From tentative beginnings, Udhayanidhi Stalin has been forged as an actor over the last decade. He has enjoyed hits, suffered failures, and dealt with criticism with likeable self-deprecating humour. “I’m not sure I can be called an actor even today. I’m not sure. It all depends on the filmmaker I work with,” he says, following it up with that now-all-too-familiar disarming laugh.
However, on evidence of his work in Maamannan, alongside giants like Vadivelu and Fahadh Faasil no less, it’s clear that he has become a better actor, much better than any detractor might have imagined during his initial days. And he has chosen this moment—when he is most comfortable in front of a camera—to step away and focus instead on his political career. Here’s the actor-politician discussing many nuances of Maamannan, including why he chose it to be his last film.
Excerpts:
Any doubts over your announcement that Maamannan is your last film?
Not at all. I have felt the calling of my political career for some time now. In fact, while I was shooting for Nenjukku Needhi, there were times when I was asking myself what I was doing reading scene papers when I had work to do as an MLA.
Sure, that film wasn’t of the ‘commercial’ format and didn’t have me falling in love and singing duets, but I still felt that I should be out in the real world, working for the people. I decided then that I would do just one more film. I was to star in a film produced by Kamal sir, but with just ten days to go before shooting, thalaivar (Chief Minister MK Stalin) told me of his decision to make me a minister. When I told Kamal sir, he understood and wished me well.
With the world of Tamil filmmakers available for you to choose from, what about Mari Selvaraj made you want him as the director of your last film?
From his previous two films, we know that Mari’s films speak of social justice. I wanted my last film to be on similar lines. In fact, you will see that my last four-five films haven’t had me playing flippant characters or being part of the ‘commercial cinema’ format. I felt Maamannan would be a fitting last film to sign out with.
Is it possible for a filmmaker to refuse when a powerful personality like you asks?
Mari has been refusing me for some time now. (Laughs) I asked to do a film with him after Pariyerum Perumal; this was when I hadn’t decided to quit acting. I asked him again after Karnan, and he told me again that he had many commitments. I think that when he narrated Maamannan to me, he half-expected me to get shocked and back off. I didn’t—and this came as a bit of a shock to him. This was a film of many shocks. I was, for instance, shocked when he suggested Vadivelu for the role of the father.
Is your move towards these socially conscious films (Nenjukku Needhi, Kalaga Thalaivan, Maamannan…) aimed at benefitting your political journey?
If I sought political mileage from cinema, I would have changed a lot about Maamannan. I would have asked for scenes to be cut, and dialogues to be altered. I would have wanted many Vadivelu dialogues to be handed to me instead. None of this happened; Mari was free to make the film he envisioned. Rahman sir once said, ‘Ellaa pugazhum iraivanukke’; I would like to say, ‘Elaa pugazhum iyakkunarukke’.
In the film, your character Adhiveeran is from an oppressed community and is traumatised by much hurt and humiliation. You are, in contrast, from a powerful family and come from privilege. Was it difficult for you to understand Adhiveeran’s state of mind?
Anyone who has read Periyar will understand the pain of the oppressed. But yes, even though I come from a political family, it is only during the last decade that I have truly become informed about our society. In 2011, a film called 7aum Arivu, produced by our company, had a dialogue against caste-based reservation. The film’s actor, Suriya, learned of this dialogue before release and urged me to delete it. I dismissed the concern then, seeing cinema as only an art form.
However, today, I wouldn’t make that mistake. We change all the time. My reading and conversations with party members have made me aware of why our party was founded in the first place. I have been reading the works of Periyar and my grandfather (Mu Karunanidhi). I can only imagine the number of youngsters out there, like me, who take time to understand these complex issues. I think that’s why filmmakers like Pa Ranjith, Mari Selvaraj and Vetri Maaran are important—and I am glad their films are doing well.
Given your stature, it’s likely that people will hesitate to reproach you. And yet, it’s important that a filmmaker be allowed to express his unhappiness to actors for their benefit.
I simply submitted to Mari. He is a man of great patience and resolve. He is a perfectionist who simply won’t settle. He enacts scenes and shows exactly what he wants from us. “Give me 50% of this; that will do!” he would say. Even if we blinked at the wrong time, we would have to redo scenes. That interval scene everyone’s talking about… we shot it in full many times over for different camera angles. For a Fahadh close-up, we did the scene at least 50-60 times. Even up till the day of the film’s release, he was willing to shoot more. I think of him more as a magician than as a filmmaker. Nobody understands his process, and yet, he manages to create cinematic magic.
While on admiration, we are all huge fans of Vadivelu. Was it hard not to burst out laughing while shooting with him?
It was close to impossible. I’m a big fan and remember his dialogues word-for-word. So familiar is Vadivelu’s face to anyone who likes Tamil cinema that the smallest reaction from him can remind you of a comedy scene and get you laughing. This happened to me many times during shooting and led to Mari getting a bit frustrated with us. At one point, he declared that he had always thought of himself as the best fan of Vadivelu, but that he had realised I was a bigger fan.
It was Vadivelu’s footage that Mari first showed to help me understand his vision for this film. After seeing it, I hugged Vadivelu and shared my astonishment at what he had done. Even Kamal sir, after seeing the film, said, ‘Do you see what my brother (Vadivelu) has done? This is what he does.’ Many films demand great chemistry between the hero and the heroine, but in Maamannan, this was needed between Vadivelu and me, and I think we have made it work.
Given that this is your last film as an actor, how would you summarise your evolution over the last ten years?
I remember being clueless in my first film, Oru Kal Oru Kannadi. I simply stood, danced a bit, and relied entirely on Santhanam and composer Harris Jayaraj to do the heavy lifting. After Manithan (2016), I realised that I should demand more from myself as an actor. I’ve done well since then, I think. I can summarise my acting career with a line from a Vivek comedy scene: ‘Epdi irundha naan, ipdi aiten’.