It has taken 26 years for a story of a genocide on our land, to be told in our mainstream cinema. Let that sink in. Mari Selvaraj has used the opportunity he’s gotten to powerful effect.
As a writer, he has come up with striking imagery that tell smaller stories within the larger narrative. His visuals are very much rooted in the emotion he’s going for, and especially in this film, the aesthetic doesn’t even have to try too much to leave an impact. A liberated donkey climbing a hillock, a dead girl observing her legacy, bare feet going about their life on earth, and many more such images crowd the film with tales that will be remembered as much as the film’s primary story. Mari’s worldview is also about merging the layers of an ecosystem together. Animals are privy to human lives. He actually considers them as witnesses to our world. Our wins, struggles and losses. Our humanity. That’s literally what a title card says, as it names a butterfly as the witness of this story. If the oppressor thinks no one is watching him dehumanising the oppressed, he’s wrong, because nature is. It might not have the capacity to act on it, but there’s solace in the idea that someone in our world is always watching. Dignity and respect for another being should come from within, not from cultural practice, fear of god, or for the sake of witnesses.
What I admire about Mari’s gaze is the dignity he hands to his characters even when the rest of the world is stripping them off the same. Karnan’s sister Padmini doesn’t necessarily add to the conflict directly, but her presence and her being vocal of her needs add to the heft of Karnan’s actions. Dhanush does a great job at displaying a simmering kind of anger, even though he has played characters with similar motivations before. He blends in so well, which in turn enables those around him to come through distinctly. Even people on the fringes of the narrative get moments of significance to tell their story. Like the man who loses in the CRPF selections. The unborn baby. The old lady who curses the vulture that stole her chick. The politics of the world seeps into the narrative from every corner.
The film does have its small share of failings. It presents some very intriguing elements in the process of depicting a lifestyle, but it disappoints in not following up on some of these elements. The dynamic between Yaeman and Manjanathi is established in a beautiful folk number that is both celebratory and poignant, but I wish we got to hear more about her, outside of this song. (But yes, a wholesome kiss that arises out of their story makes for a very memorable takeaway.) The film also lead me to believe Kaatupechi will have a more tangible impact on the events, especially after the dream sequence of Karnan’s father. Her mere presence does add a lot to the film. Karnan’s subdued arc in the otherwise rousing climax alone left me asking for more drama, especially since the film has set the bar high for designing a breaking point for its hero, with its intense interval block. His walk towards the opposite direction feels comparatively flat for the dynamite of anger that his return would unleash. These are minor quibbles in a film that puts its heart’s anger above its already arresting use of the medium.
Speaking of the climax again, the uneasy feeling in Karnan – of something not being right – feels very rooted, rather than heroic. The gut-feeling of a saviour is a very cinematic device, but it doesn’t feel that way here. The establishing of these people being so connected to the earth, to their land, the shots of following their feet, all contribute to making it feel real. The makers have absolutely earned the right to use this contrivance of a “gut-feeling”. Santhosh Narayanan’s background score also does a brilliant job with churning the anger inside the characters, and the effect leaks into the narrative and overall drama. His score throbs with lasting impact, and some of his beats are now inseparable from the visuals they played to. The film uses his prowess to add universal appeal.
This is one powerhouse of a follow-up to Pariyerum Perumaal, because it deals with politics of an even more delicate kind. It can easily be questioned and put down for taking a violent route in a call-for-attention (bus demolition) moment. But the helplessness of that moment comes through with enough organic buildup, and I wouldn’t agree that the anger is unwarranted in any measure. I vouch for the politics of that scene. By providing a platform for such voices to tell dignified stories of opposition, Tamil cinema has held its head high. Now there’s no looking back.
