If love came in different shades, Finding Fanny would be an ode to the pastel kind.
The movie is crafted for easy consumption, to be waded through like skiing on butter, peppered occasionally with feelings of betrayal, and anger that take you by surprise simply because they pierce the easy-going atmosphere — like sudden smears of purple or red.
As I settled into my seat with my favourite kind of popcorn (if you must know, its cheeseandcaramelmix), I really had no clue what was in store. I’ve made it a point to consciously stay away from reading about movies that I’m interested in watching.
Deepika’s Bangalore-tinged voice, and the oh-so-familiar sights of the Goan roads and trademark sssslllloooowwwwwww life welcomed me, a light embrace. You already know about the stellar cast, but one cannot be prepared for the masterful skill with which each individual has crafted their characters. There is no right and wrong, no moments of ‘but this doesn’t make sense’ — no unbaked bits that leave behind a raw taste in your mouth.
Ferdie, Rosalina, Don Pedro, Angie and Savio each come with their flaws, all painfully human: Rosie’s protective streak, Ferdie’s child-like vulnerability, Don Pedro’s artistic ruthlessness, Angie’s unbelievably calm acceptance of her fate and Savio’s rough yet brittle exterior. Finding Fanny is like a Marquez-ish novella that I want to go back to again, and again, and again. Preferably with a piña colada in one hand, and a plate of batter fried calamari beside me.