The unconvincing tale of two Indian women whose dissatisfaction with their oppressively misogynistic culture leads them to begin a lesbian love affair, Fire might well be empowering to those in similar circumstances but is likely to alienate virtually everybody else. It begins competently enough, as director Deepa Mehta introduces a wide variety of potentially fascinating characters; masturbating to porn films or dancing in front of the mirror to loud pop music, they're a refreshing complement to the grave, stately folks who inhabit Satyajit Ray's classic works (the only Indian films to which most Westerners, myself included, have been exposed). Each successive reel, however, is twice as dumb as the last, and by the end it's THE BRIDGES OF DELHI COUNTY. The ridiculous aspects might be forgivable if there were any erotic chemistry at all between the two leads, but there's never any doubt whatsoever that we're looking at two very straight women who are none too comfortable chastely kissing and caressing one another. Not recommended. (M. D'Angelo)
Fire
(New Yorker, 104 min., not rated, avail. Nov. 17) Vol. 13, Issue 6
Fire
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