Theri - a return to the old school

Vijay and Atlee's Theri, like no other recent Tamil movie has highly polarized opinions on whether it is worth watching. Despite what some reviews had to say, I was pleasantly surprised by how it worked well as a masala potboiler, surprisingly an old school one at that. But Theri it is not without its problems. Theri begins with back to back introductions of two time lines (of Joseph Kuruvilla and Deputy Commissioner Vijaykumar), which front loads it with double fluff. I did not think much of Nainika's role. The usual cognitive dissonance associated with processing Amy Jackson in a Tamil film such as thinking of her as a local woman, seeing her lips move when she speaks, listening to the dialogue and putting this all together in your mind is quite daunting. In Theri, be prepared to additionally read the subtitles for her Malayalam dialogues. I liked it better when Theri flashed back into Vijay Kumar's story. First, it was a welcome relief to see Vijay without that hairdo. Second, instead of Nainika/Amy Jackson, we get much better actors in Radhika/Samantha playing much better roles.

In comparison to Thuppaki/Kaththi, Theri on the surface seems like an inferior product. There is little demonstration of craft in direction. Take the initial fight scene when the begging racket is busted. There is no relationship between the actors and the vehicles driven in the background, the blocking among actors is primitive, the location is generic and the whole scene screams film studio/city. In comparison, Thuppaki's bus bomb blast and the ensuing action seems like a classic. You are at least convinced that the action is happening in Bombay and is disrupting another busy day. Thuppaki and Theri have the same producer, but much different production values. Or take the scene where they conclude that the missing woman has not walked past a point. Myskkin would have at least shown you around by making a constable walk from Point A to Point B. Here all deductions and conclusions happen over dialogue.

But that is because, Theri harks back to an older school of Tamil masala film making; a school that predates modern Tamil masala movies that are content to play it cool and would be too embarrassed to emotionally manipulate an audience. In that regard it is a fine film, and its quite unfair to make a comparison to Thuppaki/Kaththi. Plus, it is refreshing, because they don't make them here anymore. You get a preview of what's in store during the first half, with the kids at the hospital or the final moments of the rape victim. When was the last time a mainstream Tamil movie even try to make an audience shed a tear or two? Atlee deserves credit for operating with restraint (whereas Bala would launch an army of Dementors at you) on a genre, where it is easy go overboard. Mindless brutality is a must in old school masala, in order to push the audience over an edge, for that would only justify the masala hero's cathartic revenge, which would not otherwise work in the face of rational thought. Atlee manages to achieve a balance by cutting to the aftermath of brutality, in most cases, without actually showing them happen. On the flip side, the characters don't actively drive the action forward during the first half, which is one of the things modern masala movies fuss about (The other thing they fuss about is doing that in style). The screenplay takes the characters to the aftermath of brutal violence or even the violent retribution for brutal violence, after some water has flown under the bridge.

After playing it cool in Thuppaki and Kaththi, it is a return to old school for Vijay who manages to do the heavy lifting that is required to make the emotional scenes work. As a Vijay fan, I am somewhat blind to the rough edges in his performance, and they do exist here mainly due to the genre, but overall it is a good return to form (your mileage may vary) after a tepid Puli. 'Motta' Rajendran gets the movies best line - the one right after the interval where he explains why they moved to Kerala to setup a bakery there. Collaborating for the second time after 'Raja Rani', he might well be Atlee's favorite actor. He gets a make over every time Vijay gets one, and in the epilogue his new look is just as impressive as the hero's. Every body is a "baby" here. May be that's a wink at Arya. Radhika brings a wholeness to the proceeding, and completes a very small family. I am not sure why - may be Tamil films have stopped providing an explanation or the Tamil society has moved on, or it is Radhika's presence, you probably not notice the missing father. I did notice the missing father, but that's only because the biggest epiphany after watching 'Naanum Rowdy Thaan', was how I never noticed Radhika character's missing husband until long after watching the movie, even though the other main character acutely feels the loss of her parents. After writing strong female characters for 'Raja Rani', Atlee has a reputation to keep, and he meets it by making the old school masala heroine a little less of a damsel in distress. Post a string of arm candy roles in Kaththi, Anjaan and Paththu Endrathukkule, Samantha finally plays a character that is conceived with a modicum of respect. During closes up, Samantha leaves you wondering if she is in wincing in pain after some body hastily patched a broken jaw, that is once again threatening to fall off her face. During long shots, you wonder how someone with those chubby cheeks could have such a slender waist. In the two profile shots that create contrasting moods, Samantha seems to reclaim some acting form from NEPV. Vijay is also in his element during those sequences.

The second half is where real masala moments are actually built up. Take the scene where Vijaykumar meets Mithra's family. Atlee manages to build up to the moment with a bit about Vijaykumar having never fired a gun on duty, and letting a bullet break through the frame, just when the scene is heading towards a happy ending. This is old school masala done well. Watching the trailer you can make a guess about Mithra's fate, but the way this scene plays, keeps you guessing. The acting is good, the conversation is interesting, and even though you have an ominous feeling that this could be Mithra's last moment, unlike the earlier scene at the cafe, the rhythm of the conversation keeps you from guessing the exact moment at which a bullet rips through her. Even a heavy weight like Radhika is swatted like a fly. It is rare, that a movie's best scene is one in which the villain wins, but the scene when Vanamamalai points a gun to the little girl's temple is the only time I cared for Nivedita, despite the knowledge that the girl is going to live. Mahendran is sure to pick up an acting award or two. This entire sequence is an effective use of shock, and ends with a perfect old school masala moment between the leads. Shortly after you get another shock when a school bus veers off into an unintended amphibious journey.

The idea of a cop ghost/ghost cop going on a revenge trip is interesting, executed decently, and on its own might make an interesting movie. But Atlee is content to push fast forward button, as the film almost transforms into a mix of modern masala - trying to rush proceedings to a no frills ending and a Shankar style an eye for an eye social justice potboiler, where everybody gets his revenge. The media tracking voice of the people, or a recently bereaved young son pays back the small loan, they both scream Shankar. There is also a bit of bigotry that is in poor taste, when a minor Brahmin character is slapped or so I think. All you could see was someone providing a callous answer in Brahmin slang, and a jarring cut to blood on the character's face. May be it is upon the Censor Board's insistence or it is keeping with the first half's choice of cutting to the aftermath without showing the action, I don't why there is a jarring cut. The scene has no utility, and I see no point in keeping it except to tell the whole world about your little bigotry. In Anniyan, Shankar manages to kill/maim almost every male character not established as Brahmin, except for Manobala and Nasser's characters. In fact, both the characters Anniyan exempts from the wrath of Garuda Puranam, happen to be Brahmins. Moral of the story: if you are going to express your bigotry in a movie, embed it into the movie's DNA, or at least be subtle. Be like Shankar.

Uttama Villain

At one point in Uttama Villain, K. Balanchander quips that he would not make a movie about a man suffering from a terminal brain cancer. "It would be such a cliche!". It is a  meta-commentary on Uttama Villain - which is about the last hurrah of a matinee idol, which needs an interesting mind like Kamal Hassan's to make this cliche work.

Kamal Hassan plays Manoranjan, a super star who acts in commercial potboilers, the kind of films that drive his adulating wife and his skeptic son crazy for entirely different reasons. The film opens to other adulating fans, and a song with an intentionally bad choreography where Kamal Hassan hams it way too up, almost matching the lack of dignity with which his friend Rajinikanth asked Shriya to give him "one time sunshine". When Manoranjan realises that he does not have much time left, he leaves his stardom and the baggage that came with that, to join forces with Margadarsi (played by K. Balachander to whom this film is dedicated), to make the kind of film he wanted to act as a budding actor. It is at this point the meta commentary is made, and is followed by a heartwarming performance, and the effect is amplified by Balachander's recent passing, as he grieves for his disciple's impending demise.

It is interesting to see the economy with which the scenes are written. The movie premier and the launch party provide a platform for most of the peripheral characters (but by no means minor) to come together. K. S. Ravikumar might have made these scenes utterly chaotic, and to Ramesh Aravind's credit he keeps a tighter watch. One of the most fascinating things about the writing is not how the characters steer the story forward, but how they seem to shape Uttama Villain's narrative form, seemingly without the director's aid. But I don't know if the general lack of directorial vision at the expense of interesting story telling is a good thing, or a bad thing, and in that regard, it does not help Ramesh Aravind that his film has Kamal Hassan.

"Uttama Villain" the historical comedy film that Margadarsi and Manoranjan make (thus giving this move its "purely Tamizh" name) is significant, in how this film and Manoranjan's life borrow from each other. But even without regard to this significance, it works mostly well, delivering laughs by deftly recycling Tamil proverbs and idioms ("Pudhu katthi kuthuthu", "Mudivurai illa Kaaviyam naan"). The inner film is almost a "Imsai Arasan 23am Pulikesi", relying on a happy-go-lucky hero, a laughably lecherous villain and a heroine with a sexy midriff. Kamal, Nasser, Pooja Kumar (and Dr. Gnanasambhandan in a rocking role, if his fan is reading) ham it up to extremely verbose (at times funny and thought provoking) semi-classical Tamil lyrics. Anyone unfamiliar with Nasser's work will probably misunderstand his performance as an indication of lack of acting skills. The movie making in the inner "Uttama Villian" itself is extremely primitive (it's like a stage performance where each scene simply leads to the next), and if unlike me, you listened to songs before watching the movie, you are bound to be disappointed. But it fits within the picture of what the outer "Uttama Villain" wants to achieve, and manages to keep you distracted from the realities of Manoranjan's life.

Quite contrastingly, the outer "Uttama Villain" is full of neat performances. Early on, M.S. Bhaskar's character reacts on his belated finding of Manoranjan's illness with a sense of betrayal, considering it as an act of retaliation to his own earlier betrayal. This is a rare moment in the outer "Uttama Villain", when a character loudly vocalizes his feelings. It begins with a hint of self awareness, which seems to progressively collapse under the weight of his sorrow. The next scene where he visits Kamal, is well thought and well executed. Bhaskar betrays a slight sense of guilt, when he reads the lines in the letter that indict him. The staging helps the characters to perform to each other, without overwhelming the audience with their feelings. Many a time, the film tips toes around this territory, and mostly manages to maintain a mood that is sombre but not tear jerking. It also helps that we don't know Yamini (whose name is the best of the movie's word plays), and are not deeply invested in her. But interestingly, M. S. Bhaskar pales into insignificance after this scene. The explanation comes much later, when Manoranjan points to Manonmani (Parvathi Menon who holds herself against Kamal Hassan in another well executed scene, when she first meets Manoranjan), her picture in a sort of a family tree, of people that mean something to him. That's what the outer "Uttama Villain" is about, how Manoranjan makes peace with those that matter to him, and vice versa.

What makes "Uttama Villain" interesting is how it derives from the film within the film. If Uttaman tricks King Mutharasan, by claiming to possess immortality, Manoranjan derives some personal mileage from his impending death. He manages to soften ties with his mentor, gets to read Yamini's letter, endears himself to his daughter born out of a wedlock, and his son. It is the awareness of his mortality that allows these characters to overcome their hard feelings against Manoranjan.

For all its seeming lack of finesse, the most interesting piece of screen writing is "within" the inner "Uttama Villain". The "Iraniyan Kadhai" does not only provide the perfect platform that deals with immortality, it is also an early Indian example of that story telling technique the patrons of ancient Greek theater despised. If Kamal dropped hints in "Dasavatharam" about the impeding dues ex machina, he does it more discreetly here. After hours of pouring over Wikipedia, reading about playwrights shifting the burden of saving the day to the almighty, it is a delight to find an example closer to home, as Mutharasan tears down a stage property to emerge out as Narasimhan, but only to be outwitted! (The realisation did not occur to me while watching the film). An admirable quality about Kamal, how he makes his political statements while simultaneously being true to his craft, unlike his playwright rationalist-political ancestors who have fallen prey to jingoism. At other places, Uttaman rues the absence of a rationalist in his village, who would have explained how he survived the snake bite, dares to invoke that pun on Lord Vishnu's name and pokes at "Arya Bhattars", and largely manages to get away with it.

And another interesting thing about "Uttama Villain" is that film's recursive structure is deftly hidden, and only surfaces due to the necessities of the characters, as opposed to "Inception" where the structure served as a metaphor. The inner "Uttama Villain" comes about because Manoranjan needs to make one final movie. The "Iraniyan Kadhai" comes about because, within the inner "Uttama Villain", Mutharasan wants to attain immortality. Chants of Mrityunjaya (The Immortal?) are peppered throughout the soundtrack, (which itself is excellent and probably Gibran's best since his debut) and appears within each story. If the difference is passage of time separated the levels in "Inception", it is the sophistication of the medium that distinguishes the levels in "Uttama Villain". When "Iraniyan Kadhai" ends with a twist ending, it provides the inner "Uttama Villain" a happy ending as the tyrant falls, which in turn provides the outer "Uttama Villain" a meaningful ending as the peripheral characters come to terms with life.

The movie is not without its imperfections. If certain scenes in "Panchatantiram" made you wish that homophones did not exist, the Tiger episode makes one wish that the inner "Uttama Villain" was staged in a grammatically rigorous language, where people unambiguously referred to themselves in third person. There is also an inconspicuous quasi-incestual undercurrent, that threatens to burst out as an April Fool's prank, but does not work because of the lack of screen presence of the person being pranked. It would be interesting to see how many believe Parvathy Nair when she tells people that she acted in this movie, especially given that Parvathi Menon also acts in this movie (the curse of homophones). If the makers took the joke seriously, they would paid more attention to detail to Nair's character (which was the least Yennai Arinthaal did to her). After the promise of Yamini's letter, Manoranjan's comes as a weak reply that further manipulates Manonmani, who already seems to have a soft corner for her biological father. If other films used Andrea as a sort of one note actress, "Uttama Villain" helps Andrea put together the three or four reactions in her acting tool kit, which means that her sermon to Selvaraghavan from Mount Moral Highground in Coffee with DD, still remains her best performance till date.

Be it in "Hey Ram", "Virumandi", "Dasvatharam" or "Vishwaroopam", Kamal's persona in the all these movie comes across to a large extent as morally upright. The Hindu fundamentalist in "Hey Ram" manages to find a redemption, the violent bull in "Virumandi" is blessed with a heart of gold, and Wissam in "Vishwaroopam" (based on the first part) ponders about his morality only to invoke "Nayakan", which itself absolved its protagonist as he stood for the greater good. The most interesting thing about Kamal Hassan's Manoranjan is how his character is freed from such moral bindings. The fact that there is more to Uravshi's adulation towards Manoranjan, and how her stubbornness keeps him away from the love of his life is revealed late into the movie. This provides a sudden edge when they meet again. While Urvashi repents for her actions asking him if he still loves him, he almost quotes from his fan's answer to a question on the Proust Questionnaire, all in the presence of the other woman in his life, of whom his wife is blissfully unaware.  Ideally, you would come to expect him to come clean to his wife about this woman. That's answered when the other woman requests him to keep this from everyone to save her own dignity, and he replies in affirmative stating that he could lie in his afterlife. With the sort of artistic immunity, or I dare say artistic immortality that this work provides, that man need not be too worried about after life.

O Kadhal Kanmani

Remember Arjun and Meera from Aayitha Ezhuthu? What if their lives did not have to collide with the worlds of Inba and Micheal? If Inba as a character lacked his privileged background or Micheal as a character showed purpose unlike him, Arjun does not exist simply a contrast to these two characters. He is a stand in for a generation of the privileged aimless yuppie youngster. Prior to O Kadhal Kanmani, the portion of Arjun and Meera represent Maniratnam's briefest foray into romantic comedy. "He has beliefs and dreams of his own. So does she. And when they like each other, do their beliefs and dreams come in the way of them jointly subscribing to a romantic ideal?". That's romantic comedy in a nutshell. Over the years and across mediums there is no dearth of romantic comedies, and it is easy to see why the ambitious Tamil film maker is reluctant to go there. Of course, Maniratnam's ambitions in Aayitha Ezhuthu are much higher. He is not content with juxtaposing a romantic comedy against the real world, he also wants to shed light on the young generation. Or may be his hands were tied, because medieval Tamil script betrayed him by not choosing ":" as the Ayitha Ezhuthu.

Ok Kanmani seems to take off from where Aayitha Ezhuthu was rudely interrupted, starting with the flamboyant opening credits oozing with optimism, that makes you forget how Kadal sank into the deep sea. And considering Maniratnam's recent work (I would also say that the first half of Kadal was indeed riveting), Ok Kanmani seems like a drastic scaling down of ambitions. And even the attempts to capture the zest for life a new generation is constrained by the fact that one of the protagonist here (Dulquer Salman as Adithya) is not only a stand in for a crowd, but as character his standing is entirely reliant on him holding to a moral compass which tells him what is cool and what is not. Subscribing to a herd mentality takes a bit of sheen out of his character (Karthik of Alaipayuthey is cool, because he stands apart from the crowd). Either Maniratnam's idea of coolness is somewhat removed from reality, or Dulquer Salman does not slip into this aspect of his character. As a result the scenes involving the yuppie crowd does not jell together with the rest of the film, and the opening scene where Aadhi makes a pitch for a new game idea seems like the best example of this dissonance.

Maniratnam seems to strike a nice balance in the stretches where Thara and Aadhi get to know each other, or the scene how Ganapathy (Prakash Raj) and Bhavani (Leela Samson) recall the interesting details of their courtship. The pacing is leisurely, and after the somewhat patchy start, sets the film on a track by establishing a mood. You see Ganapathy doing domestic chores, Bhavani being a bit clueless, and gradually get to know how Bhavani's medical condition has a role to play in all this, while simultaneously highlighting how normal it feels to be around her. It is somewhat amusing to watch Aadhi and Thara keep playing pranks on each other, and how a foreplay of words land them in bed together. But after they decide to stay together in a live-in relationship, but not forever, the rest of the film reduces to the question of whether they are going to end up together or part ways, and starts becoming too faithful to the rom-com genre. As a result, there is always something going on, but the scenes don't add up. In terms of staging the latter scenes seem to match the earlier ones, but they sort of meander aimlessly. The scene where Aadhi and Thara try to manufacture consent from Ganapathy and Bhavani could be excused, for how hilarious it is. ("You won't marry him? Unakku enna sevvai dhosama?" Leela Samson walks away with the funniest line in the film).

If the attempt was to drift along, like how the couple in Pudhu Pudhu Arthangal do, almost reflecting the protagonists attitude to life, the fact that they are not completely unhinged makes it harder (they seems to be good at their jobs, and are more ambitious than your regular Tamil hero/heroine). The entire stretch were Aadhi goes missing for a while, is entirely redundant given how it actually plays out. It seems to exist to provide Thara, a bit of soul searching about how she would seen as needy, given how they decided to move about with their lives. During the conversation with her friend, Thara tries to calm her nerves saying that she ought to provide Aadhi some space. When this scene actually played out it seemed that the film was taking itself too seriously when taking about the nature of their relationship. But on second thoughts, it is probably the director telling you, "Of course, you don't want to be subjected to the trappings of a marriage. But still a live-in relationship comes with its own trappings". Now here is a room for a Alaipayuthey like introspection, of how getting more intimate with a person makes you more aware of their flaws you were previously oblivious to ("Kadhal parpathu paathi kannil, Kalyanam parpathu naalu kannil, Naama partpathu ondrarai kannil, adiye?"). I don't know why the film does not look at this question. Maniratnam probably does not want to repeat himself here, but labours to justify the rest of the running time by providing an opportunity for Aadhi and Thara to come get over the only reason that is stopping them from being together - getting married and seeming uncool. The justification comes in the form of a poorly staged climax, where the film tries its damnedest to suddenly raise the stakes and force Aadhi to speak his mind out.

What makes Ok Kanmani still work are the performances. Restraint is something that you don't often associate with Prakashraj, but here it is a solid performance as a man worn down by the demands of life. Even when the climax plays a manipulative hand, he does not betray much of an emotion. Leela Samson in what is probably her first film role, plays a good foil. Dulquer Salman is limited by the fact that Aadhi is forced to play it too cool. This probably stems from Maniratnam's flawed understanding of his character. In rom-com terms, the resolution is brought about when he begins to show that there is more to him than the coolness, and it is in these stretches Dulquer is convincing as Aadhi.

Unlike Dulquer, Nithya Menon slips effortlessly into Thara's shoes. It is likely that Maniratnam does not need to associate an air of coolness about Thara or her co-workers. The scandalous tone to which her architect friend slips into while questioning Thara about her escapade, could only be out of a Maniratnam movie. Staging helps a lot in keeping the performance very real. Most movies suck up the leads into a world of their own for no apparent reason that can be justified in a theatre production, but not in a cinema(unless you are taking about NEPV, where the fact that they get too caught about themselves adds value to the plot). It is refreshing to see Nithya Menon react, pausing a somewhat serious conversation with Dulquer to quickly exchange a fake smile with an acquaintance who walks past them, and resume that conversation from where she left off. Or when she stares into nothing in particular either in contemplation, or when she dreamily gazes towards Aadhi but not into his eyes, because she is reluctant to break the comfort of his embrace and turn her face to see him. Nithya Menon is required to show up and not act! And she does just that. It seems at times that Thara is pushing Aadhi to the edge, like how she manipulates another man in the early portions. Take the scene at the maternity clinic for example. It is somewhat disappointing that it comes out only as a tease, and wastes Kanika in the process.

From the time Aadhi and Thara move in together, they catch glimpses of the older couple's life through a gap between a mostly closed double door. This is a recurring visual motif, and by the time Aadhi and Thara decide to marry, the audience gets a chance to view them through a similar gap in their door. But at other times, Maniratnam continues to let the cinematographer indulge, and at times the images are far too pretty and far too perfect. This is the best I have heard from Rahman since Ambikapathy, and Ok Kanmani needs those pretty pictures and songs, more than any other recent Maniratnam movie to make it work. It is lacking in finesse compared to Iruvar; lacking in ambition compared to Kadal or Ravanan; lacking as a study of relationships compared to Alaipayuthey. It probably works because of the goodwill that Maniratnam has garnered as a result of those films.

Pissaasu (Devil)

Maniratnam mentions in "Conversations with Mani Ratnam" that a film maker should ideally try to hide the structure or constructs that his film stands upon, and to him, that sets apart a great film from a merely good one. You could easily spot structure within Mysskin's scenes - set pieces that are deliberately setup and torn down. I don't know if this the structure of a film that Maniratnam talks about, but these set pieces set apart Mysskin (Baradwaj Rangan already reckons him an aueter) from his peers with a significant body of work like Selvaraghavan, Gautam Menon and Bala.

A case in point is the road accident scene, with which the film opens, showcasing an injured woman faintly smiling as if in a trance. This scene brings to fore the thematic connectedness in Mysskin's work (Anjathey and Onaanum Aatukuttiyum), playing out as an act of compassion that pivotally alters the course of a good Samaritan.

Mysskin is clearly aware that abrupt context switches don't work well in his scheme of things. He quickly dispenses with the mandatory song (the violin strains are mesmerising), and replaces flashbacks with less flashy, difficult to execute monologues that hit the high emotional notes (like the fable in Onaanum Aatukuttiyum), and Radha Ravi is in his element here. But interestingly, Mysskin stays faithful to the horror movie genre in the first half. A high rise apartment, a stalled lift, an exorcist and an autistic kid that could interact with the ghost, all the boxes are ticked. Obvious products of Mysskin's style, are the simple, but extremely beautiful visuals. The scene where 'Aavi' Amala vets the house, and momentarily stares into the exhaust, takes the cake. The film cuts into Amala peering at the exhaust, and she casually breaks her observation and gets on with her work. This was creepier than the actual scary scenes that follow.

Newcomer Naga fits the role of the protagonist perfectly. With a violin in hand, a mop of hair covering a side of his forehead, a beard, stooped shoulders that keep his head perpetually hung low, give him a eerie presence. In fact, he looks like the personification of a lost lamb (a perfect choice for Onaanum Aatukuttiyum?).

It is evident that Mysskin operates in interest of time. He perfectly times when to shift gears, and after Radha Ravi's monologue, the film changes track into a murder mystery (or an accident mystery, in this case). If the first half hammered the nail into the genre elements, the second half is more of soft nudges - Bhavani glides in and out, instead of flashing abruptly in your face. While in other films, Mysskin's set pieces existed in isolation, here he is able to tie them together in a neat rug pulling act. You can also see that the truth about the tomb, helps bring the film to a quick closure (Also the ice factory setup, my brother adds).

 The thing that struck me the most after watching Onaanum Aatukuttiyum, is how pointless the film would seem without the stylistic treatment. The only movies that I know of, that would seem pointless without the treatment are in fact, horror movies. According to my limited movie viewing experience, almost every other film Mysskin made was effectively a horror film, without the need to scare. With Pisaassu is Mysskin able to transcend the genre? The chilling tale the charlatan spins, talks of a young woman along with a foetus, buried into a well. The motive speaks of revenge for murder, and possibly rape. That's how horror movies ususally work. The ghost always wants a revenge. Changing the dynamics between the ghost and the desire to extract revenge, Mysskin caps his story with a brilliant ending. A clever way to transcend a genre is to subvert it.

Lingaa: Back with a Bang, Bang, Bang

Usually, period matters little in K.S. Ravikumar's work. He could have set Muthu, or Padaiyappa anytime in the past, or set Panchatantiram any time in the future, without missing a beat. Ramya Krishnan  walking out of a posh car, in Padaiyappa is charmingly anachronistic.  I mention this because, midway through Lingaa, you see Rajinikanth being introduced in a customary action sequence set in 1939 Tamilnadu. He is shown reading Joseph Campbell's, 'The Hero With A Thousand Faces', only to be revealed that he is a district collector serving in British Indian Government.  Very appropriate, except that the book was first published ten years later in 1949. No, I am not trying to nitpick. The movie till this point was totally unengaging, that there was sufficient time to reach for the phone, search for Joseph Campbell (Thanks Sesha!) and have a quick laugh. Secondly, the makers could have easily chosen a title that is not in odds with the films timeline, but Lingaa is what you get when people who badly want to make a Rajini film are just too lazy to make it a good one. Lingaa is made with such uncharacteristic indifference, that it brings back memories of Baba, Kuruvi and post-Ramana Vijayakanth movies, every now and then.

It's sad to watch Rajinikanth reduce himself to a joke, as he labours through the dance moves in Mona Gasolina. As the film moves to the flashback, it at least seems to set up a somber period mood, but what follows is a mishmash of lazily written scenes. Rajini's performance as Lingeshwaran Sr is mostly consistent, but lacks his characteristic charm. That hurts when he is trying to portay the same honorable rich man cornered by circumstances.

You might wonder if Ravikumar is channeling is admiration for Rajinikanth through the two heroines, who can not stop wondering how awesome the hero is. Sonakshi Sinha's bumbling presence (counting thirty rendu, thirty moonu and all is somewhat funny only) is not helped by the fact that the actors who play her friend and mom (Ahem) manage to look better than her. After Iraandam Ulagam, the law of averages catches up with Anushka Shetty, who is cast in a character that would not have looked out of place in an Eastman color movie. Karunakaran is hilariously cut short in the middle of a dialogue, and that's his role in a nutshell. Santhanam walks away with the only good scene of the movie, as he calls out the Finishing Kumar. By then, it's too late.

What Padaiyappa and Muthu have, and Lingaa lacks is a powerful conflict between the hero and villian. We don't get to see set pieces like Radharavi's vintage car, menacingly drive into his sister's front yard or the simultaneous ascent/descent scene that plays between Rajinikanth and Ramya Krishnan through the curved staircases, and how Rahman's background score raised these excellent scenes to almost near perfection.  Instead we get to see, the extent to which Sonakshi Sinha's back could be bared in a U-certificate movie.  In the absence of a powerful adversary, Ravikumar unleashes an array of supporting characters; three when one would do, that they almost strangulate
the film. And with the British collector who mumbles in Tanglish, there is not much scope to portray any strong conflict

While Ravikumar's generally chaotic style works to add some flavour to his films, here it forces the movie on a clueless track. While the period part of Lingaa would independently qualifiy as a bad film by itself, Ravikumar encapsulates it with a contemporary story, that comes with its own brand of bad acting, poor staging and shoddy writing. And K Vishwanath, wearing stylish ear-rings provides the missing link! And I did not even tell you how the climax plays out with flying balloons, spy cameras and masquerading storage devices. Let's not even go there!

Bang, Bang, Bang: read here.

Kaaviya Thalivan - Epic Failure

You can make an action/masala movie around a hero and a villian confirming to archetypes, and it can still work. But when Kaaviya Thalaivan takes that route, it falls flat. Fifteen minutes into the movie, every character is delineated (except for Mansoor Ali Khan's and the British Indian cop) to its furthest. We have The Alpha - Kaliappan, a stage actor who relies on improvisation,The Beta - Gomathi Nayagam Pillai, a stage actor who relies on method and struggles from a beta complex, Vadivambal - an aspiring actress who is in love with The Alpha, and Sivadas Swamigal - the theatre producer who puts art and loyalty above all. The rest of the movie simply reinforces these archetypes, while telling a story about how Beta brings Alpha to his downfall. The net effect is that instead of evoking the period, (the film is set at a time "when stage play and theatre ruled the roost in TN"), the film evokes shoddily made films of the bygone era.

And too bad for Prithiviraj, who plays Gomathi Nayagam (I think the name somehow gives away the character. Remember Ponvannan in "Chitthi"?). No film has done a greater injustice to an actor. As a rank outsider in Arjun Kapoor's launch vehicle Aurangazeb, Prithiviraj did a neat balancing act as a man forced to choose between the bad men of his father's adopted family, and the evil men of his own family. And in home turf, all he gets to do is to become jealous of Kali and act on this jealousy, time and again! After some point, it gets too monotonous that even the not so good scenes in the second half, where Kali acts in Swadeshi plays seem like a welcome change. And the fact that Gomathi Nayagam has more screen time does not help. Gomathi's relationship with Kali, Vadivu and his own superstardom, seem to provide lot of promising raw material for the story, but Vasantha Balan paints these scenes with broad strokes, leaving no impact whatsoever.

Siddharth shines in yet another author backed role, but there is only much that Privithiraj and he can achieve with such shoddy writing. To Siddharth's credit, the stage sequences are the films strongest points. It seemed that the film almost redeemed itself when Siddharth provides an impressive impromptu epilogue to Karna Motcham, talking about Arjuna's guilt about slaying Karna. To me that's what the film is about, Kali, Gomathi and Swamigal's collective guilt about screwing each other's life. Looks like this was not the original motivation, and this seems like yet another scene establishing how Alpha's improv skills trump Beta's method acting.

I have always been confused when people trash shoddy writing in decently made films, but Kaaviya Thalivan has a poorly written sequence that serves as a good example. A painter in the troupe is shown following the troupe at a distance, after they depart under Gomathi, seemingly oblivious of Kaali or his ouster. Later, the same painter handpicks the disowned Kaali as the substitute actor. Surprise! Except that it is not. 'Establishing film logic' is the altar where creativity is slaughtered.

Privithiraj is not the only actor to be given the stick. Kishore Kumar (Anushka's friend's boy friend in Deiva Thirumagal) is a mere bystander, and does not get a single dialogue! If Swathi Reddy lost weight and went under the knife, she would probably look like Anaika Soti, who does not get the rough edges come in the way of her portrayal of (Archetype Alert!) the chirpy rich girl who falls for the poor guy (And charming, she is!). Vedika delivers a performance that is polished but lacking in impact.

The film excavates Tamil terms from a bygone era, like Raja Paat, Shree Paat, Side Paat, and a Tamil word for improvisation. Nostalgia - that's one good thing about Kaaviya Thalaivan. Another good thing is how AR Rahman's song gel well with the visuals. A strange thing is how Kaaviya Thalaivan does something exactly opposite to Kadal, in terms of keeping Rahman on a leash and having a sensible cast, and yet achieves the same result! Even Niraav Shah is not at his usual best.

There is a scene in Angaadi Theru, where a beggar cleans a stinking toilet, and unexpectedly gets paid for his services. He makes this a habit and ekes out a living. As someone fed with Tamil films that stealthily reflected the glory of their originals, I was convinced that such a brilliantly written sequence could only be a rip off. The greatest disappointment about Kaviyaa Thalaivan is that how makers of that master piece (writer Jeyamohan shares writing credits with Vasantha Balan) fail to fire. That film had just one archetype - the innocent boy hero, and around him, had an array of characters from women who suffer workplace harassment, a bad boss, an evil supervisor, love lorn couple who meet a tragic end, a long term employee who gets kicked out after an occupational disease paralyzes him and the above said beggar, in our own backyard. Kaviyaa Thalaivan, on the other hand, has only big budget.

Gone Girl: Who's cheating who?

One of the best things about Gone Girl is how riveting it is, despite its lack of style. This may not have been apparent to me, had I not been part of a discussion about film makers who are stylists, versus those that are adept story tellers. I have not watched many films where story telling singularly stood out (I could not think of any during the debate and have not seen most of the films that my friend had listed; if you want to tell a good story there are mediums other than movies for that!), only Thirteen Days and Naan Kadavul come to mind now. When watching Gone Girl, I got a feeling that other than the drama, every thing else receded to the background. I don't even recall noticing background score at any point, if there was even one.

The first half of the film is essentially a thriller, as Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck) comes home to find his wife Amy missing, on the day of their fifth anniversary. He calls the police, the media duly take notice and the search unravels, all shot in a matter of fact way, without much fuss. Affleck's too cool to care husband, who is probably happier without his wife, adds to the unfussy story telling. His performance in these portions, super imposed with Amy's parallel narrative of their earlier life, ranges from disturbing to funny (especially the feigned sincerity when he claims how he misses his wife at a gathering), and provides an edge when the story changes track when the truth about Amy's disappearance finally hits him in a brilliantly staged scene.

After this point, the portion with Amy in a motel lingers for too long and almost releases the tension built up so far. The parallel plot about how the husband seeks legal aid and tries to shape public opinion, lack the matter-of-factness of the first half and there is nothing fresh about the commentary on a sensational media coverage (But the twincest joke is a gem!). If you have a scene highlighting the attorney's resourcefulness, (by correctly predicting that Nick's girl friend will speak) at the cost of being predictable to the audience, you ought to repay this debt sometime later. But Fincher conveniently forgets this! It is one thing to slowly and steadily build up Amy's character arc throughout the narration, dropping hints one at a time, and another to stage a robbery immediately after showing Amy drop a bundle of cash.


After the movie has ended, when you think back and figure out how all the pieces fall in place, it does not give you a rush like how The Usual Suspects or Vidathu Karuppu does. And it is if Gone Girl aspires to be an edgy thriller or a dark relationship comedy, and it does not seem like the film wants to be either. The ending lingers for far too long, and had the last few scenes been subtitled The Prologue I would have cared less, but having the twin sister say in agony that "she will be in his side, as they have been, even before they were born" sounds way too corny, and adds nothing to the movie.

The best thing about Gone Girl is how a viewer's perspective on Amy is masterfully shaped. The revelations of the 'rape victim' adds to the twist, and seems to foreshadow how Amy might be up to something more than punishing her cheating husband. But nothing prepares you for Amy's transformation from scheming to vicious, as she emerges out of her captivity with blood all over her hands! The tension built up with this scene carries over till the end, and that's probably why it seemed that the film was heading to an even more spectacular ending.

There is some material on Amy's 'amazing' childhood, having to cope with recession and her mother in-law's illness that could have been developed to flush out Amy's motivation, especially given this ending. Instead you are left wondering why the pet cat accompanies Nick, only in scenes where Amy is missing from the house. May be, by casting Niel Patrick Harris as the depressed boyfriend, the makers are making a statement on how Amy can stifle even Barney Stinsen under her thumb!