The Lunchbox: Old School Anonymity Softens New World Discontent | Far Flungers

Iñárritu explored such urban loneliness in “Babel” (2006), connecting disparate peoples across the world through the passing and use of a rifle. In that film, the characters were unable to communicate, resulting in a crowded world full of language barriers and silences. In Mendes’ “Revolutionary Road” (2008), we watch a couple fantasize about the American Dream, first as a way to find direction, then as a way to avoid reality. In Bahrani’s “Man Push Cart” (2005) we watch New Yorkers meeting for bagels and coffee, meeting for drinks, while maintaining a distance from each other. In Ephron’s movies, we follow couples who meet via distant relationships before letting fate bring them together. Here, we watch one man who grieves through Bollywood reruns, a woman who longs for a smile from the husband who seems to drown himself in work, an orphan who hustles his way through his projects and marriage, and exhausted dutiful women who stay by their ill husbands’ bedsides. In all of these cases, we see yearning; unquenched thirst for something as simple as a hug. We witness so many relationships, so many smiles, yet so much loneliness.

Part of the joy in this film is the wholesome goodness of almost all the characters. I like watching them because—even the ones with sharp edges in their dispositions—they lack malice. Rather, they are contending with a system far, far greater than them, be it the impositions of city life, or something even greater, like mortality. 

Further, a few points in Batra’s work really stand out. He directs eyes so well, as each of the characters think and process. Kaur pauses. Her eyes glance from side to side as she reflects. Khan’s eyes have a fixed, reserved expression in every moment. Siddiqui stares, grinning. His script bounces so well across time within scenes adding dimensions to moments already emotive. The characters relish in flourishes, in the way they might chew words before speaking, or fold their legs as they sit, or even close a window. Those extra steps give this film a life that in other movies might be distracting. Here, the film takes its time to unfold each scene slowly, in an environment always reliant on speed. 

And that slow, deliberate unfolding recalls the film’s implicit lesson: take a moment to give or receive a favor, enjoying the taste in every morsel. Better than that, cultivate your relations, with old school care and compassion.  Otherwise, as we race against time, we always lose.