Sargam is a delicate and highly musical story told using a subdued emotional palette and a wonderful backdrop of Carnatic music.  The story revolves around two characters, Hari and Kuttan Thamburan, who have grown up very closely right through childhood.  One forms a close bond with the lead female character, Thangamani. Kuttan Thamburan, however, has a recurring problem of fits, and eventually it is advised that he marry Thangamani.  Although the elders are aware of Hari’s love for her, they make their decision and he defers to them out of respect and leaves the village.  Soon after, Kuttan Thamburan learns that he has unintentionally betrayed his friend and commits suicide.  The sight of his body sends Thangamani into a state of trauma for the next several years, after which  Hari returns to visit his home and comes to terms with what has happened.

The basic plot has been before, but the careful treatment and exquisite musical backdrop push this one to the forefront.  Although there is quite a bit of tragic scenes in the film, it doesn’t linger on them and the screen never erupts in family melodrama.  The music is captivating, with both lead singers being of the musical type.  I particularly enjoyed this song below, Andolanam, which is quite heavenly.  A very nice film.

What I mean by that is, he seems to have a very focused goal of breaking away from the recent star-obsessed cinema, and certainly, this is a welcome approach – but it’s not quite the same as a “pathbreaking” one.   Let’s not forget that there was a period of time, decades back, where a film like Mann Vasanai, for example, which starred two debuting, no-name actors and had a melancholic storyline, could become a Silver Jubilee hit.  And while Radhamohan’s Mozhi and Abhiyum Naanum were lauded for being feel-good entertainers avoiding any action scenes, heroism, or glamour, I’ve reviewed several films (like Marumagal) which did the same thing 20 years back and had grand success.  Now, while Radhamohan’s films are certainly a breath of fresh air when you speak only about the poor stock of films since 1995, I sometimes feel he focuses too much on what not to do rather than on trying something ambitious with his films.

Getting back to Payanam, it was advertised quite a bit as being his attempt to do just that – try something new – and although it is ostensibly different from Radhamohan’s previous films in subject and setting, it also stays within Radhamohan’s comfort zone in its handling of drama, humour, and sentiment – even amidst a life-threatening hostage situation.  It is certainly an enjoyable film and I’m glad to see its success at the box office while avoiding overtly commercial elements, despite some nitpicks such as a caricaturish treatment of the terrorists and some cliched moments involving a young girl.  At the same time, it doesn’t veer too far away from what I would call the “Radhamohan mood” either.  It is recognizably from the same mindset as his previous works.

Perhaps it is just a matter of “one step at a time”.  A good response to Payanam opens the gates for more films which avoid the typical commercial format.  And even if Radhamohan forever sticks to the role of making sentimental family films in a variety of settings of varying tension (apartment complex, family, aboard a plane), that wouldn’t be a bad thing at all, I suppose.

Classical arts, particularly Carnatic music, are something I generally value very highly.  So coming across a film which is either based or revolving heavily around classical arts can either be a real gift or an embarrassment, depending on its implementation.  However, considering the esteem with which Bharatham is held, I went into it with great expectation, and was not disappointed in the slightest.  The movie as a whole is of very high caliber in scripting, direction, and acting.  Right from the very opening credits sequence, which superbly provides both a visual and musical prelude to the story while also introducing its characters, it is very clear that this is a film made with care and purpose.  It is ostensibly a mixture of a family and musical drama, with the second half leaning more towards the former, and manages to deliver a familiar idea in an exceptional way with only a few, subjective missteps.

The familiar idea I’m referring to is a rivalry between brothers, a universally identifiable and age-old premise.  The storyline of Bharatham revolves around two brothers in a respected family of musicians: the older brother Ramanathan (Nedumudi Venu), an accomplished Carnatic singer, and the younger brother Gopinathan (Mohanlal), who has been his brother’s pupil since a young age.  The film’s conflict stems from his older brother’s increasing foray into alcohol addiction.  Despite attempts at intervention, the habit ends up severely disrupting one of his concerts, and faced with an angry crowd, Gopi takes over at the mic – and ends up dazzling the audience and unintentionally humiliating his brother.  From here the film explores the results of this single event on both the main characters and their family.

Apart from sibling rivalry, there is another angle on which we can look at the story, and that is the perspective of a Guru and his talented student.  Though on the surface, one might interpret Ramanathan as having caused his own downfall due to weakness to alcohol, what is the source of that weakness?  Perhaps it also subconsciously could have been an underlying jealousy at the recognition of his younger brother’s – and student’s – talent.  Setting aside the family relationship, the idea of a Guru’s mind, and perhaps ego, when faced with student who he perceives as having greater natural talent, or a higher level of ambition, has always been a fascinating one for me.  The ideal reaction to such a situation, of course, is for the Guru to recognize that devotion to art exceeds human ego, and set his priorities accordingly.  Yet reality does not always work in the way that we idealize, and human weaknesses – ego, jealousy – will come into play.

These sorts of perspectives on the film might simply be my interpretations, and Bharatham works equally as well taken as a family drama.  What it does exceptionally well is communicating the tensions and misunderstandings of the characters realistically, while avoiding over-dramatization that often occurs in the genre.  The taut script conveys a great deal of suspense through dialogues alone, and the characterization of the central characters is excellent.  If I was to express any misgivings, they would target the third act of the film, which occurs after a significant revelation and which I felt tended to drag a little too long before reaching its resolution (however, the final resolution and closing shot is excellent).

The film’s soundtrack is also very suitable for such a musically-influenced storyline as this.  The songs are all Carnatic or Carnatic-based, completely situational, and very enjoyable, with my personal favourite being “Gopangane Athmavile”.  The picturization of the Carnatic performances was also well done.  Unlike a fair share of films which feature such scenes, effort was clearly put into making them as realistic as possible.  Sometimes I find that directors seem to think its okay to obviously fake, say, Mridangam playing, because they assume that most of the audience won’t be able to tell the difference.  I’m glad that no shortcuts were taken here.

Highly recommended.

But I digress.  Today’s topic is the completely unrelated Ponniyin Selvan by Radhamohan, the film he made prior to Mozhi which often seems to be forgotten by the media when describing his work.  I suppose Radhamohan himself doesn’t like to bring it up, considering he’s made more compromises in this film for the sake of commercial appeal than he did in his future ones, such as the brief dream-fight sequence obviously meant to target the rowdy young males in the audience, love duets in garish clothing, and even something like an item number – although the main character apologizing to his mother profusely afterwards seems to be a window to Radhamohan apologizing to the other part of the audience.

However, since its a Radhamohan film, everything starts and ends with a nice, honest story in its core.  The story focuses on Venu, played by a somewhat wooden Ravikrishna, and his mother Ponni.  Venu is a friendly chap who helps everyone when needed and tries to maintain a good relationship with everyone around him, starting with his mother, Ponni, and ending with his “Guru”, a coworker.  However, he has a bit of an inferiority complex due to a permanent scar on his face, and when he learns about the option of getting plastic surgery, this ambition takes over his mind.  He begins to obsess over “fixing” himself by saving every cent possible, and in a quest to fix his flawed face, loses much of his formerly good character.

With regards to Ravikrishna, he certainly fits in the role – he has an awkwardness about him that works well – but his dialogue delivery is a bit stilted and his reactions (such as laughing) feel a bit unnatural at times.  Gopika plays the close friend (you know where this is headed) and fits the role very well, as does Prakash Raj as the wisecracking mentor, a role he could probably do in his sleep by now.  Revathy is natural though underused as the concerned Ponni.  This is one of the few roles she’s done lately, as usually only throwaway roles are given to senior actresses, but she accepted this one based on the story I presume.  Although the story drifts along with a slightly uneven quality, the climax is very well portrayed – emotional, dramatic, and hard-hitting.  Ponniyin Selvan may not be one of Radhamohan’s best, but there is something worth seeing here, even if you’ll be shaking your head at some of the more blatant comprises.

Kizhakku Vaasal is a rustic story which finds Karthik in a familiar carefree, enegetic sort of role as a singer and dancer in the village of the same name.  There are two threads in the story, one involving the zaminder’s daughter (Kushboo) with whom he has a genial relationship which mistakenly turns to a marriage proposal (furiously rejected by the zaminder), and the second relates to Revathy’s character, a young orphan who was brought up by a rich man’s concubine and who does not want to follow in those footsteps.  The second thread stood out the most to me (of course, I am biased, but it’s also because the former thread has been told to death in Tamil cinema).

I applaud the fact that Revathy’s character is shown to be a dignified and strong-willed woman despite her predicament, rather than as a helpless or pitiful victim which would have been all too predictable.  The flashback which explains her origin, for the most part, resists the temptation to go overboard with sentiment.  All in all, it’s a praiseworthy attempt.  Another nice element is the friendship between Karthik and Chinni Jayanth’s character, who is an adult but who is a bit stunted mentally.  The scene where Revathy asks why he has not eaten, and he replies that he couldn’t eat before Karthik, will surely move even the most hardened cynic in the audience.

Ilaiyaraja delivers some wonderful hits with the musical score.  ”Pachamala Poovu” remains one of my favourite songs of all time, with a simple, charming picturization and lovely lyrics, as Karthik’s character sings Revathy’s to sleep.  ”Vanthathey Kungumam” is the other classic, though the picturization and placement in the film feels a little out of place.  However, Ilaiyaraja’s use of the raagam Mohanam to depict the metaphorical freeing of Revathy’s spirit was really a stroke of brilliance.

What keeps Kizhakku Vaasal from being as good as it could be is the usual hero-bashing-goons scenes and some typical histrionics elsewhere.  However, when you reach the final shot of the characters walking along the path away from the camera, it’s hard not to feel good about the film.