A Quiet Portrait of Urban Survival and Female Agency

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MOVIE REVIEW
Songs of Forgotten Trees
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Genre: Drama
Year Released: 2025
Runtime: 1h 17m
Director(s): Anuparna Roy
Writer(s): Anuparna Roy
Cast: Naaz Shaikh, Sumi Baghel, Bhusan Shimpi, Ravi S Mann, Pritam Pilania, Lovely Singh
Where to Watch: shown at the 2025 Venice Film Festival

RAVING REVIEW: Anuparna Roy’s feature debut is as modest as its 77-minute runtime suggests, yet its quiet emotional force persists long after the final frame. The film follows Thooya, a migrant actress trying to carve out a place in Mumbai while struggling to survive, and Swetha, a corporate worker who sublets a temporary home from her. The premise seems straightforward, but Roy is far more interested in the inner lives of these women than in melodrama or plot mechanics. What emerges is a deeply humane portrait of two individuals who find each other in a city that rarely slows down long enough to notice anyone.

From the outset, the film refuses easy labels. Thooya is neither exploited nor glamorized for her choices; instead, she’s presented as a complicated young woman who leverages whatever resources she can in a competitive, often unkind environment. Naaz Shaikh delivers a performance that’s raw yet restrained, carrying the film’s emotion with a mix of vulnerability and defiance. Opposite her, Sumi Baghel’s Swetha initially feels like a foil—a corporate job, seemingly more stable. Still, Roy peels back layers to reveal someone just as lost in this world, albeit in a different way.

The film’s greatest strength is its patience. Instead of rushing to establish conflict or leaning on contrived drama, it lets moments breathe: a meal, a hushed late-night conversation, a passing glance that suggests volumes about trust and fear. Mumbai is not just a backdrop; its noise, density, and energy frame every interaction, contrasting the chaotic exterior with the fragile, private world these women create inside four borrowed walls. Roy’s script never needs to state that the city can chew people up; we feel it in how Thooya hesitates before answering her phone or how Swetha lingers in silence after a long day.

Those looking for a clear narrative arc or a cathartic climax may find its understated approach challenging. The connection between Thooya and Swetha is tested as personal histories and vulnerabilities rise to the surface, but Roy avoids explosive confrontations. Instead, she focuses on the slow, uneven process of opening up to another person after years of self-protection. It’s a choice that makes emotional sense, even if it leaves the film feeling almost too delicate at times.

That delicacy, however, is also its triumph. Roy’s background in literature and activism is evident in the film’s depth. Beneath its intimate scope are pointed observations about class, gender, and the migrant experience in India. The fact that Thooya and Swetha’s friendship is tender rather than competitive feels quietly radical in a culture (and cinematic tradition) that often pits women against each other. Here, empathy is the rebellion. Their relationship is not romanticized or sensationalized—it’s simply allowed to exist, messy and authentic, on its own terms.

The supporting cast adds to the focus without detracting from it. Brief appearances by men in their lives—some well-meaning, others opportunistic—highlight the precariousness of their situation without turning them into victims. Mumbai itself feels like a third character, its relentless rhythm underscoring how easy it is to feel unseen in a metropolis. Roy and her team, working with limited resources, find beauty in the mundane.

As a debut feature, it also hints at where Roy could grow. There are moments where the pacing borders on overly restrained, and a few scenes feel repeated rather than developed further. Some viewers might wish for a fuller sense of Swetha’s life earlier in the film. Still, these are minor in a work that so confidently carves its own path. Roy’s voice is distinctive, and her commitment to telling marginalized stories without pandering or moralizing feels needed.

What makes the film stand out is how it frames survival as something more than just endurance. Both women carry wounds and compromises, but the narrative doesn’t reduce them to symbols or morality tales. Instead, it’s about the small, hard-won gestures of connection: offering a place to stay, listening without judgment, daring to trust someone else with your story.

By the end, there’s no grand revelation. Life doesn’t work that way, and Roy honors that truth. What the film offers instead is a sense of recognition: that even in the most unforgiving environments, it’s possible to find someone who sees you. For a debut feature made on a shoestring budget while juggling multiple day jobs, that achievement is remarkable.

SONGS OF FORGOTTEN TREES has a softness and quiet story that asks for patience. For those willing to meet it on its own terms, it offers an empathetic and deeply human experience. It’s a small film with a big heart—one that suggests Anuparna Roy is a filmmaker to watch, not because she chases spectacle, but because she understands how extraordinary ordinary lives can be when they’re truly seen.

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[photo courtesy of RIVER TALE FILMS, ROMIL CASTING, FLIP FILMS, NUBE STUDIO – NUBE CIRRUS]

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