The Namesake

Dostoyevsky is credited with saying, "We all came out of Gogol's overcoat," referring to a seminal short story by Nikolai Gogol and suggesting how this tale, The Overcoat, was the cornerstone of Russia's realistic school of fiction. The phrase occurs several times in The Namesake, a saga examining inherited identity and alienation, in Calcutta and New York City.

The film follows two generations of the Ganguli family. Beautiful Ashima, through a happy arranged marriage, moves from Calcutta to New York, where her new husband lives. Everything is new to her (she puts curry powder on her Rice Krispies). She does everything that her culture and upbringing has taught her about being a loving wife. A Bengali whose intelligence has enabled him to make a successful career in America, husband Ashoke treats Ashima lovingly as she adjusts. They form a deep and passionate bond. Although still longing for the family and culture they knew in India, they take pride in the opportunities of a country where 'anything is possible' and raise two children, the oldest of which, Gogol, qualifies for Yale. American-born Gogol struggles to find his own identity without losing his inherited background. He particularly dislikes his un-American name. But his name represents the family's journey into the unknown. We also see a strange parallel as a Westernised Bengali woman insists on maintaining her maiden name (having established herself under that name as an author).

At the start of the film, a train accident almost kills Ashoke. A few bloodstained pages from a book of Russian short stories that he was reading help rescuers spot him in the rubble. Later, when his son is born, they are forced to choose a name quickly. They settle on 'Gogol', the name of the author.

Bafta-nominated Director Mira Nair (Monsoon Wedding, Vanity Fair, Salaam Bombay!) has lived and worked in New York and Calcutta and brings a sense of teeming humanity and passion that these places share. "For me, the language of the streets in both cities became a very important link to glue these two worlds together," says Nair.

Visual themes link the Gangulis' lives in both countries, such as the Howrah Bridge in Calcutta and the 59th Street Bridge in Manhattan. Production designer Stephanie Carroll noted "In New York the design stresses elements of concrete, cement, chrome, steel, pewter and taxi cab yellow. In Calcutta there are more natural elements of stone, wood, leather, iron, copper, gold and the red of saris. But always for the Gangulis, both countries contain an abundance of 'masti': the stuff of life."

A strange dichotomy affects the US and to an extent the Western hemisphere. America's high-tech industries are powered by foreign brains. Roughly 40% of those gaining PhDs in computer science and engineering are from abroad. A third of Silicon Valley start-ups were founded by Indians or Chinese. Yet the immigration system has become skewed towards families rather than talent. High-IQ applicants face humiliating waits of months for the necessary documents. All this on top of the trauma of immigrating to a very different society. The Namesake highlights the trauma of moving to a strange culture not with the humour and lightness of previous east-meets-west films, but with depth of emotion, passion, intelligence and beauty. It makes us look with new respect at customs we so easily dismiss such as (consensual) arranged marriage. Like the Russian writer's stories, it reflects realism.

Ashima is played by Tabu, one of India's foremost actresses. It is her powerful performance that carries what could otherwise be a slow film. She goes from a young shy girl to a mother in her forties. In an affectionate moment after many years in the US, she teases her husband saying, "You want me to say, 'I love you' - like the Americans?" Not only does she have to portray a range of emotion from differing cultures, but often powerful feelings need to be sublimated, only hinted at. "Ashima means 'without borders, limitless.'" Ashima has to find her own freedom, which is very different to that of Gogol. Her devotion, sincerity and bearing all find a more balanced course than the woman who turns down a lucrative academic offer to be "a good Bengali housewife and make samosas every Thursday from scratch."

Our interdependence and understanding of other cultures is helped by many factors, but English-language films of this stature could have an immense part to play. In a broader sense, we all came out of Gogol's overcoat.