Aayirathil Oruvan - Tamil (2010)

I wanted to review this movie in Tamil, but I would like as many people, from as many different linguistic backgrounds possible, to watch this movie which reminded me that there is no tongue to a movie. Aayirathil Oruvan, means One man in a Thousand. The movie can claim credit for being truly, one in a thousand. Starring Karthi (only in his second movie in five years), Reema Sen (not to be confused with the Bengali sisters) and Andrea Jeramaiah (a stage actor from Madras) and R. Parthiban (a man who carved out a new path for himself in the industry a good two decades ago), this movie does not claim to have big names or a monster budget. However, the story is one that has not been told in this scale, intensity or detail, ever before in Tamil, or may I venture to say, in Indian cinema. Running to a good three hours, it is sure to leave you with a strong opinion; good, bad or ugly. This is not a movie for the weak-hearted.

Directing his sixth movie, Selvaraghavan has reiterated the statement that he is someone to look out for. His past movies have carved a niche audience for himself. While he launched his younger brother into superstardom with his first two movies, he proved that he is one of those directors who can be very original with even the most uninspiring narratives. He has the knack of leading the story into its moments rather than forcing dramatic moments on the unsuspecting audience. But even with his proven credentials, this movie shows that he is not afraid to tread on a different path. The genre of the adventure movie fell out of fashion in Indian cinema in the eighties. Of course, we have had the Dhoom series and the odd period movie; but none so authentic or experimental, in creating a world that is probable but impossible. The only person who has come close in portraying such a world was Kamal Hassan in Vikram (albeit, in a very commercialized and watered down space) and it is worthy to note that after two decades, no other movie has been written in that genre. As a blend of more than one genre, this movie captures the imagination of the audience and reveals another layer of the horrible truth to those who are willing to train their eye on it.

Let me first get over with the "inspirations" of the movie. Ben Hur, MacKenna's Gold, 300, Apocalypto, Beowulf, any number of Indiana Jones movies, Lara Croft, William Wallace (Braveheart) and the Mummy movies, most importantly, often parade themselves in fleeting moments. Techniques, shots and sometimes even situations are borrowed, only to narrate or make convenient the plausibility of the progress of the film. To say that the movie has blatantly copied any of the above mentioned movies would not be fair to either this movie or the one said to be copied from. For the best moments of the movie are its own.

The story starts in a fairly straightforward manner. A famed archeologist, Lavanya and the head of the archeological committee, Anita venture in search a band of Cholas who had fled the invading Pandias and the Pandian artefact that they had stolen. They are accompanied by a private security force and a band of coolies headed by Muthu. After many traps and hinderances, which cost them much resources and life, Lavanya, Anita and Muthu discover the lost civilization. And here, the movie moves into the historic mode with an entire lost tribe portrayed; not the fair, delicately clad and decorated women/men portrayed until now in historical movies, but gritty, realistic and extremely topical portrayal of these warriors, tribals and women. This grounds the movie in such realistic terms just as much as the fantasy makes it fly. The end is unexpected but fitting. The movie will surely haunt you for a while.

Karthi entered the industry as actor Surya's younger brother, but at the pace he is going, he is sure to obliterate such associations. Mind you, it is not a great pace, for he has done only his second film in five years. And still, the maturity with which he has chosen his roles promises great things in his future. The biggest challenge is that, despite the hero-centric title, the movie does not give even an inch for such complacency. Karthi is only as important as his other counterparts and despite the messianic role, he does very little that can be described heroic. And still he shines by not shining as himself and becoming Muthu, the coolie. His eccentricities, fears, arrogance, anger and human-quality makes it one of the most rounded performances seen in a long time. Reema Sen proves herself as one of the most undervalued/underutilized actor in her role as Anita Pandian. Though she could have wielded the gun in a more assertive manner, she pulls off the extensive range of emotions and personality that her role demands of her. Andrea Jeramaiah. I once knew this girl when we worked on a play together (she was the leading lady and I the backstage guy). To be honest, she sings like an angel. How does she act? Well, as I said, she sings like an angel. In the movie, she manages to generate some interesting scenes, but they are few and far apart. She is often over shadowed given the caliber of her co-stars. But the scene in the mangrove forest where there is a triadic conversation in English (with Karthi just staring at the two women), that borders on lewd and manages to remain witty, is enough proof of the trio's acting skills.

I saved the best for the last, for we have not heard much from R. Parthiban in the recent years. He made a fool of himself with Pacha Kuthirai, and I am being nice to say that. It was disappointing, for I am a fan of his work and as any loyal fan, I was waiting for him to resurface. In this movie, one can surely say that he has, and HOW! Perhaps in the best role of his career, this actor/director/writer comes across as a convincing tribal leader who can hold order in his domain with his presence and if needs be, his fist. The last hour of the movie is dominated by this veteran in every sphere; including that monster-like dance that he manages to make interesting. It is Parthiban who features in the two best moments of the movie. When bombs are used against the sword wielding tribals, he asks Karthi why he did not tell them about this weapon. He adds after a pause, whether Karthi had hidden that fact thinking that they would be afraid. All his tribesmen join in a riotous laughter before being gunned down. This is perhaps the most evocative moment in the film that shows the pride of the indigenous against the metallic wrath of the moderns. Not many minutes before the mentioned scene, Parthiban slays one of the assailants and takes the machine gun in his hands, looks at it and shakes it pointing at people around him saying, "tut...tut...tut...tut...tut..." and then throwing the gun away shrugging. How powerful is that image of the man who knows not what terrible fate awaits him at the hand of the most cowardly of inventions.

What appeals most about this movie to me, is the same thing which makes me feel that this was one of the most satisfying films I have seen in my entire life, is the strong political, subaltern message that it carries. To see a people who have fled away from the nation to make another civilization in an island (speaking the language in a different, "purer" or more archaic form) only to be persecuted by their cousins who have no rationale except blind racial hatred is an echo of more than one reality. Most obviously it becomes an allegory to the thousands of Tamils dying a meaningless death in Sri Lanka. Some may wonder why an adventure movie ends on such a dark note of mass-suicide, utter desolation and an annihilation of not just the people but also of their dignity; this is not a way an Indiana Jones or a Mummy movie would end. But this is exactly how life goes on. There is no magical rescue in the offing.

Technically, the editing is absolutely seamless. What the ridiculously poor CG drops the ball on, the elegant, innovative cinematography more than makes up for. The costumes and the detailing are really well done. The extremely racist painting of all "tribals" in a color each is a jarring element in the movie. The locales are truly breath-taking, when they are not pissed about with bad CG. The music... the album score is okay, with a couple of songs lingering on in the mind. But the BGM is a huge let down. Perhaps it is because of our being used to such ephemeral subtlety in Selva's movies thanks to Yuvan? It is time to bring the young prince back into the fold.

One thing I would like to record about this movie is that, Selva, unfortunately did not have the courage that Kamal Hassan did, as we find the latter refusing to add a song to the movie when it was not relevant, however good or close to his heart (as it was performed by his daughter). But Selva adds the Ooh Eesa song for the reason of having shot it. It would have better served as just publicity material. However, it does not take away from the bottomline, that Selva assures us that the future of Tamil/Indian cinema is in good hands.

Neither the Constitution of India nor Indian law specifies a National language, Mouther Fulcher.

There are twenty two official languages, of which fifteen are displayed on the paper currency of this glorious nation. And not one takes precedence over the other. So the next time a busterd (not the bird or the movie) comes to my face with a smug condescending smile to tell me to "come on" and know the "national language", (s)he will have to say hello to my fist. Oh wait, (s)he cannot; it will be difficult to say hi when my fist is pressing against his/her uvula.

Now, let me put this down as emphatically as possible; I am NOT a linguistic hardliner. I do NOT believe in the superiority of one language over another. Neither am I limited in my perception to think that MY MOTHER TONGUE is the greatest language in the world; nor have I ever supported any viewpoint which insisted on preserving the purity of MY language. The first thing that I did when I landed in Calcutta (well not the first literal thing but the first metaphorical thing; don't lose focus here!) was to enrol myself in a beginner's course in Bengali and I am proud to say that I have grown in that langauge enough to call it Bangla and translate actually some of the excellent lines of verse by Tagore (albeit with a LOT of help from my friends and teacher). I believe that it is retarded to think that we have to write in a form as followed by people about a hundred years ago, as is done in Tamil magazines to date.

However, when I am asked to recognize a language, which is not even a single language, but an umbrella under which everything that is spoken from the North/Central belt of "India", ranging between Rajastan to Bihar, as MY national language. I say Fuck You.

Art as Intervention

I have laughed my ass off when I watched that episode in How I Met Your Mother about Intervention. Intervention. It's funny because it is ridiculous. But its not fun and games all the time. Sometimes, instead of doing something about the world we are in, we are happy commenting about. Like I am doing right now. I choose to comment about the lack of intervention rather than doing something about it. However, the fact that I am sitting a good thousand miles away from the location of the incident, washes my hands off some blood, at least immediate blood. When a cop, a man who has pledged to put the rest of the world ahead of himself is cut up in the middle of the road and pleading for help, two ministers are holed up in their cars and the cop handling their security detail explains that they had to protect the ministers and take all necessary precautions possible. Sounds ridiculous, and I would have laughed, trust me, if not for the sickening thought of the man lying there, dying there. They did not intervene. They did not do anything besides staying put, calling 108 (that's our ambulance code in TamilNadu; one of the few states that proudly claim the possession of an ambulance hotline), and then putting the cop on a convoy car, rushing him to a hospital... albeit, minutes late... Precious minutes, that could have saved his life.
They did not intervene. The ministers did not. And life comes a full circle when NDTV reporters, or any other TV channel's reporters, the name does not mean a thing, it's all the same, stood there, recording and transmitting information, manufacturing news about how the ministers could have intervened and refused to, instead of intervening themselves. Unlike my commentary on their Godot-ic inaction, theirs actually cost the man his life. Oh, of course, we have stunning footage of a cop crying for his life in a moment more dramatic than any nailbiting action sequence of a movie; but we lost a cop. Oh yes, the TV news channels have managed to show how heartless these politicos are; but we lost a cop. And most significantly, the charioteers of the news-driven nation have fed the right amount of anguish to a people who really don't need a reason to be angry against the khadi-clad mafia; by making a lesson out of a life they could have saved. J'accuse. The inaction on part of the newspeople is much more condemnable than that of the politicians. At least the latter do not have any qualms in acting like they are above the law. What the fuck was the cameraperson doing, shooting video footage, when (s)he could have done something better?
This is where I draw the line. If art is going to pretend that it has no other role but to merely record reality, then it serves no function and such an art should cease to exist. Enough is enough; as Samuel L Jackson says, I have had it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane. I am tired of the media constantly pointing out issues about what somebody did not do, when they have behaved in no better a fashion. We are not shooting an episode of South Park here. It is a time for change. Change starts now and here. Intervention is the new mantra of art. If Art does not adapt, it shall perish, like so many other things in this continuum of the world.