Glorify the Woman -- Only when she is Symbolic, Silent, Distant

This is not cinema that seeks empathy—it demands confrontation, defies simplicity.

By Benjamin Joseph

Aneek Chaudhuri’s The Place Once Known as Earth and We, Homo Sapiens, is a documentary that defies simplicity. It doesn’t try to persuade through facts or political slogans but through the slow, unsettling rhythm of its imagery. This is not a documentary that seeks empathy—it demands confrontation. The confrontation is with faith, patriarchy, and the centuries-old structures that hide their cruelty behind sacred words and rituals.

At its heart, The Place is an inquiry into misogyny embedded in religious institutions—how religion, across cultures and continents, has not merely coexisted with gender oppression but has actively sustained it.

The film moves between India and Italy, creating a transnational dialogue on faith’s complicity in patriarchy. It doesn’t isolate Hinduism or Christianity; rather, it places them on a parallel plane of hypocrisy. A priest blessing a young woman in an Indian temple feels eerily similar to a Catholic father whispering sanctity inside a confessional booth—the language of holiness overlaps with the language of control.

Chaudhuri uses this global lens not as an exotic contrast, but as a mirror. The documentary connects the ritual worship of Goddess Durga in Bengal with the adoration of the Virgin Mary in Italy—two divine feminine figures whose sanctity often becomes a justification for the subjugation of real women. The irony is not lost on the filmmaker. Through layered imagery and deliberate pacing, Chaudhuri reveals how religious iconography glorifies the woman only when she is symbolic, silent, and distant.

The real woman—flesh, voice, and desire intact—is often feared, restrained, and punished.

Visually, the film has a poetic austerity. The camera lingers on gestures: women lighting incense sticks, a priest sprinkling holy water, a clay idol dissolving in a polluted river. Each image breathes longer than it should, allowing discomfort to build.

There are few talking heads, and even fewer moments of resolution. Instead, the film drifts—almost meditatively—through voices of women recalling their experiences within patriarchal faith systems. Some of these recollections are hauntingly personal, others are philosophical, yet, together, they form a tapestry of collective exhaustion.

One of the film’s strengths lies in its refusal to shout. Chaudhuri does not dramatize. He observes.

He allows patriarchal absurdities to unfold within their own sanctified spaces. The film’s tone is closer to that of an elegy than a protest. It is mournful, reflective, even spiritual in its own questioning. This tonal ambiguity is what makes The Place more than a social critique—it becomes a work of existential inquiry.

However, this artistic restraint is also what holds the film back at times. Its abstraction and meditative tempo, though effective in moments, risk alienating viewers who look for a more structured narrative or emotional crescendo. The film demands patience, and not all audiences will have it. There are points where one wishes Chaudhuri would puncture his silence with a stronger editorial voice, perhaps a contextual anchor or a more distinct narrative.

Still, the documentary succeeds where it matters most—in provoking reflection. Its big triumph is its subtle universality. By intercutting Indian and Italian contexts, it quietly dismantles the illusion that misogyny is a cultural problem. It is, rather, a human condition—a recurring sin masked by sermons and rituals. The film’s concluding sequence, where the image of a decaying Durga idol fades into the soundscape of church bells, lingers long after the credits roll.

Technically, The Place is minimal but effective. The sound design uses silences and ambient noises—bells, chants, the hum of traffic—to build a spiritual tension that feels both sacred and suffocating. The editing, at times, feels discontinuous, perhaps deliberately so, mirroring the fragmentation of women’s identities within patriarchal spaces.

In essence, The Place Once Known as Earth and We, Homo Sapiens is a deeply personal yet globally resonant work. It is not a film that provides answers; it provokes questions about belief, morality, and complicity.

Aneek Chaudhuri’s direction walks a thin line between spiritual cinema and social critique, and though it occasionally leans too far into abstraction, its sincerity is undeniable.

For those willing to enter its world of quiet rebellion, The Place offers a raw, meditative experience—a philosophical dialogue with faith and femininity. It may not move everyone emotionally, but it will certainly leave them thinking, questioning, and perhaps even uncomfortable.

Verdict: A visually poetic, intellectually provocative exploration of the misogyny sanctified by religion—flawed but fearless. This documentary may not achieve perfection, but it achieves relevance, and that is a rarer triumph.

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Benjamin Joseph is an independent film critic and cultural theorist based in London, known for his incisive analyses of global cinema that blend social commentary with a deep understanding of visual language. A regular contributor to CineScope Review, Benjamin has covered major international film festivals including Venice, Rotterdam and Busan. His writings often focus on how filmmakers reinterpret themes of identity, gender, and faith within shifting socio-political landscapes. 

Photos courtesy Aneek Chaudhary.