4 Years, on Amazon Prime Video, is Poetry in Frames

How often do filmmakers of our time reimagine, or reinvent how they narrate a story? When they do so, how often does it stem from an unquenchable desire to tell that story, and not a forceful need to stand out? 4 Years, a Malayalam film streaming on Amazon Prime Video, is a rare film that unfurls like a poem on screen – abstract, yet nuanced; minimalist, yet vibrant. 

Director Ranjith Sankar has, through his filmography, experimented much – exploring thrillers, romance, horror, drama, and comedy, even examining a single character’s mind, but none of it seems as deeply personal and brutally honest as 4 Years. The movie doesn't follow conventional tenets of screenwriting or filming, choosing to wander aimlessly, placing staccato notes of monotonousness amidst static frames in muted colours. Yet, all of it, even in its imperfections, carry a heart that’s lulls you slowly into spaces its protagonists - Vishal and Gayathri – inhabit.

4 Years is a writer’s movie through and through. There are many things that work in its favour - performances, music, and cinematography, but at its core is writing that bothers not to impress, or narrate, but only to recreate moments in time that all of us have walked through. The essence of 4 Years is not in building flashes that we relate to, but in invoking deeper feelings that we can resonate with, and in that endeavor, few movies from our recent past have fared as well as this one has.

The movie begins with a two-minute montage that showcases the nooks and corners of a monsoon drenched college campus, one which Vishal and Gayathri are about to leave, after having studied there for 4 years. In the ensuing two hours, we’re taken through moments of their last two days together at that campus town alongside a brooding score and soothing visuals that invoke petrichor and silences that swing between awkwardness and longing.

In a character that carried the risk of slipping into a caricature at many points, Sarjano Khalid excels as Vishal. His interpretation of the angry young man who has lost his way is intense, portraying shades of toxic masculinity yet not making us hate him. He makes us look at him with paternal affection, rooting for him even as we see his flaws. We wish for the restlessness in his movements and the passion in his eyes to find what they frantically look for, only to realize that he is that rebel without a cause. Priya Prakash Varrier’s Gayathri, in contrast, risked turning a cliché. Priya brings in maturity that explains both Vishal’s obsession with her and her dismissal of it. It is marvellous to see how far Priya has grown from her debut wink-girl days as she portrays Gayathri’s confidence, desire, and confusion with grace. Gayathri is the weaker of the two characters written by Ranjith Sankar, without as many moments of nuance to explain what goes on in her head as the days unfold, yet Priya’s vulnerability and innocence give Gayathri a sense of unpredictability that we wouldn’t mind living with.

4 Years would have been half the film if not for Sankar Sharma’s magnificent music. The songs and score seamlessly blend into the narrative, enhancing its impact. Sharma celebrates the creative liberty the director seems to have given him: a trance-inducing track during the opening credits (“En Kanavil”), acoustic guitars (“Niramizhikal” and “Vaanile Thaarake”), solo vocals (“Akale Hridayam”) and choruses that rise to a crescendo along with the screenplay (“Kaalam Pokum Mumbe”). Interestingly, six different lyricists, including the writer-director himself have been credited for this soundtrack. While the lines from "Akale Hridayam" may haunt you, for all the rest, it is the music that reverbs, letting the lyrics remain functional in the backdrop.

Cinematographer Salu K Thomas is the director’s next big ally in 4 Years. Salu’s frames couldn’t be more different from his most notable work so far, The Great Indian Kitchen (2021), where his canvas was confined to indoor spaces. Here, he seems liberated, filming the beauty that a rain-drenched hilltop college campus from Kerala carries. The editor, Sangeeth Prathap, generously sprinkles many shots that we may deem unnecessary, between conversations or footsteps, all in line with the way the screenplay is, often aimless, mostly pointless, but never heartless.

If only 4 Years had been shorter by at least a quarter of its current runtime, it would have been a splendid cinematic experience. As the writer-director indulges in his labour of love, some moments tend to overstsay their welcome, nudging at our impatience as we watch in anticipation for an ending that could be anyone’s guess. It is this excess lengththat takes away some of the charm from this movie. 4 Years is the kind of film that you can never be passive about – you’d either delve into it, letting the pace of its movement slow you down as well; or you’d fly above it, finding it difficult to endure. It is poetry of an intangible nature, which requires leisure and a free headspace to drown in. It may not be the most astute of poems you’ve read, and might even be messy in parts, but nevertheless, it is a beautiful mess.