Guava Express

Guava Express, by Ankit Singha, is one fascinating short film. A psychedelic, meandering detective comedy – not unlike works such as Inherent Vice or The Long Goodbye (two of this critic’s all-time favourites) – this fever dream follows a character simply referred to as “hero” by the unusual narration. Nothing specific takes place within the story; a man simply goes about the day, occasionally inspecting things, and then eventually he eats a slice of guava laced with drugs. This is around the halfway point of the film, at a moment wherein the audience is already confuddled and disorientated. But what follows is even more experimental and hallucinogenic. This is an incredibly amusing piece; always entertaining without having any particular drive or aim. It’s original yet inspired; bizarre and self-deprecating.

Let’s begin by discussing the camera techniques at play. Stylistically, you can divide this movie into two halves when it comes to what the audience is being shown. 50% is shot in widescreen, in conventional colour, mostly handheld. This is competently done, but it does lack flare in many ways. The use of slow shutter-speeds may be appropriate for such a hazy, flowing picture such as this, but after a while it becomes slightly unpleasant to look at. That is until the psychedelic act of the film begins, and the whole aesthetic feels as if it’s been leading to something more pointedly hazy and digitally influenced. This portion of the film is presented in a 4 by 3 aspect ratio – the boxiness announcing a kind of detachment from our conventional scope of vision – while the colours are shown as a phosphorescent negative with bleached-out block-colours. It’s a very simple trick, digitally speaking; however, it inherently works here due to the tonal build-up of what is almost a stoner-comedy.

This is accomplished, in part, by the whacky-as-hell narration. I was reminded a great deal of how writer-director Paul Schrader uses narration in his movies; specifically, his great Affliction in which (like Guava Express) the voiceover effectively conveys what the viewer can already see clearly on screen. Your average audience might be left confused by this, wondering – since we already know exactly what is happening – why exactly the words are even there. Often, it’s about building a mood. Schrader uses it as a novelistic device, but here you could argue that it’s used as a comedic one. There’s a humour present in how the narrator overblows the importance of the mundanities being witnessed, and it’s most successful at placing us in the presumably warped fantasy of our “hero”.

Like in Inherent Vice, we emerge from the viewing experience as if from a cloud of smoke – trying desperately to get our bearings, knowing that the power of the work we’ve just engaged in was partly a result of our willingness to go along with its chaos. It’s an impressive piece of comedy, in as much as it never explicitly lets on that it’s a comedy. Unusual from beginning to end, and ironic without feeling malicious, this is a strong piece of independent filmmaking.