Film Review: Schirkoa: In Lies We Trust (2024) by Ishan Shukla

“Imperfection is a bitch, but perfection is a monster”

Resistance and freedom are potent triggers for art, especially and perennially for the global south. But consequently, is it possible to ever be free of ourselves? After generations of struggling, does ridding the world from society and its oppressions truly equal peace or happiness? Set in a lone dystopian city, Ishan Shukla’s animated feature debut takes these questions by the horns with urban fantasy and biopunk kicks. While beautifully executed and innovative in its statements on conformity and revolt, “Schirkoa: In Lies We Trust”’ss stickler for adhering to traditional sci-fi and hero tropes leaves it dangling in unsatisfying clichés.

In a totalitarian city-state named Schirkoa, citizens are only known by numbers and alphabets and are made to wear paper bags over their heads in perpetuity. In praise of sameness, lauded by a religious figure named Lord’O, it is against the law to see and know your own or each other’s faces. Though inert and unwilling to change, councilman 197A (Shahbaz Sarwar, Tibu Fortes) grapples with his boredom and disillusionment in the city as he is being groomed to become a nominated member of parliament. One night, a spirited encounter with a wanted immigrant and ‘Anomalie’ 33F (Soko) changes his trajectory forever, bringing him beyond the borders of the city to communities on the fringe. Where no one wears paper bags, and citizens have gradually mutated in bodily and evolutionary revolt to suppression. In an underbelly city of fantastical hybrid creatures, centaurs, mermaids, horned faeries, 197A’s journeys take him towards freedom, but also towards a new existentialism.

With a structure not unlike “1984”, “Brazil” or “Blade Runner”, pessimistic heroism and devastation form the emotional cores of “Schirkoa: In Lies We Trust”. As the title suggests, the hero’s journey is poised for despondency in our unchangeable world, in the lies we trust in order to go on. Archetypes and tropes often find good solace in genre enthusiasts, especially in this blockbuster that seems to take punchy enjoyment in its classicalism. A torrent of worldbuilding details and textures, developed using both 2D and 3D animation, create a techno feast for the eyes. The classic government announcements, monuments, neon-drenched districts simmering with unrest, meld together to create a believable and immersive city of terror. It’s all we would expect. Similarly and unfortunately on the flip side, “Schirkoa”’s predictable and rushed character arcs, expositional dialogue and emotional beats stunt its overall impact. What seemed once to be groundbreaking in the futuristic sci-fi genre, the discovery that changing the world is futile, has lost most of its spark here.

Check the interview with the director

Spunky archetypal characters fill the screen from start to end, namely the titular Lies (Asia Argento), a foul-mouthed, tough love mermaid resistance leader, though their character developments never fully hit their mark. Familiar and decorative lines like “That’s why I stopped acting”, “Mord would have been proud”, “He is lost” hold little effect, performing tropes without truly advancing narrative tension. Still, there are some great moments. The better lines of the film pose poetic questions to resistance art, such as when Lies scoffs that when people get freedom, they will be wanting “freedom from freedom”. But in other scenes, these nuggets of wisdom are dangling declarations, at odds with being in a narrative.

Despite the clichés, however, the frontal conflict faced by 197A and the other anomalies is definitely one that is less talked about, and deserving of thought. As a work taking root in genres of repression, and representing scattered communities of the global south, Ishan Shukla’s confrontations of the effectivity and unhelpful rabbit hole of using cinema or art as civil disobedience and autonomous resistance is more than timely. It begs further exploration on where art-making and resistance truly coincides, the extent of its pursuit as selfless or selfish. Most crucially, its effectiveness beyond acknowledgment and a coping mechanism.

Ishan Shukla’s conundrum is one that all who make and consume art can empathize with. At long last, when watching “Schirkoa: In Lies We Trust”, it is worth looking past the technical surface of craft to consider its intentions.