“How many more lies do I need to tell to prove to everyone that I’m telling the truth?,” a visibly shaken Anjali (Zarin Shihab) asks Vinay (Vinay Forrt) in Anand Ekarshi’s Malayalam film, Aattam (The Play). It’s a loaded and absolutely necessary question for our paradoxical times: when humility is bragged about, solitude is an aesthetic to be exhibited to crowds on social media, and where a victim needs to be perfect, while empathy and nuance are lopsided in favour of the accused. The truth needs to be unblemished and padded with just the right amount of believability. Few want to grapple with the messy, contradictory nature of the truth.Anjali is an interior designer, who has been pursuing her love for acting as a part of a theatre group for over 16 years. She’s the only girl in the cast. Ekarshi addresses it early on in the film when a journalist poses the question to the director of the play in the film – “Why is there just one girl in the cast?” Like most things here, it’s a very deliberate choice. The lead actor in the play, Hari (Kalabhavan Shahjohn) – depicted as a moderately-famous movie star, who joined the group two years ago – invites a few British friends to their performance. They’re so impressed by the play that they offer their villa to the group for a post-performance celebration. The entire group meets at the villa, and the rest of the evening is doused in alcohol and laughs.Ekarshi, whose first film this is, sets up the interpersonal dynamics within the group in an economical and brisk first 25 minutes. Vinay used to be the lead in the play before Hari joined the group, but since then, [because of his popularity], they’ve been doing more shows and more people are turning up to watch. Vinay, who is waiting for his divorce to come through, hasn’t told the group that he and Anjali are in love. Prasanth (Prasanth Madhavan) is in love with Anjali, and when he tries to express it to her, she rebuffs him. Sijin (Sijin Sijeesh) has a bone to pick with Anjali, because he heard she played a role in calling off his marriage to Anjali’s cousin. The elders in the group think of Anjali as her ‘daughter/sister’, or at least that’s what they all say.The morning after the celebration at the villa, Anjali is nowhere to be found. When Vinay tries to call her, she doesn’t pick up. A few days later, Anjali meets Vinay and tells him she was groped that night. She was asleep near a window, when she felt a hand come in. She managed to grab the person’s pocket and car keys fell out. She suspects it was Hari because the keys belong to him. Vinay is angry, and suggests Anjali inform the rest of the group so he can be expelled. Initially, Anjali is hesitant. But Vinay convinces her to let him approach Madan (Madan Babu) – the coordinator of the theatre group. He asks Madan to tell everyone that Anjali approached him with the complaint, and requests him to call the entire group to decide on Hari’s fate.Here’s where Ekarshi’s film – his tribute (and subversion) to Sidney Lumet’s iconic chamber drama, 12 Angry Men (1957) — actually begins. Everyone in the theatre group, barring Hari, reaches Madan’s house. They’re informed about Anjali’s allegation against Hari, and it’s fascinating how each of them responds. There’s initial rage and disgust – someone casually says how he’ll lynch Hari the next time he sees him. Someone tries to ask basic questions – “How does she know it was Hari? Did she see him?” One of them opines how the scandal could smear the name of the theatre group, and no women might want to join them in the near future. Someone talks about a compromise that needs to be reached between Hari and Anjali, while another one of them simply shuts down any talk about a compromise, stating unequivocally that they should just expel Hari and go public about it – it’s the only responsible way.The discussion in Aattam, in many ways, mirrors our social media discourse. Most people tend to come from a place of pure intention, but with varying degrees of empathy, sensitivity, cultural biases, intellectual, and financial limitations. Just like everyone on social media is brought to believe: everyone has a right to an opinion. But are all opinions equally well thought-out? How many of us introspect when our core beliefs are challenged by someone more articulate? It’s exactly what happens when the characters in Ekarshi’s film – all coming from different walks of life – bring together an entire bouquet of thoughts/opinions. Amidst all this talk, how quickly does the main point of contention recede into the background? Is anyone keeping track?In Lumet’s classic film, the contrarian is the hero. All jurors seem to be in a rush to pronounce their judgements and do away with the accused. However, the one who asks everyone to reconsider ultimately ends up swaying the room. In Ekarshi’s version, we see Sijin express his doubts in Anjali’s account. Only a scene later, his bias against Anjali – for breaking up his prospective marriage with her cousin – is revealed. Selvan, an elder in the group, calls Anjali his ‘daughter’, but follows it up with how she shouldn’t be drinking recklessly or dressing in a certain way. The group delves into details of Anjali’s account, relying on their memory, and tries to look for hints of guilt in their conversations with Hari, in the days after the celebration night.Ekarshi introduces another delicious plot-point, where the group stands to gain a significant amount of money with their continued association with Hari, making even the most cocksure theatre group members wobble about their stance about expelling him. As Anjali is summoned by the group, and tiny inconsistencies emerge in her account, it takes only a few moments for all these “allies” to reconsider their stance. Most of the men, with their male-saviour complex, are revealed to be squabbling infants. Some are blinded by the riches they stand to gain, as against backing an imperfect victim with probable ‘holes’ in her story. While the others are simply too egotistical to look beyond their biases and consider the cold facts of the case. Beyond a point, no one’s interested in learning what really happened, only the least obtrusive way to ‘move on’.Aattam is the kind of chamber drama that one would liken to an action film, where characters fight with words [like a Sorkin film]. Ideas are thrown at each other, and while there’s a chance that one is better than the other, it’s more fascinating when both characters have a point. Real life, after all, is full of ambiguous circumstances that prod us to think: “What would I have done?” Barring Vijay Forrt, the others are relatively unknown on the screen, which is a good thing, because we don’t have any preconceived notions about the characters.It was shown recently at the MAMI Film Festival and had earlier won an award at the Indian Film Festival in Los Angeles and will eventually be on an OTT platform.Most Indian films haven’t been able to do justice to the nuances of the #MeToo movement, or showcase the messy aftermath of a sexual harassment investigation. Ekarshi’s film seems to understand and closely observe the ignorance of the Indian man, who hasn’t learned sensitivity and is largely clueless about asking the ‘right’ questions to an alleged victim. Amidst all this, Aattam is sure about one thing though: most Indian men wanting to play ‘saviours’ or ‘allies’ – can’t handle the truth. And when they lose sight of it, nobody wins.