Between Reviews: The Storm and the Calm
THE STORM AND THE CALM
JAN 27, 2008 - IT’S SLIGHTLY DISCONCERTING, EVERY JANUARY, when someone wishes me a Happy Pongal. I am inevitably seized by the urge to explain why I cannot, in all conscience, accept this greeting. The mere circumstance of my being Tamil apart, the closest I come to cattle is on roads during rush hour, and my only connection to harvests is the lumpy handful of boiled, white grain that I slather with curd during lunch-time, sometimes during dinner. So, no. This isn’t my festival at all – unless you’re talking about the new releases, the half-dozen of them. Is it just me, or has it gotten to a point where you have to squint really hard to imagine how they must have celebrated Pongal in the times of no television and no cinema? Did they, the poor things, go around spreading cheer among friends and neighbours and relatives? Did fathers and mothers use the day off from work to catch up with the lives of unsuspecting sons and daughters?
These aren’t idle thoughts. There were moments – while trapped inside a movie theatre surrounded by screaming, clapping, whistling hordes watching… no, getting brutalised by the Vikram-starrer Bheemaa – when I’d have given a sizable chunk of arm and leg for a time machine, to go back to an age where you’d do things during a festival that didn’t include popping for tickets for the latest big-star release, even one you’ve been well warned against. Here’s how I imagine director Lingusamy’s narration to his leading man went: You’re the hero, see. You make your entry with this fight scene, then you fight some more, and then some more. Then you sing a song, and after the song, you have a fight scene, and then another fight scene. A song later, you fight, and you fight again, and it’s time for Intermission. Then you fight, sing a song, fight some more, sing another song, fight again, and yet again, and finally, some ten minutes before The End, you get to display some interesting shades to your character, by which time, of course, no one’s going to care.
It’s quite something to move on from the percussion-only pounding that is Bheemaa to the solo flute notes emanating from Pirivoam Sandhippoam, which comes off as the bastard child of Sooraj Barjatya and Balu Mahendra. On the one hand, you have the warmth and the fuzziness of joint-family dynamics, and on the other, a near-arty psychological portrait painted against a hill station backdrop. So it is a bit preachy at times, a bit too disposed to talk down to the audience about this issue and that one – but I was happy that the director Karu. Pazhaniappan managed the one thing I’d never thought I’d see in mainstream Tamil cinema anymore, and that’s to trot his story out at a pace that the story demands.
We are so used to trigger-happy editors placing their craft at the altar of our attention-deficit-disorder generation that it’s somewhat of a shock, at first, to adapt to the languid rhythms of this film, which, if anything, crawls down to the point of catatonia in order to help us experience the ennui of its heroine. The last time I saw something similar was in the magnificent hunt-for-the-serial-killer drama Zodiac, where the film spirals out of focus and becomes increasingly diffuse as the clues begin to dry up, and we feel almost as lost and helpless about the goings-on as the investigators are about their case. We aren’t just watching their emotional trajectory, we’re experiencing it. If only for this, if only for this Tamil film’s commitment to its themes in the face of what is likely to be a hooting, fidgeting, catcalling audience, this has been a fairly Happy Pongal.
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“the bastard child of Sooraj Barjatya and Balu Mahendra.”
L.o.l.
Haven’t seen any of the Pongal releases. Your point about trigger-happy editors are so much relevant to Tamil cinema now. Where every film, it seems, just tries to hurry up so that it can let the next start quickly. They all start with swishes and swashes, and then, move on and end, with even more swishes and swashes.
Hi rangan,
Of all the pongal releases, I heard that “pudichirukku” seems to be the best film (A very different love film it seems). I have not yet seen the film, but the reviews of it seems glowing.
Did you hear about it?
Hi Baradwaj,
Thank God that you did not stumble into Vazhthugal. It was probably the first time I witnessed the whole theatre erupting into peals of laughter during an emotional scene. I dare you to experience that crap.
By the way, I’m eagerly awaiting your Jodhaa Akbar Soundoff. Any idea of coming out with one?
Zero: “so that it can let the next start quickly” And yet the duration of these films hovers close to three hours, so…
Magesh: No, haven’t seen Pudichirukku. Took me a while to recover from Bheemaa
Suganth: Yeah, I too heard of the all-tamil dialogues causing much amusement. At one point, I believe Madhavan actually uses this term of endearment, “En thanga vaanambadi.”
JA story was done a while ago. Dunno when it will go into the paper.
Finally watched ‘Pirivom Sandhippom’ and liked it quite a bit. felt it was perfectly paced for its theme. btw, this “trot his story out at a pace that the story demands” was something I saw in ‘thavamaai thavamirundhu’ too. In my review then I said “This is not a movie for the impatient. It has a leisurely pace. But the slowness is necessary for the strong emotions, both stated and unstated, to sink in. This is not a movie you watch but a movie you experience. For instance, as the camera captures the intimate details of the printing process, what we are seeing is not just the process but the hardship Rajkiran is undergoing to make sure he has money at the end of the day.” That was a movie that elicited widely divergent reactions and so I’m curious what you thought of it…
Balaji: I loved TT — all three hours of it. But things kept happening in that film, it kept cutting between various people, while here, once we get to the hill station, it’s a different kind of slowness altogether. (I would compare TT to say Azhagi, in terms of measured storytelling.) I didn’t expect such brave filmmaking is what I was trying to say. BTW, I’m a big fan of the films that Cheran, (the actor) picks. Even Solla Marandha Kadhai - though it had Bhimsingh levels of melodrama - had its moments.
BR, I think Cheran goes for too much melodrama. Not to mention the moralising. It’s as if he has struck on a formula and doesnt want to let it go.
Looks like his outside ventures are better - agree on SMK, and though I didnt have much hopes on Pirivom, looks like you found something to commend.
This Thankar Bachan guy - showed promise but Thendral was a washout and Chidambaram Appasamy was atrocious - that was quite an achievement considering the original Malayalam movie was such a wonderful one - Srinivasan’s ChinthaVishashtiyaaya Shyamala.
While I appreciate the good strides Cheran has made in the technical departments and other formal aspects of his filmmaking style, I think his films are all moralistic sledgehammers (Autograph is a notable exception, as the moralising is spared for the most part) — one-dimensional portrayals, out there to prove a point. In Thavamai Thavamirunthu, for instance, he leaves no stone unturned to say how parenting is the holiest thing in this world. I’d not complain about the melodrama (I’m all for it) per se, but Cheran’s films are acutely propagandist in terms of its themes. Even Veyil is melodramatic (and I didn’t like the film as a whole, had many reservations about it), but it showed a real parent-son conflict, not just a benign, holy father and his mortal son. In that sense, TT comes off as a completely manufactured film. For example, just look at what the youngle couple do after they elope from their homes. They cry and cry, lamenting the sin they’ve committed by leaving their parents (the lyrics help when there’s no dialogue). We don’t even see them spend some good time enjoying their with each other! Alai Payuthe or Kaadhal, anyone? Idhellaam appadiye varradhu dhaan! Cheran ‘ukku varraapla enakku therla. (Their economic condition is shown to be so poor that they do have a lot to lament about things anyway, but I hope you get the drift…)
Pardon the typo errors. It should just read, “We don’t even see them spend some good time with each other!” I’ve no idea how those two words came in between.
Zero/s: I completely agree about the ideological aspects of Cheran’s films. But I guess I reacted to TT the way I do when watching one of Bhimsingh’s films on TV. At some point, you’re swept along and the utter ludicrousness ceases to matter. It’s a purely emotional response. Rajkiran was so good in TT that he left that lingering whiff of his presence even when he wasn’t around, and you could feel that such a father would be missed by his ingrate (in a matter of speaking) son. There’s also the fact that films play so much better on the big screen, and I’ve seen TT only once, in the theatre, everything magnified. Maybe on TV, with a zillion commercial breaks, it will test your patience. And Zero, er, slightly Freudian slip of a typo there. Padikkarappo oru maadhiriyaa irundhudhu
Yeah, I was terribly embarrassed reading that part. I had initially written “enjoying their new marriage” or something to that effect, and somewhere in between also wrote “some good time with each other!” Thus the Freudian slip!
So, Baradwaj, you sneaked in 2 mini-reviews in the “Between Reviews”. Glad you liked PS.
I normally don’t have qualms about assuming my real name when I comment here. Don’t believe in fake/hidden identities…whom am I hiding from? But this once, I feel like hiding, from myself, mostly. Why? Because I wish I were someone else. Farah Khan, for instance. Yes, the same Farah Khan whose “utterances make it clear that no censoring whatsoever occurs between her thinking something and her saying [writing, too?] the same thing, which is why she’s so entertaining [and much loved]; after all, who wants to listen to politically correct bores!” I certainly don’t. But I guess when it comes to the star (writer/director) vs. lowly-mortal equation, eschewing political correctness AND getting away with it AND continuing to be loved are all prerogatives of the star…all isolated elements whose synergy a lowly mortal can only aspire to, never experience.
Anyway, this isn’t about anonymous faces in the crowd craving stardom. Nor is it a timely comment about Pongal, a festival that, as this writer rightly alludes to, has long since ceased to stand for all that it once stood for. It’s about Pirivoam Sandhippoam, a movie “which comes off as the bastard child of Sooraj Barjatya and Balu Mahendra.” It’s about how timely my current reading of this post is, given Barjatya and Balu Mahendra have, unbeknownst to me, been doing the rounds in my head over the last week and a half. And why? Well, I didn’t pause to analyze, because “at some point, you’re swept along and the utter ludicrousness ceases to matter.”
There. Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, I don’t have to explain why I have this one song doing the rounds in my head most of last week, along with the (unrelated) director duo…Again, “it’s a purely emotional response.” Mannikka maattaayaa, un manam irangi. The last I recall hearing it was on the radio in the late 80s. I believe it’s from a n’er-do-well movie “Janani” and I’d always been of the impression that the music was scored by Ilaiyaraja (until I just found out it was MSV - ah, revelations). As I replay the song in my head for the nth time in three days, the universe seems to stand still, while I remain ensconced in the haunting, yearning melody of poetry’s power, a prayer packed with enough potential to transcend time (even space?) and, with its beseeching tune perhaps melt rocks, I would like to think…
Superb closing lines above, on the Pirivoam Sandhippoam post, by the way.