When Manipur spoke to the world: Boong and the long road of regional cinema A film review and cultural commentary on Manipuri cinema's historic moment
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Laishram Malemnganba Meitei
On March 16, 2025, at the 79th British Academy Film Awards, Lakshmipriya Devi's debut film Boong made history by becoming the first Indian film ever to win a BAFTA, taking home the award for Best Children's and Family Film. The venue was London's grand Southbank Centre. The story, however, belonged entirely to the hills and valleys of Manipur. This was not merely an industry milestone. It was a cultural reckoning that reminded the world it had been overlooking something extraordinary, and that Manipur had always had it waiting.
Boong had its world premiere at the Discovery section of the Toronto International Film Festival on September 5, 2024, before releasing in Indian cinemas on September 19, 2025. Produced by Farhan Akhtar, Ritesh Sidhwani, Vikesh Bhutani, Alan McAlex, and Shujaat Saudagar through Excel Entertainment, Chalkboard Entertainment, and Suitable Pictures, and distributed by PVR Inox Pictures and AA Films, the film represents something far more significant than its production credits suggest. It is the clearest possible demonstration of what becomes possible when mainstream Indian cinema genuinely backs a regional story and trusts it to be told entirely on its own terms.
The film runs 94 minutes and uses every one of them with deliberate purpose. There is no wasted scene, no moment that fails to justify its presence in the larger whole. The result is a film of rare emotional intelligence and cultural honesty, one that earns every word of critical praise directed at it.
Performances of Exceptional Conviction
The cast of Boong does not perform emotions. They inhabit them. Gugun Kipgen in the title role delivers a performance of striking sincerity, one that cannot be manufactured or coached into existence. His face carries the narrative before the dialogue even arrives, and the expressive weight of his presence does more work than any scripted line could. The film follows his simple yet deeply human dream of surprising his mother with a gift, and the full determination with which he pursues it transforms a quiet personal story into something unexpectedly profound. Kipgen's performance is a quiet marvel, the kind that reveals itself gradually and remains with the audience long after the theatre lights come back on. Bala Hijam as Mandakini, Boong's mother, delivers what is arguably the film's most accomplished performance. She is not playing a mother. She is one. The quiet exhaustion behind the eyes, the warmth that holds everything together, the love that does not announce itself but remains present in every gesture, all of it arrives with a truthfulness that settles deep and endures long after the credits have finished rolling. It is the kind of performance that does not call attention to itself and is all the more powerful for it. Hijam brings to the screen a portrait of maternal devotion so understated and so completely realised that it stands among the finest performances in recent Indian cinema.
Jenny Khurai as JJ Aunty commands considerable impact despite limited screen time. She represents the kind of supporting presence that communicates everything through a single look or a precisely placed line, the character audiences carry home and remember when the leads have faded. Her role is compact and poignant, a reminder that in a well-constructed film no character is truly minor. Khurai handles her moments with a grace and precision that reflects genuine professional craft.
Angom Sanamatum as Raju Agarwal is perhaps the film's most quietly layered creation. Raju is Manipuri-Rajasthani, a man whose family arrived in Manipur generations ago and who has since become fully and unreservedly part of it. He never explains himself or justifies his belonging. He simply lives, speaks, and is present. Through him, the film poses a question about what it truly means to belong to a place and a people, answering it with admirable clarity: it is not about origin or appearance but about the values one carries and the love one extends. Sanamatum delivers that truth with admirable restraint and considerable depth.
Culture Treated as Substance, Not Decoration
One of the most significant creative decisions in Boong is how Lakshmipriya Devi handles Thabal Chongba, the traditional Manipuri moonlight dance of the Yaoshang festival. Over the years this folk tradition has shifted considerably in popular representation. Its music, costumes, choreography and communal atmosphere have been reinterpreted and reshaped across public settings and media in many directions. What Boong achieves is a return to the original spirit of the tradition, to what it has always been at its core.
The film presents Thabal Chongba with the music, clothing, movement and communal atmosphere that older Manipuri generations grew up experiencing. For those viewers it carries the weight of restoration, a recovery of something they feared was quietly disappearing. For younger Manipuri audiences it offers a bridge back to their own cultural roots. For international viewers encountering it for the first time it serves as a genuine and deeply respectful introduction to a living tradition of remarkable beauty. Devi does not deploy these elements as regional colour or atmospheric backdrop. She treats them as the moral and emotional soul of the story itself, inseparable from everything the film is working to express. That single decision elevates Boong above the majority of films that claim to honour regional identity without truly understanding what such honour demands.
The film's engagement with Moreh, Manipur's border town with Myanmar, reflects equal historical sensitivity and geographical awareness. Moreh carries deep significance in the Manipuri imagination as a site of memory, commerce, movement and cultural transition. Its inclusion adds a layer of historical and political consciousness that extends the film's reach well beyond its intimate personal narrative, anchoring it firmly in the lived reality of Manipur's complex geography and experience.
Language, Craft, and the Bollywood Imprint
The dialogue in Boong achieves something deceptively difficult: it sounds the way people actually speak. Contemporary Manipuri slang and colloquial rhythms move through the conversations without visible effort or self-consciousness, and Manipuri audiences will immediately recognise that authenticity of expression. Gen Z Manipuri viewers who navigate daily life between global cultural influences and deeply rooted local identity will find themselves reflected in a way that very few films manage to achieve.
The film also carries discernible traces of Bollywood's linguistic influence, most noticeably in the Hindi-to-Manipuri translation of certain dialogues. The tonal patterns and sentence structures in these moments carry a rhythm that departs subtly from the way native Manipuri speakers naturally express themselves, a subtle but detectable shift that attentive Manipuri audiences will identify without difficulty. Yet this quality works unexpectedly in the film's favour for viewers unfamiliar with Meiteilon. The translated cadence creates an invisible bridge, allowing non-Manipuri audiences to follow the emotional current of the dialogue with surprising ease. Even without prior familiarity with the language, the borrowed rhythms from Hindi render the conversations accessible and fluid rather than alienating. It is an unintended grace, where Bollywood's linguistic imprint, rather than compromising the film's authenticity, quietly assists a wider audience in finding their way into a world they have never before encountered.
The technical execution throughout supports this naturalistic vision with consistent intelligence. Tanay Satam's cinematography maintains a quiet observational quality that suits the story's register precisely, locating beauty in the everyday with the attentive eye of someone who genuinely understands the landscape being captured. Shreyas Beltangdy's editing provides the film its necessary breathing room, neither rushing what requires stillness nor prolonging what demands movement. The original score by Zubin Balaporia and Akhu Chingangbam moves between warmth and emotional depth with complete organic conviction, serving the narrative at every point without drawing attention to itself. The collective technical contribution reflects a team of accomplished collaborators whose craft remained consistently aligned with the story's needs throughout.
To be contd
On March 16, 2025, at the 79th British Academy Film Awards, Lakshmipriya Devi's debut film Boong made history by becoming the first Indian film ever to win a BAFTA, taking home the award for Best Children's and Family Film. The venue was London's grand Southbank Centre. The story, however, belonged entirely to the hills and valleys of Manipur. This was not merely an industry milestone. It was a cultural reckoning that reminded the world it had been overlooking something extraordinary, and that Manipur had always had it waiting.
Boong had its world premiere at the Discovery section of the Toronto International Film Festival on September 5, 2024, before releasing in Indian cinemas on September 19, 2025. Produced by Farhan Akhtar, Ritesh Sidhwani, Vikesh Bhutani, Alan McAlex, and Shujaat Saudagar through Excel Entertainment, Chalkboard Entertainment, and Suitable Pictures, and distributed by PVR Inox Pictures and AA Films, the film represents something far more significant than its production credits suggest. It is the clearest possible demonstration of what becomes possible when mainstream Indian cinema genuinely backs a regional story and trusts it to be told entirely on its own terms.
The film runs 94 minutes and uses every one of them with deliberate purpose. There is no wasted scene, no moment that fails to justify its presence in the larger whole. The result is a film of rare emotional intelligence and cultural honesty, one that earns every word of critical praise directed at it.
Performances of Exceptional Conviction
The cast of Boong does not perform emotions. They inhabit them. Gugun Kipgen in the title role delivers a performance of striking sincerity, one that cannot be manufactured or coached into existence. His face carries the narrative before the dialogue even arrives, and the expressive weight of his presence does more work than any scripted line could. The film follows his simple yet deeply human dream of surprising his mother with a gift, and the full determination with which he pursues it transforms a quiet personal story into something unexpectedly profound. Kipgen's performance is a quiet marvel, the kind that reveals itself gradually and remains with the audience long after the theatre lights come back on. Bala Hijam as Mandakini, Boong's mother, delivers what is arguably the film's most accomplished performance. She is not playing a mother. She is one. The quiet exhaustion behind the eyes, the warmth that holds everything together, the love that does not announce itself but remains present in every gesture, all of it arrives with a truthfulness that settles deep and endures long after the credits have finished rolling. It is the kind of performance that does not call attention to itself and is all the more powerful for it. Hijam brings to the screen a portrait of maternal devotion so understated and so completely realised that it stands among the finest performances in recent Indian cinema.
Jenny Khurai as JJ Aunty commands considerable impact despite limited screen time. She represents the kind of supporting presence that communicates everything through a single look or a precisely placed line, the character audiences carry home and remember when the leads have faded. Her role is compact and poignant, a reminder that in a well-constructed film no character is truly minor. Khurai handles her moments with a grace and precision that reflects genuine professional craft.
Angom Sanamatum as Raju Agarwal is perhaps the film's most quietly layered creation. Raju is Manipuri-Rajasthani, a man whose family arrived in Manipur generations ago and who has since become fully and unreservedly part of it. He never explains himself or justifies his belonging. He simply lives, speaks, and is present. Through him, the film poses a question about what it truly means to belong to a place and a people, answering it with admirable clarity: it is not about origin or appearance but about the values one carries and the love one extends. Sanamatum delivers that truth with admirable restraint and considerable depth.
Culture Treated as Substance, Not Decoration
One of the most significant creative decisions in Boong is how Lakshmipriya Devi handles Thabal Chongba, the traditional Manipuri moonlight dance of the Yaoshang festival. Over the years this folk tradition has shifted considerably in popular representation. Its music, costumes, choreography and communal atmosphere have been reinterpreted and reshaped across public settings and media in many directions. What Boong achieves is a return to the original spirit of the tradition, to what it has always been at its core.
The film presents Thabal Chongba with the music, clothing, movement and communal atmosphere that older Manipuri generations grew up experiencing. For those viewers it carries the weight of restoration, a recovery of something they feared was quietly disappearing. For younger Manipuri audiences it offers a bridge back to their own cultural roots. For international viewers encountering it for the first time it serves as a genuine and deeply respectful introduction to a living tradition of remarkable beauty. Devi does not deploy these elements as regional colour or atmospheric backdrop. She treats them as the moral and emotional soul of the story itself, inseparable from everything the film is working to express. That single decision elevates Boong above the majority of films that claim to honour regional identity without truly understanding what such honour demands.
The film's engagement with Moreh, Manipur's border town with Myanmar, reflects equal historical sensitivity and geographical awareness. Moreh carries deep significance in the Manipuri imagination as a site of memory, commerce, movement and cultural transition. Its inclusion adds a layer of historical and political consciousness that extends the film's reach well beyond its intimate personal narrative, anchoring it firmly in the lived reality of Manipur's complex geography and experience.
Language, Craft, and the Bollywood Imprint
The dialogue in Boong achieves something deceptively difficult: it sounds the way people actually speak. Contemporary Manipuri slang and colloquial rhythms move through the conversations without visible effort or self-consciousness, and Manipuri audiences will immediately recognise that authenticity of expression. Gen Z Manipuri viewers who navigate daily life between global cultural influences and deeply rooted local identity will find themselves reflected in a way that very few films manage to achieve.
The film also carries discernible traces of Bollywood's linguistic influence, most noticeably in the Hindi-to-Manipuri translation of certain dialogues. The tonal patterns and sentence structures in these moments carry a rhythm that departs subtly from the way native Manipuri speakers naturally express themselves, a subtle but detectable shift that attentive Manipuri audiences will identify without difficulty. Yet this quality works unexpectedly in the film's favour for viewers unfamiliar with Meiteilon. The translated cadence creates an invisible bridge, allowing non-Manipuri audiences to follow the emotional current of the dialogue with surprising ease. Even without prior familiarity with the language, the borrowed rhythms from Hindi render the conversations accessible and fluid rather than alienating. It is an unintended grace, where Bollywood's linguistic imprint, rather than compromising the film's authenticity, quietly assists a wider audience in finding their way into a world they have never before encountered.
The technical execution throughout supports this naturalistic vision with consistent intelligence. Tanay Satam's cinematography maintains a quiet observational quality that suits the story's register precisely, locating beauty in the everyday with the attentive eye of someone who genuinely understands the landscape being captured. Shreyas Beltangdy's editing provides the film its necessary breathing room, neither rushing what requires stillness nor prolonging what demands movement. The original score by Zubin Balaporia and Akhu Chingangbam moves between warmth and emotional depth with complete organic conviction, serving the narrative at every point without drawing attention to itself. The collective technical contribution reflects a team of accomplished collaborators whose craft remained consistently aligned with the story's needs throughout.
To be contd