Uttera Singh’s directorial debut movie, Pinch, presents a compelling and darkly humorous exploration of patriarchy and social complicity in a small-town setting in western India. Singh not only directs but also stars as the protagonist, Maitri, delivering a confident performance both in front of and behind the camera. The film’s subject— a young woman grappling with the trauma of sexual assault by a trusted neighbor— is handled with a mix of sharp wit and sobering social critique.
The movie begins in medias res with a politically charged scene: during a Hindu festival, a crowd violently turns on a man in an act of mob vigilantism, a disturbing phenomenon increasingly visible in modern India. However, Pinch uses this moment not to focus on the broader socio-political climate but to reveal how Maitri, caught in the crowd, cunningly manipulates the chaotic violence for her own ends.
Singh then rewinds the narrative by 24 hours, unfolding a social dramedy that highlights the patriarchal restrictions imposed on young Indian women. The story is punctuated with evocative shots and sounds of Indian classical music, which blur the line between soundtrack and the characters’ lived reality as they navigate fraught interpersonal conflicts in their apartment complex.
Maitri lives in a middle-class residential building with her mother, Shobha (Geeta Agrawal). Despite her education in the United States, Maitri struggles with stalled career prospects and dreams of becoming a successful YouTube travel vlogger—an ambition inspired by her neighbor and best friend Samir’s (Badri Chavan) food vlogging success. But before Maitri’s planned Europe trip, she must accompany her mother and neighbors on a religious pilgrimage.
During the bus journey, Maitri is sexually assaulted in her sleep by Rajesh (Nitesh Pandey), their landlord and a respected community figure. Though she wakes and senses the assault, Maitri hesitates to raise an alarm. The violent festival brawl from the opening scene turns out to be Maitri’s covert manipulation of the crowd, indirectly seeking justice by inciting the mob against Rajesh, who is soon hospitalized.
Pinch evolves into a complex morality tale. It probes not only the challenges of exposing Rajesh’s crime but also critiques Maitri’s morally ambiguous strategy—one that causes collateral damage to another vulnerable woman. While the film’s resolution feels somewhat didactic, and Maitri’s culpability could have warranted deeper dramatic exploration, the portrayal of a mother and daughter navigating community judgment remains engaging.
Though Rajesh is clearly the antagonist, Pinch uniquely shifts focus to the ways women themselves become enforcers of patriarchal norms. Maitri faces harsh scrutiny from older women in the community—including her own mother—highlighting how social and financial pressures often silence victims. This dynamic adds layers of complexity to Maitri’s subtle rebellion, showing that speaking out is rarely straightforward.
Singh’s storytelling is heightened by Maitri’s sharp, sarcastic voice and a striking use of a Snorricam camera rig that captures her emotional turbulence intimately. The subplot involving Maitri’s vlogging aspirations is mostly atmospheric, symbolizing her desire for freedom and recognition. Singh’s dual role as writer-director-actor, controlling the narrative lens on herself, lends the movie a self-aware, meta quality.
While Pinch does not aim to unearth profound universal truths, it delivers a pointed critique of a culture that masks misogyny behind politeness and silence. Featuring flawed and prickly female characters—Maitri included, whose imperfections complicate her journey—the movie stands as a noteworthy entry in India’s independent cinema scene.
