iruvar.pdf

8/20/2019 iruvar.pdf

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Thoughts on Mani Ratnam's 'Iruvar'

Before the title of the movie roles onto the screen there is a quick

almost obligatory message that informs us ‘this is not a true story’.

Point blank and bland, automatically implying that the content can

and will be easily relatable to some very significant event or events or

possibly even people. It almost serves as a strict voice warning us not

to think of a pink elephant and there pops into our head without

apology, the bewildered pink elephant.

The screen suddenly bursts into the sound of a moving train and we

are given a quick view of a young boy looking out of the window of the

train. We do not see what he is seeing and we do not know what

makes him smile with a sense of quickening eager anticipation. A split

second later the silent title rolls onto pitch black canvas and curiosity

over that boy is filed away for scrutiny at a later point because it’s hard

to think of anything else when the oddly forewarning and thrilling titlewashes over you. Iruvar; a title that is indicative and evocative of

tender closeness and a strong bond between two people who

seamlessly integrate into one, is ironically displayed without the

slightest hint of sound or dash of colour. The bleak indication of such

an emotionally compelling, almost poetic word injected a sense of

foreboding coupled with an involuntary tremble in me. The way it was

displayed was very telling of turbulence which was they very opposite

emotion you would expect to feel given the meaning of the word.

Throughout the movie I kept wondering how people could watch it

without immediately drawing a parallel to the TamilNadu political

giants, M.G.Ramachandran and Kalaignar Karunanidhi because that

was all I was doing. Of course, I watched it many years after the film


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released and by then there were already countless articles and reviews

and critical analysis pieces that delved into the political fabric that the

film was built on so I cannot say that my viewing was not coloured by

the many years of opinions and debates.

The story revolved around Anandhan (Mohanlal) and Tamizhselvan

(Prakashraj) whose friendship was very real and believable because

they were not the typical ‘bros’ that you are overdosed with in cinema

today but are such stark opposites that one wonders what it was that

could possibly create such a strong bond between the two of them.Their friendly banter and arguments make for light viewing but you

feel the subtle undercurrents of the serious nature of what they argue

about; the steadfast passionate opinionated tamizh scholar poet

(Prakashraj) against the more carefree, cherubic aspiring actor

(Mohanlal).

The film is carried through not only by the compelling performances ofthe lead characters complemented well by the other smaller parts but

also by the writing, the cinematography and the setting of every scene.

The music of course, in my opinion, deserves a standing ovation and

definitely more than a one line mention. But coming back to the other,

more technical aspects of the movie, what struck me as most

impressive was the tone and mood of the entire film.

Keeping aside the period (1950) that it was staged and set in, the

political narrative and the turbulence in the heart of two friends within

the same political party was heightened by the lighting in many

places. While there is not one instance of overexposure or overly bright

light, there are songs like Narumugaiye depicted in black and white


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which not only keeps with the reality of films that were shot in that

period but also lends a bit of mystery to the entire picturization.

Just like how cinema in that era slowly progressed from black andwhite to colour, so does the lighting scheme in the movie. This actually

lends another ironic tint to the narrative because while the film

shooting and the songs and the general light of the entire movie

becomes slowly more bright and colourful, the lives of the

protagonists seems to become more convoluted and filled with a

certain bleakness or I would say, blackness.

The viewer cannot help but be completely entangled in the political

web of state politics which disrupts the careful balance that the two

friends had unconsciously found between each other. I would have

expected politics to make for another boring, preachy sermon laden

with heavy drama. But with the inclusion of these two central

characters and their story of friendship marred by the political partythey both become a part of and having a reference point to two leaders

of TamilNadu made for a gripping viewing experience.

In the scene where Tamizh shows Anandhan how much power and

responsibility lies in the hands of a political leader just by raising

Anandhan’s hand to a swarming crowd that stood below which

immediately responded with frenzied shouts and slogans of approval,there is a head rush that made me realize how much overwhelming

power politicians could wield and how we were all mere pawns in the

bigger picture.

If the political scenario has changed in terms of how people are not as

gullible and susceptible to political power and authority as they once

was what has not changed since that scene is the amount of influence


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that a film actor, a Superstar, can have on the public. It goes beyond

reason and indeed, beyond basic good sense and not making a fool of

oneself. We know what it is like to abandon all caution and shame in

front of a film star whom we revere and worship. We know that

everything on screen is just a well played part but reasoning and logic

always take a back seat when we finally see them in flesh and blood.

Which is what happens to Tamizh’s wife Maragadham(Revathy) when

she meets her husband’s best friend, the great actor Anandhan.

Whereas on the other end of the spectrum there is Kalpana (AishwaryaRai) who is representative of that very small subset of people who do

not lose their head while facing a ‘super celebrity’ but instead, delve

into the deeper characteristics traits of that star and humanizes him for

herself, for him and for the audience. But it must be borne that it takes

another actor, a superstar in her own right, to humanize someone of

Anandhan’s stature.

Which brings me to the performances. Aishwarya transforms

completely from the ‘homely’ yet intelligent Pushpanjali to the

‘modern’ mischievous sharp-tongued Kalpana with ease and the two

characters have been etched in such a way that their essence is the

same, only their deliverance of that essence is altered which gives

birth to such refreshingly varied characters. Revathy and Tabu depict

the situation of women in that time period who had to deal with the

husbands having more than one wife with only subtle and silent

indications of internal pain, with the requisite subtlety and strength.

Tabu’s entry into Prakashraj’s life and the scene that follows with the

hauntingly powerful and stirring rendition of Unnodu naan irundha

after they


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make love is one of the most wrenching and compelling scenes in the

entire film, wrought with silent and poetic emotions.

With regard to Prakashraj and Mohanlal, their names are a dead give

away to the kind of performances that they would have given to such

powerful roles. Being directed by a director as intelligent and endowed

with vision as Mani Ratnam only heightens their natural acting

prowess. Somewhere along the line, a choice has to be made between

the two friends and I could not help but be drawn towards Anandhan

which made me wonder if painting M.G.R’s (I know I am being

politically incorrect) character in a way that made the audiencesympathize with him, was something that the director had no choice

about.

It is not as though Tamizhselvan had any undesirable or immoral traits,

he just felt a lot more human with his fixed view points, especially

about the transience of cinema, which never wavered even when his

best friend left the party and started another (clearly more successful)party of his own.

The tussle between the current and the former Chief Minister is only

too familiar especially if you are

watching the movie in the 21st century and are fully aware of all the

consequences and repercussions that took place ever since the splitand how people are caught being yo-yo’s between the spectrum of two

political giants who are caught up in personal tussles as much as they

are in major political issues. In fact it has only gotten worse in the last

many years with politics taking a turn for the nasty, ugly and uncouth.

Literally. But that is beside the point.


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The music in the movie was truly groundbreaking if for nothing but the

sheer recreation of the music of a bygone era, with an entirely new

sound to it. Rahman literally took something that had already been

created and was already in existence, and transformed it into a whole

new realm of music that enthralled and caused a chill to shiver down

your spine. The lyrics written by Vairamuthu for Udal Manukku

commanded a fierce demand for respect and fear and while in the

context of the film was written by Tamizhselvan for a song in one of

Anandhan’s movies there was, once again, a hint of irony in the lyrics.

Nam vetru paathaiyil narigal vanthall, virundhu vaippom vinnukku (If

any foxes dare cross our victorious path, we will lay them as a feast for

the heavens above). While Anandhan’s raced ferociously on horses

with his men galloping behind him, mercilessly slaying bad guys to

the lyrics written by his best friend, the same words seem fitting when

the man who penned those lyrics when his friends acting dreams came

true, asked his to give up that dream in order to keep his place in theparty.

Unnodu naan irundha ovvoru mani thuliyum is sensuous enough to

make you flush and yet respect and understand the beauty of the

physical attachment that has sprung between two adults who know

that they are fighting with fire and enjoy the warm flame upon their

skins. The clever camera angle with the two lovers positioned on

opposing sides with their cheeks in contact evokes an image of conflict

which finds peace when Tabu gives up the struggle and willingly gives

herself to Prakashraj heart body and soul.


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The almost overly strong recitation of the poem and the faintly

resounding percussion in the background all adds perfectly to the

complexity and beauty of the situation.

In many ways, Iruvar could be framed as a politically incorrect and

controversial movie. If not for the disclaimer in the start of the movie,

the splendid performances of all the actors, the underlying subtext in

the plotline, the setting, the design, the music, the overwhelming

intelligence that a director can bring to the entire structure of his

movie, Iruvar could have ended badly. But it had all that it had andmore, and ended up being a launch pad for a lot of people and a lot of

things, but most significantly hope for the future of Tamil cinema and

the path ahead for an exciting film maker.


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Iruvar – The Doomed Masterpiece

vsnipz / April 5, 2012

Gopala Ratnam Subramaniam Iyer perhaps knew somewhere at the

back of his mind that the political saga he was about to embark on

after the hugely successful BOMBAY, could be doomed for failure.

What he perhaps never imagined was that he was about to create a

cinematic masterpiece so brilliant and haunting, neither government,

nor box-office could prevent it from engraving itself in the hearts andminds of Indian cinephiles. IRUVAR was bold, not just for it’s

fictionalized exploration of the epic M.G. Ramachandran– M.

Karunanidhi relationship, but for the cinematic trends Mani Ratnam

chose to break, or as some may argue, return to.

The 90s were the age of A.R. Rahman’s Muqabla and Humma Humma.

Shankar had stormed into the scene with a string of commercialspectacles. Audiences preferred action and gimmickry to the more

simplistic, script and character-oriented family dramas that dominated

the earlier years. Technology had taken over the Kodambakkam film

industry and filmmaking became an excuse to play with these new

toys. Audiences didn’t seem to mind either, for to be awed and nothing

less, they went to the movies. Star or not, every producer was making

money.

And then there was Mani sir. Neither Kollywood’s newly acquired toys,

nor Rahman’s rhythms fascinated him anymore. At a time when

theatres boasted of their gargantuan cinemascope screens, Ratnam

stuck his middle finger up and shot his film in a classical 4:3 aspect

ratio, unthinkable in an industry that has refused to even consider


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fact that IRUVAR narrates a parallel story of two men, not just a sole

protagonist. Ratnam chronicles Anandan and Tamizhchelvan’s rise in

cinema and politics respectively through the first act, laying the seeds

for a meeting of political ideology and influence. Tamizhchelvan writes

politically and nationalistically charged lines which Anandan heroically

performs on screen, sending Tamil Nadu’s cinema-mad public into

frenzy. Anandan is the face of the fervor, his fans willing to dance to his

every tune, yet he doesn’t know it. Tamizhchelvan spots a man capable

of defining history and in what is perhaps one of the film’s most

exhilarating scenes, strips Anandan off all his innocence, giving himhis first raw taste of power. Yet, Tamizhchelvan fears for the corruption

of politics by cinema, opposing the party’s decision to recruit

Page 3 of 5

Thoughts on Mani Ratnam's 'Iruvar' 12/01/2016, 17:40

Anandan as a member. The stage is set for a brewing ideological clash

between two best friends, held together by one man, Aiyya (Anna

Durai). In one of the most telling scenes of the film, Ramani reminds

Anandan that he is late for a political rally, only to realize he already

knows it. Anandan takes Kalpana (based on Jayalalithaa) along for theride, strategically making his entrance at the rally in the middle of

Tamizhchelvan’s speech, just to test his power. When Tamizhchelvan

denies him a ministry position, Anandan knows he has what he needs

to fly solo. or enable JavaScript if it is disabled in your browser.

The epic battle scales heights Anandan and Tamizhchelvan perhaps

never imagined it would. In the midst of it all, Ratnam fashions a scene


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of stupendous poignancy where the friends who have turned foes

come face to face. The mastery of Mohanlal’s and Prakash Raj’s

performance speaks volumes without any words about the war which

has become bigger than them, escalated to a point of no return.

While IRUVAR is a fictionalized account of the MGR-Karunanidhi tale,

Ratnam doesn’t shy away from anecdotal references. Like MGR,

Anandan is shown to have Keralite roots, he is accidentally shot by a

reigning villain during a movie shoot, MGR’s move to provide every

unemployed man with a cycle-rickshaw to earn a living is referenced in

a song, even the oft-heard rumour of Jayalalithaa bearing an uncannyresemblance to MGR’s first wife is blatantly played out with the casting

of Aishwarya Rai in a double role. And this very quality of the film was

perhaps its undoing, for Ratnam failed to fictionalize his script enough

to escape the wrath of political parties. The film was initially denied a

censor certificate by a cowardly board that seemed more vested in the

interests of references to politicians still in the game. IRUVAR was

eventually cleared by a special revision committee, with severe

dialogue cuts, which Ratnam would mask with Rahman’s scintillating

score, edited for dramatic impact. Despite the clearance, politicians

threatened legal and physical action if “objectionable” portions on the

Dravidian movement weren’t removed. Mani Ratnam did not relent,

but eventually, exhibitors did. Was it political vendetta that forced

them to do so, or a dumbed down audience more interested in thekind of political film where a man becomes Chief Minister for a day,

jumps on buses and beats the living daylights out of goons, we may

never know.

What we do know is that IRUVAR, for its craft and Mani Ratnam’s

fearlessness, is a landmark in Tamil cinema. Santosh Sivan’s majestic

frames are studied by cinephiles all over India even today. Who needs


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cinemascope for a film to look epic? Ratnam and Sivan reinforced that

the classical ratio still stood firm as the frame to capture the most

expressive compositions. Sivan deservedly won the National Award for

Best Cinematography for his work. Be it the previously cited scene of

Anandan realizing his power or the one where he speaks on stage with

the camera circling around during the speech, Sivan’s work blended

the classical style of the early days with movements better known to

the post-modern era. Yet, it is his use of natural light in static interior

compositions and spectacular deep-focus photography, rarely ever

seen in Indian films such as in the scenes below that exemplify hismastery.

Equally significant is Suresh Urs’ editing which never allows a dull

moment in a film clocking in at 2 hours and 38 minutes. The

juxtaposition of shots is as meticulous as the shots themselves,

allowing performances to play out, milking each for emotion to the

maximum. The concept of “less is more” has never been exemplified

better in Indian cinema editing, as Urs is never insecure about staying

on shots without cutting away, as long as the shot itself is enhancing

and diversifying the value of the scene. It remains a pity Urs’ edit was

marred by censor cuts. The recently deceased Art Director Samir

Chanda often goes unmentioned in discussions on IRUVAR and

inexplicably so. The detailing of the time period is dexterous and

impeccable. From the movie sets that Anandan shoots in to thedetailing of the exteriors, Chanda’s work is exemplary.

IRUVAR sees Mani Ratnam speak a cinematic language that is perhaps

still alien to a majority of the Tamil mainstream audience. Yet, he

maintains a mainstream format of filmmaking, replete with lip-sync

song interludes, which he uses craftily as part of his narrative. One of

the most eye-popping of them is the politically charged “Udal

mannukku, uyir thamizhukku” interlude, voiced by actor Arvind


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Swamy, shot in stunning Black & White, in angles and compositions

reminiscent of a Kurosawa battle scene, which finishes with a rousing

ovation at a local movie theatre.

A.R. Rahman brings back the style of the 50’s and 60’s in much of the

songs with nasally sung melodies, heavy use of the accordion and

harmonica, and even a superlative exploration of jazz and the blues in

Hello Mr. Ethirkatchi and Vennila Vennila respectively, the latter sung to

utmost perfection by the amazing Asha Bhosle. It is often argued that

at times the songs hamper IRUVAR’s flow, at one point, two of themliterally popping up back to back. But the music and picturization are

so wonderful, Ratnam makes it difficult for viewers to keep up their

complaints.

Fifteen years after IRUVAR’s release, or close to forty years since its

setting, the film remains topical even today. The DMK-AIADMK rivalry

in Tamil Nadu still prevails, the inseparable relationship between

politics and cinema still plagues creativity, Tamil filmmakers still fear totackle mature, political subjects, while the audience has moved

towards patronizing a brand of cinema that couldn’t be farther away

from what Ratnam attempted with this film. Yet, IRUVAR will live on,

not just as Mani Ratnam’s greatest and boldest film till date, but also

the only, albeit unofficial cinematic account of Tamil Nadu’s political

history.

As I conclude this recollection of my favourite Tamil film of all time, I’d

like to showcase the excerpt below that exemplifies every aspect of

IRUVAR’s craft, and ends with the film’s single-most memorable line.

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