Anuparna Roy has scripted history at the Venice Film Festival, becoming the first Indian director to win the Orizzonti Award, which honors emerging voices in world cinema, for her debut feature Songs of Forgotten Trees. The moment on stage was electric, with Roy trembling and visibly moved as the prize was presented, underscoring a milestone not only for a filmmaker from West Bengal but for Indian independent cinema as a whole.
Roy’s path to Venice is as telling as the film itself. She grew up in a nondescript tribal village in Purulia district, far from the cultural capitals of Kolkata or Mumbai. Her early life was marked by economic precarity and expectations centered on traditional paths. After finishing college, she took a call-centre job as a practical route to stability, a move she now says was born of necessity rather than choice. While working in Delhi, she began funding her artistic ambitions by saving every penny to support a short project she hoped would someday become a feature. That persistence culminated in Run to the River, a short film Roy financed largely with her own earnings before relocating to Mumbai. There, she met Ranjan Singh, the lead producer of Songs of Forgotten Trees, at a party. Roy pitched the concept with urgency and clarity in ten minutes and, after a longer follow-up discussion, Singh agreed to back the film. The collaboration would later garner support from Anurag Kashyap, a filmmaker Roy admires for his Gangs of Wasseypur ethos.
Songs of Forgotten Trees centers on two women from starkly different milieus who share a living space in a Mumbai apartment that becomes the site of a fragile, intimate connection. Thooya, an aspiring actress who moonlights as an escort, and Swetha, a fellow migrant working in a call centre, inhabit the same building and eventually form a bond as they navigate the pressures of urban life, marginalization, and same-sex desire. Critics have lauded the film for its restrained, observant approach, with The Hollywood Reporter describing it as an anguished, candid portrait of what it takes for women to survive, and as a quietly moving study of two young women seeking solace in each other. Roy’s filmmaking style diverges from conventional commercial rules: she deliberately avoids a conventional pattern of long, medium, and close shots and instead favors longer, continuous takes that mirror her characters’ daily rhythms and internal worlds. The film was shot entirely in Roy’s own apartment, a testament to her resourcefulness and intimate control over the production.
The project’s genesis lies deeply personal. While the two central characters draw inspiration from Roy’s own life and family dynamics, the film also reflects broader social issues. The central relationship is rooted in Roy’s grandmother and her stepdaughter, whose bond she transformed into a cinematic narrative. Another character, Jhumpa, mirrors a childhood friend from the Dalit community who faced a life-altering marriage at a young age. Roy has been explicit that the personal is political; for her, cinema is a vehicle to interrogate structural inequalities and the lived realities of those who are often marginalized in Indian society. The director has described witnessing stark disparities in her own childhood amid India’s rapid economic growth, a backdrop that continues to inform her storytelling and character development.
Songs of Forgotten Trees has drawn praise for its patient, almost documentary-like observation that allows emotion to emerge without melodrama. Roy’s casting process and her decision to bring the two leads to live in the same space during principal photography contributed to a sense of lived reality that critics say resonates with audiences seeking authentic depictions of women navigating precarious urban lives. The film’s reception in Venice reinforced Roy’s status as a rising figure in global independent cinema, while also highlighting the ongoing vitality of Indian regional voices within a city famous for its star-powered prestige.
Beyond the accolades, Roy’s approach signals a distinct path for Indian cinema that prioritizes lived experience, social context, and intimate storytelling over conventional commercial appeal. She has signaled a continued interest in expanding the universe of Songs of Forgotten Trees, with talks of a sequel and potentially a prequel in development. But she remains emphatic about staying out of what she terms sugar-coated cinema, insisting that any future work must reflect the complexities of the world she portrays, even when it challenges audiences or provokes discomfort.
Roy’s Venice victory also places a spotlight on Bengal’s rich cinematic heritage. From Ritwik Ghatak to Satyajit Ray to Mrinal Sen, the region has produced globally acclaimed auteurs. Yet Roy’s trajectory—rooted not in metropolitan film schools or elite cultural networks but in a small-town upbringing and a pragmatic, self-funded path to filmmaking—reframes the narrative of how bold, boundary-pushing cinema can emerge from India’s diverse landscapes. As she continues to develop follow-ups to Songs of Forgotten Trees, Roy’s story stands as a case study in perseverance, regional identity, and the evolving nature of culture and entertainment in India.
In Venice, Roy spoke from a position of cultural advocacy, weaving in support for the children of Gaza through her public appearance and wardrobe choices. The handloom saree she commissioned for the occasion featured Bengali motifs and the colors of the Palestinian flag along its borders, a sartorial statement that drew online debate but reflected a conviction that film voices can, and should, engage with global humanitarian concerns. The discourse around her appearance underscored a broader conversation about the responsibilities of artists who achieve international visibility and how they use that platform to address issues beyond cinema alone.
As Roy moves forward with scripts for potential sequels and prequels, the core question will be whether she will maintain the uncompromising, non-sugar-coated lens that made Songs of Forgotten Trees stand out. Early indications suggest a continued commitment to films that capture the realities of communities on the economic and social margins, presented with a quiet, observational intensity that invites viewers to dwell in the emotional terrain of her characters rather than being led by plot shocks or glossy spectacle. If Roy’s Venice triumph is any guide, audiences can expect further work that blends intimate storytelling with sharp social insight, rooted in the lived experiences of people whose voices are rarely heard on big-screen stages.