Premam

Has there been another movie that has so polarised the Malayalam movie audience in recent times? Everyone seems to either love the movie, or hate it; of course, with the resounding success at the box office, hit music and the piracy row, it is all but impossible to ignore the movie. I am firmly in the category of the former, by the way.

Please note that this review contains spoilers galore!

Premam depicts the rather simple story of George (Nivin Pauly), and the three loves of his life – Mary (Anupama) from his teenage years at pre-degree, Malar (Sai Pallavi) from college, and Celin (Madonna Sebastian) who finally marries him.  Of course, at first glance, this but seems to be a rehash of Cheran’s Autograph. However, the film is much more than the story; it is all about the mood, the ambience, the characters and the language that inevitably serves up a set of nostalgic memories to anyone who has grown up in Kerala in the 90s. In a nutshell, it is about the manner of storytelling rather than the story. Also, Premam firmly avoids the path that other Malayalam campus love stories such as Daisy, Aniyathipravu, Niram, Chocolate etc. (with the honorable exceptions of Sarvakalashala and Classmates) have traditionally tread on by being firmly grounded and not succumbing to the usual traps of designer clothes, foreign locations and melodrama.

Premam also excels in getting the authenticity spot-on in every aspect. The whole set-up of the local tution class above the tea shop and the “vaya nokkis” (loosely translated to Female Admirers, but not of the lecherous variety) hovering downstairs rings completely true, as I am sure many of my female friends will vouch for. The local college fight, set to the catchy “Kalippu” (loosely translated to Confrontational, but not really) is just right. Puthren also seems to just let Sai Pallavi be, which results in a very, very natural and likeable Malar; her gestures and mannerisms are so naturally Tamilian (for example, when she corrects herself upon mistaking a kurta for a shirt). For the record, this is something I have always hated about Autograph; the spoken Malayalam in it was just terrible.

Puthren also is terrific at the staging of scenes. For example, the scene where George and his friends are waiting for Mary to get down from her tution class and they end up asking “kas kas” in their lime soda one by one with the camera caressing the whole creation of the lime soda could so easily have been filmed as just another regular scene with the 3 friends exchanging witticisms. Another conversational scene in the canteen during George’s college days follows a plate of “fish fry” being carried by a waiter to their table, rather than concentrating on the characters and their dialogues. And how perfect is the “Java” scene – every computer science engineer surely has attended at least a couple of inane classes like this in college.

On the performances front, Nivin Pauly leads the pack with a completely natural act even as he depicts 3 stages of George’s life, subtly altering his appearances and body language across each stage.  Nivin also exhibits a natural charm that had lead to all the unfair comparisons with the Mohanlal of yore. George’s breakdown as he walks away from an oblivious Malar is a standout scene. All the 3 debutante girls do a charming job, although Sai Pallavi does steal the thunder with her screen presence and expressive eyes. Vinay Fort deserves a special mention; as the naive but likeable Java professor who nurses a crush for Malar (and even sings a Tamil song for her), he is a riot. George’s gang of friends are completely realistic too, with the actors seldom resorting to melodrama.

In the end, Premam is a truimph of the director. The staging (as mentioned above) and the detailing clearly depcit that the screenplay is a labor of love. I loved how Puthren resorts to facial hair as the depiction of stages in the protagonists’ life (there is even an offhand remark in the first segment of how George has just had his “virgin shave”), reminding me of a “beard phase” we had in college ourselves (one of the few good memories from PG, let me add!). There is good old ribbing of the Malaylee mentality as George and his gang of friends rail and rant at various societal injustices to the common man, while trashing the abusive fiance (Puthren himself). I even thought there was a “meta” reference in how Puthren snorts coke in the movie (he is a “new age” director, you see!). Above all, in grounding the film to reality, Puthren succeeds in bring a “slice of life” flavor to movie; after a while I almost felt that I was hanging out with George and his gang myself and did not even notice the 3+ hours that the movie ran.

Verdict: Must Watch!

 

 

 

Pisasu: A Cindrella Story

A man sat at a metro station in Washington DC and started to play the violin; it was a cold January morning. He played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, since it was rush hour, it was calculated that thousand of people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. 

Three minutes went by and a middle aged man noticed there was musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried up to meet his schedule. 

A minute later, the violinist received his first dollar tip: a woman threw the money in the till and without stopping continued to walk. 
…
In the 45 minutes the musician played, only 6 people stopped and stayed for a while. About 20 gave him money but continued to walk their normal pace. He collected $32. When he finished playing and silence took over, no one noticed it. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition. 

No one knew this but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the best musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written with a violin worth 3.5 million dollars. 

Myskin’s Pisasu contains a sequence where the antagonist – a violinist in Ilayaraaja’s troupe – emulates Joshua Bell, albeit in an attempt to assist a roadside beggar family (link). I am not sure if the piece above inspired Myskin, but to me the scene instantly reminded me of the article. The song itself is beautifully shot; the girl is leaning against a pillar inside a subway, Siddarth is leaning against a wall opposite her, and passengers keep crossing them from the left or the right. The camera almost seems to follow the hopeful gaze of the girl, tracking each passerby as they cross her.

In a departure from Myskin’s usual oeuvre, Pisasu deals not with the murkier elements of society, but with a ghost. Many of his usual themes do turn up though – the one-against- many fight, the lady in the yellow saree, the flower sellers and blind beggars, an accident with blood on the road, a character with hair that obscures his vision – but the overall subject deals with a benevolent ghost instead of criminals. The story can be summed up in a line – the spirit of a young woman killed in an accident takes up residence inside the hero’s flat, refuses to leave and is finally forced to. But what matters, as usual, is the why and the how.

*** Spoilers ahead ***

The first thing that struck me about the movie was its Cinderella theme. As Siddharth rushes Bhavani to the hospital, her foot with a slipper barely dangling on is in the frame, the other slipper lying lost at the scene of the accident. Later he takes care of the slipper as a keepsake. Bhavani is the daughter of a widower (an excellent Radha Ravi), who meets her “Prince Charming” as she loses a slipper. Afternoon cards, her spirit lives in the chimney – even appears covered in soot – and cleans up after Siddharth.

The other theme, I felt, was about domesticity and the all-suffering Indian wife. This is first depicted through the relationship of the couple downstairs. Even after being abused and beaten up, the wife sticks with her husband and even takes care of him after he receives his just comeuppance. This theme is then reestablished in the relationship of Siddharth and Bhavani; she takes care of him even when he is scared of her, even when he berates her…she’s with him despite everything.

And finally, the imagery the director puts in front of us is amazing. I already talked about the song, but what also stood out to me was the colors. In a way, the film came into being because of colors, after all. An important character is slyly nicknamed Pachai. Siddharth has a shiny red car. At a hospital, an orderly pushing a stretcher wears green scrubs. The only sensible witness to the accident talks to Siddharth while wearing a red saree, holding a green pot of water (that leaks). The revelatory scene features a basket of, what else, red and green apples. And – I loved this – in a “hint, hint” scene there is an inverted traffic signal, where green appears at the top instead of red…a hint within a hint, so to speak.

Frankly, there were quite a few aspects I did not get too. There’s a hint at the elements…An Ice vs. Fire kind of thing that I did not completely grasp. Then the appearance of the woman in the yellow saree glaring at the inspector…was she inhabited by the spirit of Bhavani and angry at the police for trivializing her father’s sorrow? There was also a great deal of fuss about burial vs. burning that had me stumped. These are aspects to look out during a repeat viewing, I guess.

To summarize: for me, this definitely features in the top 5 movies of 2014 and is one of Myskin’s best films, firmly establishing him as one of the best directors in the business today. I eagerly look forward to what he will do next.

A Tale of 3 Cousins

After Manjadikuru and Ustad Hotel, Anjali Menon is back with another tale of nostalgia. It is easy to imagine Bangalore Days as a grim, depressing film: the story of a bubbly girl trapped in a marriage with a husband who disapproves of almost everything she does, a discarded son who seems destined to be a failure, and a software engineer who is already stuck in a rut and hates his life. Certainly, someone like Shyamaprasad would have made a much darker film (Rithu, anyone?) out of this script. However Anjali Menon has opted for a lighter touch and carried it off remarkably well too.

Divya (Nazriya) is compelled into marriage by her parents. The pennukanal scene where Divya is forthright enough to declare that the unniyappams were not made by her and that only the dog eats them is mildly reminiscent of a similar scene from Ustad Hotel where the girl  makes a quiet but assertive statement – almost as if she were declaring that she has an independent mind too, notwithstanding the fuss around. However some of the scenes that follow with Das (Fahadh) follow a rather clinched theme, and with the negative picture of Das that is portrayed you can sense that redemption is soon to follow. However the redemption of Das is the highlight of the movie, and hence the predictable nature of this track does not impact the movie. I have to say that I also felt that the whole track followed a very Rebecca-like path, and the “spying” maid as a sort of Mrs. Danvers was totally hilarious.

Arjun (Dulqer) is the quintessential black sheep of the family – the one everyone points out and gossips about at family functions, and parents tell their children not to be like. A product of a broken home, he channels a lot of inner rage which inevitably breaks out at inopportune moments and has resulted in a temporary ban from one of the few things he enjoys – bike racing. This track is primarily about how Arjun comes to peace with himself. This is primarily through his interactions with Sarah (Parvathy Menon, in yet another impressive performance), a radio jockey who he initially admires for her ebullient personality and later falls in love with she he discovers that she is paraplegic. This was the best track of the movie for me, for the sheer thought the director has put into Arjun’s character. The annoying personality Arjun adopts when in conversation with authority figures hints at the vulnerability within; the fact that he has hidden the racing ban placed on him – yet another failure – from his cousins; the way he protects and leads his cousins in difficult situations (takes charge when Kuttan’s dad is ill, helps Divya when she is distraught, informs Divya about Das’s true past) hints at how much more adult he is despite being ofthe same age group); his passionate dislike of the military – all of that perfectly fits what Arjun would really be like.

The third track is probably the most crowd-pleasing one, but in many ways it is also perhaps the most thought provoking. Kuttan (Nivin Pauly) is a die-hard traditionalist; he believes firmly in the primacy of the “water, soil, and women” of Kerala. Already bored to death of his robotic existence as yet another IT employee (now, that struck a nerve!), Kuttan rushes home to Kerala at every given opportunity. However, Kuttan learns the hard way – through many hilarious scenes and deft directorial touches – that his thoughts may not have been right. His beloved homestead is being sold off as labor and maintenance is deemed too costly; a Malayalee girl with a “traditional name” turns out to a manipulator; above all his mother ditches her baggage of tradition and converts into a new-gen mom who holds kitty parties, sms-es in votes for reality shows and does laughter therapy. Despite all this, Kuttan holds steadfast to his ideals and eventually finds a life partner who respects the culture of his land much more than his peers. The underlying social commentary is but obvious; what this track also does is build up and then break down conventions, perceptions, and stereotypes; the best example of this is the letter from “Gaya” that Kuttan’s dad sends.

Das’s story is part of Divya’s too; however there are some neat touches to the characterisation that deserve a special mention. Das opens up much more with Divya at the initial pennukaanal scene once the dog is brought in, and later on we see why. His reaction to finding Divya driving a bike on the highway is also made clear once his past is divulged. His carefully controlled reactions to Arjun also make sense; however I would have loved to see a bit of envy from Das reflected in their interactions…It is to Fahadh’s credit that he makes the most of a truly one-dimensional role. The only jarring note in the performance was in the flashback sequence, where Fahadh looked altogether too amiable and deferential to be the kind of rock star that he was supposed to be.

Despite the large star cast, this is a director’s movie alright. Anjali Menon once again proves that she is one of our finest today, although her pet theme of the trials and tribulations of the members of a large family is getting to be a repetitious theme. As I had remarked earlier, many of her scenes – especially at the tharavadu – reminded me of passages from Arundhati Roy’s God of Small Things. Notwithstanding the difference in tone that the creators adopt, both of them display the same innate understanding of the Kerala society and tharavadu / koottu kudumbam politics. I, for one, am eagerly waiting to see what she does next.