Ask anyone trying to break into the Tamil film industry as a director today, and they’ll tell you what helps them land offers—appeal to all three centers, a separate comedy track, and of course, the usual masala elements. In a milieu that rewards only such films, that a Magalir Mattum was made is in itself something to rejoice.
A film that has women occupying the screen throughout, is of course the kind of stuff dreams are made for, for those demanding better representation for women on screen in our cinema. Remember that feeling you would get, while waiting in the bus stop on those busy mornings, dreading a packed bus, when suddenly a Ladies Special bus came your way? That sigh of relief, one where your tense muscles would just relax? That’s what the first Magalir Mattum did back in 1994 to watchers.
And that’s what this film does. As a woman watching commercial cinema, you are always defensive because writing convincing women is one of those things commercial filmmakers fail at miserably. So just the sheer number of women of a certain age that I don’t see regularly at night shows, but were there at this film’s screening, should tell producers, if you represent them right, they will come to cinemas.
Magalir Mattum begins with a song written by Uma Devi: Adi Vaadi Thimira (Come with audacity). And the words of song, defiant, strong, subversive, set the tone for the film. Tying the movie together is Jyotika’s Prabhavati, a documentary filmmaker. The song is also subversive in the way it introduces Prabhavati’s many facets to the audience: she makes movies, is a social justice advocate, wears black and conducts a Self-Respect marriage, etc.
Throughout this film, Jyotika walks and talks with an air of confidence unseen in Tamil cinema for a long, long time. Sripriya in Aval Appadithan comes to mind for many reasons. Of course, the film itself feels like a tribute to Aval Appadithan and there are also references to other gems—like a reference to that immortal ‘Phataphat’ from Aval Oru Thodargadhai.
After all this rich writing, you’d expect this movie to be about Prabhavati, while others prop her up. It is not. At all. Such is director Bramma’s craft. It is about three women, who meet after decades of being separated from each other.
A fabulous Urvashi as Goms (aka Gomata), a radiant and convincing Bhanupriya as Rani, and a superb Saranya as Subbulakshmi. Gomata, who is soon to be Prabhavati’s mother-in-law (her son is away abroad), reconnects with her childhood best friends, Rani and Subbulakshmi. Rani lives in Agra in the midst of a family that has forgotten to see the person that she is. Her politician husband calls her, ‘Ey’ and wants to prop her up as a dummy ‘woman’ candidate.
Subbu, a beautician, lives with an alcoholic husband and a bedridden mother-in-law, whose bitterness towards her would be unbelievable if you didn’t know just how bitter people can be, towards women in their own families. Subbu’s reaction to it all, which is to pretend that none of it is happening, and go on with life with a straight face is moving. And original.
The lack of too much sentimentality marks a fresh departure in terms of writing for women. The three women re-connect and embark on a road trip through picturesque places, as the film oscillates to tell us about their lives in the past and now. From thwarted plans and separation from friends, to first love and a very original scene of a calf being born… the film is filled with gems.
The film’s biggest success is in humanising the holy cow (or Gomata) that is ‘Amma’ in Tamil cinema. One of the best punches in the film went to Rani’s granddaughter. She picks up her call and asks her if she has gone thappichu (escaped) from the house. The women in the theatre broke into loud laughter.
Twitter@krupage
This weekly column is a rumination on how women are portrayed in cinema
(The writer is a city-based journalist and editor)