Why Cinema Still Matters reflects on filmmaker Arjunn Dutta’s Deep Fridge, exploring creativity, nostalgia, and audience fatigue. Written by Satyabrata Ghosh, this piece questions whether today’s filmmakers still lead with heart.

Arjunn Dutta’s Deep Fridge, winner of the National Award for Best Bengali Film, arrives at a time when audiences increasingly choose OTT platforms over cinema halls. With nuanced performances by Abir Chatterjee and Tanusree Chakraborty, the film gently explores memory, emotional vulnerability, and the complexities of modern relationships. As India’s cinematic landscape shifts, Deep Fridge raises an urgent question: can contemporary filmmakers recapture the magic, emotional intimacy, and narrative integrity once championed by legendary directors like Bimal Roy, Hrishikesh Mukherjee, Gulzar, Mani Ratnam, and Tarun Majumdar? The film offers hope—reminding us of why great cinema still deserves a seat in the theatre, not just on a screen at home.

Cinema, ultimately, is either good or bad. Bad writing, clumsy direction, and forced performances fade from memory almost instantly. But when a director and their team build convincing cinematic moments—layering them with emotional honesty, sensibility, and craft—the experience lingers. That thought stayed with me after watching Arjunn Dutta’s Deep Fridge on the big screen, the film that recently won the National Award for Best Bengali Film.

But does it matter—truly matter—to praise a film today? The viewer either connects with it, or doesn’t. I connected with Deep Fridge and wish more people would watch it, yet the response to this small, sincere film raises larger questions.

What does it take for a filmmaker to remain committed to their vision? To make a film not shaped by algorithms, trends, or market calculations—but by conviction? The answer is: hardship. Ramesh Sippy spoke recently about making Sholay, recalling how even fifty years later he remains slightly resentful about the forced change to the film’s original ending by the Censor Board. Filmmakers fight countless battles—creative, economic, institutional—before a film even reaches an audience.

And yet, when a film finally releases, the excitement among viewers today feels diminished. The pandemic accelerated a shift already underway: people prefer to wait and watch films online. Theatres are no longer the natural destination for cinema. In this environment, someone like Arjunn Dutta invests not only creative energy but managerial courage to bring his vision alive.

Deep Fridge follows a divorced couple, Swarnava and Mili (played with restraint and depth by Abir Chatterjee and Tanusree Chakraborty), as they navigate unspoken hurt and rediscover compassion. The film opens on a rain-soaked present and closes with a bright morning from their shared past—a poetic reversal that builds emotional closure. This narrative sensibility recalls filmmakers such as Bimal Roy, Hrishikesh Mukherjee, Gulzar, early Mani Ratnam, Tarun Majumdar, Asit Sen, and Ajoy Kar—artists who engaged mainstream audiences without compromising artistry.

One of the film’s most striking strengths lies in its handling of time. Editor Sujay Dutta Roy weaves memory and present reality with seamless precision, evoking the immersive flow of poetry. His work reminded me of what Milan Kundera once expressed through the title of his novel: The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

During the screening, I found myself whispering praise to a friend, who agreed—adding that the writing, too, offered the foundation for such delicacy. Yet editors often remain invisible—their work unnoticed unless it falters. We remember the 50th anniversary of Sholay, but how many remember its editor, Madhav Shinde? 

Changing Viewers, Changing Industry

Watching the premiere of Deep Fridge brought practical questions to mind: will audiences return to theatres? Will they pay high ticket prices? Will exhibitors give films like this—small, thoughtful, craft-led films—the time they need to find an audience?

Cinema has receded from community life. Once there were serpentine queues outside theatres and repeated viewings were common. Even now, when we have time, we revisit films featuring Uttam Kumar, Dilip Kumar, Raj Kapoor, Guru Dutt, Rajesh Khanna, Amitabh Bachchan, Rajnikant, Kamal Haasan, or the works of Hrishikesh Mukherjee, Basu Chatterjee, Gulzar. What keeps these films alive? Why do we watch Pyaasa, Anand, Nayakan, Sholay, Ijaazat, Satya, or Gol Maal repeatedly, yet rarely return to contemporary cinema?

Many say we are visually overfed—but perhaps the deeper truth lies elsewhere.

Where Do We Go from Here?

Earlier, filmmakers were driven by passion, and audiences participated with equal enthusiasm. Even when films faltered, sincerity often created magic. Creativity evolved during scripting, shooting, and editing—not boardrooms.

Today, corporate structures dominate production and distribution. Filmmaking has become an industrial process. Marketing determines releases. Ticket prices alienate audiences. With multiplex economics and streaming strategies, producers recover costs without relying on audience turnout. Meanwhile, theatre owners quietly withdraw from the business altogether.

And yet, despite all this—Deep Fridge exists. It is warm. It is honest. It is made with heart.

Arjunn Dutta’s film deserves audiences—not just praise. If we want meaningful cinema to survive, we must watch it, discuss it, and support those who make it.

Because without that—theatres will darken, not from technology’s triumph, but from our silence.

And cinema deserves better.