REVIEW 608: AABHAASAM

Release date:	Kerala: May 4, Delhi: May 25, 2018
Director:	Jubith Namradath
Cast: Language:	Suraj Venjaramoodu, Rima Kallingal, Sheethal Shyam, Nirmal Palazhi, Alencier Ley Lopez, Indrans, Nithin Raj, Nassar, Abhija Sivakala, Mammukoya Malayalam

When a bus called Gandhi from Democracy Travels takes off on a Karnataka-Kerala highway, it seems inevitable that this will be an eventful ride. The passengers include a lustful male conductor out to maul a beautiful single woman on board, a transsexual who bonds with the latter, a horny man who is turned on at the sight of a couple making out, a solo female traveller separated by a few seats from an attentive and attractive young fellow, a sickly chap seated beside a considerate youth, a child sexual abuse survivor, an over-zealous Christian duo, a hypocritical Muslim guy who makes puritanical demands on his wife, a thin-skinned Hindu pilgrim and a foreigner curious about Hinduism. Gandhi is part of a fleet that includes vehicles named Godse, Jinnah, Marx and Ambedkar.

This is the sort of concept that could potentially translate into terribly pretentious or terribly clever satire. Debutant writer-director Jubith Namradath’s Aabhaasam is a mixed bag. The christening of the buses ends up sounding puerile in a film that whiles away too much time getting to where it wants to go, and packs in too much blatant messaging on the way there. Too many metaphors in Aabhaasam lack subtlety, too many characters rear their heads with promise but then fade away, and there are too many socio-political references that, though current and relevant, barely skim the surface of the issues in question. In its exploration of gender dynamics on the bus though, Namradath does indeed make a significant point.

Aabhaasam variously means immorality, indecency and vulgarity. The director says the title is also a crunching down of Aarsha Bharatha Samskaram, a glorious era in India’s (arguably mythical) past. The irony clearly did not go down well with the Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC), which initially gave Aabhaasam an unfairly severe A (adults only) rating, which was changed to UA after a long-drawn-out battle. Namradath has told the news media that the Censors attributed the A to his film’s “anti-establishment” nature. I will leave it to lawyers to discuss the illegality of that criterion, and dwell instead on the over-sensitivity of the sarkar.

If “establishment” is to be read literally here as “India’s present government / ruling party”, then the examining committee was most probably irked by the (amusing) mention in the film of beef dishes being camouflaged on the menu of a Malayali restaurant in Karnataka. It is a measure of this government’s extreme insecurity that its flunkies in the CBFC have found this passing aside in Aabhaasam bothersome.

If “anti-establishment” is to be read as “anti-status quo”, well then, it is the job of creative persons to question prevailing power structures, and yes, Aabhaasam does that. It is not the CBFC’s job to object to this (or any) filmmaker’s decision to hammer patriarchy and sexual repression, take minor potshots at major religions and the government.

Aabhaasam’s earnestness in an intimidating political environment is no doubt impressive. Sadly, its good intentions take it only so far and not further.

The success of an ensemble enterprise depends on the writer developing multiple single-line descriptors into full-fledged characters, memorable whether they are big or small. The sexually unapologetic Seema from Angamaly Diaries, Kachra the Dalit spinner from Lagaan and Maman the vile gangster from Slumdog Millionaire are what iconic ensemble films are made of – etched forever in the public consciousness although they were just satellite presences in their respective films. Despite Aabhaasam’s ensemble cast of respected artistes, most of the characters are briefly engaging but not effectively expanded by the screenplay into individuals with a distinctive personality and profile that goes beyond the markers of the social group they are meant to represent.

The only fully-fleshed-out player in Aabhaasam, the person who makes the film worthwhile, is the creepy bus attendant played by Suraj Venjaramoodu. The story emerging from his actions, the equation that forms between the woman he targets (Rima Kallingal), her new found trans friend (Sheethal Shyam) and the stranger played by Abhija Sivakala, lead to well-thought-out consequences and a credible conclusion.

It helps that all four actors are remarkable. Kallingal and Shyam deserved better-scripted roles, but they do well with what they are served. Venjaramoodu, with the benefit of the film’s best-written part, makes a chameleon-like descent into sliminess that is particularly striking because his turn as a sweetly subdued husband to a fiery wife in Thondimuthalum Driksakshiyum last year is still so fresh in the mind. Sivakala is a powerhouse performer and makes a mark with just a few minutes of screen time.

Namradath’s potential is evident with the strand involving this quartet in Aabhaasam. Their impact is diluted inexcusably though by the many wanderings in the screenplay, including a self-indulgent, intellectually la-di-da sequence in the lap of nature featuring Kallingal and Shyam. As if infected by the mood, editor Shameer Muhammed, who is otherwise so wonderful, allows too many moments, shots and scenes to linger longer than they should until the film’s final, finally interesting half hour.

If great principles alone could make great art, every activist would be an artist. Jubith Namradath’s sincerity is evident in Aabhaasam but obviously more was needed. Where his film works is when it is not making over-smart, snappy statements, but telling a story instead. Honestly, that story should have been enough.

Rating (out of five stars): *3/4

CBFC Rating (India):	UA
Running time:	121 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

https://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/aabhaasam-movie-review-gender-dynamics-save-the-day-in-this-over-stuffed-satire-4485763.html

Posters courtesy: https://www.facebook.com/aabhaasamFilm/

REVIEW 607: KAAMUKI

Release date:	Kerala: May 11, Delhi: May 25, 2018
Director:	Binu S.
Cast: Language:	Aparna Balamurali, Askar Ali, Kavya Suresh, Baiju, Kochu Preman Malayalam

When we first meet her as a teenager, the heroine of Kaamuki has just one preoccupation: she wants larger breasts so that lecherous men will stalk and harass her.

Yes, you read that right. This is not about a pubescent kid’s increasing awareness of her changing body, nor about a girl’s new-found interest in boys, or even an immature young woman’s desire for male attention. Let me say it again, slowly, so that it sinks in: Kaamuki’s leading lady Achamma Varghese a.k.a. Achu w.a.n.t.s. l.a.r.g.e.r. b.r.e.a.s.t.s. s.o. t.h.a.t. l.e.c.h.e.r.o.u.s. m.e.n. w.i.l.l. s.t.a.l.k. a.n.d. h.a.r.a.s.s. h.e.r. She does not consider it stalking or harassment, of course. She has far more positive nouns and adjectives for such obnoxious male behaviour. And the film’s attempt through that entire segment is to draw laughs from the audience courtesy the young woman’s desperation.

It goes without saying that writer-director Binu S’s Kaamuki (Female Lover) belongs to the Omar Lulu school of crude, deeply disturbing cinema. It is politically incorrect and insensitive not just on the gender front, as you will learn later in this review. In fact, it is deficient in pretty much all departments: it lacks focus, it jumps from theme to theme, it is heroine-centric in the opening half but relegates Achu to a supporting role in the hero’s existence post-interval, and it is brimful of clichés about Kerala college life.

At first it appears that this will be a comedy about a girl who is burdened with the old-fashioned name Achamma in the modern world. Next it heads in the direction of being a comedy about a girl from a conservative home – the same Achamma – anxious to catch the eye of a man, any available man, leery ones included. Finally Kaamuki rolls around to being the tale of a boy who is blind but does not want his disability to define him.

The latter gentleman is Hari, Achu’s collegemate when she enrols for a post-graduate degree in social work, and soon the object of her affection. Her initial encounters with him and his best friend Jaffer at their college in Kerala’s Kalady town are designed to play to the gallery with the widely perpetuated notion that sexual harassment is usually a figment of women’s imagination as a result of which paavam men constantly get into trouble for things they did not do or intend.

Having spent Kaamuki’s first half wincing at the light-hearted tone Binu S. adopts while portraying men – including teachers – flinging words like “piece” and “item” around to describe women in Achu’s college, casually hounding these women and worse, I spent the second half shuddering at his idea of what it takes to move an audience to tears at the travails of a sightless man.

In a scene that puts in the shade everything that passed before it in Kaamuki, a father’s proprietorial attitude towards his daughter prompts him to test a blind man’s husband-worthiness by challenging him to locate the girl in a crowd without any help. She allows it to happen. The gathering too allows it to happen, convinced no doubt about a man’s ownership rights over his daughter. And it does not occur to the couple that the decision to be with the boy should be the girl’s and hers alone. 

The hypocrisy and muddled nature of Kaamuki, and the lack of intelligence in India’s film Censorship system are particularly glaring in two scenes in which the following words flash on screen: “Violence against women is punishable under law.” Whether the declaration was voluntarily placed there by Binu S. or forced on him by the Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC), it illustrates Indian society’s twisted understanding of “violence”. The line first appears when Achu’s father hits his other daughter for marrying a man of her choice; and later when a male collegemate attempts to intimidate Achu, only to be punched by Jaffer.

It seems not to matter to anyone involved that before Achu’s Dad struck her elder sister, considerable time in the film had been devoted to trivialising sexual harassment while Achu longs for her breasts to attract random lewd men. While the father physically attacking a daughter elicits these words of censure on screen, what is one to say of the romanticisation of that later scene in which the same father denies another daughter her agency and is cruel to the man she loves? Or the fact that Jaffer, who seeks to protect Achu from a sexual predator, is predatory towards other women? For the record, this horrific film has been awarded the mildest available CBFC rating: U, which means it has been deemed fit for viewing by children.

If this were a non-descript venture it would be a separate matter, but Kaamuki has the redoubtable Aparna Balamurali playing Achu. Ever since this young star sparkled as Jimsy in the memorable Maheshinte Prathikaram (2016), I have been silently willing Mollywood to give her the central role in a quality film worthy of her, longing to see her in a heroine-led film about her character’s prathikaram, her swargarajyam, her suvisheshangal, her premalekhanam, her Edanthottam – the sort that tends to orbit men and routinely falls into the laps of male actors who are as talented or far less than she is.

No doubt the trailer and first half of Kaamuki revolve around her, but a woman-centric project such as this is as harmful to women as a male-centric film with the same mindset, since the director and indulgent audience members in the case of the former are likely to use the importance given to its heroine as a defence against charges of anti-women prejudice (just as the mere decision to have a blind man as the hero might be held up as a shield against criticism of this film’s horrendous treatment of disability). No Binu S., making Achamma dance in a mundu or getting her to say she wants a man for fun and not for love – “You mean premam? Athu okke veliye thalavedneyaa (That stuff’s a big headache). Only entertainment.” – does not absolve you of your misogyny.

Aparna Balamurali, how could you degrade yourself by signing up for Kaamuki?

Rating (out of five stars): -10 Stars

CBFC Rating (India):	U
Running time:	138 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

https://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/kaamuki-movie-review-oh-aparna-balamurali-what-were-you-thinking-4484205.html

Posters courtesy: IMDB 

REVIEW 606: ABHIYUDE KADHA ANUVINTEYUM

Release date:	May 25, 2018
Director:	B.R. Vijayalakshmi
Cast: Language:	Tovino Thomas, Pia Bajpai, Rohini, Suhasini, Manobala, Prabhu Malayalam with some Tamil dialogues

It takes more than just charisma to rise above the inadequacies of a script. It takes experience. Tovino Thomas made for an irresistible scamp as a gangster hopelessly in love in Aashiq Abu’s Mayaanadhi last year and blazed across the screen with his intensity in Oru Mexican Aparatha, but his rawness becomes clear when his character who is meant to be a lovable young fellow turns out, in fact, to be quite irritating as he romances the heroine in the new Malayalam film Abhiyude Kadha Anuvinteyum (Abhi’s Story Is Also Anu’s Story), titled Abhiyum Anuvum (Abhi and Anu) in its simultaneously shot and released Tamil avatar.

He is not alone of course. Pia Bajpai, who plays Anu to his Abhi, is hampered as much by the writing as by her own acting limitations. Her Anu is just as irritating as Abhi is when their characters woo each other in the film’s first half.

Cinematographer-turned-director B.R. Vijayalakshmi’s Abhiyude Kadha Anuvinteyum (AKA) is written by Udayabanu Maheswaran. Before I proceed with this review, let me register my protest at the absence of English/Malayalam subtitles for the sizeable number of Tamil dialogues in the film. This calls for a separate discussion. Here for now is the story. AKA revolves around two youngsters who are poles apart – he works at a regular office in Chennai, she is a free-spirited organic farmer in Idukki, his preoccupations are personal, she is a social worker. Anu and Abhi encounter each other on the social media, then meet, fall in love and marry in a jiffy, before fate threatens to tear them asunder.

(Possible spoilers ahead) The revelation about Anu and Abhi’s relationship that comes in text on screen at the end, answers a question that was staring us in the face for almost an hour. It is a wonder that the lead couple were either too stupid or ignorant about biology to think of asking it. Without giving anything away, this is it: whose egg was it? Watch the film and you will know what I am referring to. When the answer comes in the finale, the entire premise of the tragedy that befalls them collapses. (Spoiler alert ends) 

Vijayalakshmi spares no effort in embellishing AKA’s wrapping. Compared to the other two Malayalam films I have watched this week, Kaamuki and Aabhaasam, this one is clearly the most technologically accomplished and appears the most costly. 

Dharan Kumar’s background score, for one, adds to the surface allure of this package although the songs are too many and too generic. Cinematographer Agilan has made optimum use of the locations at his disposal, from thickly vegetated mountainous regions that lend themselves to great visuals to a less conventionally handsome urban high-rise apartment complex. His work in home interiors in the city and the countryside are facilitated by Shiva Yadav’s spiffy production design.

However much fluff and gloss AKA couches itself in though, it cannot hide the fact that it is a regressive film convinced of its progressiveness. Among other things, there is the exasperatingly clichéd route taken by Anu and Abhi’s courtship, rejigging tropes that should be familiar to anyone who regularly watches commercial Indian cinema across languages. Everything these two do is positioned as cute and sweet and breezy and forward, but at the end of the day she turns out to be a tease who plays a cruel game with him to test his love for her, in scenes that conform to the standard assumption that this is precisely how all women behave with men, that when a woman says “no” what she means is she wants to be chased.

In some ways, AKA reminded me of Mani Ratnam’s OK Kanmani in which the veteran director gave us not a true-blue young romance but his vision of what today’s youth do when in love blended with a quaintly traditional older person’s idea of coolth. AKA is far more harmful. For genuine coolth born of conviction and broad-mindedness, not just a desire to engage with a new audience, watch Mayaanadhi, my friends.

Anu and Abhi are the Barbie and Ken of Indian conservatism, with all the trappings that tend to be viewed by mainstream Indian cinema as hallmarks of modernity – a bustling social media life for both, short skirts, strappy tops and teeny shorts for her – although they camouflage a dangerously conservative core.

(Spoiler ahead) It must rank as one of the longest running conspiracies in human history that generations of women have chosen to hide from their daughters and friends or even outrightly lie to them about the extreme discomfort and pain involved in pregnancy and childbirth and the emotional difficulties that follow, painting instead a picture of mommydom as unadulterated bliss. Via Anu, Vijayalakshmi plays along with this nonsensical romanticisation of motherhood (which denies young women the right to make informed choices about whether or not to have babies). When Abhi expresses regret that he cannot share the difficulties she will endure to give birth to their child, Anu replies, “Idiot, no woman sees what she goes through for childbirth as difficulty blah blah blah.” Speak for yourself, Ms. The truth is, no woman can bust the myth without risking being shamed as selfish and unfeminine. (Spoiler alert ends) 

At first, the post-interval portion of AKA raises interesting and pressing questions related to the pro-choice versus pro-life debate, but the mask is blown off its superficial liberalism once and for all in a speech delivered by Abhi’s neighbour Revathy (Suhasini) to his mother Bhuvana about the true meaning of maatrithva (motherhood). While there is no doubt that Bhuvana has been a neglectful parent to Abhi, she is no less deserving of condemnation than her husband, but he, of course, is spared a lecture because, as we all know, fathers are held up to lower standards than mothers.

Quietly implied in this sermon is also an anti-abortion message.

For all its shimmer and sparkle, pretty pictures and pretty 21st century people, Abhiyude Kadha Anuvinteyum is just a bunch of medieval values wearing expensive make-up.

Rating (out of five stars): *

CBFC Rating (India):	UA
Running time:	121 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

https://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/abhiyude-kadha-anuvinteyum-movie-review-pia-bajpai-and-tovino-thomas-play-the-barbie-and-ken-of-indian-conservatism-4483589.html

Poster courtesy: https://www.facebook.com/yoodleefilms/