Eighteen-year-old Venkatesh (Venkatesh Chavan) spends his days
making beds in a hotel and selling plastic bags in the Panjim
marketplace, and his free time sitting in a tree staring at a swimming
pool. Water is everywhere in The Pool: People scrub floors, wash
clothes, splash their faces, water the plants, paddle small boats,
drink from wells, drown. But no one goes swimming. The pool that
obsesses Venkatesh sits, untouched, in the lush garden behind an empty
mansion. “They must have lots of money to have houses they don’t live
in,” says Jhangir, Venkatesh’s best friend, speculating about the
owners. Jhangir sleeps on top of a table in the restaurant where he
works.
Eventually, the owners do return: a melancholy father/daughter pair
(Nana Patekar and Ayesha Mohan), nursing old wounds and current
resentments. Venkatesh quietly, nervously insinuates himself into their
lives, helping Nana with the plants and just barely flirting with
Ayesha—all to get closer to that still, clean, blue rectangle in
the garden.
The Pool—in subtitled Hindi—is, oddly enough,
written and directed by a non-Indian, non-Hindi-speaking American
filmmaker. Chris Smith, director of the Sundance darling American
Movie, came across a short story by Randy Russell and decided to
transplant its tale of aquatic longing from Iowa to Goa, India. He cast
nonactors as his leads (Venkatesh and Jhangir), both of whom spoke no
English and could not read. He communicated with them via a
translator.
The whole thing seems like a terrifyingly ambitious gamble. But
Smith pulls it off, and to his film’s benefit. Venkatesh and Jhangir,
in roles somewhat approximating their actual lives, are natural and
spazzy in that uncertain teenage way. The cinematography is coolly
gorgeous. And though the ending rushes up rather
abruptly—Venkatesh has to choose between taking a plunge for his
future or remaining comfortably loyal to his present—it all makes
for a sweet little journey. 
