Koode is a visual poetry punctuated with scars

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The magic of cinema lies in its ability to transcend the tower of Babel and speak a universal language. Easier said than done, not every filmmaker is able to achieve such feat, where the film touches a chord with someone who doesn’t understand the language. Kudos to director Anjali Menon, who paints the silver screen with varied shades of human emotions with her latest offering, ‘Koode’.

Calling ‘Koode’ a remake would be a misnomer. It should be rather called a reinterpretation of Sachin Kundalkar’s Marathi film, ‘Happy Journey’ starring Atul Kulkarni, Pallavi Subhash and Priya Bapat. While Sachin Kundalkar in ‘Happy Journey’ relied more on the dialogues to tell its story, ‘Koode’ poetically pauses on tender moments of the film’s characters to build a narrative that touches you to the core. In hindsight, one would refrain from comparisons as both films are unique in their own ways.

To begin with, as hinted above, I am a linguistically-challenged audience for this beautiful Malayalam film, who watched it without subtitles – Blame it on the distributors of Ahmedabad, Gujarat. Director Anjali Menon sticks to the basic storyline of ‘Happy Journey’ but spins a soulful yarn of a screenplay that ‘shows’ rather than ‘tell’. For instance, Prithviraj’s character, Joshua is sexually exploited as a child, and Parvathy’s character, Sophie has braved the storm of domestic violence – these aspects of their characters are subtly hinted, yet are intense enough to move you.

Prithviraj Sukumaran, as Joshua is a man of few words but his eloquent eyes speak volumes about the wounds he has nursed and the sacrifices he has made all through his life for his family. Nazriya Nazim, as Jenny, Joshua’s sister, believes in living life, as well as afterlife to its full. Parvathy, as Sophie uses silence as her biggest strength to emote her feelings. There’s an addition of a football coach’s character, Ashraf, which is ably played by Atul Kulkarni, who leaves an everlasting impact with his performance. Roshan Mathew, as Jenny’s love interest, too, has a brilliant screen presence. Right from the child actors, to the character artists, the casting is spot-on.

Littil Swayamp’s camera beautifully captures the idyllic ambience of Ooty and is deftly edited by Praveen Prabhakar. Raghu Dixit’s music almost becomes the film’s character, which aptly lends its support to Anjali Menon’s engaging screenplay, rather than digressing from what transpires on the screen.

Well, digression reminds me of this: In Japan, there’s an ancient art called Kintsugi, which uses liquid gold to bring together the pieces of a broken pottery item. By repairing broken ceramics, they breathe a new life into the pottery that becomes even more refined, thanks to its ‘scars’. In ‘Koode’, director Anjali Menon uses the character of Jenny as the gild of gold that gives her brother, Joshua and his beloved, Sophie, a new lease of life and makes these two broken souls look beautiful.

 

 

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Raazi is a meditative musing on patriotism beyond borders

Based on the novel, ‘Calling Sehmat’, ‘Raazi’, directed by Meghna Gulzar, is based on true incidents. The novel’s author Harinder Sikka is a retired army officer, who stumbled upon this story during the Kargil war while conversing with an Indian army officer. The officer confided in him about how his mother, a Kashmiri Muslim, had married a Pakistani Army officer to provide India with classified information during the 1971 war.

Harindar Sikka eventually managed to meet the officer’s mother in Malerkotla, Punjab, where she later revealed her entire story. So, all those ‘how can an army family not get suspicious’ kind of criticism doing the rounds for ‘Raazi’ must be put to rest here. After all, truth has always been stranger than fiction.

As a co-writer (along with Bhavani Iyer) and director, Meghna Gulzar creates an ensemble of characters that play with the audience’s minds, without letting them have a whiff about it. To begin with, Sehmat, played to perfection by Alia Bhatt, is inner conscience personified. The character of Iqbal Syed, ably played by Vicky Kaushal is a reflection of the same inner conscience.

The character of Sehmat’s father Hidayat Khan, essayed by Rajit Kapoor stands for patriotism, which is again juxtaposed by its reflection with the character of Brigadier Syed played by the brilliant Shishir Sharma. Sehmat’s trainer, Khalid Mir amazingly played by Jaydeep Ahlawat, embodies duty, which again finds its reflection in Mehboob Syed’s character played by Ashwath Bhatt. Interestingly, Sehmat’s nemesis, Abdul (Aarif Zakariya) is the only character who doesn’t have its mirror image. Abdul represents hatred and extremism, which is common on both sides.

It’s quite rare to see such interesting juxtaposition of characters’ reflections in a film, as if they were pawns of a chessboard, where one set is black, while the other is white. Having placed her characters around this chess-like narrative, Meghna Gulzar compels her audience to oscillate between these characters. This, dear folks, is her masterstroke as a director.

Alia Bhatt is an ace actor who never fails to surprise her audience and one is always tempted to describe her performance as ‘career best’, only to realize later that she has outdone herself in the next film. However, despite her mindbogglingly realistic performance, ‘Raazi’ will always be reckoned as a Director’s Film in the history of Indian cinema, owing to the deft direction of Meghna Gulzar.

‘Raazi’ has the warmth of the seventies films, invoking memories of those ‘chaai moments’ in Hrishikesh Mukherjee films and at the same time has the razor-sharp treatment of a spy thriller, mind you, minus those slickly edited Russian Angle shots. Cinematographer Jay I. Patel and editor Nitin Baid, take a bow!

A digression here: Asutosh Gowarikar’s ‘Swades’ had a scene where Shahrukh Khan’s character Mohan Bhargav states, “Hum mahaan desh nahin hain, lekin hum mein mahaan banne ki kshamta hai.” After Swades, it’s ‘Raazi’ that resonates with the depths of ‘Swades’, evoking the emotions of patriotism in you without resorting to Pakistan bashing or pulling off a handpump with a roar of jingoism.

At the risk of sounding ‘anti-national’, I’d confess that I have never liked the song, ‘Saare jahaan se acha Hindustan hamaara’. Hold on your horses, the ‘Taraana-E-Hind, though beautifully penned by poet Iqbal, not only contradicts o’s ancient philosophy of ‘Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam’ (The world is one family), but also confines one’s love for the motherland to its borders.

Clean bowled by ‘102 Not Out’

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Sanjeev Kumar, in an interview once mentioned that while Sholay’s climax scene was being shot, he requested director Ramesh Sippy to add a scene where he would hug his daughter-in-law, Radha, played by Jaya Bhaduri simply because he felt so sorry for her character. Though well-intended, the suggestion made no sense, especially when Thakur’s arms were chopped off and an embrace scene might hence look awkward.

In 102 Not Out, Rishi Kapoor’s character, Babulal Vakharia is one such character whom you want to hug till your tear glands wear out. Just like Sanjeev Kumar’s suggestion, this thought makes no sense, especially when you know it’s a white screen out there and what transpires on it is nothing but a filmed and edited reflection, even the character Babulal isn’t for real but a veteran actor who is completely different from what he portrays so excellently on screen. Nevertheless, there’s this urge of meeting up Babulal and gift him a cake from City Bakery on a Victoria Tonga ride. Seriously, when was the last time you ever felt so strongly for a character?

Umesh Shukla’s 102 Not Out is a triumph of writer Saumya Joshi and actors Rishi Kapoor, Amitabh Bachchan and Jimit Trivedi as Babulal Vakharia, Dattatraya Vakharia and Dhiru. The film is based on one of the most successful Gujarati plays by Saumya Joshi that has been staged over 102 times, where actor Jayesh More played the father and Prem Gadhvi essayed the son’s role, while Hemin Trivedi played the ever-curious Dhiru.

Having watched the play twice, I was quite skeptic about watching its film adaptation. ‘How on earth could a play with three characters inside a mansion can ever be made into a feature film?’ I’d wonder, when the first look was out. Furthermore, being an ardent Amitabh Bachchan fan, I wasn’t much keen on watching him in that quirky avatar and nasal twang that reminds of Paa (Didn’t like Paa – What’s a Bachchan film with no Bachchan face and no Bachchan voice? Methinks, the other Bachchan, i.e. Abhishek was brilliant in it).

Director Umesh Shukla exorcises your demons of skepticism and senses used to the slickly edited music video kind of films, with his execution reminiscent of those ‘Inse miliye…’ kind of voiceovers in Hrishikesh Mukherjee films. Right from Vijay Raaz’s narration in the opening sequence, dialogue-baazi, drama, to the voiceover spoon-feeding the audience on the inner turmoil of the characters, 102 Not Out is unapologetically old school, yet cool to the core.

There’s a reason why despite Amitabh Bachchan’s brilliant performance, 102 Not Out leaves you feel strongly for Rishi Kapoor’s character. While the Father’s role shone all through the play, the film brings the Son’s role to the fore, not in writing, as it more or less remains the same as in the play, but through performance of Amitabh Bachchan, apart from of course, Rishi Kapoor.

Amitabh Bachchan approaches his role with the wit of Auro in Paa, depth of Harish Mishra in The Last Lear, nonchalance of Bhaskor in Piku. The telescope scenes remind you of his Mili days too. This actor’s face has such chameleonic range that he could express grief, contempt and love in a single scene, making it seem completely effortless. The scene in question here is towards the climax and any further detail would be criminal to type.

Now coming back to Rishi Kapoor’s role of Babulal, it’s the love demonstrated by his father’s character (Mere bete ko tere bete se jeetne nahin doonga’ he growls under his breath, yet with equal fervour as his ‘Mein aaj bhi phenke hue paise nahin uthaata’ days).

Unlike any other film, the transition of Babulal’s character isn’t abrupt, yet sudden – Just like the flower he attempts to nurture in the film and it’s his father who makes the bloom possible.

Similarly, the Son’s character ‘blooms’ only because of the Father. Dattatraya’s immense love for Babulal is so beautifully portrayed on screen that it prepares the ground for Rishi Kapoor to perform. And boy, what performance this gem of an actor delivers! The transition of Babulal from stooped shouldered and grumpy faced old man to a confident and cheerful veteran is stuff legends are made of. It wouldn’t be wrong to proclaim that his role is a textbook on character transformation for every actor, writer and director worth their salt.

A jugalbandi, no matter how engaging, always needs a breather of another instrument or vocal to create a perfect harmony. Jimit Trivedi, as Dhiru, offers such breather in 102 Not Out of a third perspective, albeit switching sides all the time. Jimit Trivedi, who is already the poster boy of Gujarati films, especially as a comic actor, plays Dhiru to perfection. In hindsight, Dhiru is an extension of the narrator, who articulates what the audience might be wondering about – again, an old school approach of execution, which still wins hands down, especially because it allows you as an audience to have a ring-side view of what pans out between the father-son duo.

Those who often rue that we don’t have filmmakers with guts to make old-aged character -based films like ‘Something’s Gotta Give’, ‘Meet the parents’, ‘Father of the Bride’, ‘Bridges of Madison County’, ‘Amour’, ‘Iris’ or ‘The Intern’, Umesh Shukla’s 102 Not Out puts an end to your woes. Here’s a film that takes the ‘legacy’ of Cheeni Kum and Do Dooni Chaar forward, with coincidentally, the same ace actors.

Coming back to Sholay, Sanjeev Kumar’s suggestion of hugging and expressing sympathy for his daughter-in-law wasn’t executed in the film, yet he made that embrace felt through the empathetic look in eyes. I could ‘see’ similar empathy in the voice of people walking out of the auditorium after watching 102 Not Out.

After all, speaking with lump in the throat is never easy, nor is driving home with moist eyes. If words could embrace a character, here’s one for Babulal. The film will be remembered even after a century – 102 Years to go, yo!

Here’s my tribute to the two legends of Indian Cinema:

Pari is a fiery tale drenched with blood

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As ironical as it may sound, you know a horror film has achieved its purpose when the audience breaks into fits of laughter or giggles as a desperate attempt to camouflage their fear or shock. The laughter or giggles of such sort are the best compliments debutant director Prosit Roy can ever hope to earn with his film, Pari – Not a fairytale.

A genre done to death, resurrection and exorcisement, horror films either tread the Ramsay route or Ram Gopal Varma way. Either ways, the story has never really mattered much. A person is wronged by someone and the tormented soul torments others until a Tantrik or Priest pops up to everyone’s rescue, including the audience.

Even the experimental ‘Ek Thi Daayan’ and ‘Ragini MMS’ resorted to similar clichés of Tantrik Babas rising to the occasion. Pari, in that sense, is indeed a commendable film that breaks such stereotypes and humanizes the ‘ghost’ and presents a new ‘variety’ of ghosts, Ifrit, for instance.

Ifrits find mention Arabic literature and also in Qur’an, Sura An-Naml, wherein King Solomon seeks its help to get the queen of Sheba and the Ifrit obliges him instantly, within the split of a second. Ifrits are a type of Djinns, who cannot be seen, only heard and generally take form of recently deceased person.

Thankfully, director Projit Roy doesn’t venture the Ifrit tutorial territory or the mandatory ‘Ghost Background Story’. He instead focuses on his lead characters, Rukhsaana, ably played by Anushka Sharma, who has also co-produced Pari and Arnab played to perfection by Parambrata Chatterjee.

Anushka Sharma owns the screen in almost every frame and makes her character believable and strangely, relatable too. This is quite a feat, especially because a character with such complexity can seldom evoke empathy and even sympathy from the audience. I mean, when was the last time you rooted for a ‘ghost’ or ‘witch’ in such kind of films?

Parambrata Chatterjee reprises his ‘sweet guy’ character that he essayed in Kahani. So this role, despite being up his alley, has many layers to it, which is completely justified by the actor. The expressions of fear, apprehension, love, and resolve that Parambrata portrays within the 2 odd hours of the film is indeed worth a mention, and applause.

Piyali (Ritabhari Chakraborty), the prospective bride of Arnab is a redundant character of this film and even the actress seems to be desperately trying to find her footing in a film already crowded with humans, witches, sorcerers, ifrits and ghouls.

The ‘Tantrik’ finds a new avatar here as a ‘revolutionist’ professor from Bangladesh, where Rajat Kapoor makes his presence felt and leaves an everlasting impact. Interestingly, his is the only character in Pari which will leave the audience petrified and baffled, in the same breath. For instance, in the first half, you detest him for what he does and in the second half, you want to like him for what he does but are still not able to do so. It’s a tricky character to portray with conviction, and Rajat Kapoor wins hands down.

Pari, though begins on a nervous note, gains confidence once it finds its voice in the wilderness of West Bengal, followed by umpteen scenes gory enough to irk you, irrespective of the fact that you’ve watched the entire ‘Saw’ series with wide-eyed enthusiasm. It’s not just the sight of blood and gore, but the indulgence in them that irks you to the core.

After a point of time, such scenes lose their gory charm and so does that awkward love triangle that make you wish you had a fast-forward option available in the multiplex (Ah I wish!). In spite of all this, one would still not write Pari off because of the intricately woven story by Abhishek Bannerjee and Prosit Roy, compelling camerawork by Jishnu Bhattacharjee and slick editing by Manas Mittal that rids you of the constant ‘mobile peeking’ habit while watching a film on big screen. Not to forget the background score by Ketan Sodha who practices restraint and spares your eardrums from loud notes during ‘jump scare’ scenes.

Pari, to sum it up, is a fiery tale that will always be remembered as a precursor to some ‘hatke horror films’ hopefully on the anvil. Fingers (minus the blood-stained nails) crossed.

 

Mukkabaaz perfects the Paintra of narrating a blood-blended love story

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Who in his sanest mind would have ever imagined that out of all those Barjatyas, Chopras and Johar, Hindi cinema’s one of the finest love stories would be narrated by Anurag Kashyap, someone known for dark themed films? Mukkabaaz is far from the underdog-fights-the-system-finally-emerges-winner kind of cliché we have been watching in the name of sports film genre. Here, boxing is a metaphor for the key character, Shravan’s struggles in life, right from his home, heart and boxing ring.

“Apne talent ka praman patra lekar society mein jhanda gaadhne nikle ho?”

Vineet Kumar Singh is sure to leave an indelible mark on your mind, making you question everything about our films, right from those stars, perfectionists to method actors. To be precise, how far would you go to make your dream come true? Vineet Kumar Singh, though distantly related to Anurag Kashyap, never had it easy. Years ago, he approached Anurag Kashyap with his script, only to be told that he will have to become a real boxer if he wants this film to see the light of day.

“Zyaada important hai tum kisko jaante ho, kisko pehchante ho,
kaun tumko jaanta hai, kaun tumko manta hai.”

At 36, when other boxers generally retire, Vineet Kumar Singh went on to pursue his career in boxing. He sold his belongings, gave up his filmy ‘struggle’ and moved to Punjab to live an anonymous life of a guy who keeps training and boxing like a man possessed. After watching Mukkabaaz, you’d scoff at those ‘training montage songs’ of Sultans and Dangals of this world.

The film’s boxing training not only makes Vineet look convincing in a boxer’s role, but depicts the ‘hunger’ that he as a person has to make his dream come true. This hunger couldn’t have been depicted on his face without dedication of such mammoth level. No actor worth his salt could ever do that unless it comes from within. The five-year training is no marketing gimmick, but an earnest and organic way of infusing life in one’s performance.

“Aur bade ghar ki kanya paane wala funda to hai yeh.”

Debutant Zoya Hussain is no ‘hero’s morale booster’ here. The strength of this character lies in her eloquent eyes and muted lips. It is indeed no wonder she’s called Sunaina here. Not someone to cow down before her speech disability, Sunaina is fiery young woman with oodles of charisma and chutzpah. The husband-wife tiff, especially where she asks Shravan to learn sign language and her ‘conversation’ with mother are stuff legends are made of.

The other actor to watch out for is Jimmy Shergill. His character of Bhagwaan Mishra isn’t your Amrish Puri type of villain. There’s a line in the film that defines his character: Khud to kuch karte nahin, aur agar dimaag ghoom gaya to kisi aur ko bhi kuch karne nahi dete. This stubbornness i.e. ‘zidd’ of this character is the film’s villain, not just the person. The film’s last scene subtly hints at this fact, if you care enough to notice.

Ravi Kishan, as a ‘Harijan boxing coach’ lends support and the much-needed balance to the film’s narrative, as well as protagonist. This underutilized gem of  an actor makes his presence felt, despite a brief appearance and makes you wish to see more of him. Kudos to Mukesh Chhabra’s excellent casting, right from the lead actors to the supporting ones, especially the actor who played Shravan’s father.

“Isko kehte hain Paintra.”

The team of choreographers i.e. Rajeev Ravi, Shanker Raman, Jay Patel and Jayesh Nair capture the romance with as equal passion as they do in sparring and training sequences, making them seem so seamless you won’t believe the story is being narrated through four pair of eyes. Aarti Bajaj and Ankit Bidyadhar cut the film with such adroit precision that not a single scene seems to drag or indulge. Case in point, the cow vigilant scenes and the scene where Bhagwaan Mishra asks Shravan to gulp his urine to secure his entry into boxing at district level.

The soul of Mukkabaaz, however, lies in its music. The song, ‘Bahut dukkha mann’ rendered by her and Dev Arijit will linger on your mind for hours together after leaving the auditorium, compelling you to look up for the Mukkabaaz album online. The other songs like ‘Chipkali’ (A beautiful montage that encapsulates passion locking horns with profession), ‘Mushkil hai apna mel priye’, ‘Haathapai’ and the popular ‘Paintra’ by Nucleya and Divine are intricately woven into the film’s narrative. Music director Rachita Arora take a bow.

“Chance humko bhi mila tha lekin netikta ke chh** mein mistake ho gaya.”

Rising light-years above his debacle of the forgettable ‘Bombay Velvet’, Anurag Kashyap is back in his form here. Mukkabaaz is where Anurag Kashyap in his rawest glory, maneuvers through the familiar lanes of Dev D and Gangs of Wasseypur, assimilating with producer Anand L. Rai’s school of cinema in Raanjhana. What you get is a romance as rustic as Nagraj Manjule’s Marathi masterpiece, ‘Sairat’, and boxing as real as Sudha K. Prasad’s ‘Saala Khadoos’ with broad strokes of blood-blended hues of love.

While summing up, one is suddenly tempted to read between the lines of the protagonist being christened as Shravan and antagonist being called Bhagwaan. Anurag Kashyap once quoted that he is an atheist and believes only in one god i.e. cinema. Is Mukkabaaz an atheist director’s way of portraying the conflict of a sincere devotee Shravan (named after the pious character in Ramayana who was sincerely devoted to his parents) with the almighty (who nurtures the devotee as well as spells doom for him). Perhaps, yes. After all, ‘No Smoking’, too, was about human and the almighty and smoking was a mere metaphor, just like boxing in Mukkabaaz.

In a nutshell, Mukkabaaz perfects the ‘Paintra’ of narrating a blood-blended love story on the silver screen and surely deserves your time and money.

“Experience share kar rahe hain, lena hai to lijiye, warna sarakiye…”

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Mom is too much of melodrama and too little of story

Despite all its noble intentions of amplifying the crime against women, director Ravi Udyawar’s Mom reiterates the stereotypes associated with rape. A youngster keen on going to a Valentine’s Day party at a farmhouse is a premise that goes on to state: Girls shouldn’t party till late, else they can be sexually assaulted.

The parent, i.e. the mom (step-mom, to be precise) of this young girl in question takes every precaution to ensure her daughter’s safety. For instance, right from the usual checklist questions like ‘whom are you going with?’, ‘who is going to drive?’ ‘is there a male member with you?’, ‘call me as soon as you are about to leave’, etc.

Needless to mention, this ‘safety checklist’ doesn’t stop the inevitable from taking place. The second half is your usual ‘Zakhmi Aurat’, ‘Phool bane angaarey’, ‘Mardaani’ and ‘Maatr’ fare. Speaking of Maatr, the film steered clear of the usual ‘girl goes to party and gets assaulted’ or ‘couple go out in the dead of the night and the woman gets raped’ and showed an ordinary situation of being late from an award function and taking the wrong road, which eventually proves to be fatal for the mother and daughter. Pink went on to break the clutter and stand out with its realistic treatment of getting inside the criminal’s mind, as well as the victim’s emotions. The screenplay written by Girish Kohli heads south. What could have been a smart cat-and-mouse game ends up becoming a yawningly predictable affair.

The key focus of Mom remains on Sri Devi, who makes a comeback after English Vinglish (2012), understandably so, owing to the fact that it’s her 300th film. The emotional graph of her character is portrayed with a veteran’s ease, which is indeed worth an applause. The other actors worth a mention are Sajal Ali as the daughter (An unmistakable look-alike of Kareena Kapoor), Adnan Siddiqui as the cool and composed dad who is quite a find, and Vikas Verma as one of the baddies, who in a brief role, leaves an impression that he is here to stay.

Mom oscillates between ‘Stepmom’ and ‘Maatr’ and while the film is at it, we are introduced to some fascinating characters like Dayashankar Kappor aka DK (Ably played by the ‘unrecognizable’ Nawazuddin Siddiqui) and Mathew Francis (Akshaye Khanna in a terrific form). DK is a failed detective frantically looking for work and often doubles up as a matchmaker. Nawazuddin seems to be uncomfortable in the odd get-up and yet shines out with witty one-liners delivered in his inimitable style. On the other side, Akshaye Khanna’s Mathew Francis is an aggressive cop with a rich repository of informants yet is bogged down by bureaucracy and corruption.

These traits of DK and Mathew Francis, though hinted at the outset, remain unexplored throughout the film. There’s a scene where Mathew Francis is interrogating DK and breaks into an impromptu grin, which is the second-most powerful scene of the film. The scene will fascinate you even after reading this criminal of a spoiler. Cinematographer Anay Goswamy, take a bow.

Second-best, because the only scene from Mom that will stay with you even after leaving the auditorium will surely be the one where rape is being depicted without showing anything gory. The scene catches you unaware and forces you to imagine the unimaginable by deploying a bird’s eye view camera angle and a haunting background score by AR Rahman.

Speaking of music, the songs of Mom, especially ‘Be nazaara’ and ‘Muafi mushkil’ are gems that remain hidden in the film as mere background scores and leitmotifs. Thankfully, the song, ‘O sona’ is the only one to survive the editor’s (Monisha R. Baldawa) merciless snips, but by the time you watch this song, you have already given up on the film, blame it on truckloads of melodrama thrown at you.

To sum it up, Mom is too much of Sri Devi and too little of Nawazuddin Siddiqui and Akshaye Khanna. Too much of AR Rahman’s background score and too little of his brilliant songs. Too much of melodrama and too little of a story. Too much of promise and too little of delivery.

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Tiyaan shatters the barriers of language and religion 

A sadhu uttering ‘Allah Hoo Akbar’. A Muslim proclaiming ‘Om Namah Sivaay’. A youngster being roughed up by his cop father for eating beef and the inspector making him chant a Gau rakshak slogan, spitting his paan inside the police station and invoking ‘Swachh Bharat Abhiyaan’. A film, especially regional, replete with many such bold scenes would have been stuck with the censors and one wonders how ‘Tiyaan’ (‘the above-mentioned’ in Malayalam) escaped unscathed and made it to the theatres. The filmmakers need to be lauded for their audacity and sheer grit to drive home their point.

To begin with, ‘Tiyaan’ is the first-ever Malayalam film I watched. And mind you, watching a film in a language you don’t understand and that too, without subtitles could be quite a daunting task. Well, not exactly, if the screenplay and story is engaging, direction is awe-inspiring, and performances are way beyond your expectations. Add to that, a mallu wife for the company, whispering translations of lengthy dialogues to keep you in sync with what transpires on the screen.

Beyond a certain point, one no longer misses the translation or subtitles. Nevertheless, I’d request regional filmmakers to include English/Hindi subtitles in their films or maybe the Board of Film Certification can make it mandatory so that the film can reach wider audience. Thankfully, the second half was mostly in Hindi, which made the viewing easier.

Tiyaan is a socio-political thriller, generously sprinkled with religion, miracles and spirituality. Written by Murali Gopy, and directed by Jiyen Krishnakumar, Tiyaan features Prithviraj Sukumaran and Indrajit Sukumaran playing the lead roles. Muraly Gopy, the writer of the film, doubles up as the film’s antagonist, essaying the role of a menacing godman to perfection.

The film is set at an idyllic village, perhaps in Uttar Pradesh. The strategic location of the village draws attention of a self-styled godman, Bhagwan (Muraly Gopy) to establish a temple. The only obstacle he and his goons face is a Brahmin’s (Indrajit Sukumaran in a brilliant performance) home, which needs to be demolished before the construction of the temple resumes. A Muslim fakir (With an interesting back story), essayed by Prithviraj Sukumaran with a veteran’s ease, lends his ‘divine’ support to the Brahmin, in his combat against the evil godman.

A story of such simplicity has multiple layers, which the director Jiyen Krishnakumar unveils one scene at a time. The screenplay writer Muraly Gopy’s craftsmanship and the deft storytelling skill of Jiyen Krishnakumar makes Tiyaan a compelling film. Satheesh Kurup captures the essence of a remote village to perfection with those aerial shots of barren landscapes. Even the action sequences that he shoots, amplify the characters’ emotions rather upping the film’s commercial ante. The editing by Manoj is slick to a fault, not a single frame more, not a single moment less. The music by Gopi Sundar blends with the film’s narrative seamlessly and becomes almost a character, especially in the song invoking Lord Shiva, lip synced by Muraly Gopy. When was the last time you loved a song sung by an antagonist in a film?

If Prithviraj Sukumaran commands screen presence with his smoldering persona and piercing eyes, Indrajit Sukumaran (his real-life brother) owns the frame with his dialogues and histrionics. Muraly Gopy depicts anger and greed using his eyes and with a restrained performance. Any other actor in his place would have surely gone overboard to make himself menacing. Muraly knows his skill too well to succumb to such temptations. Besides the powerful lead cast, the film has an interesting ensemble of supporting actors like Padmapriya Janakiraman, Ananya, Paris Laxmi, Suraj Venjaramoodu, Shine Tom Chacko, and Rahul Mahadev, who are indeed worth an applause.

To sum it up, Tiyaan is a film that goes on to prove that regional cinema is here to stay and shall always remain way ahead of mainstream Hindi cinema. This film makes a much bigger impact than those loud OMGs or PKs that we have been watching and appreciating. The film reiterates the fact that humanity, spirituality and compassion are above godmen, religions and miracles.

 

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