The Disciple movie review & film summary (2021)

Sharad has wanted this since he was a boy. His father trained him extensively, made him knowledgeable beyond his years about the music and its theory, and imparted Sharad with a desperation to be great. Currently, he lives with his grandma, and by day he earns minimal pay converting old classical recordings into new audio formats, archiving music that people hardly listen to anymore, and that he loves. By night, he bikes around Mumbai listening to bootleg teaching tapes from a master named Maai, whose singing advice includes finding purity, perspective, and inner truth. These scenes are shot in dreamlike slow motion, to match the droning of the tanpura, an instrument meant to be support a voice. And these sequences often run for over a minute, forcing the viewer to slow down themselves. Such flourishes add a substantial deal to the story’s approach of getting you inside Sharad's head. 

Tamhane has a brilliant approach to involving the viewer into the film’s many musical sequences, whether one has listened to Indian classical music before or not. At first it’s about setting the stage: before any music is even heard, Tamhane’s framing is already vibrating with people moving about in their chairs, fanning themselves, milling about in small but cumulative ways. (It’s not uncommon during the whole movie for people in the background to walk in and out of frame at meticulous times.) But when it comes to the performance, Tamhane commands your attention not by telling us which musician to look at, but to notice everyone’s expressions. It’s a film with music that's all about faces, namely that of performers, a recognization of how musicians can have their own silent monologues while their hands focus on their instruments. Long before Tamhane’s camera gently pushes into Sharad’s gaze, its expressions going from supportive, humbled, jealous, and insecure, back to focus on his tanpura, and back again, we know that we should be paying attention to him even more than the man warbling his throat at the center of the frame with impeccable breath control and microtonal confidence, his Guruji. 

“The Disciple” is a great example of when filmmaking and acting styles complement each other, and it’s that bond that feels to be a significant part of what makes Tamhane’s film so special, so resonant. On the outside, Modak goes through distinct physical transformation in the film, complementing Tamhane’s decades-spanning narrative than then goes back and forth at a blink. But the inside work is even more compelling: Modak creates an emotional desperation that is as organic as Tamhane’s static camera, the actor repressing a tremendous deal of emotions behind polite smiles and forceful gulps of self-loathing with each failure. Being a good musician requires a certain presence in the moment; the same goes for acting. Modak’s incredible performance, especially when he’s on stage or practicing alone, transcends those two ideas, and achieves the type of purity that Sharad yearns for. 

ncG1vNJzZmivp6x7s7vGnqmempWnwW%2BvzqZmq52mnrK4v46tn55llJ7ApLXPpZxmpZ%2BrtqZ50Z6top2nYn9xfpA%3D