A riveting ride

Film Review: Neelakasham Pachakadal Chuvanna Bhoomi

Director: Sameer Thahir

Cast: Dulquer Salman, Sunny Wayne, Surja Bala, Dhritiman Chatterjee, Ena Saha

Neelakasham Pachakadal Chuvanna Bhoomi (Blue skies, green waters, red earth). There is something in the very title that connects. For when was the last time we really saw the wide firmaments, the deep waters and the picturesque world around? Stuck within the four walls of our mechanical existences, the title beckons you to go out there, on the road and explore. Explore the world outside and the more complex one inside.

In Jack Kerouac’s ‘On the Road’, protagonists Sal and Dean knew that they ought not to stop till they get “there”. Where they were unsure of, but they knew they must keep going. Their “life on the road” defined the Beat Generation of post-war America.

In Sameer Thahir’s latest directorial venture, Kasi (Dulquer Salman), along with friend Suni (Sunny Wayne), hits the road in search of answers. Unlike Kerouac’s characters, this is not a journey for the sake of one, but one in which the destination is more or less in sight.

Nevertheless, this journey of self-introspection that also touches upon politics, love, friendship, family, religion and revolution is one of the most intense coming-of-age movies in Malayalam. Unlike Bollywood’s Dil Chahta Hai or Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara, the film does not celebrate breathtaking locales, but rather focuses on the ride.

This is one movie that delivers what it promises. On the road through and through, the film is a visual treat, with riveting music and minimalist dialogue. Kasi begins his journey from Kozhikode to the North-East, first to get over, and then to find his love Assi (Surja Bala). He is joined by his friend Suni and their camaraderie is beautifully depicted, not through tall claims of friendship, but knowing glances and friendly pats. The motorcycle, signboards, milestones and traffic signs too take on a character of their own in the movie.

Kasi and Suni meet many others on their trip — some who have lost their way and some in search of newer trajectories, but they all have their own destinations and must go their separate ways.

Dulquer Salman delivers an intense performance as Kasi who maintains a calm exterior even when torn apart by myriad inner conflicts.

His powerful narration sets the pace for the journey, and never once falters. All the actors — even the ones in minor roles — put up compelling performances. Sunny Wayne, Surja Bala, Ena Saha and Dhritiman Chatterjee deserve special mention.

But it is Hashir Mohamed’s well-crafted script with smart one-liners and casual yet deep observations; Gireesh Gangadharan’s stunning visuals and Sameer Thahir’s directorial mastery that make the ride worthwhile.

That said, this is no dream ride either. The movie loses steam in parts in the second half, and the climax could have been more powerful. It also cannot be overlooked that the film appeals to a very niche audience — the English-speaking, mall trotting, urban youth.

But given the youthful exuberance of the movie and its ability take you along on the ride, these cannot be listed as hurdles. Like you must hit the road to feel the real adrenaline rush, you must hit the theatres to truly experience this riveting ride. Bon voyage!

The review was first published in The Hindu, August 11, 2013

A forgettable trip

Film Review: Kadal Kadannu Oru Mathukutty

Director: Ranjith

Cast: Mammootty, Siddique, Nedumudi Venu, P. Balachandran, Muthumani, Alisha Mohammed

The non-resident Keralite’s celebrated nostalgia and his search for redemption in his homeland, garnished with ladles of camaraderie and pinches of bitter experiences is just the perfect recipe for a festival release. Add to that a superstar as the central character, an ensemble cast, a director whose name carries reverberations of box-office hits and it is almost a winning formula. Well, almost. There could, always, be exceptions. Ranjith’s Kadal Kadannu Oru Mathukutty is one such exception.

George Mathew aka Mathukutty (Mammootty) is a man on a mission. He has been entrusted by the Malayali association of Mettmann in Germany to rope in actor Mohanlal for their silver jubilee celebrations. Bullied by his wife (Muthumani), ignored by his children and eager to go home, Mathukutty grabs the opportunity and heads to Pathanamthitta, his hometown.

After rounds of the very predictable catching up with old friends and long-winding walks down memory lane later, events go out of control (as does the already tottering script) till the NRK’s rose-tinted view of God’s own country is smothered by ground realities. Strangely, it is only the viewers who feel that sense of déjà vu with a stale plot.

If you are wondering what’s new here, there is the setting in Germany (emphasised enough times to turn you off) and the fact that it is not just the protagonist’s expectations that come crashing down.

What director-scriptwriter Ranjith serves up for the much-awaited festival season is an insipid fare of leftovers, devoid of the ‘spirit’ of his previous outings. A patchwork of a script from a master scenarist with failed attempts at humour, satire and the absurd and a poor choice of actors (most of them versatile, but unsuited for their respective roles) leave the viewer disappointed. Dangling before the viewers, a glittering array of popular stars in cameos (Mohanlal, Dileep, Jayaram, et al.) is little compensation.

There is some talk of Gandhism accompanied by blaring background music (whatever happened to subtleties?), some on how money makes the world go round (think Pranchiyettan and the Saint andIndian Rupee), some on the vices of drinking (Spirit) and very little that is original or new.

Casting actors who have scripted recent successes or carved niches for themselves cannot salvage a movie that does not quite appeal to the sensibility or intelligence of the “average film-goer”. The director’s voiceover that booms at the end of the film almost seems like his excuse for letting his fans down.

Two strong points in the script are left unexplored: One: the character of Vidyadharan (Tini Tom) as the one-man media outfit that rakes up controversies. And two: the concept of NRIs switching on a mental calculator that is perpetually converting dollars/euros into rupee. Tiny strokes of brilliance lost in a confused plot.

Mammootty’s performance as the unassuming, submissive Mathukutty is that of a master at work. Let down by a weak script and not finding enough support in competent co-actors who are similarly tied down, the actor’s efforts are almost wasted. Mathukutty crossed the seas and arrived with a lot of expectations. He came, he saw, but did not conquer. And his trip remains largely forgettable.

The review was first published in The Hindu, August 11, 2013

22 FK-ing BOLD.

A lot of hype usually spoils the movie for me. And so I went to watch 22 Female Kottayam with a whole lot of scepticism. Also watching it at Chennai’s Ega theatre, a  second show, with howling men all around me isn’t really the best ambience. Most bold dialogues in the movie were hooted at, a lot of good scenes met with loud cynicism. But with all this display of male chauvinism around me, when the movie ended, I walked out many inches taller, my head held high and very very liberated.

Hats off to Aashiq Abu for making a movie that is the need of our times, for making a movie that is from the start to the end carried off entirely by the woman lead, for writing ‘her’ name first in the titles, for never even trying to make it seem anything other than a woman-centric movie, for silencing at the end, all the male rants around me.

It is just surprising that all the reviews that were doing the rounds about 22FK, most of the people who watched the movie, termed it good, and then ‘shocking’. Yes, the movie upsets you, but given the bold statement the movie is, there was nothing shocking. It was to say the least, liberating. And for all the flak I may receive for this statement, the movie was a revelry of womanhood, her body, her lives, her revenge, hers.

Beginning with the powerful “Chilane” song, the movie centres around the life of the level-headed ‘Kottayamkari Nasrani’ nurse Tessa Abraham (Rima Kallingal), from her trying to migrate to Canada, falling in love, getting brutally deceived, and then coming back to exact her revenge. Yes, the story line sounds a lot clichéd, I know. But what makes Aashiq Abu’s movie stand out, is the freshness with which this cliché is portrayed, there is no melodrama, no guilt or ‘moral’ pangs associated (like a jail inmate in the film prophesies) and is riveting throughout.

Also, for a change, we have women checking out men, a women’s jail portrayed as not pitiful but powerful, and a woman exacting revenge in a way most of us have often felt is the only “right” way for a crime that is repeated often and any number of times, and every single day, to the minute I am keying in these words, a crime that stems from the arrogance of ‘being a man’. To every man who has looked down at a woman and told her you can never win over me for “You are only a woman”, here is a reminder. In your face, and powerful.

Reading other reviews, the moral stance adopted by many leave me disgusted. That the movie does not respect women, the movie is in no way progressive, that it makes the woman use her body to exact her revenge and so on. When most of us cheered our “heroes” thrashing villains and walking into the sunset in slow motion and triumph, how come that was not “his” way of using “his” body (of course, the “hero” was a man of intelligence, too!). When will we ever tide over our obsession and puritanical notions associated with the woman’s body, and solely with the woman’s?

And there was also criticism of the movie having a lot of masala, of it being purely “commercial”. How come we never heard “masala” and “commercial” being talked about as fervently when the heroine wore skimpy clothes and danced around trees, battled eyelids and pouted, or heroines performed item numbers, were generally epitomes of goodness, well-clad and well behaved and high scorers of the society’s moral marksheet. Of course, the movie has “masala”, is a “commercial” hit, and entertaining in its own way, but if it has driven home that message which the filmmaker wanted to, if the meal was grand and fiery, would you now complain about the salt and pepper?

That is not to say the movie is without faults or is a milestone for Malayalam cinema. It is not a milestone. It is a necessity, a breath of fresh air, a new flavour, yet another important chapter in the New Wave that the cinema of my land is witnessing.

Movies like 22FK are needed every once in a while if not more often till there is nothing shocking or surprising about them. And so are performances like Rima’s and Fahad’s. Rima Kallingal has given to Tessa Abraham more than her all, and never, at any point, has she let down a movie that is meant to ride to success on the shoulders of the female lead. From being quiet and sweet, to being the woman in love, to suffering physical and mental torment, to finding her strength and emerging triumphant, Rima essays a spectrum of emotions with remarkable brilliance. Fahad Fazil pulls off another brilliant performance, and asserts with 22FK that he is in a different league altogether. While much praise is being heaped on Rima, the movie wouldn’t have been what it is without Fahad’s tempered and subtle acting.

Even with all the questions about the film’s authenticity doing the rounds, this movie needs to be praised for its sheer guts, it needs to be promoted for encouraging people to go to theatres to watch good movies without big banners and superstar tags, movies which acknowledge that women are more than glamour dolls and tired mothers.

Aashiq Abu and crew, well, you just set a new high for the forgotten concept of “heroine” in Malayalam cinema. A brilliantly crafted, beautifully evoked, bold high.

Adaminte Makan Abu

Not a reviewer really, but for this movie which was beyond words, all i could do was to write:


There are some movies that leave you elevated; some that leave you gaping at the sheer brilliance of the human psyche; some which make you cry; some where tears of laughter roll down your cheeks; some that tug at the heartstrings and leave lumps in your throat long after you have walked out of the cinema hall. There are movies which have out-of-the-world storylines, movies without a fault in their screenplay, movies with gorgeous cinematography, movies which set new standards at the box-office, movies which are masala pot-boilers. There are movies which ride on the shoulders of superstars, movies which sweep popular awards across segments, there are movies that become cults, epics, history. And once in a while, and very rarely, there comes a movie like Adaminte Makan Abu. And all of the above labels cease to matter.
To get to Abu, one has to travel only a short distance - only turn back and look at life, again. And yet in turning back, lies miles, that go deep, into the earth, into hearts, into a village set in the interiors of Kerala’s Malabar region. If the description were to match today’s travelogue style, one would call it a pristine, quiet, sleepy village. But the village is anything but sleepy – it is where plants have life, people converse with animals, where grass rustles and listens, where life throbs, not necessarily thrives, in forgotten ways, where Abu and his wife Aiysu cannot sleep for their dreams of making the holy Haj pilgrimage need to be kept alive without rest. Where Abu, after travelling long hours and without a wink of sleep, comes home to his wife, and yet cannot take a nap because the dream beckons.
The film opens with things of the everyday – a jackfruit tree, a reclining chair, prayer beads, a trunk with crushed notes, some bottles of perfume, a home in the long embrace of poverty, poverty without its accompanying misery. And after a rickety bus ride, the ageing Abu, seller of perfumes, follower of Islam, father of an unthankful son, dreamer of holy bliss, steps down and wobbles unsteadily, slowly, dripping with pathos. And never in the recent past has a movie “hero” made an entrance as powerful or grand, straight into the heart of the viewer.
In the wee hours of the morning, chants of “Allahu Akbar”, ‘God is Great’, bring alive a predominantly Muslim village. Against a telling pitch black darkness, a white mosque beams light, its minarets and windows glow in red, yellow and blue hues. In the dark, the frail, scholarly, ‘Ustaad’, the village oracle with powers of divine communion, washes himself. And through one lighted window with the typical dome, we see prayers being offered. Through that window we enter Salim Ahmed’s world – where Muslims are essentially human beings, a chatty rational tea-stall owner, a cobbler trying to sew and patch life’s little injustices or a travel agency manager who does not indulge in visa frauds or scams to live up to his typecast role. Where the world’s views on Islamophobia and Jihad are touched upon by the mere utterance of “bin Laden” and that too in a lighter vein. Though Ustaad ascends the stairs to his room, we do not enter it. Only the chatty Hyder enters the room with a glass of tea and admiration, and later, in the film, to barge in to seek solace in the pitch of darkness.
Through such a window, we also enter the graceful Aiysumma’s home, as she gets ready to offer her morning prayers, to voice her only plea to the Almighty. Neglected by their only son, Aiysumma though is a woman with ready smiles, warm eyes and is a reservoir of strength to her husband. And like her husband, she deposits her meagre earnings in their treasure box beneath their sleepless cot.
There is this scene when Abu closes the windows against the world, to enter their private world, to open the chest of their dreams, and count their earnings of twelve years. As Abu and Aiysu straighten out folded currency notes and begin the countdown to their dream, money gets its most powerful portrayal. We have seen wads of currency notes being flashed across the eye, notes being thrown in the air, huge amounts being stacked into sacks. But this is essentially the value of currency notes, measured in the denomination of dreams it can buy.

There is another scene in which Abu and Aiysu spend the entire evening examining with utmost care their passports. They lose themselves in admiring two passport-size photographs, an anachronism in an age where endless photographs of mundane chores, besides that of exotic holidays and birthday bashes, are uploaded by the hour, and deserve the time-span of a ‘click’, extendable upto a ‘like’ or at most a ‘comment’. And also in an age when newborn babies learn quick to pose for photographs, Abu shudders at the ‘click’ of the camera.
Abu and Aiysu sell their last belongings to scrape together money to visit the Holy Land. The scene in which Aiysu bids adieu to her cattle is poignant. “I have never treated them as mere beasts,” she tells her husband, with tears welling up in her eyes. The couple go around the village bidding goodbye, asking for forgiveness of their past sins, and ready themselves for a deep-rooted dream. Will Abu and Aiysu finally manage to realise their dream? Sitting under what seems like the “tree of life” against a setting sun, even the Ustaad, who predicts to precision and who can foretell even the grievances of visitors from faraway lands, does not know.
To help the old couple realise their dream, two villagers come forward – a Hindu and a Christian. Though this aspect is never once emphasised in the film, it is the subtlety on which the writer-director scores. And similarly, there are no monologues, no high philosophy on human values or secularism. No big deal is made of an old couple holding hands, of friendly gestures, of warm embraces. There are poignant smiles without close-ups, some warm words without background score, silent eyes that speak volumes. Just the way we know and understand, without an effort, just like what we call life.
The cintematography is lyrical, the music score rings with the sweetness of rustic jackfruits. For a story that speaks of ground realities with roots that run deep into the earth, there are no over-the-top shots, no bird’s or worm’s eye-views, there is just one humane view, which the lens faithfully portrays.
The range of characters the film presents are all with essential goodness, all who understand the language of human hearts. And every actor, even in minor roles, deserves applause for etching to perfection a creator’s vision of a simple, nearer to life world, or rather, village.
However three persons deserve nothing short of a standing ovation – director-writer Salim Ahmed, actor Salim Kumar and actress Zarina Wahab, and in that order.
Salim Kumar won the country’s top most honour for his portrayal of Abu. But what he has indeed won, he did without competition, without a jury panel, without room for debate: the heart of every single viewer. In the portrayal of a frail, powerless old man, the actor exuded utmost power. A million subtleties swim in the eyes of Abu – innocence untarnished by age, pathos inflicted by life, faith unmoved by setbacks, a dream that leads him to wobble on.
Zarina Wahab as the meek Aiysu supports more than her ageing husband’s character. She evokes poignancy and warmth seemingly without an effort, a stellar portrayal of a subdued character.
Writer-director Salim Ahmed emerges successful on every score because when a story is told from the heart, it finds a million echoes across souls. And a million words could be strung together to write about Salim’s labour of love, but at the end of it, I realise writing this review has been futile. To know Adaminte Makan Abu, one only needs eyes that can see reflections, ears that can hear the murmur of grass and the echoes of prayers, and a heart that can hold dreams, and whose door is left only slightly ajar.
When against a pitch dark early morning, Salim Ahmed’s ‘Adaminte Makan’ walks to the mosque, we realise he just walked from our hearts, after planting a flame of hope there. Adam’s son, blessed being.