Media and Music: Tablas and Trans Allyship in Dev Patel’s “Monkey Man”
Dev Patel’s directorial debut is chock full of violence and vindication; but, amongst its critiques of casteism and Hindu nationalism, “Monkey Man” showcases a deep respect for and understanding of India’s gender non-conforming communities through a traditional musical tie-in.
In Media and Music, our writers take a deep dive into how movies use scores and songs to engage viewers, give new meaning and tone to some of our favorite scenes, and establish themes. It almost goes without saying, but there are spoilers abound.
Written by Arundhati Ghosh
Photo courtesy of Akhirwan Nurhaidir
Content Warning: This article includes mentions of sexual assault and physical violence.
In Indian mythology, when Lord Rama — an incarnation of Vishnu, the Protector — returned to his village from a treacherous 14-year-long journey, he found that all of the cisgender men and women had fled under the assumption that he would not return. Only members of the local “third-gender” community remained, unwavering in their devotion not only to their beloved Ram, but to their religion. This devotion impacts Indian Hindus today and makes the third-gender community incredibly holy: In fact, when I was born, a trans woman in the area stopped by our household in suburban India to offer up blessings, an action meant to bring newborn me great health and fortune. Originally meant to solely be a community of intersex — typically transfeminine individuals — India’s gender expansive communities have evolved to include all genderqueer or gender non-conforming individuals who are devoted to following a specific way of life, one that enables them to adhere to certain religious customs and serve as a blessed person at others’ major life events.
Armed with the aid of a tabla master and a compassionate viewpoint, Dev Patel shines a light not only on the storied history of India’s third-gender and trans people, but their culture and customs as well. In Patel’s directorial debut “Monkey Man,” set in the Indian city of Mumbai, his protagonist — played by himself — is a John Wick-esque character dead-set on avenging his mother’s rape and murder at the hands of the local police chief on the orders of a casteist Brahmin guru. As his first attempt on the perpetrator’s life falls through, Monkey Man finds himself on the tail end of a high-speed chase, one that causes him to fall into a river, shot in the arm and barely alive following a night of getting his ass absolutely handed to him.
He awakens, bandaged and cared for, in a temple, though it is one unlike those he is accustomed to: the central idol is a fusion of Parvati — the incredibly powerful Mother Goddess — and Shiva, her husband, the Destroyer to Vishnu’s Protector (and Brahma’s Creator). There is a distinct lack of the outside world’s noise as the temple’s guru, the customary teacher of their community’s lifestyle for newer members, gently tells the Monkey Man that he is safe with them: The police are looking everywhere for him, but even the corrupt force will not touch their temple, a place outsiders view as both a holy sanctuary and an unknowable — and fearworthy — fortress.
During his first night, as he struggles to come to terms with his failed first attempt at revenge, Monkey Man sits, dissociating, amongst his saviors as they gather around a fire pit to eat. They are self-sufficient in everything, including in their entertainment, and this is evident as a member of the community pulls out a tabla — a pair of Indian hand drums, the larger providing a bass sound to the smaller’s tenor — and begins telling a story. Only this can pull Monkey Man out of his stupor.
A husband — the instrumentalist makes contact with the bass — and a wife — he thrums against the head of the tenor — have a perfect marriage. He laughs knowingly with everyone around him at how obviously gendered his story is, a coy subversion of the world they know, before continuing. Their marriage is perfect until it isn’t, a concept accompanied by rapid, harried call-and-response between the drums. He goes on to demonstrate periods of love bookended by ages of strife between the married couple, their arguments getting louder and louder each time until, suddenly, one final high note and everything stops: The wife has finally run off. Monkey Man does not laugh with the rest of the crowd, but his gaze clears in tandem with the sounds of pure amusement.
Within the next few days, after facing an internal reckoning and getting back on his feet, Monkey Man resolves to complete the mission he has given himself. He pulls an old punching bag out from the depths of the temple and hits it once, twice, thrice before losing steam. It’s only when he hears a singular tone from the tabla, and the tabla master gives him an encouraging look, that he jabs at the bag with a newfound ferocity. As the tabla’s higher tones ring out, Monkey Man jabs, and as the lower drum sounds, he crosses. Before long, the tabla is playing a complicated rhythm, and he is following it with his body. In a place open to all those who seek refuge, with music governing his movements, Monkey Man is, for the first time, truly free.
The tabla becomes more rapid, more feeling, as Monkey Man brings in his newfound friend and directs them towards hitting the punching bag. Numerous people, all cast aside by the public due to their gender non-conformation, their castes or lack thereof, or their religions, release their inner turmoil by engaging their muscles with the music. The music only fully stops when a member of the community is found beaten to within an inch of her life for taking down a decree of ownership the local police force put up on the temple door. It is in this moment, drowning in a tabla-less silence, that the movie’s protagonist’s purpose expands from a personal vendetta to an all-encompassing vigilante effort. He will avenge his mother, and he will avenge his new friends.
The rushed tabla drumming comes back in later scenes and exists as the backdrop for several extremely violent altercations as Monkey Man fights his way through the upper echelons of Mumbai society in order to kill those that wronged not only his mother, but the third-gender community as well. Several of them back him up in fights, reclaiming their own power as the instrumentals rise and swell with their kicks and punches. Though the hand drum is only fully the star of two scenes, they are two pivotal scenes. “Monkey Man”’s eponymous protagonist is welcomed into a community that is often looked down upon, and, in seeing their strength in their day-to-day lives, finds out how to march to the beat of his own tabla.