From its mesmerizing opening sequence to its haunting final shot, P. S. Vinothraj’s Pebbles is a fabulously measured display of restraint and pacing that you just don’t see in American productions. Light on chit-chat but heavy on emotional resonance, Pebbles deceptively hides a profound examination of patriarchal entitlements and long-suffering abuse within an outwardly simple story of a drunkard and his fed-up son taking an extended walk through the rural countryside of southern India. In a scant 75 minutes, and using the long take to perfection, Vinothraj casually follows the pair as they traverse the arid land, allowing us the time and pleasure to take in the vibrancy and character of each scene, encounter, or confrontation with maximum efficiency. Vinothraj’s land speaks with small moments of delightful foreshadowing and bold, spirited storytelling as we shadow and observe the complexities of a very strained relationship. This is beautiful, inspired filmmaking.
Combining influences ranging from Herzog to Italian neorealism, Vinothraj often cleverly disregards standard form in favor of fascinating or unnerving cinematic choices that draw attention to the camera, but also highlight emotional strife between father (played with slobbering menace by Karuththadaiyaan) and son (a spectacular young actor named Chellapandi). It’s in these off-balance moments that the surreal acceptance and hopeful defiance of patriarchal dominance comes to the forefront. Why does this preposterous lout of a man have so much power over his family? Why does any man? Who gives it to him and who can take it away? Vinothra is asking these questions not just of the characters that populate his microcosmic world, but of everyone everywhere. And while it might be a small film filled with small acts, these acts have the power to resonate around the world.
Whether or not Pebbles has a happy ending will likely be up to you, but I can say with certainty that it is one of the most beautifully contemplative ones I’ve seen in recent memory. While the hostility of the land and the absurdity of the situation are both evident and represented by the nastiness of the drunken father, the change that’s capable of emerging from such hostilities, and the regretful silent tolerance of unacceptable behavior lives and breathes throughout the film both within the son, and the sorrow of that wonderfully meditative final shot.
James is a writer, skateboarder, record collector, wrestling nerd, and tabletop gamer living with his family in Asheville, North Carolina. He is a member of the Southeastern Film Critics Association, the North Carolina Film Critics Association, and contributes to The Daily Orca, Razorcake Magazine, Mountain Xpress, and Asheville Movies.