This is 2012, and we are almost at the fag end of it. It is of huge appreciation the way Indian cinema have rose to a crescendo, the west could well be envy of. The latest in the serving being Chittagong – a riveting document of the revolutionary rise, fall and foundation in the erstwhile undivided India. History would always be anecdotal in its narration often by-passing the true intellect, spirit and vividness of a time which remain valid merely as a few dates and years.
The fact that each and every generation has it’s own hunger stemming from the created and forceful circumstances which has it’s evidence in an individual’s self construct – physical and cerebral. Undivided Bengal has always been the breeding ground of noted staunch revolutionaries – Masterda Surya Sen remains etched in the memory of India as the Chittagong armoury haul with a band of life-dedicated teenagers. The movie quite easily gives birth to the siege amidst an individualistic back-drop called Jhunku. It is through the eyes of this youngest revolutionary the unfolding of a mortal self happens.
The unrequited submission to a commitment, with all the emotional adventures that a person in his early teens would go through is spellbinding to say the least. Spread across the lush and sprawling landscapes of Bengal, it is shivering to see one of the most gruesome blood-bath of young guns in front of a barbaric wrath. The highs and lows throughout the struggle for existence and the sheer majesty at heart of a prolific individual in the making of a revolutionary remains the soul of the film – bereft of the iconic masterda.
An aptly timed film, Chittagong delves into a depth of self discovery in these times of circumstantial despair and agony, it is worth remembering our historical selves, to whom we salute and stand by. Chittagong would dissolve in the history of time as one of the most passionate doctrine of Indian revolutionary diction.