Saaya (2003)
Cast: John Abraham, Tara Sharma
Director: Anurag Basu
Music Director: M.M.Kreem
Synopsis: Impressively mounted reworking of Dragonfly has a touch of class
Reviewed by: Faiz Khan

 

Saaya (2003)

Bollywood has never been shy about borrowing ideas from Hollywood. For years, filmmakers preferred the polite euphemisms of "inspiration" or "adaptation" rather than admitting where their stories originated. Mahesh Bhatt once defended the practice by arguing that the industry simply could not afford the rights to foreign material. Perhaps. But one cannot help wondering what became of originality.

Saaya is yet another film built upon a Hollywood foundation, this time Kevin Costner's Dragonfly. The similarities are unmistakable. Yet, unlike many such unofficial remakes, Saaya succeeds because it understands the emotional core of its source material rather than merely reproducing its plot.

Dr Akash (John Abraham) and his wife Maya (Tara Sharma) are happily married and expecting their first child. Both are doctors. When devastating floods strike the Burma border region, Maya volunteers to join the relief effort despite her pregnancy. Tragedy follows when she is presumed dead in an accident, although her body is never recovered.

Unable to come to terms with his loss, Akash buries himself in his work. Strange occurrences soon begin to invade his orderly world. Doors move mysteriously, projectors spring to life in empty rooms, voices whisper in the darkness, and Maya herself appears to him in fleeting visions. Children who have experienced near-death experiences insist they have met her, all delivering the same message—that she is trying to reach him.

As impossible as it seems, Akash gradually begins to question whether there truly exists a bridge between the living and the dead.

The greatest strength of Saaya lies in its restraint. Anurag Basu resists the temptation to transform the material into a conventional Bollywood ghost story packed with screaming apparitions, comic diversions or melodramatic subplots. Instead, he allows the mystery to unfold patiently, concentrating on atmosphere rather than shocks.

The narrative remains focused throughout, with very few unnecessary diversions. Even the songs feel organically woven into the story rather than imposed upon it. The pacing is deliberately measured, but the mystery develops steadily enough to remain consistently engaging.

Although Basu is working from an existing blueprint, he deserves credit for creating genuine atmosphere. The scenes inside the house are quietly unsettling, while his recurring use of water as both a visual motif and symbol of life and death adds an extra layer of emotional resonance. Rain dominates the film, becoming almost another character, subtly reinforcing Maya's lingering presence and the circumstances surrounding her death.

Where the screenplay is less convincing is in Akash's internal conflict. We are repeatedly told that he must learn to believe in the impossible, yet he rarely appears genuinely sceptical. From very early on, he seems almost convinced that Maya is communicating with him, which weakens the intended struggle between science and faith.

The film belongs almost entirely to John Abraham. Present in virtually every scene, he delivers easily his finest performance to date. Gone is the wooden newcomer; in his place is an actor displaying surprising restraint, vulnerability and confidence. It is a quietly effective performance that suggests far greater potential than many had previously imagined.

Tara Sharma has comparatively little screen time but leaves a warm impression, while Mahima Chaudhry is excellent as Akash's close friend. Refreshingly, Basu avoids the predictable temptation of turning her into a romantic replacement for Maya. Their relationship remains one of genuine friendship, and Mahima conveys both compassion and quiet grief with considerable conviction.

Technically, the film is polished throughout. The cinematography is handsome, the background score highly effective, and M.M. Kreem's understated music complements the film rather than overwhelming it. Even the parrot deserves special mention, almost stealing several scenes through its unnerving reactions to Maya's unseen presence.

Perhaps Saaya's greatest problem lies not within the film itself but in the way it was marketed. Audiences expecting another Raaz or Bhoot will be disappointed because this is not a conventional horror film. It is a supernatural mystery with romance and grief at its centre rather than cheap shocks or graphic horror.

That may limit its commercial appeal, but it should not diminish its achievement. Saaya is an intelligent, atmospheric and surprisingly mature supernatural drama which, despite its borrowed origins, succeeds on its own terms.

It deserves a far larger audience than the formulaic candyfloss that usually dominates the box office.