In the realm of cinema, there are moments when a film unexpectedly finds its way into the heart, its pulse racing in sync with the rhythm of your own thoughts. My Melbourne is one such cinematic experience, a mesmerising anthology that opens a window into the lives of people seeking identity, belonging and redemption in the bustling, multicultural Australian city of Melbourne.
What sets this film apart from others is not just the diversity of its storytelling, but the sensitivity with which it portrays the complexity of human experiences – whether shaped by race, gender, disability, or sexuality.
Directed by a group of renowned Indian filmmakers – Onir, Imtiaz Ali, Kabir Khan and Rima Das – each story is woven with rich emotional threads, challenging norms while embracing the beauty of vulnerability and resilience.
The anthology opens with Nandini, helmed by Onir, a poignant tale about Indraneel (Arka Das), a gay author who is confronted with his estranged father’s visit after his mother’s death.
Indraneel and his partner are grieving, yet the real emotional confrontation happens when Indraneel’s father (Mouli Ganguly) arrives in Melbourne, bringing his late wife’s ashes for her final rites.
The strained father-son relationship, steeped in years of silence, sets the tone for this emotionally charged short. Onir plays with the power of silence – there’s more unspoken in their interactions than spoken.
The delicate tensions between the father and son, set against the backdrop of Melbourne’s urban landscape, create a space where feelings of grief, guilt and acceptance slowly intertwine.
The film doesn’t rely on dialogue-heavy scenes but rather on the subtle shifts in body language, the shared silences and the awkward yet tender gestures of reconciliation. Onir’s restrained direction allows the narrative to breathe, making the silence as powerful as the words left unspoken. It’s a cinematic meditation on family, loss, and the quiet road to understanding, where silence holds the weight of what’s never said.
The next chapter, Jules, co-directed by Arif Ali and Imtiaz Ali, brings us to Sakshi (Arushi Sharma), a newlywed woman struggling to find her footing in Melbourne. Her life feels like an endless cycle of work, frustration, and isolation, compounded by the emotional distance in her marriage.
Her world turns unexpectedly when she meets Jules (Kat Stewart), a homeless woman who becomes both a symbol of defiance and a mirror to Sakshi’s own struggle for self-worth.
Initially, Sakshi sees Jules as an intimidating figure, an embodiment of all she fears – someone who lives outside the norms, outside the expectations.
Yet, as their paths cross more often, Sakshi’s perception shifts. Jules is no longer just a homeless figure but a catalyst for Sakshi’s own awakening. The story beautifully illustrates the power of self-discovery through connection and how sometimes, it takes an outsider, someone who exists on the periphery, to help us see our own power.
Imtiaz Ali’s deft touch in exploring the emotional nuances of this relationship gives Jules an authenticity that resonates with anyone who has ever felt lost or displaced.
Emma, directed by Rima Das, is a quiet yet evocative exploration of disability and resilience. Emma (Ryanna Skye Lawson), a young deaf dancer, faces the unimaginable challenge of not only losing her hearing but also struggling with the gradual loss of her vision due to a cochlear implant.
Emma’s relationship with dance is her anchor, her escape, her voice. But as her body betrays her, she is forced to confront the limitations of her own physicality while trying to hold onto the art that defines her. The film’s beauty lies in its nuanced portrayal of Emma’s internal battle.
The way the camera lingers on Emma’s face, the almost imperceptible shifts in her expression, and the hauntingly empty spaces between her movements convey the silent yet powerful narrative of a woman trying to reclaim agency in a world that’s slipping away from her.
Rima Das captures the essence of silence, not just in Emma’s physical experience of the world, but in the spaces between the sounds, the silences that speak volumes. The film’s experimental style, its abstract visuals, its unconventional narrative structure, might feel unsettling to some, but for those willing to step into Emma’s world, it’s an intensely moving experience.
The final story, Setara, directed by Kabir Khan, brings us face-to-face with Setara (Setara Amiri), a young Afghan refugee who has escaped the war-torn landscape of her homeland to start anew in Melbourne.
Cricket becomes her gateway to acceptance, as she struggles with the trauma of displacement and the cultural chasm between her past and her future.
This film is the most overtly uplifting of the anthology, blending a sports narrative with a tale of cultural assimilation.
Setara’s journey of overcoming self-doubt and embracing her new identity is framed through the metaphor of the cricket field – a space where she can redefine herself, away from the oppressive weight of her past. The film’s celebration of resilience is stirring, and while the narrative occasionally feels rushed, Setara’s infectious spirit and the electric energy of the cricket sequences ensure that the viewer remains fully invested in her journey.
My Melbourne thrives in its delicate balance between universal themes and specific cultural experiences. The anthology’s brilliance lies not in grandiose gestures or heavy-handed moral lessons, but in its subtle, almost poetic portrayal of individuals grappling with identity, belonging and survival in a world that often seems indifferent to their struggles.
The filmmakers’ collective vision of a city – diverse, inclusive, and full of contradictions – creates a tapestry that’s as vibrant as it is raw. Through each story, Melbourne itself becomes a character, a backdrop for personal transformation, a city that’s simultaneously a safe haven and a place of alienation.
Each segment brings a different perspective, a different narrative rhythm, but all are bound by the universal threads of hope, resilience, and the search for home. While some stories might falter in pacing or depth, the anthology as a whole offers a refreshing exploration of identity, diversity, and the quiet yet powerful ways in which we all strive to belong.
In the end, My Melbourne isn’t just a film about the city – it’s a film about all of us. It asks what it truly means to find a place, to carve out a sense of self in a world that often doesn’t make room for everyone. It’s about finding your voice, even when the world tries to silence you. It’s about finding home, even when the walls around you don’t seem to fit. And in that journey, it offers a sense of hope that is both poignant and profoundly human.
