Petta - A well made but indulgent film that works well until it goes overboard

Rajinikanth brings up Ramar in the climax of Petta, which reminds me how his recent movies have been a kind of a vanavaasam from the masala blockbusters of the previous two decades. Petta serves as a much-needed homecoming to the genre. The first half revels in Rajinikanth and several times, the camera hovers around Rajini as if he is an object of attraction. Much of the first half itself is an opportunity for Rajini to flex his style muscle, where Karthik Subbaraj plays to Rajini's strengths. Even though the film abandons these characters and developments as it pivots at the interval point, it remains engaging into the second half.

Unlike Ranjith, who seemed too overwhelmed collaborating with Rajinikanth, Karthik Subbaraj seems to be at ease with solidly staged scenes, great comedic timing and interesting situations, like how Rajini usurps another character's intro song and makes it his own. He brilliantly uses old songs to set up some scenes.  The film itself opens with Vantha Naal Muthal, and then neatly wraps this device into the legend of a Kambili Sithar, to belt out even more song situations (Unnai Ondru Ketpen, Mandhian Enbavan Kadavulagalam, and Malarnthum Malaratha, the song that Jigarthanda opened with). Karthik Subbaraj even manages to indulge. There are appearances by frequent collaborators, a throw back to a character from a previous production, a family member cameo or two, and even a mandatory climatic twist ending. But whether the film ends on a high is a question that remains unresolved, even after a second-time watch.

Karthik Subbaraj to his credit does not sacrifice the craft to accommodate these build up scenes. The film is consistently well made, and some moments stand out. A character is threatened with murder during a scene and Vivek Harshan cuts to the meat - in this case to the dead body at a funeral. The film intelligently uses pan shot: first to build tension in the Valentine's day ambush, for comic effect to portray Simha family's inability to take down Kaali, build up to action sequences. Karthik Subbaraj is able to slow down the moment and emphasise the super-starriness in the exciting pre-interval fight and the even more exciting confrontation at the funeral. When Mahendran is initially opposed to his daughter's proposal, Karthik Subbaraj throws in a quirky shot to underline the kind of bond between the characters. Mahendran is oddly framed alone at one end of the frame in a long shot, while his daughter is missing from the frame. Only after he yields to her wishes, the scene returns to conventional framing. This effective and interesting use of the medium elevates an ordinary scene.

The portions before the interval and flashback feature scenes that are well written, well executed and more or less have the tone for a thriller. Poongodi's elder brother is loud and effective in an impressive cameo. While the actors themselves are really good, the characters are not well written.  Siddique plays a character that is inconsistently written, but he is able to channel whatever the plot demands. He even becomes a hyena as he prowls across the screen, countering Rajini's "Adichathu yaaru?" punch dialogue and leaves you primed for the last act.

The last act suffers from two main problems, the first of which is overplotting. Things even turn meta and you see the hero plotting way too much to hoodwink the villains. The film shifts from its men on a mission tone and pivots to sell a story to Jithu (Vijay Sethupathi), in the process loses its rhythm. Vijay Sethupathi is really convincing in the scene he believes this story and manages to compensate for the ordinary writing. Second, the attempt at Rajinisms feel forced and further affects the rhythm.

All of this appears to done to achieve a pay off in terms of a wild and twisted climax. The twist itself is good, Subbaraj plays you very well from the very beginning, and in isolation, the resolution of this thread appeared to be well thought out. But the problem is that Subbaraj treats the UP portion mainly a means to this end. As a result, the emotional stakes and tension built at the end of the flashback dissipate. This becomes more apparent during the second watching, and when the blockbuster twist arrives, it feels forced and out of place.Rajinikanth brings up Ramar in the climax of Petta, which reminds me how his recent movies have been a kind of vanavaasam from the masala blockbusters of the previous two decades. Petta serves as a much-needed homecoming to the genre. The first half revels in Rajinikanth and several times, the camera hovers around Rajini as if he is an object of attraction. Much of the first half itself is an opportunity for Rajini to flex his style muscle where Karthik Subbaraj plays to Rajini's strengths, but the film abandons the characters and development as it pivots at the interval point. Unlike Ranjith, who seemed too overwhelmed collaborating with Rajinikanth, Karthik Subbaraj seems to be at ease with solidly staged scenes, great comedic timing and interesting situations, like how Rajini usurps another characters intro song and makes it his own. He even manages to indulge. He brilliantly uses old songs to set up some scenes. The film itself opens with Vantha Naal muthal, and then neatly wraps this device into the legend of a Kambili Sithar, to belt out even more song situations (Unnai Ondru Ketpen, Mandhian Enbavan Kadavulagalam, and Malarnthum Malaratha, the song that Jigarthanda opened with). There are appearances by frequent collaborators, a throw back to a previous production, a family member cameo or two, and even a mandatory twist ending. Most of these elements work well most of the time. But whether Karthik Subbaraj ends on a high, seems like an unresolved twist. Even after a second-time watch. Karthik Subbaraj to his credit does not sacrifice the craft to accommodate these build up scenes. The film is consistently well made. Some moments stand out. A character is threatened with murder during a scene and Vivek Harshan cuts to the dead body at the funeral. The film intelligently uses pan shot: first to build tension in the Valentine's day ambush, for comic effect to portray Simha family's inability to take down Kaali, build up to action sequences. Karthik Subbaraj is able to slow down the moment and emphasise the super stariness in the exciting pre-interval fight and the even more exciting confrontation at the funeral. In the midst of a conversation with his daughter, Mahendran states why he is opposed to her proposal. At this moment he is framed alone in a long shot, but the composition is odd because he is placed at one end of the frame, whereas the daughter is still outside the frame. He yields to her wishes and you see them together in the next shot. The portions before the interval and flashback feature scenes that are well written, well executed and more or less have the tone for a thriller. Poongodi's elder brother is loud and effective in an impressive cameo. While the actors themselves are really good, the characters are not well written. Siddique plays a character that is inconsistently written, but he is able to channel whatever the plot demands. He even becomes a hyena as he prowls across the screen, countering Rajini's "Adichathu yaaru?" punch dialogue and leaves you primed for the last act. The last act suffers from overplotting, so much so that things turn meta and you see the hero plotting way too much to hoodwink the villains. The film shifts from its men on a mission tone and pivots to sell a story to Jithu (Vijay Sethupathi), and in the process loses its rhythm. Vijay Sethupathi is really convincing in the scene he believes this story and manages to compensate for the ordinary writing. And the Rajinisms feel too forced. Take the attempt at recreating the rolling chair sequence in Baasha. What if you insert a shot to let the villain admire Rajini, ask for a cigarette? What if Rajini provides him one, but not before doing his thing to the cigarette? What about a on-the-fly personalized warning about smoking from the super star? That's how Karthik Subbaraj lets his indulgences go overboard and lets the tension fizzle. All of this appears to done to achieve a pay off in terms of a wild and twisted climax. The twist itself is good, Subbaraj plays you very well from the very beginning. The first time I watched Petta, I got too ahead of the plot, and the resolution of this thread in isolation appears to be well thought out. But the problem is that Subbaraj to an extent treats the UP portion mainly a means to this end. As a result, the emotional stakes and tension built at the end of the flashback dissipate. This becomes more apparent during the second watching, and when the blockbuster twist arrives, it feels forced and out of place. Rajinikanth brings up Ramar in the climax of Petta, which reminds me how his recent movies have been a kind of vanavaasam from the masala blockbusters of the previous two decades. Petta serves as a much-needed homecoming to the genre. The first half revels in Rajinikanth and several times, the camera hovers around Rajini as if he is an object of attraction. Much of the first half itself is an opportunity for Rajini to flex his style muscle where Karthik Subbaraj plays to Rajini's strengths, but the film abandons the characters and development as it pivots at the interval point. Unlike Ranjith, who seemed too overwhelmed collaborating with Rajinikanth, Karthik Subbaraj seems to be at ease with solidly staged scenes, great comedic timing and interesting situations, like how Rajini usurps another characters intro song and makes it his own. He even manages to indulge. He brilliantly uses old songs to set up some scenes. The film itself opens with Vantha Naal muthal, and then neatly wraps this device into the legend of a Kambili Sithar, to belt out even more song situations (Unnai Ondru Ketpen, Mandhian Enbavan Kadavulagalam, and Malarnthum Malaratha, the song that Jigarthanda opened with). There are appearances by frequent collaborators, a throw back to a previous production, a family member cameo or two, and even a mandatory twist ending. Most of these elements work well most of the time. But whether Karthik Subbaraj ends on a high, seems like an unresolved twist. Even after a second-time watch. Rajinikanth brings up Ramar in the climax of Petta, which reminds me how his recent movies have been a kind of vanavaasam from the masala blockbusters of the previous two decades. Petta serves as a much-needed homecoming to the genre. The first half revels in Rajinikanth and several times, the camera hovers around Rajini as if he is an object of attraction. Much of the first half itself is an opportunity for Rajini to flex his style muscle where Karthik Subbaraj plays to Rajini's strengths, but the film abandons the characters and development as it pivots at the interval point. Unlike Ranjith, who seemed too overwhelmed collaborating with Rajinikanth, Karthik Subbaraj seems to be at ease with solidly staged scenes, great comedic timing and interesting situations, like how Rajini usurps another characters intro song and makes it his own. He even manages to indulge. He brilliantly uses old songs to set up some scenes. The film itself opens with Vantha Naal muthal, and then neatly wraps this device into the legend of a Kambili Sithar, to belt out even more song situations (Unnai Ondru Ketpen, Mandhian Enbavan Kadavulagalam, and Malarnthum Malaratha, the song that Jigarthanda opened with). There are appearances by frequent collaborators, a throw back to a previous production, a family member cameo or two, and even a mandatory twist ending. Most of these elements work well most of the time. But whether Karthik Subbaraj ends on a high, seems like an unresolved twist. Even after a second-time watch. Karthik Subbaraj to his credit does not sacrifice the craft to accommodate these build up scenes. The film is consistently well made. Some moments stand out. A character is threatened with murder during a scene and Vivek Harshan cuts to the dead body at the funeral. The film intelligently uses pan shot: first to build tension in the Valentine's day ambush, for comic effect to portray Simha family's inability to take down Kaali, build up to action sequences. Karthik Subbaraj is able to slow down the moment and emphasise the super stariness in the exciting pre-interval fight and the even more exciting confrontation at the funeral. In the midst of a conversation with his daughter, Mahendran states why he is opposed to her proposal. At this moment he is framed alone in a long shot, but the composition is odd because he is placed at one end of the frame, whereas the daughter is still outside the frame. He yields to her wishes and you see them together in the next shot. The portions before the interval and flashback feature scenes that are well written, well executed and more or less have the tone for a thriller. Poongodi's elder brother is loud and effective in an impressive cameo. While the actors themselves are really good, the characters are not well written. Siddique plays a character that is inconsistently written, but he is able to channel whatever the plot demands. He even becomes a hyena as he prowls across the screen, countering Rajini's "Adichathu yaaru?" punch dialogue and leaves you primed for the last act. The last act suffers from overplotting, so much so that things turn meta and you see the hero plotting way too much to hoodwink the villains. The film shifts from its men on a mission tone and pivots to sell a story to Jithu (Vijay Sethupathi), and in the process loses its rhythm. Vijay Sethupathi is really convincing in the scene he believes this story and manages to compensate for the ordinary writing. And the Rajinisms feel too forced. Take the attempt at recreating the rolling chair sequence in Baasha. What if you insert a shot to let the villain admire Rajini, ask for a cigarette? What if Rajini provides him one, but not before doing his thing to the cigarette? What about a on-the-fly personalized warning about smoking from the super star? That's how Karthik Subbaraj lets his indulgences go overboard and lets the tension fizzle. All of this appears to done to achieve a pay off in terms of a wild and twisted climax. The twist itself is good, Subbaraj plays you very well from the very beginning. The first time I watched Petta, I got too ahead of the plot, and the resolution of this thread in isolation appears to be well thought out. But the problem is that Subbaraj to an extent treats the UP portion mainly a means to this end. As a result, the emotional stakes and tension built at the end of the flashback dissipate. This becomes more apparent during the second watching, and when the blockbuster twist arrives, it feels forced and out of place. Karthik Subbaraj to his credit does not sacrifice the craft to accommodate these build up scenes. The film is consistently well made. Some moments stand out. A character is threatened with murder during a scene and Vivek Harshan cuts to the dead body at the funeral. The film intelligently uses pan shot: first to build tension in the Valentine's day ambush, for comic effect to portray Simha family's inability to take down Kaali, build up to action sequences. Karthik Subbaraj is able to slow down the moment and emphasise the super stariness in the exciting pre-interval fight and the even more exciting confrontation at the funeral. In the midst of a conversation with his daughter, Mahendran states why he is opposed to her proposal. At this moment he is framed alone in a long shot, but the composition is odd because he is placed at one end of the frame, whereas the daughter is still outside the frame. He yields to her wishes and you see them together in the next shot. The portions before the interval and flashback feature scenes that are well written, well executed and more or less have the tone for a thriller. Poongodi's elder brother is loud and effective in an impressive cameo. While the actors themselves are really good, the characters are not well written. Siddique plays a character that is inconsistently written, but he is able to channel whatever the plot demands. He even becomes a hyena as he prowls across the screen, countering Rajini's "Adichathu yaaru?" punch dialogue and leaves you primed for the last act. The last act suffers from overplotting, so much so that things turn meta and you see the hero plotting way too much to hoodwink the villains. The film shifts from its men on a mission tone and pivots to sell a story to Jithu (Vijay Sethupathi), and in the process loses its rhythm. Vijay Sethupathi is really convincing in the scene he believes this story and manages to compensate for the ordinary writing. And the Rajinisms feel too forced. Take the attempt at recreating the rolling chair sequence in Baasha. What if you insert a shot to let the villain admire Rajini, ask for a cigarette? What if Rajini provides him one, but not before doing his thing to the cigarette? What about a on-the-fly personalized warning about smoking from the super star? That's how Karthik Subbaraj lets his indulgences go overboard and lets the tension fizzle. All of this appears to done to achieve a pay off in terms of a wild and twisted climax. The twist itself is good, Subbaraj plays you very well from the very beginning. The first time I watched Petta, I got too ahead of the plot, and the resolution of this thread in isolation appears to be well thought out. But the problem is that Subbaraj to an extent treats the UP portion mainly a means to this end. As a result, the emotional stakes and tension built at the end of the flashback dissipate. This becomes more apparent during the second watching, and when the blockbuster twist arrives, it feels forced and out of place.

Your Majesty

Being an only child is a privilege. Your siblings might join you in a few years. With time, the novelty of an only child may just wane off for your parents. For the brief time when you are an only child, you walk the earth with the highest of privileges. Well, you don’t merely walk. Your very step opens up a schism through the moral fiber of the universe, and out you go, running over things. Uncles hide for cover from your punches and kicks. Aunties adore your tantrums.  No one can stop you. And if someone dares to question your divine right to stomp around, make sure there is a patronizing relative who would say, “What does he know? After all he is a three year old”.

One fine day, you discover that your mother has a baby boy sized lump around her belly. You have watched movies with pregnant women carrying babies. They never end well. For the first time in your toddler life, you are consumed by fear. Your mother tells you that she will be alright, and come spring, you will have a baby brother or sister to play with. Both of you leave for your maternal grand mother’s village and wait in expectation. Spring arrives. Another schism opens on the moral fiber of the universe and out comes another privileged male. They say it was manual labor.

You can not wait to start playing with your brother. But he is caught up in his own world, busy eating, sleeping, peeing and pooping. You get bored, and your instinct tells you to carry our baby brother and show him around as your dart around the house. As you struggle to lift the baby up from the cradle, your mother gets a wind of the plan, and restraints you.  “You are a four year old now; a big man with a little brother. Stop acting like a baby”, she tells you.

To keep you from trouble, mother puts you temporarily in the neighborhood school. Your kinder garden teacher is a strict, full figured mother of five children, and a no-toddler-nonsense person. The other children have been trained to be obedient, and you too learn to curb your instincts when at school. You bide your time by expectantly looking through your classroom windows to glance at the school gate, waiting for it to open, while sadly mumbling “A for Apple”. Soon the teacher finds out that you are not paying any attention to the lesson. She orders you to stand outside the class and demands that you repeat every syllable she utters. You leave your seat without creating a scene, and stand just outside the threshold of your classroom. The entire class repeats after the teacher, “D for Dog”.

As you stand outside the class making steady progress through the alphabets, the sound of the incoming school van briefly distracts you. The watchman opens the gate for the school van to  enter. The class is too focused on the next alphabet and prepare to begin the routine yet another time. “G for …”. An idea flashes in your mind, and your old instincts take hold of you. You run from the controlling teacher and the subservient classmates, past the now open gate, to your mother, your baby brother and your grandmother’s house. You can hear the teacher’s alarmed voice trailing after you. You know that neither her voice nor her bulky frame would catch up with the speed of your legs. Your stunned classmates watch the spectacle through the classroom windows. You zoom past the play ground, the parked school van, the little nursery and almost take the first step outside the gate. But just before that, a pair of strong arms belonging the watchman grab your frame between your tiny arms and lift you off your feet. A schism opened on the moral fiber of the universe, and gobbled up yet another privileged brat.

Thupparivaalan: With a touch of empathy

A common aspect of Sherlock Holmes adaptions is the emphasis on the emotional distance between the detective and other characters, and in turn the audience. In Sherlock, the show uses this emotional distance to trick the audience in to questioning if they really know who Sherlock is - what if he is only a very convincing and methodical con artist? In this regard Mysskin’s Thupparivaalan (the film itself opens with an acknowledgement to  Arthur Canon Doyle, the main characters and other Baker street irregulars) differs from other adaptations I have watched. Kanian Poongundran, the Sherlock Holmes styled protagonist here seemed to invoke a similar feeling of detachment to other people/things that populate this film’s universe. Mysskin’s triumph is in portaying the detective not only as a Canon Doyle hero donning a thinking hat, but also as a Good Samaritan Myskkin hero, whose life takes a different turn due to his act of kindness. With that move, Mysskin makes this film his very own.

Direction sets up an unsettling mood from the first shot, which creates a tension that continues throughout the prologue. There are interesting situations in other movies, that don’t get an interesting visual treatment, that some times make you wonder what Mysskin would have done. The excellent set piece that introduces Mallika and her gang of pick pockets is a good example. Mysskin employs a consistent visual language to establish empathy. He draws your attention by slightly throwing off the film’s rhythm, by forcing his characters suddenly come to a pause and encounter a new situation that demands their empathy. This is much more refreshing than using a reaction shot (accompanied by a beat or two of a thavil) for the same purpose. Mysskin use this technique to introduce Naveen, a child whose bereavement draws Kanian and Mano (Dr. Watson here is more like a Man Friday, which works just well) into a web of crimes hinted during the prologue. Mysskin stretches the moment, allowing the child to express his grief. This scene sets up the detective’s quest not just as an intellectual exercise, but a deeply empathetic one. Mysskin uses the same technique to much better effect to come to a pause on Mallika, as she helplessly watches her siblings get punished by a mob during a botched robbery.

When it comes to establishing the setting, main characters and the seemingly unexplainable crimes, Mysskin’s writing is strong. In true Canon Doyle fashion, the crimes committed are intriguing, outlandish and thoroughly entertaining at once. There is also a streak of bleakness, that tries to explain the other side to a Good Samaritan. Bhagyaraj’s character offers some money as a token of gratitude to a driver - a minor character (also a Good Samaritan) he is not acquainted with, even though he is marked to be hit in one of the gang’s plots. May be he has a little hope that the driver would survive or his family can subsist on the money. In contrast to this, in another scene you don’t see any of this hope, as Bhagyaraj’s character in his dying moments tries to put lights out on his helpless domestic partner.

The same happens in the dying moments of a character close to Kanian and Mano. The duo give up right away, as they realize out what’s happening, and don’t even attempt a rescue, even as the said character continues to breathe and is able to muster a few final words. And Mysskin stretches the scene, allowing Kanian to emerge out of his surface level indifference to the character, but this only unnecessarily restates Kanian’s empathy towards the character which was far more convincingly established earlier. The long scene also allows you to wonder why he would be so helpless enough to try to save the character at the moment.

May be the whole point is to show how a Good Samaritan reacts when the person in need is dear to him. Is he still able to still ask what should I do next, or is the situation far too overwhelming? While this may be a sufficient explanation in the hindsight, but when the scene itself was playing, it was hard to ignore the severe dissonance Kanian’s actions cause. To make things worse, Mysskin passes the opportunity to explore whether Kanian’s pursuit becomes personal after this incident, despite setting the stage for that. He stages the scene by blocking Kanian and Mano in a position similar to Naveen (the child) was when he was first introduced after his personal loss, but does not explore their grief any further. Instead he introduces a pivot that only does a little to move the plot ahead. He cuts to a scene heavy with exposition, as the detectives get information about the antagonists. Thankfully, at least the scene was short.

But the same can not said of set pieces in the movie. A few of them work: the bike chase sequence is interestingly shot, where the tension steadily builds up and ends with a bang. But there are other set pieces where Mysskin lets your attention drift. The fight sequence at the Chinese restaurant is an unnecessary digression that lacks the intrigue that accompanies fight sequences from Mysskin’s earlier work. The climatic fight sequences also seem long and filled with pointless deaths.

A common theme in this disappointment is how Mysskin builds a scene to make you expect a pay off, but fails to deliver the pay off, especially towards the end. When Vishal and Andrea’s characters have a stand off, Mysskin creates a very noticeable pause raising the stakes, only to deflate it suddenly by cutting to a character who is stabbed and bleeding. Even though the climax also tries answer some questions about who the villain really is, it leaves a huge question mark over the relevance of this exploration. But the final stretch with its unexpected sprinkle of humour, redeems the climax and winds down on an empathetic note, as Naveen’s quest comes to a completion.

 Thupparaivaalan it is a rare demonstration of excellent directorial craft from one of Tamil cinema's master directors. The film is not without its flaws, and may not compare with Mysskin's consistently great recent work. But good is just good enough for me.

Sarkar 3: Why not?

There are few reasons to watch Sarkar 3, after the nearly unanimous hostile critical reception. Film companion even called it an act of film terrorism (Baradwaj Rangan was far more kind). But it was a Tuesday night when tickets are selling at half the price. Even more importantly, long after its release I was impressed by Ram Gopal Varma’s outlandish “Not A Love Story” with its close embrace of voyeurism, crazy CCTV POV, and obsessively deploying Varma’s own Rangeela song to absurdly contrast the protagonist with Rangeela. Sarkar 3 surely has its weaknesses, but I think it is unfair to call it an act of film terrorism. It is likely that the reviewer had not watched the third installation of another franchise that released this earlier year, which should rank only slightly behind Inglorious Bastreds for its ability to assault a movie audience - Si3. In comparison to Sarkar 3, Si3 was a fucking genocide.

Sarkar 3 is about a turf war where Subash Nagre’s enemies conspire with a person in his inner circle to bring about his downfall. The drama stretches thin a thread bare plot in an attempt to unsuccessfully manufacture a thriller about who could possibly be the snitch. The writing is ordinary except for one well written scene where Govinda (Manoj Bajpai) and Nagre (Amitabh Bacchan) face off. Govinda comes across as the political strong man who looks down upon Nagre (in fact, Govinda is so disgusted that literally he is refusing to look Nagre in the eyes), even as Nagre makes an effort to reach out to him from a position of weakness. In other places, the writer operates by having suspects from Nagre’s inner circle (Gopal and Shivaji) face off each other in contrived situations and subjecting us to realms of dialogue that tell us each character’s flimsy motivations for wanting to betray Nagre. When the resolution comes in the climax it is thoroughly disappointing. It is only made worse by how the reveal simply happens now over a monologue - “You might think that you have got this. But we have simply played you all along so that you will conveniently walk in here during climax, so that we can murder you. Smart. Hahahahahaha. Close up of villain’s face. Close up. Close up. Cut. You are already dead. Boom”.

Despite the shoddy writing, Varma’s competent direction lifts Sarkar 3 into realms of watchability. When the first half of the film meanders along, he rousingly stages a scene in the back drop of a Ganapathi Visarjan to kick the film back to life. Surely Varma appears to be distracted at times - by focusing on inanimate objects in the foreground while the action in the background plays out in a blur, or cutting to close up shots of a pug’s statue, perhaps as a stand in for Nagre’s condescension, or framing characters within weird shaped frames or using a Dutch angle for a bed-ridden Mrs. Nagre’s point of view. But in general when it comes to staging scenes Varma is consistently old school, and in good control. Just to name a few aspects - the effective blocking and intentional camera moves in a scene where Nagre and his inner circle watch Govinda’s mother accuse him on TV; as Nagre evicts Shivaji from the gang, the latter is shrouded in darkness (it is as if Varma going - if the writing is gives me little, I will give you not even that); neat ensemble staging in the scene when Shivaji joins forces with Nagre’s enemies.

Perhaps the only thing Varma does to play to the gallery is with the character of Michael Valya (played by Jackie Shroff), a loose cannon that never ends up firing despite its disproportionate screen time (so much so that one of many Valya’s missives open the second half). Varma has not shied away from objectifying women, but Valya’s girlfriend represents an objectification that is unexpectedly casual, in contrast to the flamboyant objectification of Mahie Gill’s character in “Not A Love Story”. In that film you see, a disturbing sex scene is made even more unsettling by a dead man’s foot sticking out at an odd angle in the foreground. Sarkar 3 works to an extent as a thriller largely because Varma continues to be good at unsettling the audience.

Varma makes scenes linger a little bit longer - when Anu laughs at Shivaji’s naivety or when they board a train to escape an assassination attempt. He has camera rapidly circle a character in 360 degrees, only to shoot him to a sudden death. He redeploys the same technique again to unsettling effect on the two main characters between inter cuts, as they prepare for a final face off. It is premature to declare that Varma has lost it, when he can conjure a thriller out of this material. May be he is just bored.

Baahubali 2: The Conclusion - A thoroughly disappointing follow up

Baradwaj Rangan has an interesting theory about how Tamil films set in Malaysia inevitably end up being shitty. In the best case, they turn out - to use a phrase unique to present day popular Tamil film criticism, to be a “one-time watch”. This phrase harks back to a time when fans thronged to theaters multiple times to revel in the major source of entertainment of the pre-cable television era. Unlike many single screen theaters and film studios of that era, the phrase has refused to die down due to the charity of benevolent film viewers, who recommend an otherwise middling film as an “one-time watch”. I have rarely watched a film for a second time in a theatre, even more rarely so on my own accord; the only exception being Rajamouli’s thoroughly entertaining Naan Ee (dubbed from the Telugu “Eega"). I was so impressed that I retweeted Ram Gopal Varma’s tweet, that Rajamouli should tweet his feet for others to retweet. I thought Baahubali: The Beginning was a reasonably good follow up. But when I saw the ticket prices for Baahubali: The Conclusion, a personal theory about how over-priced films inevitably end up being shitty made me wait it out.  Like any silly film theory, the outcome in this case is so predictable that they can use it as the story for the next Baahubali sequel (The Vote of Thanks?).


Despite being dubbed Baahubali 2 is better than almost every Tamil movie I have seen this year, but that would be too low of a bar to clear. The visual effects and production design are the best aspects of Baahubali 2. With respect to good Indian films, even those that have breathtaking visuals, almost always fail to get CGI right. In that light, this is an important achievement of this series. After ages, Anushka is back with a meaningful role and gets to play the film’s best written character. For a masala film hero, Prabhas seems to be in a good control of his performance in an affable portrayal of Amarendra Baahubali. And both the duets are interestingly shot. Unfortunately for Baahubali 2, apart from these, there isn’t much going its way.

Baahubali gives you archetypes instead of characters, whose development is arrested right at the moment writers thought of names for these characters. Given the genre, this is not a major issue in itself.  But for a sequel whose existing relies on unraveling the motivations behind a cliffhanger, this film is far too predictable and cliched. Most of the directorial choices simply overstate a cliche - in front of an imposing alpha female, there always must be an even more imposing alpha male overshadowing her. A jump cut when Baahubali overtakes Devasena to kill a soldier of the invading force is a grotesque example that stands out. Rarely has film making been deployed with such desperation to promote machismo.

It may be because of the presence of Ramya Krishnan, or her latent super power to provoke mammals (there are numerous references to how Sivagami nursed the infant Baahubali) into attacking her characters, this film in an unintentionally amusing way, reminded me of Padayappa during several scenes. One such scene is the pre-interval scene where Devasena arrives at Maghizhmathi under a cloud of confusion. There is a similar pre-interval scene in Padayappa with a gender reversal. There is only one way in which that scene could have ended, but K. S. Ravikumar uses a simple tracking shot to build a suspense that makes the scene work. In Baahubali, Rajamouli blocks the scene by showing Devasena move, but you are not sure why this comes as a surprise to Sivagami, as the other suitor’s position in the frame is not clearly established. Why waste effort on staging and blocking a scene for suspense, when you can convey suspense through background score and reaction shots of people looking surprised? Or zoom into the surprised faces of Ramya Krishnan or Sathyaraj to manufacture drama? Why even do that when the audience can reasonably predict what’s going to happen?

Another problem with the direction is that it is too content on showcasing a spectacle. After Baahubali and Devasena are forced into an exile, they team up with villagers to establish a small settlement. In a scene that starts with villagers working together to pass a log of wood, camera starts moving upwards, and you expect to see how this action fits into a bigger picture  of what they are doing. Instead you see how several extras have been assembled to just give you a hint of the scale of the movie. In Baahubali - The Beginning, I thought the climatic war sequences looked a little bit bloated and not clearly thought out. The same applies in general to set pieces in The Conclusion. These scenes are thought out with an admirably vivid imagination, but it is unlikely that all the disparate elements required to tell an interesting story can fit within a single setup block. So scenes begin vaguely, proceed to do something spectacular, only to end in a way that is downright confusing, after being overwhelmed by the weight of their own scale.

Baahubali 2 is well on its way to become the most financially successful Indian film. The film’s opening credits begin with a presciently written producer’s note that thanks the audience for making it a massive success. The maker’s complete trust in the awesomeness of the spectacle is perhaps the reason why they put so many reaction shots of people reacting in wonder. The over reliance on reaction shots is a perennially frustrating aspect of Baahuabli 2 (I don't remember there being a similar issue with The Beginning). In this world, every action shot has two, three or four fold opposite reaction shots, that it looks like a costly Indian production of SNL’s parody sketch The Californians. That Baahubali has reached new heights for an Indian film is only one part of its success story. It managed to do so while being an unintentional parody of Indian films. That’s the intriguing part.

Kaatru Veliyidai - The relationship drama of our times

While O Kadhal Kanmani worked for me, I thought it was too lightweight given Maniratnam's interesting body of work. I longed for a film that explored relationships beyond the surface level. Almost two years later, Maniratnam is back with Kaatru Veliyidai, a film about two characters who despite being very much in love, don't see eye to eye. A casual argument over whether India should wage a war against Pakistan leads to their first fight. In an era of Trump, Clinton, Modi and Kejriwal, where thanks to TV and social media, political fault lines have extended into our personal spaces, Kaatru Veliyidai might be the relationship drama of our times.

Kaatru Veliyidai is not without its flaws. The writing in the first half is too keen on advancing the plot, and the initial scenes lack a clear motivation and don't jell well together. The supporting characters keep popping in and out of nowhere. This affects the first half's rhythm. Maniratnam is reluctant about letting us onto his protagonists and for some strange reason wants to portray them as enigmas for a while. As a result, you get glimpses of Leela's backstory which seems to hold some promise, but fails to surface in a meaningful way later. Varun's character in the first half like his counter-part in O Kadhal Kanmani, comes across as too cool to get a grasp on.

What rescues the first half is Maniratnam's focused, economical direction, and visual story telling. The turbulence of a plane taking off is used to emphasize a surprising, yet uncomfortable memory the two characters share. The setting of a snow storm is used as a back drop to stage a scene where a conflict arises between the characters. The camera lingers to capture Leela's frustration at not being able to spend the night with Varun, bathing her face in light from the tail lights and head lights of a departing jeep. In another instance at a hospital waiting area, the camera holds the characters in a medium shot, as an argument between them leads to another conflict. When Varun raises his voice in anger, making the fight public, the camera snaps out to a long shot of Varun, and you only hear an echo of his shout. Such economy is rarely seen in Tamil cinema.

These scenes set the tone for a fantastic second half, where Maniratnam is completely in control of the rhythm. The writing finally finds it feet, and with every scene you see Varun's character progressively take shape. You get an initial glimpse, when Varun mentors a new recruit who questions the moral ambiguity of military service. Varun asks him to stare into the mirror, and goes further than Bhagavath Geetha to reduce all human conflicts to a simplistic struggle between good and evil.

This culminates in a well written scene where Varun meets Leela’s bereaving family. Like any self respecting conservative, Varun uses his own perceived sense of virtuousness to float up to a moral high ground, and grudgingly looks down upon Leela’s father. The direction in this scene is also top notch. Leela's father and mother uncomfortably avoid catching Varun's eyes, until Varun proceeds to walk behind Leela and wraps his arm around her shoulder, as if staking a claim on her. At this point, Leela's father slightly loses his composure in an instinctive Freudian reaction, that produces a passive aggressive stare.

When an actor go down on his knees in front of another actor, a power relationship is established between them, where the former yields to the latter who is shown to be towering over the former. Maniratnam fiddles with this dynamic with some interesting staging. When Varun is on his knees ¹, Leela does not tower over him, as he is atop the jeep's bonnet. Instead their eyes are at the same level, creating a false sense of equality. Even though his words tell her that he will start seeing her as an equal, they don't ring true. You see the false submission pay off in the following scene, where he shows off how he has her under his thumb.

Karthi might have built a reputation as a good actor, but Varun is not an easy character to play, and  brings out the limitations in his craft. To be fair, Karthi is good in parts, especially in the second half when the writing gets better. But you can not unsee him playing a moment of weakness by staring intensely into the screen, as if struck by castration anxiety. This might be a breakthrough role for Aditi Rao Hydari, who makes Leela her own in a consistently good performance that is a controlled portrayal of both vulnerability and intensity. Leela, perhaps was intended to be not fully flushed out; her character summary might have been punctuated by ellipsis. Hydari's triumph is in her ability to bring this punctuation on to the screen.

Maniratnam's visual story telling is able to transfer the film's theme of two characters who don't see eye to eye, onto a visual plane, thereby making scenes work at a metaphorical level. When Leela accepts her role as the lesser partner, before confessing her love for Varun, she draws a closet door to create a separation between herself and Varun, forcing them to not see eye to eye. The blocking here is simple and effective. You see a much more extravagant blocking where Varun and Leela are lying on a bed facing each other, but without seeing eye to eye. As their differences about starting a family drives a wedge between them, Leela turns over and leaves Varun with an ultimatum.

The rhythm carries over to the scenes in Pakistan as Varun's party desperately tries to escape. The way the chase ends left me with a chuckle. The film almost ends on a high, as Varun and Leela finally see eye to eye in an endearing scene. But Maniratnam cops out to play to the gallery, (who have summarily dismissed the film as a mokka padam ²) and the characters accept each other as equals, but only in an Orwellian sense. One can reason that this is keeping with how Leela refuses to let go of her adolescent crush on a man she has never met, and whom she desperately clings onto even after being treated poorly. That aspect of her character remains obscure, and one would have to really squint to see how it shapes the climax. May be like life, she is not perfect. So is this film. But on the other hand, it is at least full of life!

Footnotes 

1. This scene where Leela accuses Varun of treating her like a dog, reminded me of Gautam Menon's Nee Thane En Pon Vasantham, where at point the heroine accuses yet another Varun of treating her like an item on a checklist.
2. To be fair, one need not be an expert film critic to tell if a movie works. But for a film like this, the answer to that question is more personal. Popular consensus is that cinematography is excellent, which is audience speak for direction is good. Not to take anything away from Ravivarman's work, I don't know anything about cinematography so as to talk about his work in a meaningful way.

Dhuruvangal Pathinaaru - A fresh approach to direction marred by an ordinary approach writing

Dhuruvangal Pathinaaru by Karthick Narain is an unusual Tamil film. One of the early scenes has a pan shot from the hills to a bungalow at a languid pace. This is a stark contrast to the films that Hari churns out with the pans, jarring cuts accompanied by a whoosh. Tamil cinema has found settings from Chennai to Madurai, but a thriller set in a hill station has been long overdue. Amir’s Raam which also had Rahman was made more than a decade ago. Much like the setting, it rare to see a young Tamil director who strongly believes in showing rather than telling, and keeps at it for the most part. In the early portions, Karthick shows adeptness at his craft. He manages to carve out a pivot when a victim’s identity matches with the blood samples at the crime scene. The direction is interesting and unusual. Yet it does not compensate for the ordinary writing.

Interesting, because Karthick is eager to try out several techniques. A conversation broken into several shots is shot once from behind the shoulder, once within the space of the conversation and again with a different variation. He prefers a steady camera for conversational scenes, and employs handheld to shoot the action scenes. The best scene is when Delhi Ganesh is revealed about his son’s fate. You hear the numbness of the shock, but you are shown the shakiness of the after effect. There is also a strong preference for long takes. Experienced directors and actors screw up oners [1]. Karthick demonstrates an understanding of why they work well; he keeps his character on their feet and gives them something to do [2]. The scene outside Shruti’s apartment with the neighbour and his wife work well largely because it is in a single shot. He manages to even infuse comedy into that scene. But sometimes these shots appear forced. Even in the above mentioned scene Rahman is moved around without a lot of purpose. One of the first scenes at the police station also has a single shot that has a constable appearing way too busy (the movement is composed the character cutting several imaginary corners and he has something to say to somebody at every corner) just to keep the shot interesting.

Unusual, because in several scenes action seems to happen not at the center of the frame, but at the periphery. It is an unusual choice. It works well in the opening sequence. It was surprising to see where the gun was pointed at. Even the altercation with the traffic police is shot in a way you, so that you can fully see the actor but only paritally see the action. You also get a profile shot of only one party in a conversation, where the other party who is not in frame. May be the director wants to keep you guessing about what’s not in frame. Strangely enough there are at least shots were composed starting from a top angle and moving to a perpendicular position with respect to the characters without a specific purpose.

Rahman exudes a lazy elegance that makes an interesting watch. At times, I wonder if that’s due to sloppiness in writing. The writing manages to work well with some character traits that go well with Rahman’s acting. He patiently coaches a new recruit who thinks of a missing person report as a prank call. There is also a short film crew that has a second unit directing a making video of the short film! Karthick seems to follow an unrestrained approach to direction as well as writing, but the latter does not work out as well. You see scenes that begin way too early and end way too late, which slowly becomes a trend. A conversation with a watchman about the investigation slowly becomes a conversation about the watchman. Ineptness of the policemen goes on like a never ending side show, and bloats the investigation scenes. Rahman has a meatier role in this movie, but I liked his performance in Raam better largely because he was supported by better writing. Here the writing is in broad brush strokes, lacks specificity and hopes to manufacture interest from the lack of clarity. Towards the end you can feel a hangover from short films (though not Karthick Narain’s Oomai Kural which features much better and specific writing).

The direction helps create and maintain a sombre tone with a promise that some thing interesting is around the corner. If only the writing had helped the film turn the corner, I would have joined Baradwaj Rangan in a chorus in calling this a first rate film. But the direction shows sufficient promise to believe that one may be around the corner.

[1] - Kabali talks to his gang in a diner after evicting a dissenting member. There is a long take that is too long for Rajinikanth to sustain the intensity of his performance (look at how feeble "Magzhichi" is). Ranjith does not move any of his characters; the extras stick out like sore thumbs, and drains the scene of any signs of life. A scene that's representative of Baradwaj Rangan's synopsyis - "An unsatisfying clash between the impulses of star and director".
[2] - Mugumoodi’s Kudi Vaazhthu has an interesting prelude that has a good long shot. Every Frame a Painting’s The Spielberg Oner.