A courtroom drama usually offers at least some of the following elements: a fiery orator, high stakes,

an evolving case, thrilling arguments and some degree of resolution—even if it’s not a happy one.
“Court" offers none of th ese elements. The oration from the lawyers practically dares you to stay
awake. The case itself is jaw-dropping in its staidness. The arguments are routinely filled with jargon,
and this jargon may even be irrelevant. For most of its 116-minute runtime, a resolution appears
quixotic.

Nutan ( Geetanjali Kulkarni ), who couldn’t be bothered with the plight of Narayan or the logic of the
case.

Together they’re in front of Judge Sadavarte (Pradeep Joshi), who doesn’t care for anything except
upholding his archaic morals and interpretation of the law. In the funniest scene in this surprisingly
funny film, the Judge refuses to hear a case because the plaintiff, a woman, is wearing a sleeveless
top. There are times when it feels as though the real accused in "Court" are India's judicial system
and society.

Tamhane takes the opposite means to achieve a similar end. His script, carefully structured but not
gaudily so, considers the characters’ lives outside the courtroom as essential to comprehending what
they do once inside it. This approach is integral to the movie’s humanistic tone.

No character is a villain hell-bent on destroying Narayan’s life. They are all just cogs in an unfair
machine.

There is a moment where it feels like “Court” could end.

The acting elevates the words on the page and makes them sing. Gomber, who also produced the
film, brings a sense of lumbering calm to his affluent lawyer character. At one point, after being
shockingly reminded of what a regressive environment he lives in, he breaks down. It’s not just his
sadness that’s moving; it’s his exhaustion.

In the case of the woman who plays the deceased’s widow, it’s eerie how unaffected the scene is
before you realize that it’s reality. (The woman is widowed in real life. Her husband was a manhole
worker.)

tilizing lengthy, static takes.

Scenes continue a few seconds or even minutes after the point where other filmmakers might have
opted to cut. This ends up adding to the film’s authenticity; the action doesn’t feel directed by force
as much as it feels captured by fluke. It’s also a showcase for the impeccable detailing in the film’s
environment

That, perhaps, is why “Court” ends up being a great courtroom drama: it treats the audience as both
witness and jury and lays out a sprawling argument for them to ponder over. It’s hard to shake this
one off long after the credits have rolled.
LAWOCTOPUS

‘Court’ a Marathi movie, has everything to offer to its viewers. Directed by Chaitanya Tamhane, a
young Indian filmmaker from Mumbai, the film is based on the criminal charges against a Marathi
folk singer Narayan Kamble (Vira Sathidar). Kamble must be in his seventies. His appearance is
simple, and demeanor energetic and straightforward. He writes and performs poems at public
gatherings, on streets and at protest sites. He gives private tuitions to school-going children to earn
his bread and butter.

The genius of ‘Court’ lies in its details, packed with the fierce yet simple arguments of the lawyers,
the wit and humour of the judge and the nervousness of the witnesses in the witness box.

Narayan Kamble and the Truth of The Indian Criminal Justice System Narayan Kamble was performing
at the ‘Wadgaon Massacre Protest Cultural Meet’, where he sings the songs of resistance which he
wrote. His songs depict the class struggles, the pain and sufferings of the marginalised and the agony
of the poor. They are about mass awakenings and questioning the oppressive governments.

Kamble is arrested on the charges of abetment to suicide of Vasudev Pawar, a young manual
scavenger who lived in the Sitla Devi slum area. According to the police, Narayan Kamble once
performed in the vicinity, and his songs led to Vasudev’s suicide.

As the trial paces up, the charges against Kamble emerges as weak, and he is granted conditional bail
with an exorbitant bail bond. A few days later, Kamble is arrested again on fabricated charges under
section 124A of the Indian Penal Code, 1860 (sedition) and the Unlawful Activities Prevention Act,
1967. The story of Kamble is the story of the Indian criminal justice system, its approach towards the
justice delivery system, the systemic prejudices of the public prosecutors and the ill-treatment of the
accused by the judicial system. Millions of Indians are put behind bars on false and fabricated
charges. Millions await justice, and millions of prisoners are behind bars with no one to represent
them in the court. In many instances, the bail amount is exorbitantly high, and the accused remains
behind bars with no means to pay the bail bond.

ystemic Prejudices of the Public Prosecutor The systemic prejudices of the state counsel are
commonly evident in cases where the accused is charged with offences against the state; instead of
arguing on the merit of the case, personal comments are made against the accused with the mala
fide intent to tarnish their image before the judge. Comments like extremist, terrorists, Maoists etc.
negate the legal principle that a person is assumed to be innocent until he is proved guilty. In criminal
cases, the state is the party and it is represented through public prosecutors. These prosecutors are
the officers of the court and they should assist the court in the administration of justice. Public
prosecutors in our country lack expertise in the subject. There is a need to train them better and
sensitise them about the issues and concerns of the marginalised and oppressed groups.

When the Brilliance of Cinema Meets the Indian Justice System The justice wheel is comprised of the
police, the state (prosecution and investigating agencies) and the courts. Chaitanya Tamahane’s
debut film ‘Court’ shows all the spikes of the justice wheel in great detail. It also shows the rampant
ill practices in the police department. Pradeep Shelke, the investigating officer, produces the same
witness in all four cases he had been investigating in the past two years; such witnesses are known as
‘stock witness’.

The film is aesthetically pleasing and brilliant in its approach, as it shows the personal lives of both
the lawyers and the Judge. Vinay Vora, defence counsel for the accused Narayan Kamble, is from a
well-off family and specialises in criminal justice and Human Rights. As a young lawyer, his
commitment is motivational. Nutan, the public prosecutor, has a busy home life, too; when she
returns from work, she picks up her child from school, cooks meals for the family and occasionally
goes to the theatre with her family. As the summer holidays begin, Judge Sadavarte sets himself for a
vacation with his joint family. Each of these scenes in the movie makes it more realistic in its
approach. Courtroom discussion gets heated at times when the defence lawyer and state counsel are
at loggerheads.
NEW YORK TIMES

The wheels of justice grind slowly and mercilessly in “ Court ,” Chaitanya Tamhane ’s quiet,
devastating critique of the antiquated Indian legal system.

Backed by a troupe of musicians, he sings a forceful song urging everyone to rise up against
“religious, racist, casteist and nationalist jungles.” Midway through, Narayan is arrested.

The remainder of the movie observes his protracted trial. A travesty of justice that another
filmmaker might have directed as a farce, the work has a gravity, a measured pace and a detachment
reminiscent of a Frederick Wiseman documentary — “Court,” however, is fictional.

The Mumbai courtroom, in which the white-bearded Narayan dispassionately listens to charges that
could land him a 20-year prison sentence, is a social microcosm of a country mired in hidebound
colonial traditions, class prejudice and corruption. In a public arena, Narayan is a forceful, charismatic
advocate for social change. As a Dalit, he belongs to a caste once considered “untouchable,” and is
treated by the judge and the prosecutor as an eccentric rabble-rouser and public nuisance. His young
defense lawyer, Vinay Vora (Vivek Gomber), seems to be the only person interested in doing more
than going through the motions of courtroom etiquette.

Because Narayan has long been seen as a political troublemaker, his guilt is presumed, and the movie
gives you a queasy sense of how easy it is for rebellious public figures in India to find themselves on
the wrong side of the law.

For the public prosecutor, Nutan (Geetanjali Kulkarni), a smug middle-aged woman obsessed with
obsolete judicial rules, the trial is just a formality to silence a gadfly. The sole witness she produces
who recalls hearing the song has testified in similar cases and obviously been coached.

The lack of evidence doesn’t prevent the trial from dragging on for weeks, many of them spent going
over laws that date to the 19th century. The judge, Sadavarte (Pradeep Joshi), puts on a studiously
neutral face but voices no opinion. His primary goal is to keep the trial moving.

Time and again, the camera draws back to offer panoramic shots of Indian life in the streets or in the
courtroom. Scenes are drawn out longer than they need to be, the better to evoke a complex social
mosaic and convey a stately overview of Indian society. Late in the film, the courtroom is emptied,
the lights are turned off, and the camera lingers in near-total darkness to contemplate another day of
legal injustice.
Contrasting lives

Judge

Critique of Indian judicial system

Achievements of a film

Cinematic

Lengthy

Winner of two major awards at the 2014 Venice Film Festival and India’s official entry for Best
Foreign Film at the 2016 Oscars, 28-year-old Chaitanya Tamhane’s first feature, Court , is not a typical
courtroom drama but a devastating look at the failings of the judicial system in India.

Court does not hit you in the face with the message it wants to deliver, but is subtle and understated.
There is an absolute lack of urgency or emotion in the court proceedings and, you might also say,
little energy, yet it is a film that says a lot without appearing to.

The pacing of the film is slow, mirroring that of an actual trial. I thought the movie brought to light
powerfully how colonial era laws, and a plodding, insensitive court system, can be used to quiet less
prominent voices that are unpopular in mainstream, or middle class, India. Not to give away the plot,
but there is also a much broader critique of contemporary middle class society and the tensions
within it. I would encourage lawyers, particularly young lawyers and students to watch the film. It’s
not Bollywood standard fare, but it’s worth the watch.

songs, in Marathi, urge the common people to know one’s enemy during these tough times:

Jaan, Jaan, Jaan…dushmana jaan re…Kathin aala kaad…Maati se phute naal re

The final scene captures the judge snoozing when children gather around him and startle him with
their cry. The annoyed judge slaps the kid closest who is a second late to run off and goes back to his
snooze. The court like the judge, is in a state of slumber. It does wake up at times when the cries get
too loud, when the cacophony jars the tranquillity, slaps a verdict, punishing the most vulnerable and
convenient, acquitting the rest and goes back to its state of slumber.

Justice is accidental in an Indian court but to dole out injustice requires collaboration and careful
orchestration.