I was excited about Ronth (aka Patrol) because writer-director Shahi Kabir wrote the script for Nayattu and directed Elaveezha Poonjira, two of the most ball-squeezingly tense movies I've seen in recent years. The latter was a terrific Hitchcockian exercise with just two characters for most of the running time.
Ronth is another cop story, but of a different nature. In its premise of following two policemen - sub-inspector Yohanan (Dileesh Pothan) and his constable-driver Dinnath (Roshan Mathew) - doing their night patrol, it features a more sprawling and episodic narrative. On their rounds the cops, who share a prickly interaction with each other, encounter a series of different situations, which expose their vulnerabilities as well as their hidden strengths. Pothan is especially remarkable as the experienced officer, a credible mixture of bullying and empathy, corruption and integrity to his job. Mathew's rookie is a bit of a caricature in terms of how naive he is shown to be. The situations they face go from the mundane to the bizarre (in one instance they have to deal with a madman that has imprisoned his young child in the belief that it will be stolen from him...a situation similar to the one faced by Takashi Shimura's warrior in Seven Samurai). In the course of the night they learn more about each other, and the audience learns about them. When the morning comes, they face a sudden crisis that may destroy them both.
Where Ronth falls short compared to Kabir's previous efforts is in its lesser subtlety. We already see the inspector's complex nature from the way he handles his psychologically afflicted wife, the petitioners they meet, and the way he reacts to the constable's family emergency. But Kabir feels the need to include a scene where Yohanan has to explain himself to Dinnath; why spend more time telling what you have already shown? As the night goes on, the sheer number of locations the cops have to visit begins to seem a little improbable; it's like they singlehandedly represent the whole force. Also, compared to Nayattu, the crisis of faith/betrayal they face has a more manufactured feel, and is handled with less nuance than one has come to expect from the maker.
But overall, Ronth is very much worth the watch, and I'll definitely keeping a watch for more outings from Shahi Kabir.
I have come to love the chameleonic Basil Joseph (Sookshmadarshini, Ponman, Paltu Janwar) and, given his limitations, Prithviraj Sukumaran can be quite decent with the right part (like in Ayyappanum Koshiyum). But damn, the best way I can describe Guruvayoor Ambalanadayil (GA), the supposed family entertainer from 2024 is...toxic masculinity portrayed in the light of an amusing and harmless trait.
Prithviraj and Basil are Anandan and Vinu, would-be brothers-in-law (BILs) who have for some reason developed an intense bonding (apparently over phone conversations alone), so much so it appears Vinu's bride Anjali (Anaswara Rajan) is a mere afterthought in their interaction. Perhaps they are united by their self-entitled fragile-ego perspective: Vinu is still sulking over a broken affair he attributes to a selfish and fickle woman. He seems only interested to marry so he can be closer to the BIL; draw your conclusions from that. Anandan is separated (though not divorced) from his wife and young child. He appears unconcerned about reconciling till Basil goads him into bringing his 'Aniyathi' (sister-in-law) home. It then turns out that Vinu's ex and Anandan's current are the same woman. How this impacts their quasi-homoerotic mutual admiration society and how the matter is finally resolved forms the rest of the film.
What makes it so galling is that GA is structured as a farce. We are supposed to find the antics and attitudes of these overgrown men-children cute. Anandan's courtesies towards his wife Parvathy in the intended reconciliation come across as an act antithetical to his true nature - Nikhila Vimal in the part is mostly reduced to staring with a disgruntled expression. When things go awry Anandan totally immediately declares Parvathy a pariah, discarding all notions of trust and mutual respect in a marriage. It turns out that Vinu's treatment of his ex has not been honorable either. This woman has been wholly victimized by these two bullies. The third perpetrator is the film's script, which treats her as a mere prop with no agency of her own. Even worse, Anandan's sister seems wholly okay with this fact and has no problem marrying the man at least partially responsible for her SIL's troubled status. Instead of more incisively exploring this issue we get a welter of pointless sub-plots, including one with Yogi Babu as a man wanting revenge on Vinu for another past sin (which reinforces him as a habitual asshole).
The narrative has a so-called happy ending in which Vinu marries the girl he wants (or whose brother he covets), and gets off with just a token apology to the woman whose life he has probably doomed. GA may have achieved its ends at the box-office, but in terms of the quality of writing, this is certainly not one of Malayalam cinema's better moments.
In the creative sphere, poet Emily Dickinson is rarely cited as anybody's conscious influence, but her most-quoted line hits upon such a fundamental truth, its underlying sentiment has powered almost every major humanist work in our world. Hope is truly what keeps us going, whether in terms of taking on herculean challenges, grappling with powerful opposing forces or even merely surviving. I realize this sounds like an overly profound opening; in that sense it mirrors Payal Kapadia piloting us into her film's world, the bustling Mumbai metropolis where millions jostle each other. Their thoughts spoken out Wings of Desire style, we hear these jostlers individually, taste their unique cocktails of despair and hope.
Then we zoom into a microcosm of this universe, the hospital - not by coincidence, a place of hope and healing - and our main characters Prabha, Anu and Parvathy. Prabha (Kani Kusruti, Girls will be Girls) and Anu (Divya Prabha, Ariyippu / Declaration), both nurses* and flatmates, are linked by their Malayali heritage. Prabha is senior in both age and rank, and serves as an elder sister / guardian to Anu. Prabha is married, but has not seen her husband , an expat worker in Germany, since many years; even the telephonic conversations have died off. Anu meets her Muslim boyfriend Shiaz in secret, certain that her parents will never approve of the match. The feisty Parvathy (Chhaya Kadam), a Maharashtrian who serves as cook at the hospital, has troubles of her own in the form of real estate bigwigs that are forcibly acquiring her tenement flat in the name of redevelopment.
Prabha is like a forlorn flower, withered from the absence of romance. She is helpful and nurturing to her subordinates, but appears to have lost all hope of personal happiness. A message-less gift of a rice cooker is the only communication she has had in years from her absent spouse; one night, in an almost sexual manner, she hugs the appliance. But it also serves as a reminder of the obligation she has bound herself with - when the new doctor courts her, she gently brushes him off citing her married status. Anu is fresher, livelier. In her telephone conversations with home, she hides her relationship with Shiaz (Hridhu Haroon). During their clandestine meetings she is often the bolder party, talking dirty and initiating their lovemaking. But this boldness seems to come from a desperation to squeeze as much as she can from the relationship before its inevitable end. Parvathy comes across as more pragmatic than her educated colleagues - she is no defeatist for sure, but also sees no sense in prolonging a fight that cannot be won.
While episodic, All We Imagine...'s screenplay roughly has a three-part structure, one for each protagonist. The resolving act is spearheaded by Parvathy quitting her job and shifting back to her seaside village. Prabha and Anu help move her things (discovering in the process that she has shoplifted several hospital implements as 'souvenirs') and stay over. One evening a man is rescued from drowning, and Prabha uses her skills to tend to him, in a sense bringing him back to life. What follows between them is, depending on your POV, either a fantastic contrivance, a game of benevolent deceit or a fantasy playing in her mind. But it releases her from her emotional prison; she at last learns to love herself again. In the final scene, our three women are sitting side by side by the beach, their hearts at least for that moment in sync, fluttering with the thing called "Hope".
*Kerala in southern India is the biggest source of qualified nursing staff from the country.
A close friend coined for me the "10% Rule" wherein supposedly I develop an immediate distaste for any piece of entertainment enjoyed by more than 10% of my friends list (this was before Facebook, when that phrase had a little more meaning). It is of course wholly untrue: I love Chennai Express and despise Ghostworld as much as all of you, so there.
Anyhoo, this came to mind because of the hype I encountered about Aavesham from Malayalees of my acquaintance as an "event" movie. With only a teaser that showed star Fahadh Faasil doing a dhappaankoothu dance number in bath-towel and glares, I went in without many preconceptions.
In Aavesham, Faasil's introduction is nearly a third into the film and one that flips over the usual "mass star" dick-waving even as it takes place in a urinal. And the build-up is its own interesting character, because the story's actual protagonists are a trio of Kerala teens (Mithun Jai Shankar, Hipzster and Roshan Shahnavaz) enrolled into engineering college in Bengaluru. A sly vein of humor outlines the difference between the expectations of college from these young men and their naive parents.
For a little while we see our guys spreading their wings; they're not wastrels, they just want to have a bit of fun alongside their education. Hipzster's Aju is the street-smart one, urging all the newcomers to go united as a gang to avoid getting hazed by the seniors. But when one of them gets too cocky, that plan backfires and they are subjected to a humiliating beating. Interestingly, the seniors gang leader Kutty (Midhutty) is not all sneer and brimstone. Once his ego is satisfied, he hands out drinks and calls them his 'bros', accepted members of his troupe. But Aju wants vengeance and comes up with the foolhardy scheme of befriending a local gangster to aid them.
It is in their trawling through shady local bars that our trio meets up with Ranga (Faasil). Ranga is a conglomeration of the archetypes of on-screen toughies. He wears an all-white outfit and is laden with gold jewelry. Branded sunglasses and a well-oiled handlebar mustache complete the outfit.
Ranga takes the kids under his wing and shows them a good time. Regaled with booze and legends of Ranga's badassery told by his burly right-hand-man Amban (Sajin Gopu), it isn't long before the colorful nightlife eats into their academic schedule. At last, taking the opportunity, they let Ranga know of their humiliation, coaxing him into exacting retribution from Kutty's gang. But all actions have consequences; so does their association with the gangster for the purpose of petty revenge.
On paper, Aavesham has a lot going for it. The 3 youngsters have the right combination of cockiness and naivete that you can believe their sticking together for this cockamamie business. It helps that there is no romantic sub-plot for any of them. For a while, there is a delicious ambiguity as to whether Ranga's past
exploits are real or just tall stories; during most of the fights, the kids only see
him barking instructions to his lackeys, not actually taking part. The writing and Faasil's commitment to a 'big' performance glorify the gangster archetype while simultaneously poking fun at it. Sajin Gopu provides an able foil to Faasil. Their Ranga and Amban have a rapport that pleasantly harks back to the Munnabhai-Circuit scenes from that franchise, and Faasil does not hesitate taking the character to psychotic extremes when needed.
In short, the ingredients are great, but alas, the final dish turns out overcooked. The major issue for me was, the pacing is way off on this one. What could have been a riveting and joyful sub-100 min black comedy (One part of the climax recalls a similar moment from The Shining) is stretched out to a fatiguing 160min. Ranga's full-vein swag is fun the first couple of times, but the movie piles it on ad nauseam. The sub-plot with Mansoor Ali Khan as Ranga's jealous ex-mentor Reddy is amusing in itself, but an unwieldy addition to an already stuffed narrative. Even with all its interesting bits the movie became a bit of an ordeal.
At the risk of my 'Mallu' friends sharpening their 'tools' to skewer me, I have to say that this Aavesham is marred by the 'anaavishyam' (excessive and unnecessary) amount of swag. YMMV.
Some way into Aadujeevitham / The Goat Life (TGL), I started to wonder if the hall was playing it without the mandatory intermission. Normally, outside of festival screenings, cinemas in India have to have this mid-break for people to buy snacks or empty their bladders, even with sub-100 min films. It was then I realized with a sinking feeling that this tedious survival saga of a Gulf-bound Malayalee in the 90's shanghaied as slave labor for an isolated goat farm in the searing desert was going to run for around 3 hours. My feelings then mirrored those of the harrowed protagonist.
I realize that sounds rather insensitive. I'm not against downbeat survival dramas, no. Some amazing books and films have come from this genre. But throughout the running time, I was never once able to sufficiently empathize with the character to feel his plight. It's a real pity, since it is based on an affecting true story, and there is certainly a lot of effort taken in the making, not least by lead star Prithviraj Sukumaran. As the protagonist Najeeb Mohammed he dons a rigorously de-glammed unkempt avatar for most of the film, and even undergoes a body transformation to represent what Najeeb had become after two years of slavery. I also appreciate that the film remains faithful to the idea of Najeeb barely surviving his ordeal, not becoming some kind of hero that fights back and defeats his oppressors.
The film offsets the scenes of Najeeb's grim fate in the desert with memories of his life in Kerala where he has left a loving wife (Amala Paul) pregnant with their first child. Water and greenery feature heavily in these memories (and fantasies), contrasting with his arid, sandy present (DoP Sunil KS). It reminded me of Shaji Karun's 1994 film Swaham, which contrasted the grim present of the widow protagonist with her happy past by depicting the former in black and white and the latter in color.
Sadly, those are the only good things I can say. A great survival film is made by its little gestures and micro-moments. I can empathize with the character's plight only if I find the character interesting to begin with. In TGL, writer-director Blessy's script is cringingly broad-strokes and pedestrian. At one point, Najeeb and a fellow Malayalee team up to escape with a North African slave (Haitian actor Jimmy Jean-Louis, who looks like he was participating in an Idris Elba lookalike contest). I get that the African guy is better used to surviving the desert environment than these Keralites, but they behave like such headless chickens, you want him to throw up his hands and abandon these idiots to their fate, instead of being the noble Samaritan who repeatedly pulls their asses out of danger. A little later he literally disappears from the film, suggesting that he preferred to commit suicide than bear any more idiocies.
But the worst part of TGL was AR Rahman's score. It's so bad in its choppiness and overbearing sentiment it made me nauseous and feeling like my ears were being bored by a power drill. I was undecided whether I wanted to repeatedly stab at his jugular, wrench his balls off with rusty pliers or ram a barbwire wrapped club up his butt.
I understand the hype this movie has got, and the trailer did a great job of selling it as an edgy saga, but after surviving through the ordeal I felt like an utter goat for having signed up.
Two years back, there was a Malayalam survival adventure called Malayan Kunju (MK). I had a very divided experience with that film: while the survival aspect - a guy buried under a landslide must claw back to the surface - was well executed, the preceding drama that shows him to be a self-centered casteist prig was a stodgy affair. Manjummel Boys (MB) is in some ways reminiscent of MK. Here too, a guy is deep under the surface, after falling through a pit that seems to go all the way to a netherworld (this hellhole is even called the Devil's Kitchen). But unlike MK's tale of redemption, this is a tale of brotherhood, the enduring bond between friends that will go to any length to look out for each other.
Of course, this also implies that the chaps have a tendency to invite trouble. In the extended introduction, we see these 'boys' (played by actors in their mid-to-late thirties) trade juvenile barbs with a rival tug-of-war club, and even an impromptu dare match which they lose. Later, when out on a guys-only trip to hilly Kodaikanal (Tamil Nadu), they get up to the tomfoolery of boisterous hooligans, sneaking drinks and ignoring the trespass notices. A major element in MB is its tribute to the 1991 Kamalahaasan movie Gunaa, incorporating dialog and song references and most importantly, returning to the striking cave locale used here:
As a setting, the 'Gunaa Cave' is cinematic gold. It exudes an aura of mystery, a primitive stony terrain with high ceilings and precipitous edges that dwarf the human characters tramping through. There's perhaps even an element of nature's revenge - it is after the boys mark their presence with graffiti on the rock surface that one of them (Srinath Bhasi) falls through the aforementioned pit. Following a series of sickening thuds, he appears to have been wiped entirely out of existence. The abruptness of the moment sends a shock, both to the other characters, and to the audience.
After several moments of disbelief - they keep insisting that Subhash must be pranking them, because the alternative is unthinkable - harum-scarum rescue efforts are set into motion. Some of them zoom off to the local police station to get help. There they get beaten and locked up for breaking the rules, possibly even murdering their friend. Those that remain in the cave do futile things like using their bodies to block water from a thunderstorm flowing into the pit. Even the authorities arriving at the site seem reluctant to rise to the call of duty - the firemen are scared of roping down into the depths of Devil's Kitchen and the police seem only too eager to file a fatality report and call it a day. Finally the group leader Siju David aka 'Kuttan' (Soubin Shahir) has to beg for the chance of going down to find and rescue their friend. Balding pot-bellied Kuttan has no experience with spelunking, nor is he some daredevil. But he cannot consider forsaking his fallen companion. What follows is a tense rescue drama - Lowered into impenetrable darkness and aided only by shouted instructions from the people above, Kuttan must tackle the tortuous descent and his own rising panic.
As critic Baradwaj Rangan points out in his excellent review, a film based on true events must be an honest representation, but slavishly adhering to the facts of the case may not always be the best dramatic option. The ensemble of friends is a large one (11 members), and the script doesn't do enough to delineate the members - apart from Kuttan and Subhash, who fell into the pit, I don't recall the names or traits of the other friends. One of them seems to have been chosen for his passing resemblance to Kamalahaasan in Gunaa - he remains in a catatonic state for most of the picture. There is a reliance on cliche flashbacks to give a sense of the longstanding bond between them. But then, the numbers are required as a mechanical device: Remember the tug-of-war at the beginning of the film? You get the pay-off for it later. The flashbacks are a reinforcement of why the friends stick together despite all odds.
MB's extended epilogue hints at Subhash's PTSD after his experience in the caves - he is unable to close his eyes to sleep, to face darkness again, and needs his mother beside him. There could be an interesting short film sequel that deals with this specific aspect. But time is also wasted on a tedious subplot of how Subhash's mother blames Kuttan for his accident and only later comes to know of his brave rescue of her son, leading to an obligatory "tears of gratitude" moment.
Visually, there are some marvelous moments. While not quite Descent level, MB delivers on the claustrophobic near-hallucinatory experience the characters go through. There is a seamless combination of real locations and sets, an intimate communion between the production design (Ajayan Chalissery) and the cinematography (Shyju Khalid - Maheshinthe Prathikaram, Nayattu). If ever my favorite Indian disaster film Kaala Patthar (1979) went in for a remake, I would want the guys who made this to get a crack at it.
The trailer I saw of Bramayugam gave me a different impression of what it would be - the remote setting, distancing grayscale imagery, atonal score elements, oblique dialog, staccato editing rhythm, these suggested an existential nightmare, something in the vein of Robert Eggers' The Lighthouse or that amazing Marathi horror film Kaul - The Calling.
The actual film is a different beast. In most part it is basically Dracula...specifically the first act of Dracula, in which Jonathan Harker is invited into and later imprisoned within the titular vampire's decrepit castle. This is one of the best remembered segments of Bram Stoker's seminal novel, and with good reason. Telling the story from Harker's perspective Stoker builds an incredible foundation of awe and dread, making Dracula such a looming presence he shadows even those significant stretches he is absent from the narrative. While Bramayugam is not a direct adaptation, owing more to local folklore, Rahul Sadasivan as writer-director brilliantly recreates that same essence.
The 17th century Malabar (Kerala) period and moody black and white framing place us from the outset in a vastly different world; we become ready to believe anything the story has to offer us. This story's Harker is Thevan (Arjun Ashokan) who is first seen running through the forest with a companion. They are escaping a fate of slavery and oppression. But the forest is no safe haven either. In a move that early on announces the film's supernatural leanings, Thevan's friend is consumed by a Yakshi (tree spirit), and he must continue his flight alone into the wilderness. This aspect is highlighted in the shot where Thevan appears dwarfed alongside a vast raging waterfall. His journey is analogous to the rugged trail Harker follows in the Carpathian mountains.
Finally, Thevan reaches a crumbling old manse. Following an interaction with a surly cook-butler (Sidharth Bharathan) that catches him stealing coconuts, Thevan is brought into the presence of the house's aged master. Mammootty's measured introduction though voice, footsteps low-angled close-ups and rear profile is of course a reflection of his star status, but it also serves to impress the rank and prestige of his character Kodumon Potti. Of course, a large part of that grandeur is now faded - Potti lives alone, attended only by the cook who is not above pooh-poohing his master's courtly affectations. When Thevan, a court singer by training, pleases him with his musical ability Potti expresses regret that in lieu of gifts of gold, he can only offer him meals and shelter. Mammootty plays Potti with a masterful blend of magnanimity and autocracy - he welcomes the lower-caste Thevan as a guest, but snarls at the slightest hesitation towards his commands. When he challenges Thevan to a game of dice to decide whether he must remain or can go, the latter has no choice in the matter (which is why I don't agree with the comparisons made to Faust, the protagonist has no agency in this wager). At least within this closed universe Potti is omniscient, exerting even supernatural authority in a manner that echoes Dracula's summoning of his wolves to keep Harker from leaving.
The bulk of Bramayugam is a seething claustrophobic drama generated by the interplay between these three characters. The script underlines Thevan's subjugation to the master's will - he loses track of time and his past gets erased from memory. I won't delve much into the details of the plot thereon, which brings in demons, body-swapping, shape-shifting and sorcery as Thevan struggles for a way to be liberated from his prison. Towards the end, there is a sequence in which Thevan comes up against an implacable force of darkness in his quest to escape. With its throat-gripping mastery of visuals and storytelling, this scene alone is a feat of world-class horror film-making.
Other film critics have talked about Bramayugam's social exploitation metaphors, and that's hardly surprising. Dracula himself has been analyzed as a symbol of feudal exploitation, literally sucking the blood of the peasantry. The high-ranking Potti demands complete control over the lives (and souls) of his dependents. Between Thevan and the cook is a different game of social one-upmanship, which opens up additional layers after certain plot revelations are made. The control obtained through sorcery and talismans is analogous to the power of rank and status, and evil persists in the world because no individual is immune to the temptation of wielding that power.
But if you're worried about having to read between the lines, rest assured, Bramayugam is perfectly enjoyable even at surface level. One connection the film has to Robert Eggers' work is its commitment to examine in detail the life and rituals of another time. Using, I suppose, a mixture of real locations and constructed sets (production designer Jotish Shankar), the film provides a seamless other world, primitive and isolated. Small details like the scum of rice over the jar of fermenting liquor are rendered in a matter-of-fact way that gives the proceedings a ring of authenticity. You can smell the decay in the air, feel the tension heat up the hermetic space. The decision to shoot in black and white was an inspired one, and DoP Shehnad Jalal provides memorably stark shadow-wreathed images.
Given the rarity of the species in India, it's wonderful when you get a horror film for which you do not need to make allowances when measuring it up against examples of eerie cinema from across the world. Like Kaul and Tumbbad in recent times, Bramayugam is a fantastic example of evolved serious-minded horror cinema we should celebrate.
On a trusted friend's recommendation, I recently checked out Yavanika, a celebrated mystery drama by KG George.
Yavanika is centered around a musical drama troupe, whose main tabla player Ayyappan (Bharat Gopi) suddenly goes missing. As he is a habitual drunkard, it takes a while for the other members to regard his disappearance in a serious light. When they finally do, an investigation is launched. Jacob (Mammootty), the inspector leading the enquiry, conducts a series of interrogations with the rest of the troupe, and other characters. He gauges their relationship and attitude towards Ayyappan, probing to see if any of them is responsible for his disappearance and possible death.
Terms like 'Rashomon Effect' have been used to describe Yavanika's story, but it's more like one of Agatha Christie's mysteries. You have a gallery of possible suspects, each giving their stories; the detective has to find out if one or more of them is lying. Struturally, much of Yavanika is narrated in flashbacks as Jacob reconstructs the character of Ayyappan and his equation with the other drama company members. Jacob's approach is to be confrontational: he accuses the subject of being behind Ayyappan's disappearance with the aim of breaking down their composure and getting them to blurt out information. This also serves as an examination of the other characters in the narrative. A similar approach was later adopted with Saswata Mukherjee in the Detective Shabor films.
Unfortunately, there is little subtlety in the flashbacks: From the very outset Ayyappan is a blackguard - a drunk lecherous chauvinist that corners and uses women for sex and to extract money from. His abrasive behavior frequently gets him into quarrels with the other men in the troupe, so they are suspect too. I have to confess that the lack of nuance in Ayyappan's personality makes the repeated flashbacks across the 2.5 hour running time a bit of a slog. There are moments of pleasure when the other characters reveal facets of themselves. The film has a large cast of recognizable names in the supporting cast and, within the script's limitations, they acquit themselves well. One striking bit is when Jagathi's jokester character reveals that he keeps making wisecracks because that's the only way he can cope with his life's miseries. While the central mystery isn't a particularly devious one, I liked the device of the play-within-the-film, in which certain events are foreshadowed in an oblique way.
Another interesting aspect was the contrast between Ayyappan's dominant stance towards his women and Jacob's equation with his wife - Jacob and his wife address each other as friends, he canvasses her opinion on the case and she is not diffident about rebuking his lapses of judgement. This depiction of equal camaraderie in a marriage certainly wasn't a norm in 80's Indian movies and is therefore refreshing to see.
On the whole, Yavanika is not as gripping or layered as I should have liked, but definitely interesting at least as a one-time watch. The full film in rather decent image quality is available to stream on Youtube with hard-coded English subtitles:
In my take on Rajkumar Hirani's PK (read HERE), I described it as "...a slipshod, almost insufferable movie that by the theme it tackles and the willingness therein of the people behind it to attach their clout becomes ironically a courageous, even important film." Kaathal - The Core, its clumsy caption notwithstanding, does not require that level of allowance. It is a quiet, measured narrative packed with noble characters and dignified performances. But with all its sincere intentions, it's really more a sermon on Christian kindness and openness to alternate sexual orientations than a credible narrative.
Of course, Kaathal is hardly alone in that aspect. Thirty years ago in Hollywood, Jonathan Demme made Philadelphia, in which a gay lawyer files suit against his employer for having fired him after he had contracted AIDS. Tom Hanks played the lead, one of the first major-league stars to portray an openly homosexual character. The film is an awkward mix of maudlin drama and AIDS info-dump, but is important for bringing a more balanced discussion about AIDS and homosexuality into the mainstream. We can make a similar case for Kaathal.
In the story, star Mammootty's protagonist Matthew Devassy is presented as a pillar of conventional virtue. A sincere and well-liked political worker with the prestigious lineage of a principled father, Matthew is the party favorite to contest the local elections. Prior to the film's main conflict the brief glimpse of his home life - apart from the father there is his long-married wife Omana (Jyothika) and teenage daughter Femy (Anagha Akku) - suggests a harmonious existence. The only ripple on this calm surface is that Matthew and his father barely speak to each other. In a later scene, Matthew himself puts forth that he is in any case a man of few words and when you have lived long enough with someone, you eventually reach a point where nothing much remains to be said.
In a perhaps unnecessarily oblique way, we are told that Omana has served Matthew a divorce notice, citing mental cruelty. Matthew seems more disturbed by the timing of the action rather than its intention - it is not him, but the lawyer who questions her allegation of cruelty. This is because Matthew harbors the guilty secret of being a closet homosexual. In the decades of their marriage, he has denied his wife her right to companionship and sexual happiness, searching for his own occasional comfort in the arms of the mild-mannered local driving instructor (Sudhi Kozhikode). But once the case has been opened, there can be no secrets.
Jeo Baby previously made The Great Indian Kitchen, which aimed to expose the insidious slavery and oppression of women in domestic settings. But it shot itself in the foot by eventually painting its male characters so one-dimensionally vile as to be detached from the more widespread 'cruelty by indifference' that homemakers everywhere face. Kaathal tries to create the impression of a more nuanced narrative. Even after the divorce notice has been served, Omana lives on in the same house and continues her family duties. There are no angry outbursts or hateful standoffs between the spouses, only sad silences. It is suggested that she only initiated the divorce proceedings after Section 377 was struck down in the courts, as her accusation would have previously led to criminal proceedings against him. While he has at least had occasional respite with his secret lover, her life has been an emotional desert. It is a level of nobility and self-sacrifice that makes her less a believable character, more a mouthpiece. If they had at least shown a degree of friendship and cordial interaction between them as a couple, it would have gone some way to swallow the longevity of the union. In the film's commitment to being 'sensitive' and avoid sensationalizing, there is also a noticeable degree of soft-footing - neither Omana's lawyer or his political opponents in that allegedly conservative society demonize Matthew's sexuality and marital infidelity, which seems too good to ring true.
But for all its flaws, Kaathal is a palatable non-offensive drama with dignified performances from its lead cast, and its star-power gives it the reach to raise more open-minded sympathetic discussions about closet homosexuality in our society, which can only be a good thing.
"There is nothing new under the sun. It has all been done before", says Sherlock Holmes in his debut adventure A Study in Scarlet, when recommending his Scotland Yard colleagues to brush up on their knowledge of crime history. A similar sense of déjà vu struck me when I heard about Rajeev Ravi's 2022 Malayalam film Kuttavum Shikshayum (KS) aka Crime and Punishment. In the story a task force of policemen from Kerala in Southern India travel far to the North of the country to solve a case of burglary by itinerant criminals. The film is based on a true-life robbery that occurred in Kasargod district in Kerala, and going by this 2018 article describing the incident, a fairly faithful take on the reported facts.
The déjà vu came from my recollection of a 2017 Tamil film Theeran Adhigaram Ondru (roughly, Theeran is Law), in which a team of cops from Tamil Nadu (TN) in the South heads to a remote village in Rajasthan (in North India) to capture the gang behind a series of violent burglaries down South. I initially thought that perhaps both films were inspired by the same incident, but soon learned that the Tamil film (by H. Vinoth) was a cinematic take on a different real-life crime spree, which occurred over a period from 1995-2005: the gang, functioning as transport workers driving goods lorries across the country, would break into affluent households along the highway, killing residents and fleeing beyond state borders with their loot, leaving the local police flummoxed. After a painstaking investigation to figure out their modus operandi, this was eventually countered by the TN state police with Operation Bawaria.
What is interesting is the different approach of the makers. Theeran... is certainly the more ostentatious, with a clear focus on being a action-packed star vehicle. Even as part of a team investigating the case lead actor Karthi's character of Theeran is given the haloed treatment. A significant chunk of the film's runtime is squandered on a cloying romance track and there is even an 'item' song in the criminals' lair. The brutal and murderous crimes associated with the Bawaria gang allowed Theeran
to take a sensationalistic approach in depicting them, even using
stylized animation to make palatable the bloody history of those
dacoits. They are imbued with animal shades, imitating the actions
of a wolf pack on the hunt. The hero undergoes emotional violence when
his beloved wife is savagely assailed by the gang; this adds a deeply
personal revenge motive for his subsequent actions. The police team's attempt to capture the dacoits (captained by a ferocious Abhimanyu Singh) lead to an explosive night-time shootout that goes all out on the thrills.
Theeran Adhigaram Ondru is currently streaming in India on Prime and Hotstar.
In contrast, KS is tamped down to a fault, almost. Asif Ali as the inspector heading the investigation is the nominal lead, but he is not significantly marked out from the rest of the ensemble cast. In burdening the audience with the minutiae of the investigation - like the extended portion where they are tracking mobile phone locations - Ravi seems to be not only interested in conveying details of procedure, but also the soul grinding nature of the policeman's job. Hardcore fans of CSI style narratives may find this preoccupation with the mundane thrilling; others might feel that the film steps a little over the line between expressing the tedium of the characters' lives and transferring some of it to the audience. The criminals here are not like Theeran's heinous demons. Poverty and false promises from local politicians have driven the villagers to robbery and smuggling, the local law authorities state as matter-of-fact. They stand together as a defense against outsiders including the law - The film's most memorable scene at least for me was where Asif Ali's team walks through the maze of village lanes at mid-day to find it deserted of all the men; when they turn back the women form a posse and drive them out. But at the same time, they are not vicious cop killers.
On paper, KS's dedication to being a true-to-reality crime procedural sounds great, but what it jettisons in terms of drama is not sufficiently made up for in the treatment (film writer Aswathy Gopalakrishnan, whose reviews I respect a good deal is more enthusiastic). The characters are sketchy one-note cliches - Asif Ali has a guilt complex over shooting dead a student rioter, Alencier Lopez is the benevolent sub-inspector on the verge of retirement doling out parental advice, Sunny Wayne the cocky constable who predictably commits a blunder at a critical point in the film. The villagers harboring the criminals have almost no personality. Apart from the aforementioned scene of them being driven out by the women, there is little tension built in the execution, and I did not feel sufficiently attached to the main cast members to worry about the success of their mission. KS remains eminently watchable, just not memorable.
Kuttavum Shikshayum is currently streaming in India on Netflix.
The opening scenes of Ariyippu (Declaration) convey both its setting and its rhythm. Inside a factory for making surgical gloves, the machinery rattles and hums as a row of mannequin hands, naked or gloved, rotate while ferried on a conveyor. Sometimes they seem to point and sometimes they seem to be held out in desperate supplication. Maker Mahesh Narayanan is primarily an editor - one of the best in modern Malayalam cinema - and in an un-showy way, the splicing of the visuals of this grim industrial reality generates a kind of beauty, a kind of poetry.
Narayanan's C U Soon (2020) was shot during the Covid-19 lockdown situation in India. Ariyippu went into production towards the end of 2021 after the lockdown was withdrawn, but the narrative is set in a time when the country was still under active curfew. Both the structure and the visual aesthetic of the film draw from this traumatic situation. Malayali couple Hareesh (Kunchako Boban) and Reshmi (Divya Prabha) work at the glove-making unit situated in Noida, Uttar Pradesh. In a time when most other businesses are shuttered, this plant struggles to meet demand. The working hours are hard and long, and the factory has strict rules: Reshmi is ticked off for wearing a (wedding) ring in the glove testing department, while Hareesh must deal with an increased burden of loading goods amidst a worker shortage. Our couple are far from home and, apart from the companionship of some fellow migrant workers, isolated in a cultural milieu that is both foreign and apathetic to their needs. The lockdown protocol of masks and social distancing only adds to their alienation.
They are looking to make the jump to another country where their skillset can earn them a better living. It is in this regard that at the beginning of the film Hareesh films footage of Reshmi working at her station. This is of course forbidden in the rules; employees are not normally permitted even to carry phones onto the floor. With a promise to not leak it elsewhere, he hands the footage to the agent paid to arrange for their migration and employment abroad. Naturally, it does leak, finding its way into the workforce Whatsapp group. Worse, it is appended with footage of a woman in face mask performing a sexual service in the premises.
The resulting scandal produces different reactions in the couple. A distraught Reshmi wants to quit and head homewards to Kerala. Hareesh insists on taking the matter to the police. But there again, it is Reshmi who must bear the brunt of an investigation that only embarrasses her further. In the meanwhile, Hareesh starts to have his doubts about the masked woman. Could it be Reshmi? There is also a pivotal sub-plot concerning malpractice and violation of standards in the company, and both of them get caught up in this by different routes.
The primary focus of Ariyippu is in the relationship of the lead couple. When Hareesh insists on proving Reshmi's innocence in the MMS scandal through a police investigation, he initially appears a loyal husband striving to restore his wife's honor, while she is full of trepidation. But later we see Hareesh closely examining the added footage, trying to make out if the woman is Reshmi or someone else. His 'bravery' in pursuing the investigation can then be interpreted as not purely an expression of his trust in his wife but of a male ego bruised by the possibility of his wife straying. This is underlined in the scene where he forces himself upon Reshmi in their cramped bedroom even as a friend staying over to comfort her is sleeping beside. His temper issues, signaled early in the film when he has an altercation with a driver that refuses to help with the loading, lead to bigger problems afterwards.
Reshmi's actions can be similarly re-evaluated. She is scared and unwilling to file a complaint because she knows the process will only add to her hurt and humiliation without really giving her justice. She is proven right, when after sending her for a medical exam (What for, exactly? She is a married woman and the MMS shows a consensual act), the police officer tells them to reach an 'understanding' with the agent regarding the leaked footage. Later, her own husband questions her movements for that day. It is when the actual mystery of the footage is revealed that she decides 'Enough is Enough', and stands up backs against wall to lodge her protest against the systemic patriarchal and class-based abuse that is abetted by even the so-called decent men in the name of maintaining respectability and status quo. The tone is not shrill here. Reshmi does not become a torch-bearing avenger, and there is no raucous showdown. But in following the dictates of her own mind, she stands up for herself and for the other women destroyed or suppressed by that toxic hierarchy.
In this unvarnished yet sensitive slice of life movie experience, I am reminded of the films of Ivan Ayr (Soni, Meel Patthar). Narayanan with his creative collaborators - DoP Sanu John Varghese, co-editor Rahul Radhakrishnan, background score composer Sushin Shyam - gives a unified vision wholly in service of the story and characters. Even the language of the film, a fluid mixture of Malayalam, Hindi and Tamil - is a wonderful reflection of its cosmopolitan setting. As Hareesh, Kunchako Boban (who also co-produced) gives another performance that heralds him as the actor to watch for. In another era, he might have been content to get by on innate charm, but his filmography of the last few years shows someone clearly willing to take creative risks. Hareesh is a gray-shaded character, and neither the writing nor Boban's performance try to sugar-coat it in any way. Divya Prabha, whom I have only seen before in Malik, brilliantly owns Reshmi's character. You can feel her trepidation and preference to conform, gradually give way to anger when her husband suspects her of infidelity and later white-hot fury when she realizes how the entire ecosystem colludes to suppress the voice of victims, just to keep the wheels moving and to retain the prestige of the privileged. Even in the absence of exaggerated verbal fireworks, the audience can empathize with her indignation, which is also the film's anger.
The only films I'd previously seen of Malayalam auteur Govindan Aravindan are Chidambaram (repeatedly shown on the national channel Doordarshan in the 80's) and Oridathu. From these, it seemed to me that Aravindan as film-maker was most interested in the cinéma vérité element - of documenting, and in the process looking at the inner stories of the ignored sections of society. Even his mythology inspired feature Kanchana Seetha was known for a very grounded treatment. Aravindan was, along with Mrinal Sen and Shyam Benegal one of the prime figures of the Indian New Wave film movement. His films are definitely of the sort which some people admiringly, and others dismissively, regard as "award-winning".
Thampu (1978), an early feature in his career, is heavily concerned with the documentary element. The film primarily observes the goings-on in a traveling circus that sets up in a small town. We become privy to the behind-the-scenes of their routines and get hints of their personal lives: the painstaking rehearsals, the last-minute preparations, the wordless friendships, the drunken soirees. There is a beautiful synchrony when an old clown putting on his make-up is juxtaposed with the primping up of the trained monkey. Another kind of resonance is achieved when the lure of the circus must compete against the attractions of the town's temple festival with its fireworks and drumbeats (ironically, the circus manager - played by Malayalam arthouse favorite Bharat Gopi - was previously steered into giving a donation for the festival).
There appears a larger "life is a circus" motif when the film looks at the life of the local industrialist and his family. Our man divides his life between furthering his business and guzzling drinks with friends while longingly reminiscing about his time in Malaysia and complaining about "this accursed country". His traditional wife sits ignored in the inner room, while his estranged son (a rather hip-looking Nedumudi Venu) spends time imbibing Indian classical from a local musician. I was not too taken with this facet of the film. It moves away from the circus milieu without being very interesting in itself.
Nedumudi Venu
Thampu has all the hallmarks of the Indian parallel cinema style. It severely eschews the exaggerations and embellishments of mainstream films. The bulk of the casting is composed of non-professionals (including actual members of the Great Chitra Circus, which is featured here). Shaji Karun's B&W photography is very naturalistic, not afraid to embrace darkness - In film restoration activist Shivendra Singh Dungarpur's discussions with him, Shaji Karun revealed that Aravindan forbade him to use additional lights for the night scenes. The sound design is digetic, including all the music and songs heard in the film. Editors Rameshan and Selvanathan give a lot of time to capturing the rhythm and atmosphere of his settings, and this is where the film shines. Given the episodic non-dramatic nature, there is no elaborate climax or lead-out; when the circus packs it in (including a lovely night-time shot of the tent being taken down) and leaves for another place, the film wraps up as well.
Interest in Thampu was revived after its restoration and screening at the 2022 Cannes film festival in the Classics section. Yesterday, I bunked office, and went for the screening of the restored Thampu at Regal cinema as part of the Film Heritage workshop on restoration. Although I had been suggested to come a half-hour before the scheduled time as there would be a queue and first-come-first-served, I was skeptical about a non-Hindi non-Satyajit Ray vintage Indian film filling the large-size auditorium and I was right in there being no difficulty over finding a good seat (Apparently, In the Mood for Love screened the previous night had been a packed affair).
Lucky for me, Shivendra Singh was also present for the screening. I got my Celluloid Man DVD signed by him and chatted a little about that film and Czechmate, his mega-documentary on Czech New Wave cinema maestro Jiří Menzel.
Regal Cinema in Colaba, Mumbai
With regards to the restoration, one thing to keep in mind is that Thampu was a low-budget arthouse film shot with natural light, and the restoration was sourced from a dupe negative. So the visuals are not ultra-crisp. There is softness and the blacks can appear somewhat diffuse (I can't say if the hall projection limitations had anything to contribute to this). But the most striking benefit is in how absolutely stable the image is. There is no flickering, warping or prominent scratches. The gray-scale is not exceptional, but it is quite solid all the same; I imagine some of the night scenes are looking the best they did since the original release. Similarly, the sound is not absolutely pristine (there is a floor hum and some clipping), but it still sounds very lively when called for, especially in the scenes of the temple festival. Aravindan paid a lot of attention to developing a credible audio atmosphere to complement the scenes and the restoration does the best possible justice to his vision.
Thampu would not come in a favorite movies list for me, but it is an important contribution to the Indian arthouse and this restoration makes it doubly worthwhile for cinephiles to try and catch this when they can. For those interested, the restored version is currently available on Youtube here:
If the Italian cowboy films are Spaghetti Westerns and their Bollywood inspired counterparts like Sholay (1975) are Curry Westerns, then this Kerala-born take on the genre should probably be called an Idiyappam Western. Jokes apart, the team of writer MT Vasudevan Nair (MTV) and director Bharathan have done an excellent job of transmuting the Western into a new milieu. It's not as wholly seamless as Akira Kurosawa and Hideo Oguni's (Seven Samurai, Yojimbo, Sanjuro) work on molding the Western into Japanese culture, but a solid effort nonetheless.
The genre inspirations are (ha!) hat-tipped from the beginning when the silent protagonist Balan (Mohanlal) walks alone across landscapes - no horses or Stetsons here - stared at by vultures while a mouth organ based opening theme plays. Very early on, Balan's objective is made clear - he wants to kill Raju/Raghavan (Salim Ghouse, dubbed). In either a moment of conscientious hesitation or a narrative contrivance (since there would be no film otherwise), he does not avail himself of the first opportunity, but goes over to the settlement where Raghavan lives.
This place is even more remote than the stereotype rundown cowboy town with the dusty central avenue and the fly-infested saloon. Hidden behind hills, the titular valley is virgin farmland with few inhabitants. Balan only meets widower Nanu (Sankaradi) and his daughter Kochooti (Sumalatha), who work their farm with some daily-wagers. Balan pretends to be an old friend of Raghavan, casually visiting. Likely a consequence of loneliness, Nanu is garrulous and extends effusive hospitality to the stranger. In fact he has also not so long ago also coaxed Raghavan to buy land and settle down near him, looking upon the man as a prospective match for Kochooti.
The brooding small-scale revenge drama (think Sergio Corbucci, not Sergio Leone) is mainly about the cat and mouse game between Balan and Raghavan. Shortly after making acquaintance with Nanu's family, Balan suffers a murderous attempt by Raghavan and is badly injured in the process. Rescued by Kochooti, he is brought back to the house, but must now guard himself against further attacks - each night becomes a test of survival. On the other hand, Raghavan is worried about his shady past being revealed to his new neighbors, especially since he hopes to marry Kochooti. Alongside these maneuvers we get periodic flashbacks to Balan's old life, which reveals the nature of the tragedy that led to his seeking revenge on Raghavan.
MTV's screenplay is a thing of joy, skillfully juggling the tense interplay between its male leads while delving into the backstory of their conflict. The motifs of the Western - the stubble-chinned taciturn protagonist draped here in unwashed Veshti and poncho-like shawl, the remote setting, the sometimes savage practices (like killing wild pigs with crude mines), the long shots dwarfing the characters in the landscape, the extended standoffs - are incorporated into the narrative without seeming out of place in the Kerala setting. While the film is obviously centered around the two enemies, both Nanu and Kochooti are well-etched characters, the latter displaying a pleasing level of sass even when she has to oppose her father to be true to herself. Venu's evocative cinematography and the thoughtful editing by B Lenin and VT Vijayan (who had previously collaborated on several of Maniratnam's early films) keep the film engaging. Without spoilers the ending is faithful to the bleak, roving spirit of the landmark Italian westerns.
Thazhvaram's weakness mainly lie in its flashback / exposition elements where you have a throwback to a more conventional hero. The colorful outfits and aura of brash naivete Mohanlal dons here are not enough to convince you that his Balan is an eligible lover for the excessively ebullient Raji (former child star Anju). Wikipedia's page on the actress, tentatively puts her year of birth as 1978, suggesting that she was 12 at the time of this film; this lends a wholly icky pedophilic spin to their on-screen romance. Balan also seems to have a rather shaky moral compass, only mildly chastising his then-buddy Raghavan for even such crimes as murder, until it comes to bite him on the ass.
These niggles notwithstanding, Thazhvaram comes highly recommended as a South Indian Western which draws deeply from its inspirations, but is not a slavish imitator.
The "Krishna Eagle" referred to in the title of A. Vincent's horror drama Shree Krishnaparunthu (SKP) is a Brahminy Kite. The bird is seen as the representative of Garuda, Vishnu's celestial mount in Hindu mythology. In the film it is the guardian deity for a family of respected shamans / white magic practitioners that use it for the benefit of the common people, curing them of possessions, snake-bites and other ills. The knowledge of the family is passed on to its male heirs. When the film begins, the old practitioner Padmanabhan (Jagannatha Varma) gets a premonition of his own death and decides to pass on the heritage to his nephew Kumaran (Mohanlal). The trouble is, Kumaran has till then led a wayward hedonistic life indulging in opium and women. Can he be trusted to take on the family mantle and continue with their righteous tradition?
Vincent was a rarity in Indian cinema, a film-maker that took the horror genre seriously. The stories he made were culturally rooted and given the sensibility of a Gothic melodrama, not reliant on jump scares or sleaze quotient to garner attention. In 1964 Vincent made his directorial debut with Bhargavi Nilayam (Bhargavi's House), in which a tenant encounters the spirit of a woman in the house he is occupying, and learns of how she was killed. In 1978 he helmed Vayanadan Thamban,an ambitious romantic horror. In that one the warlock Thamban (played by Kamalahaasan) turns to devil worship for eternal youth, in return for which he must periodically provide his master with virgin sacrifice. The narrative spans several generations, visually indicated by the changes in social and cultural milieu. Thamban is both a vampiric predator that honey-traps women for sacrifice while repeatedly escaping capture, and a man that battles with his own conscience over his actions.*
SKP is a sort of spiritual successor to Vayanadan Thamban, in that it is also a culturally rooted story in which the horror elements are tied in with the protagonist's moral compass. After Kumaran accepts the uncle's teaching he transforms into an austere, celibate priest with the power to heal the needy. He is powerful enough to tackle the menace of vengeful spirits like Lakshmikutty, who bears a deadly grudge against him, and the insidious attacks of a competing black magician who wishes to destroy the influence of the Garuda clan. Kumaran's powers hold sway so long as he is able to control his baser instincts.
Alas, that state of affirs does not remain. He starts to desire a young woman Bhanumathi, and when unable to contain his lust, visits the local prostitute. This marks the beginning of Kumaran's fall from grace. Over time, his righteousness is replaced by ego. Even after having failed to keep the mandatory celibacy, he refuses to relinquish the position of priest to any successor. The forces invoked by the white magic practiced in his clan become diminished, and to counter his failings, he turns to the practice of a darker sorcery with the worship of the boar-headed goddess Varthali/Varahi. While it initially serves his purpose, aiding him to do his miracles and protect the family from rivals, this has its own set of consequences. The film does not explicitly pit the various schools of magic as one-note good and evil (Varahi is a female offshoot of one of Vishnu's avatars) - but they represent different schools of thought with conflicting philosophies that cannot coexist. There is a strong grounding of polytheist mythology here, a refreshing contrast from the more simplistic God vs The Devil narrative of western horror films.
Kumaran's shaky moral core continues to blindside him, leading to both personal tragedy as well as the destruction of his entire clan. At the end there is a moment of redemption when Kumaran, burned in a fire after trying to make away with the sacred texts from the family shrine, expends his dying breaths initiating his innocent nephew into the original clan tradition.
SKP is trademark Vincent in both its virtues and its flaws. Its biggest triumph is the serious exploration of a specific folklore. Thanks to a combination of effective writing and a young Mohanlal's thespian talent, the grey shades of the protagonist are superbly layered, rendering him a credible character than a good/evil archetype. Vincent's creative eye is also able to give a distinct identity to his deities, demons and spirits, wholly away from the hackneyed spooks of hack horror-makers. But there are the issues of pacing and visual continuity as in his other films. Those expecting the spit and polish of Western horror ventures will find these flaws jarring (anyone familiar with low-budget genre Indian films will not).
But with all its flaws, SKP is a compelling moral fable that provides rich rewards to those seeking a genuine horror experience in a unique cultural setting. While I wish I could recommend it unreservedly to serious horror fans across the world, one barrier is that the film does not so far appear to be available in subtitled form, and while you can get a cursory idea from the visuals alone, viewers really need to have a working knowledge of Malayalam to grasp the intricacies of the plot. I was lucky in having a Malayalee friend who generously spared his time, and we paused the film multiple times to discuss both the dialog as well as the context of the cultural practices depicted, making it a truly enlightening experience for me. I do hope others get as lucky, because these films have too niche an audience to entertain the idea of any international label presenting them in translated form. That said, the full feature in the original language is available on Youtube, so you can try your luck:
* While Vincent's original version of Vayanadan Thamban is a classy Gothic, it was however heavily mutilated for its Hindi dubbed version titled Pyaasa Shaitan (Thirsty Devil) by camp icon Joginder Shelly, who has been described as India's answer to Ed Wood. After bagging the rights to Vincent's film Shelly randomly rammed in inserts of himself as the devil, making faces at the camera, and tasteless sleaze material that only made for an incomprehensible experience.
2013's Mumbai Police has, up to a point, a decent mystery plot about a cop who lapses into amnesia in an accident just moments after informing a colleague that he has cracked a murder case. Now without those memories, he has to re-solve the case.
Antony 'Tony' Moses - played by Malayalam cinema's action hero Prithviraj Sukumaran - is the cop. At the beginning of the film, we see him tell someone on the phone "I've got the culprit". Moments later, a falling refrigerator from a van ahead forces him to veer and his car overturns. When Tony awakes, he has no recollection of who he is. Only his senior officer and friend Farhan (Rahman), who was on the other end of that call, is dealing with him. Farhan informs Tony that he was on the trail of the killer of their mutual friend Aryan Jacob (Jayasurya), a cop shot dead on the very stage he received a gallantry award.
Armed with only what information Farhan can share with him and his own instincts, Tony must start again at square one. In a script contrivance, Farhan asks Tony to conceal his amnesia from everyone, including their own colleagues in the force. This leads to some awkward moments for our protagonist. Also, it would seem that there are people bent on thwarting Tony's investigation, even if it means killing him.
Prithviraj is not the most versatile actor, but fits a certain badass hero / arrogant anti-hero niche. In this lead part, he gets a little more depth than the typical masala movie he is known for. A series of flashbacks makes us privy to the events prior to the amnesia loss, and we get an interesting contrast in Tony's nature before and after the accident, almost a different person in several aspects. The bulk of the film is a police procedural in which Privithraj follows up various threads - and associated red herrings - before the solution dawns upon him.
Without spoilers, the resolution of the mystery is where the film completely threw my suspension of disbelief. It makes a mockery of how amnesia affects a person's basic identity and is executed with zero sensitivity, making me want to clout the writers (credited as Bobby and Sanjay) and director that came up with this rubbish. It also relies on an offensively contrived series of circumstances that undo the - rah-rah moments notwithstanding - layered build-up of the investigation that had been depicted till that moment. Put simply, it's a lame and disappointing conclusion that leaves a bad aftertaste after a promising beginning.
It is, I suppose, a curse of the pan-India movie paradigm that even the titles must be generic for the sake of universality. So they either use proper nouns, words that mean the same across multiple Indian languages, or, as in the case of Eega wunderkid Rajamouli's latest project RRR, reduce the title to an acronym that expands differently in different tongues. That said, with RRR I wonder if the bulk of the audience is even bothered to be acquainted with the expanded forms in the different releases. It might as well be just an echo of the manly growls that permeate this picture.
And there are manly growls galore. Each of the film's two male leads - Ram Charan and NTR Jr - gets a massive introduction sequence in which they are established as forces of nature. Rajamouli distinguishes his heroes with fire and water motifs respectively, even announcing these in on-screen titles, just in case anyone in the audience missed the metaphor. The film drips with so much machismo, it was a missed marketing opportunity that they didn't have promotional 'mandles'.
While RRR is making waves both in India and outside for its exaggerated
action set-pieces and equally exaggerated bromance between the lead
stars, it is by no means a novel concept. Bollywood masala mogul Manmohan Desai's Mard in 1985 showcased Amitabh Bachchan and Dara Singh knocking the stuffing
out of British colonials with fisticuffs and the aid of a trained horse and
dog. RRR's bad people, Governor Buxton (Ray Stevenson) and his wife (Alison Doody, the only woman in the film who makes an impact), would certainly be at home with the caricature British villains from Mard. Stevenson admonishes his troops for wasting expensive British-made bullets on lowly brown natives, while Doody complains about the lack of blood spurts in a public lashing. I imagine the spirit of Bob Christo would heartily approve of these doings. For some reason they're not mindful of a niece (Olivia Morris) that hangs about with said lowly brown natives and brings them for tea and dance dates to the gubernatorial palace.
Continuing with the Mard comparisons, RRR does not match up to that film's cheerful ludicrousness. Mard had cheesy S&M leather outfits, Mission Impossible type latex mask disguises, a baddie literally bleeding out starved Indian laborers while wearing a Hammer Dracula style hooded cape. But one really can't hope for that level of reckless imagination now.
As some measure of recompense, RRR boasts of a level of polish in the execution of its set-pieces that the technologically-slipshod-even-for-the-80's Mard could not claim. An applause-worthy level of detail is given to each of the film's action sequences, which are meticulously designed and painstakingly executed - Ram Charan fighting his way back and forth through a whole mob of protesters, him and NTR Jr forming a Goro-like fighting combo, the wild animal assault on the Governor's mansion. Right up to the ridiculously explosive climax, the film speaks purely in hyperbole. There are even some epic emotional moments like when NTR's character is getting whipped by Ram and breaks out into a patriotic song - say what you will, these guys put in their all.
But anytime the film moves away from them or the baddies, it stumbles massively. Alia Bhat barely registers as Ram's love interest, and Ajay Devgan as his father sucks the life out of every scene he is in, purely by being his Ajay Devgan self. Taking them out of the picture would have cut a fourth of the massive runtime and kept it fresher.
I certainly enjoyed individual portions of RRR, but Eega / Naan Ee / Eecha / Makkhi is still the one Rajamouli film I consider worth revisiting.
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