(Credits: Far Out / SIMA Studios)

The outwardly simple To Kill A Tiger has received more than its share of attention and accolades since its release, including awards from film festivals and critics’ associations and a nomination for the Oscar in the ‘Best Documentary Feature’ category. Its straightforward approach, setting aside not only special effects but even standard features such as voice-over narration or chapter titles, using only subtle music to ornament a few scenes, successfully draws all the attention to the subject matter and the people involved. It is a beautifully understated piece of cinema and a quietly powerful statement on the exploitation of women.

The director, producer, and screenwriter Nisha Pahuja has often addressed human rights issues in her works, particularly violence against women in India. In 2015, she won the Amnesty International media award for her short film dealing with a notorious gang rape in Delhi, and her 2012 documentary The World Before Her dealt provocatively with the shifting roles of women in India. With her latest feature, Pahuja examines the painful subject of rape in rural India, where it is both shockingly common and seldom reported. It exposes the problematic legal management of such incidents by focusing on a particular case: a 13-year-old girl who is dragged into the woods and raped by three young men in Jharkhand, a state in eastern India. 

The film follows the young victim of the assault, Kiran, and her family as they report the rape to the authorities and prepare for the trial. The situation is complicated by the attitudes of their neighbours, who object strongly to involving the courts, insisting that the matter should be dealt with at the village level. To many, this would involve an arranged marriage between Kiran and one or another of her rapists. Kiran’s father, Ranjit, is angry over the assault and determined to see the legal case through, but he also feels the weight of the blame placed on him by his community. Ranjit and his dogged support of his daughter despite obstacles becomes a central feature of the project.

The legal case, including a year-long trial, is assisted by an advocacy group, the Srijian Foundation, represented by women’s rights activists who come to the village, hoping to not only help in trial preparation but ease tensions within the village. The unobtrusive camera captures their efforts and the indignation of traditional villagers, some of whom place the blame on Kiran. As one of the foundation’s representatives notes, earlier efforts to reduce sexual assault by “empowering women” failed miserably, only increasing the incidence of rape and violence.

The organisation is seen trying to work with the men of the village instead, hoping to sway attitudes without causing further conflict. The stress and actual danger Kiran’s family are enduring becomes gradually clearer as a local official warns of retribution, and the accused men’s relatives issue increasingly direct threats. Director Pahuja deftly captures both the mounting tension in the community and the perceived hopelessness of legal action and the warmth and support offered to young Kiran, especially by her father.

To Kill A Tiger involved over a year’s research, three years of actual filming, and another three years’ worth of editing. In a documentary with so little added material, which concentrates on the people directly involved in the situation, the finished product must be the result of extensive and careful editing in order to tell the story coherently. This made veteran editor Mike Munn absolutely vital to the work’s success. Munn himself found the work so delicate he consulted numerous other editors for ideas on how to manage the footage so that the end result gave an account clearly and effectively. Munn, being responsible to an unusual degree for the final product, also accompanied the director in post-screening interviews.

The project is a Canadian production, but filmed in India and entirely in the Hindi language; the director was born in India and came to Canada as a child. The perspective is a mixture of traditional and modern Indian attitudes and ideas, often in conflict, some of which are culturally specific, some which can be applied to attitudes which are common worldwide. While disapproval comes across for the idea that a rape victim is “tainted” and complicit or that rape should not be treated as a crime, it is expressed by fellow Indians, including the Srijian Foundation members, seldom by the filmmakers – apart from an unflattering portrait of a cynical village official. The range of opinions and shifting attitudes in the community and nearby city are made clear. The film’s content is sometimes affected by the ongoing conflict, as when the crew withdraws from the village at one point, realising that their very presence is causing agitation among the feuding residents.

As the trial of the three accused rapists draws nearer, the film’s attention shifts from the village at large to the victim’s family, finally focusing more intently on Kiran and her father. Here, we see the cost of this break with tradition. Ranjit, a farmer, is paying more than he can afford in legal costs and is forced to neglect his land repeatedly to attend pre-trial functions in the city. Despised by much of the village for going through with legal action and threatened by some, he is isolated and disoriented. He freely admits he is continuing only because of his daughter’s determination to see the case through. Here, the warm and trusting relationship between father and daughter comes across beautifully as Ranjit helps an anxious Kiran prepare to testify and speaks of his modest hopes for his beloved children. He speaks movingly of his daughter’s conviction and courage, despite her young age, and admits that her example keeps him from backing down: “When I think of her, my fear goes away.”

Kiran’s actual testimony involved a series of decisions for the filmmakers. As the director and editor explained following a Toronto Hot Docs screening, the original plan was to change the girl’s name and refrain from showing her on-screen. Some critics viewed a preliminary version in which the girl is only called “J”. By the time the editing began, Kiran was 18, old enough to decide for herself; she chose to appear in the project and under her real name. The one exception was the crucial scene in which Kiran testified in court, describing her attack. The actual courtroom is never seen. Her testimony is heard but over visuals of passing clouds as she quietly and calmly describes in detail her abduction and rape by three men and the cruel actions that followed. In light of the struggles leading to this trial, her bravery in telling her story publicly is painfully clear.

Director Pahuja and film editor Munn are planning a follow-up project, which portrays the ongoing work of women’s rights activist Mahendra Kumar, one of the members of the Srijian Foundation.