Can we Read Cinema?

Can we read cinema?

Is it just watching images on screen? Is it only about visuals????

In this blog, I want to share my thoughts on this.

You may not know, I am currently working as an assistant professor. For my first-semester students, I teach a paper titled READING CINEMA. I am quite new to this paper, but what I truly enjoy is my love for cinema. In my recent class, I asked my students a simple question: Why is the paper titled ‘Reading Cinema’ and not ‘Watching Cinema’? Their eyes sparkled with curiosity.

When we say “reading” cinema, we are not just talking about watching the story unfold on screen. Reading involves the story unfolding on screen. Reading involves interpretation - just like how we read between the lines in a poem or notice subtle emotions in a novel, films too are full of layers. A close-up shot may reveal a character’s inner struggle. The background music might tell us something that words don’t. The lighting, costume, silence, and even pauses - everything in a film can be read if we pay attention.

To make the idea more relatable, I spontaneously brought up a film that most students were familiar with - Kumbalangi Nights. It was an unplanned suggestion, but it felt right. I wanted to show them how we can “read” cinema through familiar stories and visuals, rather than just watch them.

Are you wondering what it means to "read" a movie? Let me show you.

I will be explaining how certain shots in the film speak volumes - even without words.

SHOT 1 

What we see:

A dilapidated house standing on the edge of the backwaters. The walls are discoloured. The windows are broken, and prominently there is a cactus growing near the entrance.

What it says without words :

This is not just a house - it's a symbol of the four brothers who live inside it. The house looks abandoned, much like their emotional life. The cactus, a plant that survives in dryness and neglect, mirrors the way these brothers live - hardened by trauma, yet surviving in emotional drought.

Cinematically, the composition is wide, quite still, sets the tone of loneliness. The director doesn't use dramatic music or dialogue here. Instead, this shot tells us how the characters are emotionally closed, how they have stopped letting love and care in - much like how no one wants to enter that home.

SHOT 2 

One of the most quietly powerful scenes in Kumbalangi Nights unfolds when Saji visits the home of his late worker’s family. 

What we see:

The frame opens to a small house bathed in vibrant greens and dotted with marigolds, bougainvillea, and scattered blossoms. The camera lingers almost meditatively on the flowering plants, the simple architecture, and the life blooming in every corner.

What it says without words :

This isn't just a house- it's an emotional landscape. The blooming flowers and the simple environment speak of love, care, and emotional richness - the very things that turn a house into a home, something Saji himself has been missing.

Without a single line of dialogue, the frame reveals a space full of warmth, dignity and emotional depth. The visual poetry here is subtle yet striking. Saji doesn’t just see a house — he feels it. And so do we.

SHOT 3 

These frames are from the final song sequence.

What we see:

A close-up of cactus, now blooming with a single delicate yellow flower. It leans against the old wall of the house, bathed in golden sunlight. This isn't just botanical detail; it's cinematic storytelling at its quietest and most powerful.

What it says without words :

Throughout the film, the house stood broken and barren — much like the brothers who lived in it. Even the cactus, a symbol of endurance and solitude, mirrored their emotional drought. But in the final sequence, something has changed. The brothers are reunited. They have grown, healed, and transformed their house into a home.

And so, the cactus blossoms.

The yellow flower, fragile and fleeting, becomes a metaphor for emotional renewal. It suggests that even the toughest, driest corners of life can bloom when touched by warmth, connection, and love. It's a subtle visual cue that everything — even a cactus — can soften and flourish when given a reason to.

This is not just a happy ending. It’s a visual epiphany. A whisper of hope. A testament to healing.This is what it means to read cinema — to understand how meaning is woven through image, light, and stillness. And moments like this invite us, not just to watch, but to listen with our eyes.

After class, I felt genuinely happy. Years ago. I watched it in a theatre, simply as a viewer. And now, here I was, sharing what I had "read" from it with a new generation of learners. 

Some of you might have noticed it, and some might not, but Kumbalangi Nights is one of my all-time favourite films. There's something deeply personal about it, something that stays with me long after the credits roll.

Through this blog, I simply wanted to remind myself , and perhaps you too — of the quiet power of cinematic language. Of how much can be said without a single line of dialogue. Of how light, shadow, silence, colour, and space can speak volumes if only we learn to listen.

This isn’t just about watching movies. It’s about reading them — like we read poetry, or music, or a lingering memory. And every frame, when read with care, opens a door into something more profound.

And that, for me, is the true beauty of cinema❤️.

> Note: All movie stills used in this post are from the film Kumbalangi Nights (2019), directed by Madhu C. Narayanan. The screenshots are taken from publicly available trailers and scenes on YouTube, used here for educational and critical discussion only.