Abohoman, true to its name, flows relentlessly over its movie time, over lifetime, from here to eternity. Moving from past to present, moving over lives intertwined, over star-crossed entities, the best thing about Abohoman is it’s fluidity that takes you through emotions, where you take a dip and can emerge stronger. Rituporno has proved time and again that he is a very sensitive film maker; he can identify the gamut of emotions, sometimes small passing reflections, perhaps comparable only to the range of emotions portrayed through Tagore’s songs. Every character is strong and weak in a very human way. Dipankar Dey’s Aniket looses balance talking at dinner time, going into the washroom, like a love-struck teenager; Mamata Shankar’s Srimoti, pretentiously composed, is seen time and again to get ruffled about seemingly inconsequential things, like when she introduces Shikha to her daughter-in-law (Riya Sen). Ananya Chaterjee’s Sikha is by nature a fire-ball, were her flare ups are charming, her movements melodious, her unpolished passion sensuous, and her muse to Aniket’s creator timeless. The historical references, Binodini, Girish Ghosh, give the director an opportunity to weave cinematic magic. Jishu Sengupta’s Aprotim lends good support in this stage ruled by giants of the acting world. His anguish at his mother’s hurt and understanding of his father’s dilemma is touching. Aniket’s realization of Srimati’s hurt is beautifully depicted when he tells his son how functional it is to work with a medium where you can record, erase and re-record unlike life or celluloid. Srimati’s acceptance comes with Aniket’s death. In all this, the effort to create a relation between Apratim and Sikha, when the two meet after Aniket’s death or the deliberate haze over Apratim relation with his wife left an unfinished taste; but then what’s a good movie, if it does not succeed in throwing up numerous interpretations?