There’s an inexplicable unease caused by the melancholic lullaby, Kanne Kanmaniye, Sivatmikha’s song that precedes each of the four films in Netflix’s anthology, Paava Kadhaigal. It’s the discomfiting hint that the same parents who so cherish and adore their daughters, calling them Kanne and Kanmaniye, somehow develop the cognitive dissonance necessary to be able to unleash unspeakable monstrosities on them in the name of honour.
The slashes of red in the animation video that charts the growth of a daughter, as she transforms from dependent toddler to a freethinking adult in love and later, marriage, is another ominous sign of what’s to come in the four films. I found Paava Kadhaigal’s foray into the horror of our kind — something as specific as honour killings — to be such a welcome departure from the anthologies themed on generic topics that have come our way so far. This idea serves to offer filmmakers like Gautham Menon and Vignesh Shivan a chance to enter new worlds — in whose darkness lie potent forces like chastity and caste and social reputation—and the results range from reasonably engaging to gut-wrenching.
1. Sudha Kongara’s Thangam
It’s quite fascinating how with the single trick of conjuring up a transwoman in this film, what would otherwise play like a typical rural love story that runs into parental opposition, gets infused with so many new layers. Almost every angle feels fresh simply because of the central character: an oppressed, humiliated trans woman, Saththaaru (a wonderful Kalidas Jayaram), whose identity as a woman is consistently, systematically denied by the society she lives in.
Also, much credit to Kalidas’ performance who really inhabits this character, with all her vulnerabilities and indomitable cheer. This film speaks of the dangers lurking at every corner for a trans woman, how it’s often worse than even for cisgender women. The best parts of this film were those that let this character breathe and live and love.
The short is in a bit of a hurry to get places though. Shanthnu’s Thangam shrugs off a potential proposal leading to heartbreak, falls in love, gets married, elopes, spends a year, has a child… all in this runtime. This is perhaps why the transition from a general cheery mood to one of lament feels rather sudden, even if Sudha cushions it with a twist. As the film hurtled towards its fairly cursory twist end, I wished I had learned more about Saththaaru, more than the quick shading the character gets, and perhaps that’s what stopped me from really turning inconsolable as that almost melodramatic flashback plays out towards the end. But by and large, it’s a film that sets up the anthology quite well.
2. Vignesh Shivan’s Love Panna Vitturanum
I’m quite conflicted by this film, a dark comedy, because the portions that work well are delightful, but the film is also unfortunately burdened by some clumsy transitions from in mood, and there’s some problematic messaging as well. Given the heft and solemnity of the topic at hand — honour killing — it’s an interesting choice by director Vignesh Shivan to narrow down the genre to dark comedy. There is irreverent word humour and there’s quite a bit of situational comedy too — and one involving a househelp comes at a point that makes you wonder whether you are supposed to be gasping in horror or feeling amusement. This confusion is one of the problems with Love Panna Vitturanum, which turns from having you be aghast in one moment, to reacting with amusement in the next.
One joke really hit home though for me: the irony of those in opposition to intercaste love getting flummoxed when confronted with a lesbian relationship. There are two terrific performances in this film: Padam Kumar, who plays a casteist politician and the father to identical twins, Aadhilakshmi and Jyothilakshmi (both played by Anjali); and dancer Jaffer who plays a little person and the politician’s cunning underling. The little person is established to be a remorseless killer who earns every expletive that comes his way. While the visual impact of seeing such a unique character with a baritone voice no less, does add to the menace of the performance, I’m not sure it’s doing anything useful to such people who already face quite a bit of bias and unkindness, on account of their diminutive stature.
Meanwhile, Padam Kumar, playing Veerasimman, a father who priotises caste pride and social honour over love for his daughters, draws a lot from the depths of his seemingly sleepstarved eyes to communicate his many unsaid emotions and thoughts. This dark comedy never truly allows you to soak in the impact of two horrific murders that occur in its timeline. Instead, it takes upon itself the problematic idea of almost attempting to empathise with Veerasimman.
That it’s done through a sad song that is all about his supposed pain — and the happy end he seems to get in this film — really gets you wondering how or why he has been allowed to go scot free, despite doing something unspeakable. When the film — and its very strange epilogue text — finishes playing out, you are ultimately left with the aftertaste of having watched a strange film that perhaps could not comfortably handle the darkness of its material.
3. Gautham Menon’s Vaanmagal
This film, this topic, must be unchartered territory for Gautham Menon, even if you can very much spot his directorial presence with the rather strong use of music and recurring voice-overs, including one that wraps up the film. The director also acts as one of the traumatised parents (the wife is played by Simran), and I quite bought him playing an almost stifled male leader figure of this family, whose decisions are more influenced by his wife than he generally lets out (like in that scene where he says that the car seat covers aren’t removed following her request).
It explores a different interpretation of the ‘honour’ idea and features an abduction that seems to come from nowhere and resultant sexual violence— and consequently, the social stigma surrounding victims and more relevantly for this film, their families. I enjoyed Simran’s performance as the almost disgusted, confused conservative woman, desperately trying to bring normalcy back to the household. In this film with some grisly developments, including rape, filicide, and mutilation, the scene that caused me the most discomfort is one that shows a mother attempting to literally scrub the stain of a crime on her daughter’s body. That incisive line from the trailer about how women bear the burden of family honour and prestige— one that pretty much is a thread across all films in this anthology—is from this film.
4. Vetri Maaran’s Orr Iravu
My favourite of all the films, Vetrimaaran’s Orr Iravu is an unflinching observation of honour killing and how a system enables it. The film begins with a wonderfully choreographed opening sequence at the native home of Sumathi (a fantastic Sai Pallavi). The house’s ultra-realistic design, stained wall and all, and inmates going about their cooking and cleaning chores, makes it quite clear that this is almost a docu-style capturing of the events set to unfold in it.
The beliefs of this house’s inhabitants are made clear right then too, as Sumathi refers to her husband by name and her mother quips, “Purushan paera solradha un oorla vechika.” By ‘un ooru’, she’s, of course, referring to the city from where Sumathi has arrived — a city that this film suggests is far safer than Sumathi’s native village and its inyour- face casteism. Though caste oppression is at the heart of this film — Sumathi’s father (Prakash Raj), for instance, can’t even get himself to drink water at his son-inlaw’s place — this is a film that trains its focus squarely not on the oppressed (Sumathi or her backward caste husband, Hari) but the oppressor, her father.
This is a film that’s simply trying to, almost like a thesis, bear witness and record the transformation of a nourishing, caring father into a frightening aggressor. The film is also interested in exposing the role of society in such evil getting enforced and as suggested at the end, even lawfully excused. Save for some classical violins that intervene when the situation gets particularly dire, this is a pretty silent film, with the sound design mostly tasked with capturing the reality of the setting, like the chirping of crickets at night— which has the effect of making the events feel even more real and consequently, sinister.
I loved both Sai Pallavi and Prakash Raj in this film, the former especially in how she crawls and pleads and endures primal agony. As for Prakash Raj playing Sumathi’s conflicted father, this film is mainly about the profiling of his character, about how systemic pressure causes him to lose grasp of what’s right and wrong. While putting him under the microscope, this film also takes note of the relegated roles afforded to women in such societies and the apparent disrespect.
Just take a look at how Sumathi’s father treats the women of his house, especially his wife who he often calls like one would do cattle: ‘Ai!’ In this profoundly affecting film, if I had a complaint at all, it would be that in its eagerness not to be seen relegating Hari to the background, it ends up resorting to awkward epilogue text to offer some explanations. By then, the film is long over, its objective of a detailed portrait of Sumathi’s father quite complete, and me, a teary mess.
Directors: Sudha Kongara, Vignesh Shivan, Gautham Menon, Vetri Maaran
Cast: Shanthnu Bhagyaraj, Kalidas Jayaram, Anjali, Simran, Gautham Menon, Prakash Raj, Sai Pallavi
Streaming On: Netflix