrival of a new, poetic cinematic language in the landscape of Bangladeshi film.
The story follows three women trapped in a remote village: Momi, who is blind; Hima, a schoolgirl; and Laili, who is pregnant. Their lives are suffocated by the heavy, invisible chains of patriarchy and archaic superstitions that dictate their every move. While Hima and Laili are lost in their desperate attempt to flee this oppression, Momi — who does not see with her eyes but with the depth of her soul — manages to cross the threshold of that cruel reality. Her journey leaves the audience with a haunting, resonant question: is true freedom found in physical escape, or in the profound transformation of how we perceive our world?
Zihad uses the “Elephant” as a deep and central metaphor. In the context of his land, the female experience is portrayed as a gentle giant — harmless and fearless, yet perceived as a looming, dangerous threat by a patriarchal society that seeks to cage it. Momi’s final encounter with the elephant is not just a surreal, dreamlike moment; it is a powerful testament to confronting one’s own suppressed strength and inner light.
The film’s soul lies in the evocative cinematography of Samiul Karim Shuptak. He is a master of shadows, not just light. By capturing the entire film in stark, high-contrast black-and-white, he elevates the melancholy of rural life to a poetic height. Winning the Best Cinematography award at the Shanghai International Film Festival (SIFF), his work proves that silence, patience, and slow, deliberate frames can speak far louder than any splash of color. Every shot feels like a painting of solitude.
While the film is mature in its craft, the storytelling follows a somewhat traditional, linear path. Stories of rural struggle are not new to Bengali cinema, and one might wish for a more daring, experimental narrative structure to match the visual ambition. Yet, Zihad’s choice to prioritize symbolic storytelling over conventional, loud drama shows a filmmaker who values depth over artifice. Choosing such a stable, grounded structure for a debut is a sign of his artistic restraint and maturity.
The Blind Girl and An Elephant is a promising addition to the global map of Bangladeshi cinema. It is a work free from artificial twists and unnecessary noise, marking the path for a new wave of storytelling. With this bold debut, Ishtiyak Ahmad Zihad has proven he is a filmmaker of vision. The film does not merely expose the darkness of our society; it urges us to find the “elephant” within our own hearts. We look forward to more complex, thought-provoking works from him in the days to come.