Karan Tejpal’s Stolen hits the ground running. Jhumpa (Mia Maelzer) is sleeping on a railway station with her five-month-old daughter Champa when the latter gets stolen. Jhumpa’s terrified realization opens the film. Distraught, she rails at a passenger walking by, Raman (Shubham), when she spots him holding Champa’s cap. But he’s just stumbled past the escaping kidnapper. The cap slipped off in the clash. A concerned Raman wants to help Jhumpa out. But his brother Gautam (Abhishek Banerjee), who’s come to pick him up, is keener to pull both of them out of the mess. As empathetic as Raman is, Gautam is snooty and indifferent. Lines of economic power draw a gulf between the brothers and Jhumpa, who’s from a lower social class .
The police insist on Raman staying and submitting his statement to higher officers as he is a witness. Gautam, who is in a hurry, tries to bribe their way out of further involvement. Cops snigger when Gautam explains that they are headed to their mother’s wedding. Raman is more bothered about Jhumpa. He nags the cops to listen to her. They are annoyed that they are unable to summarily file away this case.
On a technical virtuoso level, there’s much to admire in Stolen, despite its occasionally vague social skeins. The camerawork (Isshaan Ghosh, Sachin S. Pillai), sound design (Susmit Nath) and editing (Shreyas Beltangdy) combine in an electrifying, immersive experience. Anxiety ratchets up, we hold our breath. This frenzied energy mirrors the systemic battering down that the country’s disenfranchised experience. At every step, even as they allege a crime, they have to produce proof of their own innocence. A tribal laborer who’s always on the move, Jhumpa isn’t viewed by the cops as a victim but, someone who has brought the predicament upon herself. She’s met with doubt and suspicion. When Jhumpa urges the police to tighten investigation, she’s questioned. Her child got taken away because she was sleeping, they suggest. Her own statements are dismissed, given weight only when the rich add their voices. She's called crazy and unreliable.
The state apparatus is designed to deny those like Jhumpa any backing. What she lacks—power and privilege —dictate her access to rights. Maelzer summons maternal helplessness with such severity that it almost singes the screen. The first time she screams in desperation for her lost child is indelible. Jhumpa is well aware of the extreme odds, prejudice and mistaken perceptions she’s fighting. However, she’s not one to clamp down. Along with Banerjee, Maelzer gets to flash new depth and dimension as the films unravels and secrets spin out.
Jhumpa’s fiery determination to find her child advances with the push of the brothers. Without them, as Raman underlines, she wouldn’t stand a chance. While Gautam tries to wash themselves off, Raman insists on sticking with Jhumpa. The duo’s best intentions don’t always pan out well, mangling several situations. Raman acts on his will, not trusting the cops. His attempts to inject his righteousness into his brother misfire often. Jumping into Jhumpa’s quest attracts bigger trouble than they could have ever imagined. Their obliviousness becomes danger. The stakes escalate. A bid to help lands the brothers in trigger-happy situations. When the law is absent as aid, vigilantism takes over. Gautam and Raman find themselves right in its crosshairs. One instance of theft turns into a conduit for avenging many prior unresolved cases.
Stolen acquires its seething, restless energy on the back of its blazing trio—Maelzer, Banerjee and Shubham. They have this amazing, conjoined rhythm, while being utterly individual. Films like this land when actors fully commit to the immediacy. Shubham is earnest, levelling a genuine affability with hidden scars. But there’s already a layer of loss in his searching glances. A terrific, incisive writer in his own right (Eeb Allay Ooo! , Jal Tu Jalaal Tu), his role here echoes convictions present in his other work. But it’s Banerjee who grounds Stolen’s holistic internal journey. He gets to have an entire trajectory riddled with mobile action-taking. After a pivotal scene of confrontation between the brothers—where we discover what might drive Raman’s intervention in Jhumpa’s crisis— Banerjee’s silent, aiding presence grows to subtly anchor the film amidst the churn. There’s a turn in Gautam’s character, a rattled awakening of conscience in the wake of an accidental hit. He goes from entitled passivity to engagement. It’s a spectacle to witness Banerjee navigate sobering realizations through the immediate, crushing reality. A weight crashes upon Gautam’s soul as he staggers through the full blow of misplaced groupthink.
Some of the screenplay is sketchy in cutting away from Jhumpa’s perspective. There are hints of non-probing apathy towards spurts of public rage, more specifically, the hesitation in examining its roots. A bit more particular etching of the places characters race through could have lent the film a sharper, acute enquiry. But before this bothers, Tejpal's bigger design steals into clear focus. Stolen unrolls from the position of the well-off, as they encounter a terrifying surge of misinformation that robs them of their privilege. In a heated moment, they lose it all, dragged to humility. Angry, misguided mobs chasing the brothers’ car through a rough terrain make for the film’s most propulsive sequences. The spiraling of violence lurches horrifically. Tejpal fashions such a feverish atmosphere that it punches above a curiously withheld political bite. The latter stretches further problematize perceptions, richly widening what we might have previously believed. As Jhumpa eventually re-asserts her voice, Stolen unmasks its shrewdly placed trick of perception.
