A brutal mirror: Kan'bulo confronts domestic violence in Maldivian society

The groundbreaking Dhivehi film functions both as compelling storytelling and urgent social commentary, dissecting the abuse of power in a society where justice serves only those privileged enough to dine with judges.

In contrast to the visceral introduction, the protagonist Maya’s (Mariyam Azza) family is portrayed as an ordinary local household on the island of Nolhivaranfaru in Haa Dhaal atoll. The charming blue façade of their home, adorned with potted plants, conceals the ugliness taking place within its walls. The narrative unfolds like the peeling of an onion, shifting between past and present, where Azza is seen tending lovingly to her now-handicapped father.

The flashbacks reveal a young girl growing up amid horrors: a closed door keeps Azza from witnessing the beatings her mother endures. But she hears it all – her father's menacing voice, her mother's anguished cries. Despite the trauma, Azza still enjoys moments of youth, especially with her best friend Maree (Washiya Mohamed). The latter's growth from tomboy to refined woman is impressively realistic both in appearance and performance. Azza's love interest, Ariz (Ahmed Easa), is shown equally carefree in the early days, fooling around and pulling pranks.

The story is also one of repentance. The flashbacks gradually explain the evolution of the father–daughter relationship. Many in the audience were moved to tears at the scene of a broken, helpless father speaking to his daughter. Umarbe's (Ismail Rasheed) transformation from a tyrannical violent figure to a helpless father is rendered with great depth. The film also introduces other villains: powerful individuals who exploit weakness in more insidious ways. To avoid spoilers, little more can be said here.

Director Hussain Munawwar has a firm grip on the story arc, keeping audiences questioning the changes in Azza and the reason behind her care for the father who once tormented the family. Hints of a dark secret emerge as the present-day scenes unfold, including Azza's trip to Kulhudufushi to reunite with Zaheentha (Mariyam Shakeela), a warm and supportive relative of her mother. We are reintroduced to Easa, now subdued and reserved. Both he and Azza transition from carefree youth to adults weathered by hardship, a transformation captured with nuance and restraint. Special mention must be made of Raufbe (Ahmed Nimal). The veteran actor's years of honing his craft shines through. His depiction of Raufbe is anything but superficial – he inhabits the character fully and delivers it to near perfection.

It is a dream role for any actress and Azza executes it beautifully. The only flaw is that she looks slightly too polished – albeit beautiful – in the flashback scenes of her youth. Nonetheless, her performance is extraordinary, particularly in the climactic scene where she confronts both her abuser and society. The loud cheer that erupted in the theatre is testament to her impact. It is easily one of her finest performances, and could be counted among the best by a Maldivian actress.

On a technical note, the lack of background extras in the film's first half detracts slightly from its realism. Azza disembarks from a speedboat in Kulhudufushi almost alone, and the Nolhivaranfaru scenes similarly feel empty, bereft of people. A few figures in the background would have added authenticity. The background music, too, is at times jarring and overly dramatic. Yet these are minor flaws in an otherwise powerful production.

At its heart, the film is an indictment of a justice system skewed in favour of those with money and influence – a familiar lament in the Maldives. It highlights how people in small communities often know about domestic abuse but choose to turn a blind eye, justifying silence as "minding their own business." Worse still, survivors are sometimes re-victimised by being labeled as "wanton" or “loose” – a relatively easy feat to achieve for those with ulterior motives.

It's a testament to the director's talent that the story is told in such an unflinching manner, forcing the audience to reckon with uncomfortable truths: how many households across the Maldives hide similar horrors, with the silent complicity of their communities?

In some of the film's most vile disturbing scenes (yes, there is more than one kind of abuse depicted), nervous laughter erupted in the theatre multiple times. Never had the lift of a sarong been so menacing, while some in the audience sat aghast, others laughed – perhaps as a coping mechanism in a country where one in three women has experienced physical or sexual abuse. One wonders how many women in that audience had lived through similar trauma, and what might have been running through their minds as the film unfolded. When the final act of violence is carried out by the villain, the hall fell silent. Not a whisper was heard.

A final twist arrives in the narrative, though by then it feels almost inevitable. When tragedy once again befalls Azza, one wonders if the story heaps too much suffering upon a single character. How much can one person endure without losing their sanity? Then again, Kan'bulo is based on a prize-winning long story, said to have been inspired by true events.

Ultimately, Kan'bulo is also about resilience – the strength of the human spirit in the face of cruelty. It leaves audiences hoping that survivors of abuse will choose to stand up for themselves sooner rather than later. The editing is slick, the pace of the movie doesn't let the mind wander. The cinematography captures both human anguish and the beauty of the Maldives in equal measure. Kan'bulo is a must-watch – not only for its craft, but for the mirror it holds up to the Maldivian society.