Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark,” wrote Carl Sagan, in his profound reflection on a NASA photo of earth that has come to be called ‘Pale Blue Dot’. “There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world.” When we reconcile with the truth that we are but lonely specks flickering for an insignificant time, our self-importance vanishes, and we might just be able to realise that we are all one—and hopefully, be kinder to each other.
Rene (Dushara Vijayan, who you can’t take your eyes off) says something similar in the film—and it’s perhaps why she keeps gazing into the sky, every chance she gets. It’s when she’s truly vulnerable and child-like; it’s when she’s not feeling judged. “I could look at stars forever!” she says aloud. She’s a fascinating character—Rene—and one who reminded me somewhat of Manju from Aval Appadithan.
Both women bear deep scars, and both have chosen to armour themselves with curt language and intimidating body language. They are both likely to be perceived to be, as Rene once puts it, “a bold woman”, and both, in a sense, cannot afford the luxury of focussing on the personal, for, their identity isn’t truly theirs. Rene calls hers a ‘social identity’, and it’s worth noting that Rudraiah’s terrific film too ends with the protagonist, Manju, ruefully remarking to a happy, simple-minded woman that her happiness is on account of her inability to comprehend ideas like women’s liberation.
Rene seems obsessed with the pursuit of outward perfection, but there’s little question that she’s hurt and vulnerable. She’s a tragic character, one who communicates secret pain in stray glances and silences. When Iniyan (Kalidas Jayaram) tells her she’s beautiful, she vainly proclaims she’s aware, but then, the camera lingers on her for a beat… She turns away ever so slightly, and in that second, you realise her vanity is a performance; it’s an instinctively defensive response she has turned to for self-preservation.
In another scene, Dushara communicates so much by the simple act of climbing stairs, watching her ex-boyfriend, Iniyan, kiss another girl, and walking back down. “Naan happy-a dhaan irukken,” she keeps saying, but is she? And is it even her fault that she isn’t? In perhaps the scene where we learn about her the most, another intriguing character, Arjun (a fantastic Kalaiyarasan) recognises that her exterior strength is a mask and questions her about it. Director Pa Ranjith proceeds to show her traumatic past in a quick animation montage, and then, you truly understand why Rene has weaponised that charismatic laugh of hers. It’s a tragedy, when you consider that an expression meant to radiate joy and happiness has instead been turned into a weapon and an armour.
Ranjith’s films have generally been ferocious protestations against oppression. You feel the fury and frustration bursting forth from his cinema, but this time, with Natchathiram Nagargiradhu, you feel less anger. You feel a sense of peace… like he would rather have a conversation than a fight. He feels not like an infuriated victim, but like a wise monk who doesn’t mind forgiving. Perhaps for this reason, you have a big painting of Buddha—that master of forgiveness—looming across the entrance of the theatre group’s premises, and in one striking scene, Rene walks out with Arjun, to symbolise her forgiveness of him, through this very door.
Natchathiram Nagargiradhu is a revolution in peace. It’s not a film that bulldozes harmful social structures into rubble; it’s a film calmer in its battle. For instance, watch how it captures how one character, Arjun, gets gently nudged out of the metaphorical ropes tied around him by his family. This film, among other things, is also about the important rescue of Arjun. To paraphrase what he says after being saved from himself, “Now that you have saved me, I can convince others.” He’s a fascinating character, one who despite being an oppressor, gets treated with empathy by the film.
And how beautifully Ranjith plays with form. He shows great mastery over structure, expertly navigating through time and space.
It’s a film in which an Ilaiyaraaja song sung by someone causes you to get lost in thought about the significance of the lyrics, about the significance of the composer in life and society and politics… While we have had plenty of old film songs get reused or repurposed for stylistic reasons, here, Ranjith uses many old Ilaiyaraaja songs to make a powerful point about why his success is so important. In form and structure, this is perhaps the most inventive film I have seen in Tamil cinema in years.
In politics, Ranjith is in control, as always. “Love is politics!” Rene thunders, and how do you disagree when you recognise the atrocities committed to those in love? The Indianostrum theatre group that the main characters are a part of, feels like a microcosm of the real world. There is great variety in representation. You have a lesbian couple, a gay couple, a man in love with a transwoman, a love triangle between Rene, Iniyan and Arjun, an aging man in love with a French woman, a man in an arranged marriage… There’s a clear calculated effort to portray the many types of romantic love, and it’s wonderful that these characters exude great togetherness. Not once does their unity feel forced.
It is a wickedly funny film too. Be it in Arjun’s cinematic expressions of love or the passing insults at conventional education, this film has some unforgettable humour drawn organically from within its universe. Or how about when Ranjith captures the ‘theatricality’ and ‘drama’ of Arjun’s household? I laughed out loud when Arjun’s mother threatens to commit suicide.
That entire second-half stretch feels like a reminder that sometimes, you don’t need to engage in a bitter battle with conservative, casteist forces. Those who aren’t open to transformation deserve nothing more than a laugh of dismissal. That’s perhaps why Rene laughs often, even in arguably inappropriate circumstances. She laughs in the face of oppression. She laughs in the face of possession. She laughs in the face of masculinity and insecurity. She laughs a glorious, uncurtailed, emasculating laugh—a laugh that’s at once so terrible and so beautiful.
I didn’t walk out of Natchathiram Nagargiradhu feeling hopeless and sad. Sure, I felt sad about all the broken Renes out there, disheartened about the restrictions on artists, disturbed by the violence of oppressors… but the dominant thought I had while walking out was how misinterpreted romantic love is in our society, and how narrow its definition is. Perhaps if we allowed love more freedom, the world could finally begin to heal. I walked out having fallen in love… with love.
And that’s all thanks to Ranjith who is clearly changing, thinking, evolving... Rene once says in the film that political correctness is all about reflecting upon oneself and getting better—that it isn’t a destination, but a journey. I’m thrilled that one of our foremost filmmakers is undergoing such a journey, and the result is the best film he’s made so far.
Director: Pa Ranjith
Cast: Dushara Vijayan, Kalaiyarasan, Kalidas Jayaram, Hari Krishnan, Subhatra
Rating: 4.5/5