With the already prevailing roaring Vijay-isms, Atlee assembles a ‘surprisingly’ decent drama, an unabashed fanfare. The flick channelizes its energy from the massive star in hand, and his stardom with the course it initially assumes along this remaining hassle free as its relatively clean writing is filtered only to boost and boast his shine. A pressing protest unfolds in the premises of a college, students are chased off by henchmen in the disguise of cops, the beaten seek refuge in Michael’s den where even a ten-year-old precociously threatens the goons, referring to the might of his Thalapathi. And, there he is, sparkling amidst the firecrackers in his football jersey and lungi, teasing and thrashing every last one of them seeming more relaxed than earlier, his ease palpable and pleasant.
Who is this Michael? The answer is readymade, this time more suggestive, the teaser of a probably distant vision- ‘Yenga Area Vaathiyaaru’. This likening continues in the elaborate introduction to Raayappan who is seen mouthing the lines of the song ‘Enna thaan nadakum nadakatume’ blaring from his black ambassador, distinctly stressing the lines ‘Oru thazhaivan irukiran’. The portrait of the idol MGR also adorns the car of Rayappan who is himself the leader figure to the people of his area as he strives to protect them and enable them lead a better life. His son Michael shall ultimately become the ‘coach’, the mentor.
Michael sports a No.5 jersey, leading a life chequered, torn between his buddies, his love interest and unprecedented deadly attacks. One meta reference among the lot slips in, linking to this man’s pursuit, ‘Baasha Bhai’, someone calls him and closely like how Manickam is not just Manickam but Baasha, Michael’s journey too announces itself, ‘Ennaku innoru peru iruku……..Bigileeey!’ While the former renounces violence aimed at greater good, the latter is pushed out of his dreams and into the heat of gangsterism. The construction to this flashback though not inventive is convenient and fairly convincing provided the nominal level of expectations self-set to enjoy this fanfare better.
As Bigil swings in the air, swift in his game, the placard in the stadium grounds read ‘Aalaporaan Thamizhan’ in bold letters. Later he tells the girls team that it is not for them that they are playing but for their ‘entire state’. Another of these meta references is thrust on Raayapan’s driver who is called ‘Puli’. Not to mention the ‘Kabadi, Kabadi’ music that kicks in as ‘Nessi’ jogs, drawing the mind to Gilli where Vijay also plays a sportsperson and is the one who rescues the hapless Dhanalakshmi from the insane, lustful PrakashRaj. Here too, the role assumed is primally parallel only that there is no Dhanalakshmi but Anita, Gayatri, Vembu and Pandiyamma (On these later since good things first is a better way to go.) These marked nods to the star and his oeuvre maximise the viewer’s level of awareness, reinforcing that it is completely ‘his’ film, conceived solely for him and anything that the tale takes on is only to substantiate the same. Nevertheless, this sort of starstruck writing stays finely on flow as long as its banks on the star.
“Cup mukiyam Bigilu”, Raayapan mentions frequently with passion and it is interesting to note an amusing gig around the crucial cup, a prelude to Michael’s romance. Raayapan’s way of life directly harms Bigil’s dreams and this connection is demonstrated firmly in the course of the football match and Raayapan’s confrontation with Alex in the collector office, both these sequences intercut to create a prime tension. This vow to avenge Alex made simultaneously as Bigil wins the match is what would come to stab their backs, robbing their dreams as the passionate one misses the train to the future, his football bouncing out from its carriages, lying unattended as he picks up the sword.
The wielded sword is abandoned, the vengeance washed away in the rain as passion comes calling, offering a second chance to live one’s dreams.
Amidst the many traditional Vijay-isms the film scores with, it is heartening to acknowledge its assertation of the futility of violence as it cheers not for the fall of Michael’s nemesis but grants him forgiveness so as to not inspire the rage of grudge which destroyed Bigil’s life and dreams. This prestige is what goes amiss when the film shifts to the women’s game. An out and out star entertainer accommodating this plotline within its fanfare space does sound enlightened yet it arrives at such representation only to bank on it the same way it does with its star.
It is reasonable that Bigil is no women empowerment drama or sports film in its core as its promotion campaign largely claims and this is no problem of the film as it does fine by what it primarily is. Yet the way the film banks on its women, their tears and travail merely to suit its own dramatic advantage bears a distressingly minimal dignity.
This is when the decent game that has been considerably safe begins to try scoring in foul terms masqueraded under the soul-stirring Singapenney, its lack of awareness of its ways truly alarming. For one, it refrains from the flesh and blood of the misery, starting from toning down the acid scars of Anita, almost denying to present what it actually might be besides centralising the god-like saviour, the imposition finding itself in a juncture more undermining than uplifting as it chronicles victimhood with no heightened sensitivity. Disturbing body-shaming guised as power-packed motivation of the master, the last-minute mental trick to win the game, adding up as a laughing riot-cum-hoot only intensifies the distress.
If this is the makers’ idea of dedication to women, only my angst and apologies I can spare. The next time a decision is made to represent a woman’s struggle for dreams onscreen, may it be recognised that it demands more than mere sympathy, and may the call for genuine empathy and dignity be taken.
Bigil is hence, all game as a dedication to the fans but quite a foul in its tribute to women.
Mirra 