It has been a month since I watched the movie I Want to Talk in a not-so-packed cinema hall, with just a few people around and the weather outside beginning to turn cold—though not as cold as the Novembers I remember. After that, over the past month, I have gone through multiple academic and personal works, watched a number of movie shows, and read a few academic papers and short stories. Still, today, I only feel the regret of not writing anything about the film I loved watching that day in the cinema hall.
It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that the film has stayed with me every single day this past month, as I keep revisiting the moments I remember from it. In an interview, Shoojit Sircar himself said—something I can’t help but agree with—that the difference between his films and others is like the difference between classical music and pop music; his films are like classical music, which takes time to grow on you.
I Want to Talk begins with a typical corporate setup but with a touch of Shoojit Sircar that makes it more sombre. The background score adds a sense of liveliness while retaining a mundane undertone. Abhishek Bachchan as Arjun Sen, who falls sick in the middle of a meeting and later discovers through a medical report that he has cancer and only a hundred days to live, completely steals the show. He delivers the best performance of his filmography so far.
The story revolves around a deeply personal journey, depicting a man, Arjun Sen, fighting for survival while experiencing all the emotions and conflicts an ordinary person goes through. Sen is not a very likable or admirable character. His flaws—whether being mean to co-workers, not being a good father, or his broken marriage—point towards a man who is conventionally flawed. Even after the detection of his disease, the director doesn’t let the other characters become overly cordial with him; the relationships remain more or less the same. This makes the film feel close to reality, yet takes it far from the moral compass of India and its values.
Unlike other Indian movies that deal with deadly diseases, like The Sky is Pink (2019), this film doesn’t solely revolve around or emphasize the disease and its suffering but goes beyond it. It focuses on an individual, his courage to live, his relationships, and more. This, I believe, has much to do with the space where the film is set—America, often known as a capitalist and individual-centric society where people hardly have time for others. That distance from morality and attachment to others makes this film more effective in terms of storytelling.
Though the film I Want to Talk avoids survival melodrama, it couldn’t escape Shoojit Sircar’s characteristic storytelling style. Indian film critics, who have already written extensively about this film, are quick to call it a middle ground between Sircar’s previous works, Piku (2015) and October (2018). Certainly, it’s the same filmmaker, so the undertones or stylistic influences of his earlier works cannot be overlooked. The ‘Sircarness’ can be seen in I Want to Talk too, but describing it as a mix of Piku and October would be reductive, as this film has its own distinct pace and style. It never feels repetitive or derivative; the storytelling remains fresh and engaging.
Though, having been with this film for the past month, I couldn’t help but think of Sircar’s style. Sircar has a unique and convincing way of showing time in his films. The sense of time is so precise, and the transitions are so smooth that it feels as if events are happening in real-time. The pace of change is very observable; nothing about the protagonist changes suddenly. Rather, there is a process to it that one can trace through objects, people, or the mood of the film.
For instance, in October, when Shiuli is bedridden, Sircar beautifully shows, through Dan and his colleagues’ lives, how time has passed. Everything has changed, but the wait for Shiuli remains the same. In I Want to Talk, too, one can see Sircar’s similar style. Life around Sen changes—one by one, his friends are passing away—but where the camera lies, the protagonist, Sen, whom we follow throughout the film, changes at a very slow, humane, and mundane pace, as if he is waiting for the audience to join him in the process of change. I think this is where the beauty of Sircar’s style lies: the way he deals with time.
Sircar also uses objects to show the passage of time. In this case, the bag Sen carries with him through each surgery, calling it his “lucky bag.” The bag starts off looking new, but as the film progresses, it becomes worn. Similarly, he uses repetitive frames to show how time has changed. For instance, a frame at the beginning of the film shows a window, outside of which we can see Sen and his friend sitting and talking. The same frame appears at the end, after his friend’s death, to show the passage of time and the void Sen has been left with.
One distinctive feature of Sircar’s storytelling is the optimism and hopefulness of his protagonists. Whether it’s Dan from October or Sen from I Want to Talk, both characters exhibit an immense positive outlook toward their wishes and desires, even when the world around them seems deeply pessimistic. This optimism adds nuance to the story, steering it away from being trapped in negativity or turning into a pity narrative with a tone of forced sympathy.
In this way, Sircar is very particular about what he shows us and is aware of the impact a scene can have on people. He is cautious, and his choices are very well thought-out—something that becomes evident when you watch or listen to his interviews, where he passionately talks about the power of storytelling and the responsibility of storytellers.
While discussing the storytelling experience that I Want to Talk offers, one cannot overlook Abhishek Bachchan’s performance in the film. I don’t remember being mesmerized by any of his earlier performances—not even in Guru or Manmarziyaan. I never thought he could pull off a character this well.
From the start of the film to the very end, the physicality of the actor undergoes multiple shifts, and it’s commendable how Abhishek molds himself to adapt to these changes. The tonality of his voice and his facial expressions work in perfect harmony, without a single moment of exaggeration. It felt like watching a completely new persona on screen, though with a familiar face. He truly stole the show, and I somehow agree with the critics who say that it’s Bachchan who shines the most—even more than Sircar.
Though I Want to Talk is likely to become as significant a piece in the years to come as October or Piku is today, Sircar, in this film, does not seem as adept as he was in his earlier works. At times, I Want to Talk feels rushed, and the writing appears more loosely connected compared to his past films. There’s also a noticeable attempt to replicate the humor from Piku, where it was perfectly balanced, but in this film, it occasionally falls flat.
Some emotional moments feel so hurried that I was left with the impression that these scenes were meant to immerse me or even move me to tears, yet they passed too quickly to leave a lasting impact. While the second half efficiently handles the pacing and storyline, the first half feels repetitive and somewhat underexplored, as if there were more creative possibilities that the director chose not to pursue.
But that does not immensely affect the experience one gets after watching the film. Shoojit Sircar, best known for exploring diverse genres and providing a unique touch to storytelling with each of his movies, ensures that the audience receives a fresh cinematic experience with this one too.
I Want to Talk very smoothly sways into you and your subconscious, making it difficult to pinpoint exactly where you felt its impact. Whether it’s the complicated father-daughter relationship, the very optimistic outlook of the protagonist towards his survival, or the mundaneness of an alien place, a hospital, or the protagonist’s house, everything draws you into the storytelling, making you feel immersed or, at times, detached from what the protagonist is feeling in the film. It is unfortunate that this time too, people didn’t flock to theatres to watch this movie, but again, much like Piku or October, people will eventually realize what a gem of a film they missed—the experience of watching it on the big screen.