LPC Assignment

Project submitted by :-
Shreegowri K L
20191BCL0026
Presidency University
Bangalore – 560064
The sanctity of a courtroom is upheld by
reduced theatrics. The sanctity of a
courtroom drama is upheld by steely
objectivity. For the longest time, Section
375 — a film about the contentious rape
laws in India — fulfills both metrics. We
get the slow reeling out of what appears,
at first, an open-and-shut case. The
performances are animated, but firmly
bound in fact. The film builds up its
dissonance towards a susceptible legal
system, pointing out its cracks and
fissures and gaping freeways. But then,
just on the brink of completing that
feeling, it switches back and self-
detonates. Turns out, director Ajay Bahl
was aiming for a plot twist — all while
we thought he was aiming to spark a
conversation.
A successful filmmaker (Rahul Bhat) is
pulled out of his sets and convicted by a
Mumbai sessions court. He has been
accused of rape by a junior costume
assistant (Meera Chopra). The law
stands clear on the matter: the accused
held a position of power over the victim,
sexual intercourse has been established.
Also, this is happening in mid-to-late
2018 — the peak of the Me Too
Movement in India. When the case goes
up for appeal in the High Court,
criminal lawyer Tarun Saluja (Akshaye
Khanna) steps up to the plate. Willingly,
he goes skinning dipping in the hot
waters of public outrage. Sure, he’s
charging a lot for it and doesn’t seem to
care about political correctness, but
those couldn’t be his only reasons to
jeopardize a steady career. What else,
then?

In an earlier scene, we see the seasoned

attorney addressing a class of law
students. “Law is about facts,” he
reminds them. “Justice is abstract.”
Tarun, it becomes apparent, is addicted
to arguing against the motion. His
cynical self-positioning as a literal
devil’s advocate makes him an
engrossing character, but also an unreal
one. He is constantly chewing away at
the verity of the case, even getting his
practicing license suspended at one
point. As though to balance out
Akshaye’s involved handling of the part,
he is matched opposite a visibly zoned
out Richa Chadha. As public prosecutor
Hiral Mehta, Richa gets tragically
outflanked in the courtroom, flaring up
from time to time with an unheeded
‘objection’.

Section 375 is tethered to the

complexities of the legal process, but is
consumed more by what’s happening
outside. Predictably, it paints social
media platforms as the playpens of a
certain polity. Tarun blames Facebook
and Twitter for prematurely— and
permanently — demonizing his client.
In doing so, he ignores the fact that the
man was already convicted by law, so
whatever outrage that followed was
legally validated. Moreover, the film’s
playing up of recurrent #hangtherapist
tweets is biased, and does not square
with the million apologies that floated
around for tainted men on Twitter.
In fact, as the politics of Section 375
gradually comes into view, it loses all
claim on even-handedness. This is a film
too smug about its own neutrality, using
it as a front to sneak in a damaging
conclusion. It’s certainly not the first
film to rally against dubious sexual
politics, and the legal and social
ostracism that follow, but it does so with
an impish broadbrushing of a victim’s
trauma — a blatantly paperback move
from a film that opens with
documentary precision. Section 375
enters the courtroom as a mute
spectator. By the final scene, it has
assumed the Bench.