It’s difficult to write about something that has been analysed, written and talked about so much, even on this blog. But when the point of discussion is Hey Ram, there is always something new to say. In that belief, here goes my DVD-commentary-like post, best consumed alongside a repeat viewing of the classic. [Now, that’s a good excuse for not properly structuring this post!]

The movie begins with a dedication to Kamal’s mentor, Ananthu: “Thank you for directing me towards this direction”. Their relationship began while both worked under K Balachander, with Ananthu exposing Kamal to things like world cinema. Also, Hey Ram was supposed to be Kamal’s formal foray into direction, which was not to be. Anyway, we can consider it as the first movie Kamal wanted to put his stamp officially on.

In the Hindi version of the movie, notice the name of the movie appear in English last, after Hindi and Urdu. Kamal defies convention as always, while also granting importance to India’s own languages.

As I have mentioned a few times before, Kamal is to be treated as a creator whose chosen medium happens to be film. This is yet again symbolised in the title song. Kamal gives vent to his own agony and raises his (own) voice for sanity and peace, aptly in his own words (in Tamil). That pretty much summarises the objective of the movie.

In addition to donning the new hat of lyricist (to two of the songs), Kamal handles various usual departments including choreography. While his skill at screenplay has been proven in many other movies, this one features the Page-o-Minute technique — one minute on screen being written on exactly one page. Ironically, the script didn’t hold the attention of most movie-goers, with its multilingual dialogues.

Further on the technical side, this was the movie that brought back sync sound (dialogues recorded on the spot instead of being dubbed later). Of course, the voices for a few actors were dubbed. But you would notice that most actors remained unchanged for both languages of the movie. They were meticulously chosen for their background and also their ability to speak in either language.

Shah Rukh Khan was a big draw in the movie. Kamal openly admitted that: “Ask the distributors in North India what Shah Rukh means”. Among the movies I have watched, I’d rate this performance of his next only to Swades. Kudos for his effort in speaking Tamil too (unlike the recent buffoonery in Om Shanti Om).

Another person who had a great outing was Saurabh Shukla. More known for his dialogue-writing skills till then, he touched everyone’s hearts here.

A few gems in the screenplay are on display during the Kamal-Rani scenes:

• Aparna uses a pistol with no bullets to protect herself from potential intruders. Saket first makes fun of it, but it comes to his use later when he is held captive by the Muslim gang.
• While getting up from the bed, Aparna asks Saket to not disturb the mark-sheets. “Okay teacher”, he says. This is just one of the few references to her profession, without actually having a scene to establish it.
• After he ties the thaali (mangalsutra), he asks for some symbol for himself. She takes one of her toe-rings (metti) and gives it to him to use as a ring. Much later, when he goes to see Mythili and she touches his feet, he raises his hands to bless her and notices that ring, bringing back memories of his first wife.

Bollywood’s most-loved villain, Amjad Khan (also the name of Shah Rukh’s character) had a connection with this movie. His son, Shadab memorably played Altaf, the tailor in Calcutta who is responsible for Aparna’s rape and murder. Amjad Khan featured in Kamal’s Vikram one and half decades earlier.

Speaking of Altaf, Saket the common man very slowly realises the level of Hindu-Muslim tension in the country, culminating in the brutal end of his wife. Saket’s struggle is played out superbly with Rani Mukherjee’s continous screaming in the background.

Rani was at that time very new to the movies, with just the hits of Kuch Kuch Hota Hai and Ghulam behind her. Kamal the director extracted a very mature performance, which she is now known to be capable of, as the reigning queen of Bollywood.

While the director dwarfs Kamal the actor in Hey Ram, the latter’s performance is nevertheless not to be ignored. One image that stands out it is during the night of Saket’s wedding with Mythili — he shivers after pouring water on himself, as he struggles to bury the demons of his past.

Back to the director, a portion of “Nee paartha paarvaikku…” is simply brilliant. As Saket reminisces about Aparna fondly, a sequence of shots shows them both at various places in Calcutta doing a variety of things. It is structured as a few shots, but the camera moving from left to right combined with perfect editing lends to effective screenplay. Every place where Saket sees while roaming has a memory of Aparna.

Breaking the flow again, we need to get to Atul Kulkarni. He was a wonderful ‘discovery’ of Hey Ram. Kamal the actor lets him dominate in the scenes they share together, as per the needs of the script. Kulkarni rightly went onto win the National Award for Best Supporting Actor.

Just as the first twist in the movie, that of Saket’s peaceful life being shattered, the second one too comes up slowly. We are made aware of the Maharaja’s conspiracy to assassinate Gandhi bit by bit, starting from the air-port and ending at a secret location on the occasion of Dussehra. The last portion with Saket in inebriated state is filmed beautifully, with hardly any dialogues. All along, we also figure out the personal motives of the Raja and Abhyankar behind their plot to eliminate Gandhi.

The graphics is possibly a tad overdone overall, though it serves the purpose of projecting Saket’s thoughts.

The usage of Tamil (Saket’s mother-tongue) is effortless even in the Hindi version — be it “Balcony kadhava saathu, Aparna!” when he anxiously shouts out to protect her from the intruders or Hindu hymns in the Chennai episode. Kamal’s knowledge of Hindu and Brahmin traditions are pretty complete. It peaks with his rendition of “Brahmanandam…” when Saket renounces all relations before moving to Delhi.

The story is primarily the journey of one man. But it also travels to all corners of India and even to Pakistan. At every place, the rich cultural diversity of India is masterfully blended into the screenplay.

Though being a ‘period’ subject, the contemporariness is unmistakeable. After the decade of Babri Masjid demolition and Mumbai riots, the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) had just secured power in India. Warning bells ring in the movie with a reference to Savarkar, the Nazi Swastika morphing into a lotus (BJP’s election symbol). Kamal speaks through his characters at one point: “Religion and politics”, like “sex and violence” is a “pucca commercial combination”! Later in the movie, as a sign of things to come in the future of India, we witness corruption at Gandhi’s place itself.

Back to the movie, it thrives on sutblety and metaphors. One example is the Raja putting the mad / useless horse to death, with the rest of the horses in the stable being blind-folded. The man is ruthless in pursuing his objective and getting rid of useless items on his way. At the same time, he is careful to keep his other subjects unaware of his nature. At another juncture, when Abhyankar asks Saket to promise that he will perform the assigned task unmindful of his relations, he just turns to the left with sad eyes, the director merely indicating to us that his heart is hesitant to give up Mythili.

The protagonist of the movie is ordinary like any of us. As much as he tries to hide it from himself, he remains a confused man. Even in the end, when he argues with Amjad, he cries and convinces himself that Gandhi is the root cause, even as he struggles to maintain that belief. At the same time, the character also has a lot of the real-life Kamal. He himself said in an interview, sometime ago, that the movie was born out of the question “What would have I done had I been there?”.

The hotel in Delhi where Saket stays is the very place where Nathuram Godse stayed. There is a small reference to it in the movie too. Another interesting tidbit is that Kamal stayed in the same hotel while writing the script, to help him get into the head of Gandhi’s assassin.

The final part of the movie features an interesting character, Govardhan, played by Gollapudi Maruthi Rao. He had a memorable role in Kamal’s Swathi Muthyam (Sipikkul Muthu) too.

Naseer’s role as Gandhi was probably a dream-come-true for him. He was one of the actors who unsuccessfully screen-tested for the lead role in the 1982 biopic by Richard Attenborough.

Throughout the movie, Kamal effectively uses small facts to make his point — Jinnah’s daughter staying back in India, Rama coming through Khyber Pass (reference to Aryan theory), Mountbatten announcing that Gandhi was killed by a Hindu and so on.

As much as I try to detach myself from my sixth viewing of the movie, I get drawn in and forget to note down points for this post. Ultimately, the movie will remain to me, more than anything else, a textbook in film-making.

[Image courtesy: Philip Lutgendorf, University of Iowa]

Editor’s Note:

Here we have yet another new author, Zero. Please welcome!

On the Kamal A2Z series, we have ‘G’ this fortnight. If anyone wants to reminisce about Guru or Geraftaar, e-mail your entries! The next fortnight, we’ll move onto ‘H’ for Hey Ram; but let’s not forget Hare Radha Hare Krishna too.

A 2-minute long tracking shot takes us through a lower-end brothel in Hyderabad and ends showing Guna on the terrace (shot from below with ‘godly’ respect), standing on one leg. It is a Pournami (full moon day) and Guna is awaiting the arrival of Abhirami. He sees a bride going through the Jaanavaasa ceremony and mistakes her for Abhirami.

So starts Guna, one of the best films to have come out of Tamil Cinema in the last decade. This was the first of the twin efforts (the other being the great Mahanadhi) of Kamal Haasan with his friend Santhana Bharathi wielding the megaphone. Kamal packs in a superb team (Venu for cinematography, Balakumaran for dialogues, and of course Raaja). Yes, it is not a flawless film. But, it is the kind of film that stays on in your mind.

The film looks at this man Guna, with unconditional sympathy; how he is doomed in this big bad world; and in that sense, it is a cynical film. Guna is a madman (an obsessional psychoneurotic) who is told, by a fellow asylum-inmate (Ananthu), that Abhirami (the Goddess) will marry him on a full moon day and will take him out of all his miseries. There is this sense of godliness attributed to him in the movie — he can unlock anything like cars, safes etc. and help his uncle in his thefts. He wants to be cleansed (in the famous scene Guna explaining to the doctor about how Abhirami would ‘cleanse’ him). He unconditionally believes that he is God, and that only Abhirami can cleanse him. He believes in uniting with Abhirami, the Goddess (an imaginatory sequence shows the formation of the Lingam). So he kidnaps her; takes her along with him to a deserted church on top of a hill and explains his love for her, and their destiny.

The screenplay of the film – written by Saab John, a Kamal Haasan associate who also wrote Chanakyan and played the role of Narasimhan is Kuruthippunal) is of the highest standards as far as Tamil Cinema goes. It’s expertly woven, richly textured, and is subtle and doesn’t scream for our attention. Not to forget the insightful and yet realistic dialogues by Balakumaran. Ilaiyaraaja gives a great background score (most of the BGM pieces during chase sequences are liberally borrowed from Kamal Haasan’s two earlier flicks Aboorva Sagodharargal and MMKR). Kamal Haasan comes up with a truly wonderful performance, with the rest of the cast chipping in accordingly.

What is striking is that the film doesn’t melodramatize the state of Guna. It doesn’t put him in fake glory. It looks at him with a detached sympathy. Guna is after all, a madman and it never bats an eyelid to put forth the fact to us. He says he is in love with Abhirami and that she can never go leaving him behind. But, he still ties her giving a new reason each time.

Apart from this, the movie also works as a traditional thriller with an (albeit heavily stereo-typed) villain, CBI in chase, and lots of money at stake. As in every other KH film, the subtle humour is unmissable.

Looking at the mythological connections of the story, the key point in the film is how the usual assumed gender roles are reversed here. The mythology has this story of Parvathi, the Goddess, who takes human form because of a curse and eventually re-unites with Lord Shiva. We also have other examples like Meera and Aandaal. In Guna, the roles are reversed. It’s Guna who has taken an earthly form and yearning to unite with Abhirami. This is apparent in many scenes like the following:

1. Guna tying the thaali around his neck.
2. Guna looking reverently at ‘his’ thaali after Abhirami walks out of the car hanging at the edge of a mountain.
3. Guna waiting for Abhirami to complete her meal.
4. Or when Abhirami kisses Guna.

The story also owes the main thread of obsession towards the Goddess to the story of Abhirama Bhattar, who wrote Abhirami Anthathi. In a beautiful sequence, Rohini and Guna playfully pretend to be bees and buzz around in air (ending with the bees ‘kissing’ each other), and Abhirami asks Guna to tie the thaali (mangalsutra), Guna says they have to wait till Pournami. But, she says, “Nila aagasuthalaiya irukku? Manasula irukku. Manasu thaan nila. Neranja naal” (”Is the moon in the sky? It’s in the heart. The heart is the moon. Filled (?) day”)! Apart from serving as the point of culmination of their love, it also directly refers to the mythology itself. In the story of Abhirama Bhattar, Abhirami turns an Amavasai (new moon day) into a Pournami by throwing her ear-ring into the sky. Guna recollects the mythological incident, and says, “Aamaam! Abhirami sonna Pournami thaan” (”Yes! If Abhiram says, it is a full moon day”)!

And when the movie ends (with that divine and strangely soothing theme playing in the background), we see the deserted church in the bird’s eye view and the glowing moon behind it. It is the next Pournami (thus completing the cycle) and Guna has joined hands with his Abhirami. Or has he?

[Original post]

It is a known fact that Kamal has a lot of friends in the literary circles. He has used many of them in his movies from Mahanadhi to Marudhanayagam. Recently, he took the time to felicitate one such person, Puviarasu the poet, for winning the Sahitya Akademi award.

During his speech, he spoke of his association with Puviarsu and various others. He also read out one of his poems, which is reproduced below, thanks to Behindwoods.

They have more photos and so does CineFundas.com. IndiaGlitz as usual has several photos and a long video featuring Kamal’s speech. IBNLive has a short news clip, featured below. The event received extensive coverage in the vernacular press too.

[Picture courtesy: BehindWoods]

Ellam Inba Mayam, made in 1981 (story, dialogues and lyrics: Panju Arunachalam) was in many ways a precursor to Kamal’s later movies. He dons a multi-character role, speaks different dialects and above all, explores a full-fledged light-hearted comedy for probably the first time. G. Rangarajan, the director, would go on to make another comedy Meendum Kokila with Kamal the same year and Maharasan a decade later. The setting and spirit of “Solla solla..” song (a perfect spoof of ‘disco’ songs of the period, resurrected on YouTube) was taken further in the evergreen “Ilamai itho itho…” in Sakalakala Vallavan, a year later.

The movie follows a hackneyed script but the Kamal takes the situational comedy to a level where we can forget the mindlessness of it all. In fact, the movie seems to have been made with the singular objective of showcasing Kamal’s acting talents with no regard to logic. His scenes with YG Mahendran are some of the best of the period, in terms of comic timing. Two examples: Kamal and YGM have just arrived at Madras, and are visiting the Gandhi statue at the Marina beach. As they remove their slippers and move to the statue, YGM remarks “Aasirvaadham vangippom. Yengayo avasarama poraru pola irukku..” (Let’s get his blessings. He seems to be in a hurry to go somewhere.). Later, when a prospective employer inquires about their competency, Mahendran explains, “Nalla saapiduvom“. The man then demands, “Appuram?”, to which Kamal replies without batting an eyelid, “Kai kazhuviduvom…” (the beauty will be lost in translation) – proving again what it takes to transform an ordinary script into an engaging act.

The Charlie Chaplin influence on Kamal is seen in this one too – probably for the first time on screen. The scene where Kamal and YGM dine at a local restaurant Chaplinesque to the core, especially the sequence where Kamal cannot stop his hiccups. The way he walks in the Basavappa character is again reminiscent of Chaplin’s films.

There are many elements of the village bumpkin character which Kamal seems to have retained in Kameshwaran of MMKR. The naivety, the walk, the awkwardness are all trademark Kameshwaran. Also of note is that for a typical masala movie, with villain and fights intact, there is no gore or even a single murder, much like Michael Madana Kama Rajan. Incidentally, both movies were produced by Panju Arunachalam’s P. A. Arts. Ellam Inba Mayam may not be one of Kamal’s best; but looking back, I am sure it has influenced his career path and his disposition to full-fledged comedies.

Editor’s Note: We’ll continue with ‘E’ for a fortnight as usual. But the next letter is ‘F’, which unfortunately has no movies. So, let’s catch up on what was left out from ‘A’ to ‘E’ during that time. Send in your entries!

With randramble

Birthday reflections are far from peaceful preoccupations. Even if he has lived an eventful 53 years and has a cap cluttered with feathers, contentment seems a far cry for Kamal. Every interview smacks of a Schindlerian “I could have done more”, which works out just fine for the greedy viewer.

Attention grabbing. That is what artists do for a living. But the blink-and-you-miss moments — which is a sort of Kamal signature — make meeting-the-artist midway quite a task. And of course the rewards are great. So, how about sharing the rewards then, just like we did last year?

All ye, who have seen MMKR, would recall the short-lived giggle that Kameswaran lets go, when ChakkubAi plonks herself on him and just before reigning himself when Tiruppu shoots a scorching look. With all due respect to Crazy here, it was one of those several Kamal-Singeetham moments. One can actually trace the idea back to a few passing frames in Aboorva SahOdarargaL.

This in the famous driving lesson, that has screamers like “nice-A vandhittEn”. The car is stuck in the middle of the road and Raja and Janaki have to exchange seats. Kamal steals a wickedly funny moment here. No lines, no stopping the viewer to direct his attention to the moment — just an ingenious expression that send the observant viewer rolling. Here it is in a thousand words:

Now, this is becoming a Singeetham special too. In the path-breaking movie that was Pushpak aka Pesum Padam, acting is restrained by the lack of dialogues. From balcony to balcony, he speaks with the girl he likes. After telling him about her parents, she asks him about his. Talking cheerfully till then, he becomes sad. He recovers quickly, puts out his tongue to indicate that they are dead. She empathasises and melancholy sets in, with the violin background of L Vaidhyanathan.

Moving onto little bit more serious stuff, Nandhu of Aalavandhaan (Abhay) is in one of his hallucinations and the doctor asks him where he picked up so much violence from. Combining the innocence of the character and the mischief of the writer, he replies that he learnt it by watching cartoons.

That’s it from us. What’s your “Kamal moment”? Let’s have a better show this year in the Comments section.

Kamal’s screenplays of Hey Ram and Mahanadhi are out as a book, not in Tamil, but in Malayalam! Titled Kamalhaasanda Rendu Thirakadhagal, the release was done in DC International Book Fair and Cultural Fest at Thiruvananthapuram.

The Hindu earlier published an interview with Kamal on the occasion, where he talks about his evolution as a writer. Though not in his own words, Marmayogi receives some confirmation here. Check out a different edition for a nice photo and also a report from Behindwoods.

While a screenplay being published as a book is common in Hollywood and elsewhere, it is good to see such things happening in India too. Hopefully, it will happen in the language of Kamal’s writings too sometime soon.

[With input from Ananth]

[Picture courtesy: BehindWoods]

Editor’s Note: Another debutant — Kannan. He starts off on a rarely-discussed aspect of Kamal’s acting. Enjoy and participate in the Comments section!

While talking of Kamal the actor, critics have always portrayed him as someone who can make you laugh and cry like no one else. But there is another facet of the actor that is so often overlooked – the ability to frighten and horrify. Yessir, this post is about Kamal the baddie. There are a few scenes I will touch upon from Sigappu Rojakkal and Aboorva Sagodharargal.

The beauty of Sigappu Rojakkal is its enduring ability to strike fear in the viewer. Bharathiraaja’s second movie with Kamal couldn’t be more different from his first – 16 Vayadhinile. If Kamal’s histrionics in 16 Vayadhinile made you sit up and take notice, Sigappu Rojakkal would have you stand up and applaud his subtle genius. No other actor could have played characters as varied as Chappaani and Dileep back to back. “Audiences want an ordinary human being with failings” – Hitchcock’s words on the expectations of the modern audiences from their villains seems to be Kamal’s dictum here.

The very first scene establishes his character and sets up the viewer for what is in store. The gardener has just ‘fertilised’ the soil and the servant is bringing two cups of tea to his master’s room. Kamal looks up at his servant for few seconds, notices him glancing at the abandoned brassiere on his side and looks back at him again. He then replaces his cup back and says, rather nonchalantly, “Indha tea thevai illa“. That look and expression conveys more about him than could a thousand pages of dialogues. Does he care that the boy has found his truth out? You bet! He waits to see the boy’s expression after he finds the bed empty. A cold, calculating stare that tells us that he is probably weighing his options on his next move. When he sees that the boy is going to get inquisitive, he dismisses him offhandedly. All in the matter of a few seconds. And mind you that the cup obscures half his face!!

After the courtship and marriage to Sridevi come the defining moments of the movie. Driven to the end of sanity by the police investigations, he decides to take matters into his own hands (!) and heads to the bar to reason with the witness, Bhagyaraj. What starts as a routine confrontation soon spirals out of control into full-fledged arguments and as Illayaraja’s BGM (background music) crescendos to an orgasmic peak, Kamal slips his hands into his gloves (the glaring discrepancy of meticulous precautions in a public place!!) and silently emerges the winner. Show me any other actor that could have pulled off Dileep’s character and I will show you a peace loving American president.

Aboorva Sagodharargal pretty much set the standards for masala movies, not just in Tamil but in any Indian language. But, stripped of its songs, comedy track and gloss, the story is about a midget scorned. And we get to see his full fury. The small stature of Appu is not just a ploy to attract audience to the theatre. It also serves as a very important plot device. From ‘Delhi’ Ganesh standing casually in front of the contraption that would kill him to Nagesh who ridicules his abilities, all victims have one thing in common – taking him lightly. And they pay the price. Appu doesn’t go complaining to the law – because he knows that wouldn’t satisfy him. He craves blood and violence. One scene stands apart and establishes this trait. After his confrontation with Nasser, he sets upon his tiger and waits patiently for it to finish the job – having a little taste of vegetarianism himself from the grass patch beneath. We know it is all over when he stops chewing and gives a satisfactory grin – interlaced with a hint of anger. The climax scene could very well be one of the few instances in Tamil cinema where the hero, in spite of the opponent’s confession in front of a full house and police still goes ahead with his plan of public execution. He could have very well let the police take Nagesh away – but instead turns to his mother waiting for her approval to finish what he started. As Srividya nods her consent, we the audience join in, nodding our affirmation and appreciation of the genius actor that Kamal is.

The above examples seek to emphasise the important point that it is not just loud dialogues and shining of red light on the actor’s face that contribute to the expression of terror. There are some obvious movies I have left out to make the post short, but I am sure readers will join in and kick start an interesting discussion.

Editor’s Note:
After giving “outside support” for a very long time, HAL debuts as an author on AllThingsKamal.info. A different kind of post — hope all of you enjoy. In the Kamal A2Z series, we move onto ‘C’ in a couple of days…

Avvai Shanmughi is one of the underrated comedies from Crazy-Kamal combo. K.S. Ravikumar’s first with Kamal. Which was to be followed by Thenali, a more slapstick humour and successful film, then Panchathanthiram with a taut script of events laced with verbal humour, and the much anticipated magnum opus, Dasavatharam.

Avvai Shammughi has an interesting premise, inspired by Mrs. Doubtfire, garnished and served in Indian platter. Not to sound hyperbolic — frankly the narrative is chalk and cheese, and the execution is much better in Tamil version. The film opens with Kamal’s monologue “Avvai T.K. Shanmugham avargal-ku idhu paadhai kaanikai“, the film is dedicated to T.K. Shanmugham (Kappalotiya Thamizhan, Ratha Paasam), Kamal’s mentor who was a famous theatre artist. The film is a tribute to Shamugham’s various female performances on stage.

It would suffice to say that his mentor Shamugham would have been proud with Kamal’s near-perfect portrayal of a pseudo-Maami, Pandian’s disguised act as Avvai Shanmughi - a brahmin granny as a nanny. The body language, the dialect and the expressions here are top-notch, making one wonder how he does it through layers of make-up and get-up where likes of Eddie murphy just fail(ed), or just falls short of perfection like Robin Williams. Kamal treads a fine line of balance as Pandian himself wouldn’t be completely versed on Brahmin etiquettes and behaviour, the ‘caricature’ effect that Pandian brings as Shanmughi is justified and perfect.

While Virumandi deals on the nihilism of marriage in a darker realistic paradigm, Mouli’s Pammal K Sambandham is all about ‘marriage’ in a more banter-like narrative, KSR’s Panchathanthiram is a roller-coaster ride of ‘marriage’ and Sathi Leelavathy is about adultery and a disrupted relationship, with the protagonist giving her best to save the marriage. Here we have two people who love and marry, but then arises the misfit of the classes, the rich Janaki (played by Meena) who could not lead a bourgeois married life with an assistant dance master (as she says, a “koothaadi” — Kamal cuts back with statements like “Natrajar” is a koothadi, the lawyer is a vaayaadi)..

Unlike PKS where Kamal plays an innocent stuntman (his only other role of a direct worker in the industry), tricked by Simran’s scheme for a more selfish purpose and a different reason. It’s quite the opposite here, with Kamal pulling his ‘act’ to be with his daughter, named Bharathi, after the great poet himself. The deceit here arises out of loneliness and love for his family. Then starts the fable.

For its theme, the film maintains the humour with no homosexuality or no sexist remarks. That’s a remarkable achievement in itself.

What’s with a Kamal comedy without Chaplin reference, Deva’s score here heavily lifts from Chaplin’s theme. The memorable piece that we associate with Chaplin certainly lifts the mood of the scenes. With Chaplinesque collage moments, from the daily routine of Pandian to Shanmughi to Pandian again, or the quick snippets of Pandian/Shanmughi dressing or undressing. Kamal’s gestural sequences have always been an indirect tribute to Chaplin.

And assumed identity? Pandian-Shanmughi aside, there’s another inclusion in Pandian’s friend Bhai (played by Nasser), a chef becoming a mute Iyer cook (hence avoiding the ‘accent’ misfit). There is an hilarious moment when when he blabbers, and it’s assumed to be ‘gothra‘. (Kamal, as always, brings a slight dose of atheism at places, in a more subdued way here, of course.)

Mix-up of characters? Shanmughi has different husbands at different times. She creates a fictional one out of compulsion to escape from Vishwanathan Iyer’s crush (Ungalukku oru Chellamaa illaiya, adhu madhiri ennaku oru Chellappaa irukkaar). That is followed by a spoof of a yesteryear tragic song symbolizing ‘love-failure’ (with black an white transition in video), from an old Gemini Ganesan starrer, Kalyana Parisu. [The song soulfully rendered by A.M.Raaja is “Kaadhalile tholviyutraan“ — there is a female version too.] The once poignant nostalgic lines, “kaadhalilE tholvi yutraan kaaLai oruvan kadantha pinnE amaithi engu peruvaan”, used in a much similar context, offers a comical moment here.

Shanmughi’s husband is cyclic with instinctive lies from Pandian / Shanmughi: For Mudhaliyar (the landlord, played by Manivannan), it’s Sethuraman Iyer (Delhi Ganesh). In a well-conceived funny moment (reminiscent to Ganesh-Kamal-Lakshmi in MMKR), here we see Ganesh-Manivannan-Kamal:

Pandian: Shanmughi oda purushaen Sethuraman Iyer thirumba vandhutaaru...
Mudhaliyar: Ayyo nee anniku Vishwanathan iyer-nu thaane sonna…
Pandian: Oh adhayum sollitaenaa! Rendu pEr..
Mudhaliyar: Two purushanaa?
Pandian: Rendu pEr, Sethurama-Viswanatha Iyer-nu neelama vechutanga…
Mudhaliyar: Adha suruki, Sethuraman…neenga nambula parunga..irunga…(to Sethuraman iyer) Vishwanathan Iyer, Sethuraman Iyer..rendu perayum* ennaku theriyum illa?

* ‘pErayum‘ is cleverly used as a pun here, as this would mean a ‘name’ of person or as the person. In MMKR, Kamal and Delhi both use ‘adhu’, one referring the Bangalore trip, the other about intimate romance — not to forget the hilarious ‘Nadodi Mannan‘ reference.

Sethuraman Iyer: Unakku theriyaadadha Pandia..kalyanathuku appuram pirichu vechadhu thappu thaan. Adhulla enakku udanpaadu kedaiyadhu…
Pandian: Podhum podhum…kelvi ketta mattum thaan badhil sollanum…(to Mudhaliyar) Podhuma mudalyar?
[Deva uses the Mudhal Mariyaadhai ‘kuyil’ sound for Manivannan in a hilarious fashion.]

For Sethuraman Iyer, it’s Mudhaliyar, who says, “Chellappaa Iyer thaane sonna?”, for which Pandian cooks up “Chellappaa Iyer thaan manam udanju, Mudhaliyar-a convert aytaaru“.

Then in jewellery shop, the drunkard Joseph (Nagesh) becomes Chellappa Iyer / Mudhaliyar, Shanmughi’s fictional husband to Gemini. The cycle ends with Pandian being Shanmughi’s another interest. Rip-roaring word-play to guide throughout…

Or simple gestural humour…

Or the improvisation when Shanmughi improvises a Tabu song “Ruk ruk ruk” (from Vijaypath), to Carnatic fusion, serving the purpose of the occasion, as well as lightening up his kid. Incidentally, Tabu plays Janaki in the remake, Chachi 420.

Like the famous Apoorva Sagodharargal complicated mechanism, here we have a setup to fool Mudhaliyar and Heera with a pedestal fan, pulley, hook and a mug, to simulate Shanmughi bathing inside the bathroom.

The other characters: Heera’s character, an assistant to Pandian, and in a formulaic way, has a crush on him. However, she isn’t distasteful so to speak of. I guess she is the Madras progressive lady here as against the traditional “iyer aathu ponnu” in Meena, one has to look at her short exchange with Mudhaliyar (”Yov, ‘na?“, LOL). Shanmughi also asks her in his first meet in disguise,

Sholay anybody? There is another shorter character (Kamal’s films often has memorable ones) in studio-worker Subburaj:

Pandian: Enna Subburaj-u, pillayar enga podhu?
Subburaj:Idhu ‘pullayar’* illa, ‘ganpathi’, Ezhaam number floor-la Indi padam sooting…
*(Madras variant of ‘pillayar’)
Pandian: Yaarudhu?
Subburaj: Adhu inna* pEru adhu? Maruti biscuit-a illa discuit-a, avangathaan…
*(not ‘enna’, this is Madras improvisation)
Pandian: Yov! Madhuri Dixit-ya, Maruti, Ambassador-nu..

Then there is a very funny physical fight in the market with Kanal Kannan.

And yeah…

While Kamal also shows the Tamil film industry, where the hero (Ramesh Arvind in a short cameo) romances with the heroine, while the dance masters simulate a step (much like the weak-hero spoof in PKS). Or, the touch-up to an artist by the make-up man. Kamal teaching the heroine to exaggerate her bosoms in a song. A satirical take on Tamil film’s dance-song routine…

Or the play of words (verbose)…

“Illai-nu sonna, naan sonnadhu nijam ayidum, nee sonnadhu poi ayidumE” — from Shanmughi to Janaki.
“Vishwanathan ponna kalyana pannadhunaala, yEn ponnu vishwanathan iyer pEthi aydichu, Vishwanathan pEthi, adhoda amma idhu”- - from Pandian to dance master.
“Avaru vandhu “joot” solvaru, apram thaan adikanum enna? Pechu vartha nadakum bodhu, vanmurai koodadhu…” — Sethuraman Iyer to the mob.

Finally the chase? The film ends with a ‘chase’, like other Kamal comedies. The husband (in disguise) chases the wife. It’s either a symbolic motif to represent the ‘chasing each other’ in a cultural / metaphorical sense, or just a recurrent tribute to The Circus. I would like to believe there is an implication here, from what we know of the filmmaker.

While we await Kamal-KSR’s Dasavatharam, here’s a film from their combo to liven up.

Editor’s Note: Here’s a reader who has just now turned author on this blog, with this wonderful post. Please welcome, Deepauk! Who’s next? How about taking up Aasheerwaadam or Anthuleni Katha or Aval Appadithaan?

To paraphrase Bertrand Russell, a stupid man’s report of what a clever man intends to portray on screen may never be accurate. Nevertheless I shall attempt an interpretation. The movie has been alternately hailed and dismissed from different sections for various reasons. I will touch on the screenplay and the characterizations, two items that are sometimes knocked.

A frequent criticism leveled against the movie is the script, especially the flashback sequence. A simple exercise to determine if a scene is superfluous to a screenplay is to remove that scene or sequence and see if the movie still holds together. Anbe Sivam stands up to this test very well. Apart from 2 songs (an occupational hazard in the Indian Film Industry), the removal of any scene would rip through the entire fabric of the movie. Some sequences while clichéd from a birds eye view are less so when examined. The minor banalities in structure are acknowledged by the writer through Madhavan’s “Puratchi Kathaanayagan Thimiru pudicha Kadhaanayagi” (dashing hero, arrogant heroine) dialogue.The entire sequence in Bala’s house serves to emphasize the romance, Kandaswami Padaiyaachi’s opportunistic theism and finally the reason for Bala’s continued involvement with Nalla. The action sequence sets up the scene afterward in the police station (the actor playing the inspector is a riot). It forces Nalla to come to terms with the consequences of his dalliance with the daughter of the man whose policies he resents.

I would like to mention 2 specific scenes that contrast the range of anecdotes that were drawn upon to deliver exposition in the movie. First, the portentous scene about the Tsunami that plays out in the Bhubaneshwar Hotel; the description of the photography-enthusiast consumed by the seas is supposedly based on a tragedy that befell a close friend (source: Kamal the writer himself in an interview to Sun TV). The scenes at the mural unveiling in Kandaswami Padaiyachi’s office are based on, I presume, Diego Rivera’s mural for the Rockefeller Center (a point to note here is Nalla’s allegiance, much like Russell, lies more with Marx than with Lenin). Referencing an intensely personal experience as well as global pop culture in the same movie should be a stretch, but it is pulled off with consummate ease.

The obvious strengths in the Nalla role apart, what is really meant to step out of the movie and slap the average yuppie viewer’s face is the Anbarasu character. Madhavan delivers the wake up call well, combining socially accepted selfishness and naivete’ with aplomb. Even small characters like the members of the Koothupattarai (street play troupe in Tamil Nadu), Mehrunnisa and Pounkunju in particular, are given a lot of depth. And for the piece-de-resistance we return to Nalla. For nearly 2 hours the man is infallible. He has fought the Indian government and won, waded through floods, chased a train, lost and donated blood and through his generally gregarious nature managed to traverse nearly the entire east coast of the country on a leg and a half. And then suddenly the self-assured “last-word-freak” has all his insecurities laid out in one line. “Manaivingurathu oru karpanai walking stick. Manam Nondaama Irukkanum Ille” (”The concept of wife is an imaginary walking stick. The mind shouldn’t go lame, right?”). Nalla’s imaginary walking stick clearly shows Kamal Haasan’s imagination needs none.

[Picture courtesy: BehindWoods]

“Anaiyaa Neruppu” (Unextinguished / Unextinguishable Fire) is a short story — or is it a fable? — that appeared in Ananda Vikatan more than a year ago. Thanks to HAL2211 again for reminding me about it. UniversalHeroKamal.com has the Tamil original while Chenthil Nathan has a very good English translation, interestingly titled “The Day I Lost My Chastity”. Kamal’s creativity, thinking and knowledge are on display. Enjoy, if you haven’t already!