There is a final tornado that Sruthy’s mom rakes up at a police station in ‘Uncle’ that makes you wish the rest of the film had half the vigour that this closing scene has. The social undercurrents are laid bare, the message is served, the speeches are done and the obligatory slap delivered. Inflated to the point of having swelled beyond recognition, ‘Uncle’ could have been the riveting film that it had aspired to be, in less than half its current screen time.
‘Crossroad’ is a loosely screwed in ensemble, pieces of which keep falling off every time it tries to punch in a point. It’s unlikely to be remembered as a benchmark in portmanteau films, and leads you into the hum-ho zone in no time. Strike off those last three shorts, and you might literally find yourself stranded on the crossroads with this one.
As dispiriting as it sounds, ‘Clint’ is a film that only partially does justice to the incredible life that has inspired it. I would have loved it had it been an uncompromising and moving feature as it should ideally have been, instead of the too straight paper-to-screen adaptation that it has turned out to be.