In a time when audiences are getting severely judgmental (unfairly) about films having a three-hour length, it’s pleasant to see a filmmaker assuredly heading down that path with full faith on the story and zone his film is going to function in. It’s this conviction that I like the most about this new film from the off-late wobbly stable of Gautham Vasudev Menon. It’s a familiar story, but narrated with the kind of patience and poise that seem too alien to our mainstream star-driven vehicles.
The calmth in the direction is felt in the numerous long takes and even the glaringly slow fade-to-blacks. By employing these lengthy shots, GVM brings in an impression of rootedness that keeps the sense of an outsider’s gaze at bay. Of course, he has Jeyamohan’s strongly anchored writing to keep that in check, but this still is a clever device that works in favour of the film. Be it action or banter, the “Oner” brings both urgency and a lived-in feeling to the moments the character is experiencing.
B. Jeyamohan’s material is quite self-sufficient in itself, in the sense that his story covers an effective arc for its characters and the world it is set in. The beats in Muthu’s journey are predictable, even down to the timing, but the philosophical underpinnings of the story, and authenticity to a setting, keep it from losing seriousness. The sense of a prophecy, the talk of going with the flow as opposed to having a “story” or destiny, makes Muthu an intriguing protagonist to root for. His life is underlined by both – fate, and uncertainty of his decisions. With such a rich well to draw from, the problem here is in the two distinct “elements” that are presumably coming from GVM. The specific issue being that both these elements yank us out from the narrative and personality of the film.
The romance is what sticks out from the narrative. Paavai’s character is a tad detached from Muthu’s journey, in the sense that it doesn’t feel like she’s an intrinsic part of it. The track is utterly predictable, also barely conveying the depths and darkness lurking under their equation. They have an awkwardly written meet-cute post which he starts following her around from a distance, in an absolutely uninspiring, done-to-death Tamil cinema manner. This basic advance gets shot down by Paavai, who rightfully calls it “not nice”. In another instance, when Muthu goes all male-saviour on her, she poses the “Who are you?” rhetoric, again, admirably questioning the problem with the trope itself. But in an already sparse plot, with few (albeit detailed) events, the dreariness of this portion is a letdown, with even the small strokes of progressiveness notwithstanding.
The element that goes against the film’s personality, is the haphazard setup for the sequel. Let’s look at the story here – The primary narrative ends, on a rather effectively poetic note even, when Muthu returns the gun to the spot from where he’d initially picked it up from – a pivotal moment at the beginning of his journey. His arc has gotten to a point where he chooses to stop swimming against the tide of crime and move ashore to a life of peace. The people surrounding him have attained resolution too. His detractors are done for, and he has earned the trust and goodwill of people who are now ready to stand behind him if need be. Even the gun has an arc and character of its own, given how it gets called a ghost for previously belonging to a wronged, dead man. When the story has reached such roundedness, a leap towards a sequel seems blatantly out of place. It doesn’t help that it arrives with a rude bang, with no pause to digest Muthu’s headspace post the climactic sequence.
There’s a parallel track running with Sridharan (Neeraj Madhav), and the final scene with him at the barber shop would have made for a brilliant epilogue, sans all the focus on the loudness and “massiness” of Muthu’s new life. It’s a shame that with all beats in place to make for a wholesome film by itself, GVM chooses to position this as the first of a duology. The character has attained catharsis and there’s no emotional hook left to warrant a sequel.
Simbu’s underplaying as a performer does pay off. He makes it quite obvious that he’s trying to do something different here (his unclosed lips, the awkward walk), which is something that happens with a lot of our stars’ attempts at being something different from their usual larger-than-life persona. But his sincerity and consistency within the film makes that obviousness endearing enough to lend authenticity to the character. Muthuveeran is a good attempt at bringing a conventional star/hero to the realm of reality, and proof that the heroic is attainable even without Heroism. This is in a way, GVM pulling off a Vetrimaaran. Here’s wishing this goes onto become a “trend”, since that’s the only way anything seems to gain adoption in our cinema.
On the whole, this is an interesting attempt by a filmmaker working with material outside his comfort zone, but one that is eventually letdown by his indulgence to leave his own stamp over it.
