Quebecois filmmaker Xavier Dolan’s new release Matthias et Maxime is an immensely wistful tale of two friends who after sharing a kiss struggle with the new meaning of their relationship and their own identities. Matt in his bright red turtleneck sweater and Max wearing a sky-blue tee lean closer, their lips gently part in expectation and the camera sharply cuts to black; the kiss which has unforeseen consequences for both Matt and Max is unseen by us. What holds the chief interest of writer-director Xavier Dolan is the new meaning that comes sweeping into the friends’ lives evoking a surge of hitherto unrecognized feelings, thereby shaking up the very foundation of their bond. Dolan is moving and beautifully sensitive as the shy and suffering Max who is desperately trying to escape from his present life to find a new quiet in Australia. After the kiss, the film interestingly follows the lives of the two friends separately for their struggles are as different as their lives which are poles apart.

Matt’s life is nearly all settled, pleasant; he works in a law firm and has a fine relationship with his girlfriend. Max’s life, on the other hand, is defined by its disorder, he is someone who has long known suffering, his toil is for survival in a troubled household. Many argue that the part of the film that deals with Max’s traumatised relationship with his mother does not add very well to the film but despite it being a largely redundant sequence that also grows exasperating, it serves to explore what Max’s life is like, revelatory of how and why the aftermath of the kiss is varied for the two friends.

In Matt’s seemingly full life, the new chaos of confusion becomes something so urgent to seek answers for while Max is nearly indifferent after the kiss, not that it didn’t mean anything to him but the pressing issues in his home constantly hinder him from exploring his identity and his intimate relationships. When a young man flirtatiously smiles at Max on the bus, after faltering in hesitation and excitement, Max awkwardly returns the smile but blood begins dripping in his face from the wound his mother inflicted on him in a fight they had moments earlier. Max then pulls up his hood and diverts his gaze out the window. Max’s life doesn’t allow him the calm and emotional space to wallow in newly found feelings as Matt does. Perhaps, Max’s exploration, his adult life is to begin with a renewed energy after his departure to Australia where he will be distant from his familial issues and miseries to finally focus on his self and life.

When Matt (a terrific Gabriel D’ Almeida Freitas) questions why he should be wearing that red sweater before they are to begin shooting the kiss, the young director tells him that the colour is to add contrast, to evoke something Almadovar-esque. In Matthias et Maxime which explores the differences in the travail of two friends with their sexuality and identity, the conflicts are not played out in Almodóvar’s style of flamboyant melodrama or even entirely in the familiar sensational style of Dolan as seen in his earlier features. There is more restraint which calmly and beautifully illustrates the inner inhibitions the characters are grappling with.

The short film Matt and Max star in is called Limbo and it is a brief inquiry in the theme of Who am I? Matthias et Maxime furthers this exploration of Limbo through Matt, his uncertainty and suffering. After the night’s kiss, as everything in the house is still, Matt restlessly shuffles in his bed before going out for a swim early in dawn. Matt’s swim in the chilly blue dawn as he flails in the waters, not knowing what to do, where to go is a visual drama of Matt’s perplexities and this rousing sequence filmed by André Turpin indeed sums up the essence of the film: young men wading through the waters of life, getting lost, drifting far away before they finally return to each other. There is a similar sequence in the later part of the film which builds on this, it is Matt’s run through the city, again after a night’s kiss but this time, it seems Matt is prepared to gather the self-assurance and acceptance to start anew; after the run, he looks gasping at the faint glow of dawn.

There are exhilarating essentially Dolan touches in the movie (Matt’s swim is an instance), especially in a moment of much yearned intimacy between Matt and Max as the aspect ratio changes with the screen assuming a wide rectangular form that signals liberation and a space for the friends to ultimately confront and exchange their feelings, it is the film and characters bracing themselves to focus on what truly matters to them. The moment is tender, sensual, blooming with deeply felt longing and love. Here, after Matt leaves Max, telling him “This isn’t us”, we glimpse at an abandoned, gloomy Max behind the glass panes of a window as it rains outside, he is seen through a rent in the window sheets. His face blurs and the tear in the sheet comes to focus; Matt’s parting in indecision is a wound torn open in Max’s desirous heart.

Matthias et Maxime is an exquisitely graceful film, earnest in its brimming passions as it intimately follows the slow and painful blossom of a friendship into love with its characters going through caged, lonely and confounding phases of struggle before the first flutter of their new winged relationship and embraced identity emerging radiant under the shine of love.

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.

A stone-cold night gradually dissolves into the grips of darkness. A longing, a mistake, a conquest, a chase and a captive are tied as one with the winding night, their fates and course intertwined by chance and by destiny. Picking these fine logs of potential stories, carefully mounting them on the ground, arranging each log in an impeccable order, Lokesh Kanagaraj fuels them the prompt amount, breathing fire into their midst. The wood then cracks open in the fire, their enormous flames spreading intense heat, fuming in the dark as the tension ruling this hour of the night emerges palpable.

This ignition is no small feat, it is demanding for it requires an eye, a vision for choosing and setting up the right and a resolve to wade through the chilly night bearing a heavy torch that will provide adequate heat and light as one heads towards the dawn. This massively entertaining and masterfully crafted action thriller grows wild and fiery as it storms through this tense night propelled by its solid writing and a sharp, powerful direction that exploits and elevates its mass hero premise to an optimal level.

The film devotes the energy of its elaborate initial moments to effectively constructing the core of all its conflicts, establishing its elements in and around, towards a meaty plot build up that pulls the viewer into the heart of its tensity and starting from here, it never lets go off its strong hold. With the story and its central character device taking an upper hand to accommodate a star, he fits in bearing the bestowed strength and his very own formidability channelizing the vitality into the core of the fire. An ancient British modelled police office, 840 crores worth of drugs, an unseen master criminal, his network of gangsters, drugged police officers, one Kaithi to the rescue. We sit up as the chase kicks in.

The titanic quality, its exclusive solidity and suspense found in the pivotal character Dilli aren’t just limited to him. It adds up to Adaikalam, the chief smuggler and in a heartening way, this streak of heroism is visible in Napolean (played movingly by George Maryan).

The fine touch of mystery adds to the might of Dilli rendering him almost angelic besides laying the ground for a potent prequel. He it seems is a god-send in the form of a tramp, a saviour and a seeker of vengeance whose stories known and sides seen are few while those that remain unfamiliar and unseen loom excitingly large. We hear of him prior seeing him. True to all mass openings. However, here we are told that this man possesses no identification documents and never looks into one’s eye as he is being addressed.

As Bejoy, the cop cries for help, we head to Dilli, the saviour to be seated inside the jeep, soaked in shadows, a distant white light shining between him and Bejoy. Dilli isn’t ready to help for he has other emotional commitments to attend to yet he gives in to the threats and promises of the police officer. The efforts at humanising Dilli bring an inclusive sentimental quotient to the tale yet also hint at the larger riddle around his entire redemption relating to the Thiruvilayadal of the Lord.

The dimensions of his character, his stories and pursuit all blend in extensively well and with no intrusions to credibility even sans this undercurrent. Yet with the Vibuthi smeared over his forehead, sacred pearls around his neck, an attire of faded saffron, it is told Dilli is out on a pilgrimage and with his quest, the second-guessing begins, a pilgrimage or a hunt? The devouring of a bucket’s biriyani and meat, slipping into a trance like state with every mouthful, the music throbbing as he sucks at the bones are strongly suggestive of an unfolding hunt as the guardian angel begins to soothe an infinite hunger.

The widely and distinctly used god’s point of view as the truck trails down the dark, deserted roads and as men clash in their attempts to kill Dilli substantiate that all of them constitute a part of something larger, beyond their control and comprehension. They are devices in the playground of life and the chequered floor of the police office does hint at the same- the chess of life. Even the name Dilli is itself of an old English derivation meaning ‘idol’ or ‘god’.

In a conversation ‘Kamatchi’ points out that Dilli must have missed out so much on what is currently happening in the world and Dilli’s retort bears a strong relevance to our current discourse, he goes- “Jail enna Sevagraguthulaya Iruku? Unnakum ennakum oru sevaru thaan vithyaasam.” It is a wall that separates Kamatchi and him, not any cosmic components and this wall might be very well of a mental or spiritual construct. The predominant presence of fire emanating heat and light adding to the ethos of the restless night offer a viable scope for evidencing this intriguing interpretation of the god-like nature to Dilli, the prisoner who frees the trapped. As long as he is with them, no harm shall befall.

As these men take refuge in the hills, Dilli prays out aloud to Lord Shiva and Kaamatchi tells him that they are cornered, ‘Malai ah suthi aal nikuraanga.’ The henchmen while stating Dilli’s vigour says, ‘Arul vantha maari aadraan.’ He acts as if he is possessed by a divine force. When Kaamtchi tells Dilli that he doesn’t believe in god, Dilli funnily remarks, ‘Oru Naal Nambuva.’ With the murder of a young boy, the idol penchant around his neck drops off and is held to dearly as the only memento.

This vividly constructed angelic feature enhances the essence and effect of the usual hero tropes, especially in the resurrection scene where a stabbed Dilli rises back to life when a lovingly bought present is crushed to dust. He is literally given all transcendental power and his exercise of the same within the film’s solid premise both enthrals and entertains. The culmination of all this raging energy in the rapid, flaming RudhraDhandav with the Gatling is an ultimate hoot and with Napolean beside, this is an indomitable heroic duo.
The writing and execution of these thrilling action sequences throughout stand as a work of utter brilliance, an intriguing instance is the first confrontation in the forest as Dilli hears Amudha’s voice the first time. At the very instant, he also realises that they are being attacked. His iris dilates, the shock and emotion wresting in the tender space as the trunks of the trees shatter the glass panes of the speeding truck, its sharp green shards filling the muddy floor. Dilli gets out then slow and in style, the leaves rising up in the dust, his cuffed hands tucking his dhoti and his modest slippers levelling the ground, walking through the shards. Later he tells that when he heard his daughter’s voice the first time, his heart was shattered (alike the truck’s glass panes) ‘Manasu Udanjupochu’, he heaves.

The style and substance found here keep rising to a striking scale in all that which follows.The mystique to the Kaithi prolongs as he walks through the highway road on the new serene morning with his Amudha. Maybe there was something more than what occurred to Viji, something that he wouldn’t tell us now.

We shall never know, we don’t need to as this power packed film, prior fading on the wide screens stirs our intrigue in its staunch final touches, promising a towering return.

Asuran – A soul wrenching chronicle of the genesis and course of a certain ‘necessitated monstrosity’ in a downtrodden yet nearly divine man.

Divinity and monstrosity- these terms when strung together carry such paradox that it gets all perplexing and absurd, how can a monstrous aspect be in line with a sense of divinity? Before we go on, let it be highlighted that the aspects of these two statures addressed here are on human levels, where we find them often muddled, one battling the other in the lands of the mind, in cases of rarity, coexisting in a hard-earned peace.

The film besides presenting questions and laments to which the answers even today remain only partially known, resolves the query of this polarity along its fathoms to a keenly balanced degree that refrains rightly from glorifying all bloodshed but at the very same time, in a stroke of brilliance, forges an understanding of the essentiality of such a deed. To err is to human, to forgive is to divine. Sivasaami has been in the two places (his forgiveness though comes from a forced, grounded space) in extension of the implications of this old adage only that he hasn’t erred, neither has his son. They are wronged as they challenge the bounds of the horrendous status quo in their villages. The only place they go utterly wrong is standing up for their rights, their land, their life, propelled by the heat within. Who knew that the fire itself will burn them all alive.

The title Asuran is suggestive of this duality- what is it referring to, the divine or the monster? Both, indeed, it stands for Sivasaami whose very name evidences it. His sons are Murugan, Chidambaram, his wife Pachai Amma and he lovingly calls out to his daughter – ‘Thaayi! (My mother). Intrigued by the attributions of the title and its rootedness in the tale, the mind wishes to engage further in this duality- of the godly and the ghastly. The term ‘Asura’ is said to have appeared first in the Vedas denoting a human or a divine leader. Here, through the representation of Sivasaami, is the plight of oppressed portrayed in a way both powerful and poignant. He gradually grows into a leader figure of a sort in the eyes of his young son- a leader from whose bloodshed and bruises, lessons are learnt.

The Vadakooran family, the one from the northern town who wield power in the village enjoy and exploit their lordly privileges. They are the ones who take the control of conducting the temple festivals there, we hear from a man as he expresses his concern over them having to sit with the family of Sivasaami to resolve a conflict. People like Sivasaami aren’t considered to be these vain ruthless men’s equals, hence his dismay. They are taken to be slaves who become the nemesis as they erupt in the face of brutality they are being subjected to. Sivasaami is clearly an opponent to these men of power.

Vetrimaaran’s sturdy oeuvre teems with his inclination to explore how the larger level of violence dictated by the terms of politics and dimensions of the society interferes with and infects the lives of the innocent. In his first, provoked by Ravi, Prabhu turns Polladhavan. This is Vetrimaaran’s second film with a title referencing a quality of the protagonist rather than the setting as in Aadukalam, VadaChennai and Visaaranai where the setting affects the people, pushing them to the extremes. In Asuran, like in Polladhavan, it is largely about the world pulling out something from within the people of the tale, something right out of their gut. The tension of the push and pull adds more downright grit to the film which is built on the broader themes of casteism and its many horrific holds over the society.

Asuran is based on Poomani’s raw and rustic novel, Vekkai. Deriving its skeleton from the novel, Asuran fleshes out a meaty and fierce retelling which is definitely more of a thrill than a disappointment unlike the estimation of Vetrimaaran who says in a recent interview that people who loved the novel might not like the film.

‘Avan Avanuku Nelam Iruntha yen Paadu pattu kedapane’. Land is the basic property, a fundamental entitlement, the possession of which shall determine if one shall be his own master or another’s slave.
The root conflict of Asuran is the one over land which stands as the symbol of the people’s very being and identity. It is only befitting that the title in strong blood red spreads over the parched land, its cracks from lack of moisture running through the surface like veins. Contrary is the following reflection of the beauteous moon in the dark waters of the stream. The sly movement of Sivasaami splinters the image of the blissful moon. Perhaps on another night, Sivasaami and Chidambaram would have looked up to the sky admiring the shine of the moon. This is one of the very few images of peace in the film, one that brims with a sort of serenity sharply incongruous to all the rest which follows for in them the warmth of the colours is subdued and the inherent intense heat, the ‘vekkai’ is left to drip- the sweat of scorching heat drained of all colours.

The first blast of colour arrives in the form of Murugan dressed in a flamboyant orange tinted golden. In the dry lands devoid of many hopes, insidiously devoured by greed, he is innocent and filled with come what may daring. In this crucial role, Teejay is almost there yet an added substance and spirit could have definitely helped. The sync of the dubbing misses the point of precision in various instances disturbing the degree of immersion in the intense tale.

Moving on, past these in the way, we see that Murugan is set to get married and the melody of his mind’s happy hums is pleasantly overwhelming. The family returns to their wrecked home, strong despite half broken, merry yet not, resonating with the actual state of theirs in a perpetual danger of basic rights being harassed. Their strength of will covers them- their 3 acres is the only land not under the control of the vadakooran in the entire area. The price they are pushed to pay for retaining their rightful possession is intolerable.
Nee naayi poiruchenu varutha padra, naan naayoda pochenu aaruthal patukren says Sivasaami whose pain and rage are brilliantly shouldered by Dhanush. Sivasaami is emaciated, wilting as he bears the weight of agony, the force of which seems to pull him down to the ground. The sheer pressure of it has grown over him that when he rises amidst the dust and heat with a velkambu, it is such a moment of power as if at that instant he had been possessed by a greater force as the thunderous beats boom like passionate chants invoking the descent of an angered god over the man. He draws such incredible energy from the roots of his very rage which strikes as emerging from the place of divine intervention. The fruits of this rage and interventions had only borne agony.

‘Ippadithaan namma veetu pasanga ellarum aambalai aaganum polirukku’. Perhaps, this is how our boys are destined to become men. Sivasaami who speaks of this dismal coming-of-age has had a journey similar to that of his 16 -year old son who sets out to seek justice for his brother’s death in his own way. The same kind of horrid maturation rooted in a rebellious fit of violence has pushed Sivasaami into what he is today. While Vetrimaaran states that Asuran is the journey of the boy to the father than with the father, it emerges essentially as the journey of the father- of Sivasaami.

Sivasaami initially is unaware of what part he constitutes in his village. The learning comes hard. In the early meetings over the land dispute in the village, we see Sivasaami outside the door, he is literally an outsider in his levels of understanding of the travail of his people. In a subsequent meeting championed by the social activist- lawyer played by Prakash Raj and Sivasaami’s brother Murugan (after whom Sivasaami has named his first son), Sivasaami is seen along the side-lines exuberantly applauding as the empowering speech ends. He is no longer an outsider in any levels of awareness, he is a part of the comradeship united in the spirit to fight for their rights.

The deprivation of colours is relatively starker in this portion, of course, it is the flashback but these are also times when matters were starting to get worse, in the eyes of Sivasaami. It appears to be set in the late fifties, post-independence for the present course of the tale is set in the late 70s. The dominant forms of hues are exuded from the people themselves who retain warmth- Sivasaami and his lover in particular.
In a romantic scene that will go down the memory, Sivasaami wishes to gift her something and he wants it to be perfectly fine, suitable and comfortable for her. He annoys the vendor with all his adorable specifications.

It is something for her little feet. He wants for her not silver anklets chiming as she gracefully hovers around but a Serrupu, a slipper to ensure that her soft feet stay safe from the pricks of the thorn. If deadly electric fences and conflicts over the control of land determine the course of the present disaster, thorns and slippers suffice to emphasise the horrors of an era gone by, its barbaric ruins still left to linger. The spirit of Sivasaami is on fire. As the thick blood splashes all over his face, he is trapped in a place of demonic anger, his body heaving, eyes wide open, his entire body burning with rage. In the next instant, we see Sivasaami’s old weary face through which runs the exhaustion from this previous moment of the distressing past that hasn’t after all distanced itself from him. It has tired him, all that panting, panic and pain. Despite numerous washes, the stains of the blood won’t leave and now they are scars that run deep. He doesn’t want the same scars for his kids.

Vetrimaaran uproots us (his actors and the tremendously powerful crew come to his aid, sharing the weight) and situates us amidst the vekkai of Asuran, in the scape of its suffering, the burn of its wounds and the cries for justice. The horror of the abuse is right on the face, not for us to merely see and pass by, but feel for as we fidget in the seats, our ease challenged with the terror and tremors of torment spreading through our bodies and sinking into the skin.

With the decaying torso, its flesh turned black, all life severed and the grieving devastated family are we left for it is essential that we be a part of their grief, witnessing the unjust perpetrated on them so that when moments of monstrosity arise, we shall be aware that it is not just the glorious good winning over evil but something more , driven by a brute pursuit of self served justice than mere vengeance. In the lines of the film, it is essentially telling us, ‘Neethi ethuvenna indru neeyum kooridu, aadhi ethuvenna konjam neeyum thedi odidu.'( Tell me now of what is justice here; Go run, find for yourself what began this all!)

In the final moments of the film reminiscent of Pariyerum Perumal and Thevar Magan (provided the similitude in their themes and the way of resolution) Sivasaami tells Chidambaram that education is their only source of empowerment. The family has indeed remained steadfast in sending the kids to the school as evident in varied points yet these ultimate words would have been equipped with substantiality had Murugan been shown in the path of making something out of education, perhaps, like going to college. These words of Sivasaami nevertheless ring with sad truths and regrets over inability to channelize the will to fight into a potent and productive force. The rains pour as the family has finally and painfully arrived at the verge of closure. These showers which evoke a sense of catharsis following the scorching heat also entail a deep yearning. The mother tells her man to stay for some more time prior leaving, all of this leads the mind to the words of a novelist named Marguerite, “Stormy skies, says Ernesto. He grieved for them. Summer rain. Childhood.”

The heart hopes that after all these years post that wide warm smile underlined by an inescapable poignancy, the life of Sivasaami and his family appears to be what it is in the poster- the couple picture which forms the icon of the review. This is a portrait from a happy future, a buoyant Sivasaami in posh suit, seated majestically with his gritty gorgeous wife behind, clad in silk. Perhaps, this portrait is adorning the walls of Chidambaram’s house and his sister’s who are probably in the respected strata of the society, taken all the way there by the power of education. This is the hope of the future that shall be free from the heat of the past.

Dear Comrade – A journey that is emotionally overwhelming in a gently poetic and powerful sense.

The opening shot of the film is quite a badass one in relation to its entirety – a man pissing in an old restroom, lit in hues of yellow. We see his profile through a door . The man is quite hurt. In the broken mirror is reflected his wounded face brimming with agony. Bobby, we shortly learn his name is beyond pained that he couldn’t reach his lost love, get a word to her and from her . In his despair and desperation, he moves from one trapped surrounding to another in the initial few minutes : first, the restroom where his phone accidentally breaks raging him all the more. His friends, his comrades come for the aid, resolving the escalated conflict; the next is when he tries calling her from an yellow STD booth. He just couldn’t get to her. He screams aloud, unleashes his pain and breaks the glass.His comrades again get him out. Bobby Sobers up as a truck passes close them threatening to run over. He is startled but there is a lot more .His first meet with Lilly was indeed an accidental one and so will be the second.
The wrecked phone receiver hangs in his hands as he rides with his friends in a bike. He isn’t coming towards us but moving away, perhaps from his present and previous self as we hear / feel the voice over coupled with a very stirring background score carrying the same pain and its wails, ‘Why is it that love which gives so much joy when it arrives leaves us with so much pain when it is gone? ‘ He says his life was so different until he met ( or we wonder, left) Lilly.
The title appears : Dear Comrade

All this emotionally convinces us that this is about a man who reflects on his lost love and seeks to reunite. The break up triggers no self destruction as in Arjun Reddy where an impulsive man loses his lady love. Here, it is a remarkable self discovery that rebels against the destruction of one’s individual self. Dear Comrade surprises and fulfils in abundance for it is not merely Bobby’s reflection and reformation but Lilly’s journey towards her dreams with a lot more prevailing above , around and beneath their streak of love.

Bobby’s reminiscence arrives first taking us back in time . The vast seas and bright morning of the land seem silent, calm but the musical roar hits the sky echoing a spirit of empowerment. A group of students robustly driven by rebelliousness rush to protest against the fee hike in college , Bobby leading them all . Registration of this tendency to protest , raise the voice and fight accompanied by rageous impulsiveness is crucial for it is to be channelized into an incredible strength to build and provide. Dear Comrade makes a humble statement that your fight ,your rebellion need not be political or national , it ought to be be for what you love -for your dreams. Lilly says to Bobby that our fight has to happen within us ,not outside. It is these fights they have got to face and win.
Bobby is the grandson of Comrade Suryam. He is the guiding sunlight of Bobby. Comrade Suryam is dressed in white, not in red and he is surprisingly pacific than preachy, letting us know that rebellion and comradeship aren’t defined by rage but what we love and how far we go to fight for it, together.

In the first accidental meet with Lilly, Bobby stumbles as she crosses his path and he falls off the road. These simple events add up beautifully and easily on themselves – for instance, as an extension of the above scene in this lovely long movie, it is in the absence of Lilly and the pain inflicted by it that Bobby gets to the right path in life while the promising presence and perseverant support extended by Bobby enable Lilly brave her bruises ,come back and pursue the road of her ambitions. They both say at different points in the film that their paths are different. Indeed ,they are yet they converge in the tremendous support one extends for the other ( spiritually even in cases of no physical presence) instilling in the other the courage to continue despite crushing odds.

A buoyant friendship lays the foundation of their bond which gifted by the innocence of age gradually builds into love that is held in esteemed regard and treated with the same. It is Lilly’s dreams, her intrepid naughtiness and innate courage that pulls Bobby. He even tells her that she isn’t as beautiful as her sister on whom Bobby was once infatuated. The bond between Jaya, Bobby and Lilly subtly highlights the charming naivety of adolescent infatuation and the benevolent nobleness of complicated adult love.

Lilly goes about asking ,what does a comrade mean? She gets vague, ridiculous answers until Comrade Suryam tells her that it is how we refer to the ones who stand with us ,for us and by us, supporting us and our dreams. Cut to : Bobby playing cricket. He looks up at Lilly as she watches the game from the terrace. They are still friends. Later, post the bloom of love, Bobby tells Lilly that he wants not to be her lover but her comrade -Let me be your comrade.
We now know in delighting certainty that Dear Comrade isn’t a tale of romance .It is a moving tale of comradeship albeit the devotion of its initial half to the breeze and rains of love , building the base of what is to come in its depths. It soars beyond the rains of love and seeks the shine of comradeship.

Lilly tries urging Bobby to dispense his rage for the better . She fails but her spiritual presence in Bobby’s mind throughout his travel heals him as much as the sounds of nature .He records the experience of both, taping it in his spirit.
Bobby and Lilly are now changed people. In his case occurs a channelization while in hers a distortion.Bobby is now who Lilly hoped him to be – patient, prudent, insightful than impulsive. His reformation is the growth of the seeds she sowed. Now, it is bearing fruit, extending shade. A glow of enlightenment is spread in revived Bobby’s face which was once clouded by the trace of an impending storm. The visage reflects the cleansed spirit and peace in the heart. The emotion opposed to this holds Lilly in an unseen cage she builds for herself pushed by the inherent, invisible and almost invincible prejudices of the society.
Her attitude and attire have lost their original sense of freedom. She earlier wanders gracefully in skirts . Presently when Bobby suddenly takes her out, she grabs her dupatta before she sets to leave and we get to know why. She mostly is resorted to her house , rarely venturing out and only with Bobby. She yearns to be beside him , his warmth as the only part of her erstwhile and spirited self is retained in him. She seeks solace in whatever is left of her in Bobby . It is in it and him she gathers the strength to rage beyond the ruins of the odds.
It is not that the ones devoid of such strength are weak, they are but wounded , broken and need a heal. They need a hand of promise with no pity to pull themselves together, raise and fight like never before. To grab the hold of that hand is itself a feat . Dear Comrade understands and embraces this sort of an hurt and tends to it with respect, empathy and care . It denies chances to place Lilly in the pitiful holds of victimhood but lets us see her pain and wish her the will for triumph. Some of us are too hurt to fight. A healing might not mean a cure. Bobby heals Lilly while his comradeship cures her. The disease of imposed self destruction and vanquish of dreams is what we are talking about.
As the cure is complete, the bruises are proudly shouldered as scars of honour . Our comrade stands beside , saying not a word , giving only a brief content smile. Although Dear Comrade is more about the struggle than the triumph, it manages to disseminate this satisfying warmth of the victory and regaining of self. Statements bearing generalisations are profusely used in this discourse for Bobby tells us it is not only the story of Lilly and him but also us , the dreamers, the aspirers and our beloved comrades.

In a larger and profound level, it is in Lilly’s journey that Dear Comrade roots itself and its soul.
Vijay Devarakonda excels as Bobby with his emotionally rooted and veracious portrayal that allows us the fortune to arrive at the soul of the character. Rashmika enables Lilly blossom with all life , the withering and resurrection also are equally enchanting, authentic and hence affecting. The Kali like moment ( Kali: 2017 Malayalam movie)closer to the end where the anger of one transfers to the other is the return of the shed spirit. I wish the verbal discourse that follows had been as powerful as this, giving the rhetoric a more poetic touch.
The emotionally entwined music empowers , empathises and enhances the core of the feeling the scenes seek to plant and nurture. The rhythm, the sound of the film’s melodies and melancholy will now on bring back instantly to our hearts Bobby, Lilly their comradeship besides the flash of memories about our very own struggles and enabling comrades.
Dear Comrade is a journey. The different phases it assumes in the pursuit of its destiny are hence not matters of serious concern.
The more time I spend with these people, the more I get to know them, their lives and the more their hurts affect me and their triumph delights.The length of the movie helps strike an enhanced resonance with the characters giving us scope for our reminiscences and own reassurances.
Journeys matter as much as the destinations do and at times , even more, so do the ones who accompany us in our journeys . This is to all those Dear Comrades.

Dear Comrade – A moving ode to comrades and comradeship.

Kalank

Since its release,Kalank has been bestowed with hate and a pinch of love.Here are a few thoughts on the movie.

In the Disco of life set to trip with the brisky beats of Lahiri and The “Rajas”,arrives the dancer – the Super Deluxe ,dressed in significant shades of blue and orange grooving to the tunes in magnetic movements resulting in a fusion that is fun, fascinating and whip-smart! One among the abundant delights in Super Deluxe lies in discovering what it is ultimately about and how it goes about the same beneath the buzzing airplane.