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Lost Ladies poster

Lost Ladies

2024 · Kiran Rao

The director in the conversation

Laapataa Ladies became India's Oscar entry over All We Imagine as Light, detonating a national argument about feminist crowd-pleasers versus festival art and who decides what represents India.

For a feel-good night when you want to laugh and be moved without cynicism — comfort viewing with a real brain, great to watch with family or someone you love.

What it's about

Rural India, 2001: two young brides, faces hidden under identical long red veils, board a night train — and get off with the wrong husbands. One lands in a household of strangers who slowly become allies; the other is stranded at a railway-station tea stall, where nobody knows her and, for the first time, nobody is watching her. A farce of mistaken identity opens out into two women quietly discovering what they actually want.

The experience

Warm, funny and gently sly — it plays like a classic comedy of errors but keeps landing small, true observations about how women get overlooked. You come out smiling with a lump in your throat.

Performances

Ravi Kishan is wonderful as a corrupt small-town cop who may or may not have a conscience — he steals scenes while keeping you guessing which way he'll break.

The craft

Kiran Rao, directing again after a thirteen-year gap, works in the register of classic Hindi social comedy rather than Bollywood spectacle: the veil that causes the mix-up is also the film's whole argument, a culture of female invisibility made literal and then lovingly dismantled. The plotting is farce-tight, but the tone stays tender.

Why it matters

A word-of-mouth favorite that became one of Indian cinema's most talked-about crossover hits of its moment, and reaffirmed the tradition of the gentle social comedy that smuggles in a feminist argument.

Reception & legacy: how Lost Ladies was received, argued over, and remembered →

Two young brides, faces identically hidden beneath long red veils, board a night train in rural India in 2001 — and get off with the wrong husbands. From that farce premise, Kiran Rao builds something slyer than its gentle surface suggests: the ghunghat that causes the mix-up is also the film's argument, a culture of female invisibility made literal, then lovingly dismantled. One bride lands in a household of strangers who slowly become allies; the other, stranded at a railway station tea stall, discovers what a woman might want when nobody is watching her. Rao, returning to directing thirteen years after her Mumbai mosaic Dhobi Ghat, works in the register of classic Hindi social comedy — closer to Hrishikesh Mukherjee than to Bollywood spectacle — with Ravi Kishan wonderful as a corrupt cop who may or may not have a conscience. Produced by Aamir Khan, it became a sleeper phenomenon in India, chosen as the country's official Oscar submission for 2024, and found a second enormous life on streaming. Its feminism arrives without a single raised voice, smuggled in on laughter.

Lines of influence