REVIEW 793: NERU

Release date:	December 21, 2023
Director:	Jeethu Joseph
Cast:	Mohanlal, Anaswara Rajan, Priyamani, Siddique, Santhi Maya Devi, K.B. Ganesh Kumar, Sreedhanya, Jagadish, Aditi Ravi, Nandhu
Language:	Malayalam with English

 

Sara Mohammed (Anaswara Rajan) is an artist who is blind. When Sara is home alone one day, she is raped by a stranger. She gathers her wits about her during the assault, and much to the surprise of the police, is later able to identify the attacker despite her inability to see. 

 

It is an intriguing concept, and with Jeethu Joseph directing Mohanlal in the role of Sara’s lawyer Vijayamohan, it is hard not to have sky-high expectations after their team-ups for Drishyam 1&2. 

  

Neru (Truth) is not in the league of the Drishyams – its writing is not as refined. It also does not match up to the naturalistic genius or finely tuned politics of that other fantastic recent Malayalam legal saga, Ratheesh Balakrishnan Poduval’s Nna, Thaan Case Kodu (2022). And its courtroom drama dips into several tropes of the genre – a down-and-out lawyer re-donning his robes for what seems like a lost cause, a bumbling lawyer (Nandhu) whose clumsiness serves to underline the leading man’s skills, and so on. Still, the question of whether Vijayamohan will ultimately trump his insecurities and triumph over his rivals, the pleasure of seeing Mohanlal in a part shorn of macho posturing, Sara’s resilience, her parents’ supportive attitude and Anaswara’s measured performance make this a special film in its own right. 

 

Mohanlal’s filmography has for decades been dominated by hyper-masculinity and omnipotent heroes. So when he chooses to play a man who wears his vulnerability on his sleeve, the character’s significance extends beyond the boundaries of this storyline. 

 

Neru is about a system teetering on the precipice of letting a woman down, a system redeemed by a few good souls. Vijayamohan had withdrawn from practising law after a setback years back. He remains a respected legal expert. The rapist, Michael Joseph, is the son of a Mumbai-based industrialist. Realising that the public prosecutor is messing up the case and that the accused’s wealth can buy almost anyone, the senior policeman Paul Varghese (K.B. Ganeshkumar) goes out of his way to help Sara. Paul and a zealous young advocate, Ahaana (Santhi Maya Devi), persuade Vijayamohan to don his robes again, thus setting up a confrontation between him and the reputed, unethical defence lawyers Rajashekhar (Siddique) and his daughter Poornima (Priyamani).

 

Written by Santhi Mayadevi and Jeethu, Neru benefits from the duo’s background. Santhi is a lawyer in addition to being an actor-writer, Jeethu has a knack of getting the best out of one of Malayalam cinema’s biggest ever stars. Their joint effort results in a film that remains engaging till the end even though the culprit is revealed at the start. The suspense in the script lies elsewhere. 

 

Neru is a showcase primarily for Mohanlal, as such films tend to be, but the writers have had the good sense not to entirely neglect the other actors and characters. Though Sara is not developed as fully as Vijayamohan, she is for a change conceived as a regular person, not a helpless simpering woman nor a warrior queen avenging her rape in the way women survivors do in fantastical worlds routinely created by men writers. She is tough even if hurting, spirited even if traumatised. She is also an illuminating example of a survivor who is doubted because she kept her cool, although if she had not she would undoubtedly have been asked, “Well, where’s the proof?”

 

It is a relief to see Mohanlal in a part that allows him to focus on his craft instead of a swagger. He gives a moving rendition of a lawyer who acknowledges his courtroom phobia and ultimately comes into his own. When Vijayamohan says, “I lost that touch. I am not confident anymore,” the actor ensures that the pain in his character’s voice is under-played yet palpable. Mohanlal makes Vijayamohan’s transformation almost indiscernible in the way only he can when at his best. 

 

Priyamani’s character is just outlined, but her striking personality leaves a mark on Neru. It is nice to see her given visibility in this narrative, but she deserves a better-written role. 

 

Surrounded by accomplished and charismatic veterans, the seven-year-old-in-films Anaswara not only holds her own but lends tremendous maturity to Sara. 

 

Obviously it is essential to ask why Indian cinema routinely gives centrality to Vijayamohans and not Saras, to men who are allies of women rather than to women survivors themselves. Usually, male leads in these films become saviours and the films themselves are guilty of a condescending gaze on the woman. The reason why Neru escapes that label is that it views Sara through a lens of empathy and solidarity, not pity, and gives space to her story and her strength – even if not primacy. The film also gives her greater interiority than most such films do and does not patronise her.

 

Neru trips up on the latter front towards the end though, when Sara stands before Vijayamohan with hands folded and head bowed, and the camera zeroes in on this exchange. 

 

Symbolism is crucial to cinema. In Indian culture, a Namaskaram/ Namaste/ Namaskar/ Namaskara is a traditional greeting, but the physical gesture with palms meeting has various meanings here and elsewhere – humility, resignation, supplication, worship or gratitude. In a cinematic universe replete with male saviours, in an industry that routinely marginalises women in stories and discards women actors while creating circumstances conducive to megastardom and longevity for men like Mohanlal, Sara pressing her palms together and lowering her head is more than a thank you.

 

To avoid even a hint of a saviour vibe it was vital for Vijayamohan and Sara to be shown as equals, and for Mohanlal-Anaswara to stand shoulder to shoulder at all times. In that moment, they do not. 

 

The bow in Neru harks back to a Dalit folding her hands before a Brahmin ally, a policeman, in Article 15 (Hindi, 2019) or another Dalit folding her hands before an upper-caste ally, a lawyer, in Jai Bhim (Tamil, 2021). Both were empathetic films. In each case, the gesture – a fleeting one – was made by a member of a subjugated group, aimed at a member of a dominant group played by the marquee name in the cast, and when juxtaposed against the larger socio-political context in which these films were made, subtracted, even if marginally, from their anti-dominance messaging.

 

Just like the passing mention of a past relationship between Vijayamohan and Poornima. Their link is superfluous to Neru’s plot, and is yet another example of a standard practice among male stars in India who seek to prove their eternal magnetism by ensuring that a woman partner is featured in every story to be played by an actor vastly younger than they are rather than a woman of their own generation. In this case, Priyamani is almost a quarter century younger than Mohanlal. 

 

These asides are completely unnecessary in an otherwise entertaining, sensible film. 

 

Neru approaches the theme of rape largely with understanding, although it could have done without the heightened maudlin music and repeated – albeit brief and not titillating – flashbacks to the assault on Sara. One scene sticks out like a sore thumb: the one in which Vijayamohan greenlights an idea that allows the unscrupulous Rajashekhar to be alone in a room with Sara, thus leaving him free to taunt and re-traumatise her. This decision is inconsistent with Vijayamohan’s sensitivity towards his client in the rest of Neru and his progressively improving presence of mind up to that point. The episode is obviously written for theatric effect, and is thoughtless considering that real-life activist lawyers lay considerable emphasis on prioritising a survivor’s mental well-being over all else whereas Vijayamohan’s move is viewed with an uncritical eye by the script. The scene took me back to an even worse one in Pink (Hindi, 2016) in which Amitabh Bachchan’s character badgers his own client, a sexual assault survivor, in the witness stand to make a point in court. 

 

Malayalam cinema tends to do language mixes well, epitomised by last year’s Thankam and Ariyippu in 2022. Neru is not brilliant like them, its dialogues in the courtroom are sometimes stilted, but the Malayalam-English blend at least fits the setting, characters and actors perfectly, barring the English lines written for Rajashekhar that don’t sit well at all with Siddique. 

 

Legal wranglings, extra-legal machinations and the surprises thrown up by Vijayamohan’s probe sustain interest in Nerueven with its flaws. This film is not Jeethu’s best, but may turn out to be his most important if it heralds a new phase in Mohanlal’s career. Neru is hopefully an indicator that after cringe-worthy outings arguably epitomised by Monster (2022) and Alone (2023) the actor has finally sensed the winds of change blowing through Malayalam cinema, as the other Big M did some years back. If my reading of his participation in this film is accurate, then it’s a turning point not just for his career but for his industry too, more so because Neru follows close on the heels of the excellent Kaathal in which Mammootty played a gay man in a heterosexual marriage. 

 

The two M’s are as mainstream as mainstream can be. It’s a joy to see them join hands with filmmakers who are resisting the wave of male fury currently sweeping across commercial Indian cinema of most languages. Neru belongs on the list of Malayalam films defying the national trend. 

 

Rating (out of 5 stars): 2.75   

 

Running time:

152 minutes

 

Poster courtesy: IMDB 

Still of Anaswara courtesy: Neru’s trailer 

REVIEW 564: AADHI

Release date:	January 26, 2018
Director:	Jeethu Joseph
Cast: Language:	Pranav Mohanlal, Lena, Siddique, Anusree, Sharafudheen, Meghanathan, Jagapati Babu, Siju Wilson, Aditi Ravi, Tony Luke Malayalam

Late one night on the darkened terrace of a Bengaluru nightclub, three men engage in fisticuffs as a hapless woman tries to stop them. One of them suffers a fatal fall off the roof. To save himself from the dead chap’s influential millionaire father’s wrath, another member of the trio blames the death on the third man there, aspiring musician Aditya Mohan a.k.a. Aadhi.

What follows is over two hours of one of the most exciting rollercoaster rides ever to emerge from Malayalam cinema, as Aadhi ducks the police, a ruthless rich man’s wide network and the machinations of the fellow trying to protect himself. Writer-director Jeethu Joseph, who gave us the brilliant thriller Drishyam in 2013 (remade in four Indian languages), offers ample reparation here for his surprisingly slapdash Oozham released in 2016. Aadhi is marked by some clever writing, slick execution, top-notch production values and chases that are so frickin’ awesome, they rival the Bourne films although Mollywood works on a fraction of the budget of an average Hollywood venture.

The film looks good from the word go, but it begins with two needless reminders that its leading man, Pranav Mohanlal playing Aadhi, is the son of megastar Mohanlal. Pranav has acted as a child but this is his debut as an adult. First, we have the credits running over Aadhi in a club singing the title track of the 1980 film with which Lalettan made his debut, Manjil Virinja Pookkal. A few minutes later, Mohanlal himself makes a brief appearance.

While the quality of the shooting of the club scene and the rendition of that still-goosebump-inducing number are top notch, the need for either passage – especially the star cameo – is questionable. Hey we get it: Pranav has a famous Daddy. But to unnecessarily stress and re-stress that point within the narrative is to unnecessarily remind us that doors open far more easily for the son of Mohanlal than they would for the child of an unknown person which, while being true of course, is a disservice to the young man who shows us through Aadhi’s 2 hours and 38 minutes that he has the chops to stand on his own feet now that his surname has given him a headstart over his contemporaries. 

Aadhi’s early scenes establish the easy equation between the hero, his mother Rosy and father Mohan. Although the film is not positioned as a deeply intellectual affair, it is evident from then on that it does not intend to insult viewer intelligence either.

In the first conversation we witness between Aadhi and his mother, we learn that she is a Christian, the father a Hindu, and they eloped when Rosy was just 18. The inter-community marriage sans conversion (Rosy does not change her faith, as is usually expected of women in such situations) and the informal parent-child relationship suggest a liberal family. Yet, when Aadhi jokingly tells Rosy that he intends to bring home a Muslim bride to make a secular point, her face falls although she tries to camouflage her evident discomfort with the idea. That passing exchange is an unobtrusive reminder of how divided Kerala society truly is below the surface, even if it is better off than most of the rest of India in this matter.

Soon, the warmth of Aadhi’s home in Kerala is overtaken by the chill that follows that accidental death on a rooftop in Karnataka, and Aadhi’s musical prowess takes a backseat as life calls on him to make use of his training in the martial art form parkour. The effectiveness of this film comes from the impeccable balance it achieves between its breathtaking stunts and the emotional heft in the saga of a nice guy caught in a tragic situation not of his making, of supportive parents desperate to save him and strangers who step up to risk their all for him.

The basic nuts and bolts of the script may sound vaguely familiar, but the treatment is refreshing, the action unique in the Mollywood scenario and the film as a whole gloriously entertaining.

While the storyline tugs at the heartstrings, the chase sequences could put a heart patient at risk. Pranav and the artistes playing his enemies turn the film into an unrelenting adrenaline rush as they race through back alleys, sprint across rooftops, dangle from verandahs, vault over walls, leap through rather than around various other hurdles and display seemingly superhuman physical skills.

Yet, Aadhi is no superhero. His endearingly human qualities are a far cry from the irritating machoism of most male protagonists in Malayalam cinema these days. He is achingly youthful and scared, and neither the actor nor the director tries to mask the character’s vulnerabilities to appeal to testosterone-ridden sections of the audience. Aadhi weeps with fear and heartbreak, he pukes with fatigue and tension, and even while he seeks to keep his family and friends out of harm’s way, he does not hesitate to call for help when it is evident that he cannot do without it. 

Despite the genre and the fact that the film does not project itself as anything but a mission to get audience pulses racing, it still continues to display its political consciousness in this and other ways. I love the fact that there are Malayalam subtitles embedded in the print for Kannada dialogues, a sign that the maker respects the possibility that his core audience may very possibly not know any language other than Malayalam (too many Mollywood films unfairly assume that their primary viewers understand multiple languages).

The only truly troubling moments in Aadhi come when more than one character blames the woman on the roof for Aadhi’s problems since the men were fighting over her. The second person to accuse her softens the blow by saying she was “knowingly or unknowingly” responsible, but that is not enough in a world that routinely holds women accountable for the consequences of men’s deeds. The fleeting allusion to caste resentments within business families could perhaps have been less fleeting, but that is a minor grouse.

The centerpiece of the proceedings in this film is Pranav’s parkour training. Far from playing spoilsport by demystifying the stunts while showing us the harnesses, green screens and other aids that make such incredible feats possible, the outtakes and behind-the-scenes footage accompanying the end credits provide evidence of Pranav’s – and his co-stars’ – litheness and craft, which is what makes everything so convincing. (It was nice too to catch a glimpse of a female trainer in those shots. I wonder why Joseph did not include a woman among the supporting action artistes on screen.)

Parkour is not Pranav’s only strength. He is sweet-looking and a natural before the camera. Although it is not possible to tell whether he would be able to carry off a film outside the action genre, here he is a perfect fit.

Aadhi is clearly the film’s central character, but make no mistake about this: this is an ensemble film where Joseph’s writing, bolstered by a gifted cast, makes each small role memorable. Jagapati Babu could have gone over the top as the wealthy industrialist who pursues Aadhi with murderous intent after the loss of a son, but he keeps himself in check. The ever-dependable Lena and Siddique bring warmth to their turn as Aadhi’s anxious parents. Lena in particular is so trim and attractive that you know if she were a man (well, frankly, even if she were a tubby man) she would have been routinely getting lead roles rather than being a constant presence as a character artiste in Malayalam cinema.

My favourite people in this film are the poor siblings who go out of their way to help Aadhi when he is in distress. Jaya and Sharath are believable reminders that basic human decency does exist, a point brought out so well sans melodrama by actors Anusree and Sharafudheen. The friendship that blossoms between these three in the middle of a traumatic situation is heartwarming to say the least.

Aadhi is neither a whodunnit nor a howdunnit but a how-he-escaped-from-being-accused-of-it. Considering that almost all the cards are laid out on the table within the first half hour, it is commendable that Jeethu Joseph keeps the suspense going till the end and that he does not resort to any irritating contrivances.

The smashing action choreography – backed by excellent sound design and background music – holds Aadhi all the way up to its nail-biting climactic battle. I found myself letting out involuntary whoops of delight every time Pranav Mohanlal/Aditya Mohan zipped across the screen or smoothly leapt over an obstacle and keeping my fingers crossed for him in a way an audience member only will while watching an artiste who is so lost in his performance that you lose yourself in him. What a fun showcase this is for such a likeable newcomer.

Rating (out of five stars): ***1/2

CBFC Rating (India):	U
Running time:	158 minutes

This review was also published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/aadhi-movie-review-pranav-mohanlal-is-a-perfect-fit-for-a-smashing-action-flick-4322379.html

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

REVIEW 428: OOZHAM – IT’S JUST A MATTER OF TIME

Release date:	September 8, 2016
Director:	Jeethu Joseph
Cast: Language:	Prithviraj Sukumaran, Divya Pillai, Neeraj Madhav, Jayaprakash Vittal, Pasupathy, Balachandra Menon, Kishore Sathya, Anson Paul, Tony Luke Malayalam

It is hard to believe that the man who made Drishyam and Papanasam made this film too.

Oozham – It’s Just A Matter of Time is directed by Jeethu Joseph who has been the toast of the national film circuit since the release of Drishyam starring Mohanlal in 2013. That film was so finely crafted, well-written, well-acted and entertaining that it was appreciated by both audiences and reviewers, including those who criticised Joseph for not acknowledging what they believed was his inspiration, the Japanese novel The Devotion of Suspect X. The Malayalam Drishyam was remade in four Indian languages, and Joseph himself helmed the Tamil remake Papanasam with Kamal Haasan, arguably an even better film than the first. How do you go from that to this? How do you go from Drishyam to Oozham in a span of just three years? How?

Everything about this one is embarrassingly shoddy, from the shallow script that would look bad on a junior school kid’s CV to the heavy-handed dialogues, the dreadful acting by some of the supporting cast and indifferent production quality. Prithviraj is no doubt sincere in his effort to lend believability to his role as an anguished son and brother out to avenge an injustice, but it is hard to forgive him for not having sensed a non-starter while reading the script.

Oozham’s screenplay saddles the actors with the most absurdly gauche lines ever written in English for a Malayalam film – lines so bad that they immediately reminded me of another Mollywood disaster from recent months, Uday Ananthan’s White starring Mammootty and Huma Qureshi. It is hard to believe that someone has actually matched Mammukka’s Prakash Roy telling the heroine of White on her birthday, “I never wanted to be the first person to wish you, neither the last. But I wanted to be a person to wish you.”

The conversations in Oozham are conducted in a mix of Malayalam, Tamil and bombastic, grammatically poor English. The corrupt industrialist Wilfred Marquez (Jayaprakash Vittal), for instance, glares at a hired hand and bellows, “How dare!” at him, because I suppose the pronoun “you” at the end of that sentence would have required too much of an effort. He does this twice, not once – yes, I counted.

Now excuse me while I fall off my chair laughing at the mere memory of these absurdities.

(Pause, while the writer picks herself off the floor.)

Okay, so where was I? Oh yes, Oozham. Surya Krishnamoorthy (Prithviraj Sukumaran) is home on a break from his job in the US to spend time with his family – his father Krishnamoorthy (Balachandra Menon) who is a health department official in Tamil Nadu, his mother Subbahlakshmy and sister Aiswarya. Soon after, tragedy strikes them and the family of Krishnamoorthy’s friend, the honest top cop SP Parthasarthy (Kishore Sathya).

Investigations by Surya, his friend/adoptive brother Ajmal Mohammed (Neeraj Madhav) and Parthasarthy’s sister Gayathri (Divya Pillai) lead them to the corrupt industrialist Wilfred Marquez. This sets them off on a trail of revenge which they execute with equal parts professionalism and idiocy. The trio’s foolishness matters not, since Wilfred, his sons Edward and Andrew, the explosives expert they hire for their security (Anand Chathuranga a.k.a. Captain played by Pasupathy), the entire staff of their Rs 5,000 crore company and the Police are all even more foolish.

Surya is adept at bomb making and heads the operation. Ajmal/Aju is a cyber specialist. And Gayathri is a specialist in squeezing herself into a short tight skirt and tight sleeveless top to attract the playboy Andrew. Because you cannot expect a girl to know about bombs and cyberspace, I guess?

As an American crime show junkie, this film made me want to scream in exasperation at the tackiness of the proceedings and Team Oozham’s lack of even a skeletal knowledge of criminal investigations and procedures. Forget that, this film lacks an understanding of simple questions relating to computers and the social media. These days I am watching Season 13 of Law and Order: Special Victims Unit (SVU) starring Mariska Hargitay – one of my all-time favourites – and I would like to apologise to the makers because I grumbled to a friend this week that the quality of the writing in SVU has declined since Season 1. I apologise because SVU exists on the same planet as Oozham and I was still finicky enough to fuss about it.

Now excuse me while I bow my head in contrition.

(Pause, while the writer observes a moment of silence.)

It is hard to believe that the man who made Drishyam and Papanasam could come up with this tripe. In one scene, a senior cop stares at a laptop trying to figure out how to get past the screen saver. I kid you not, he does not seem to know that clicking a key could make it disappear.

Okay, let us put that down to poor police training with new technology. After all, women victims of cyber crimes in the far more moneyed West have reported being asked pre-kindergarten-level questions by police personnel in their local precinct.

But can someone explain how a supposed tech wiz like Captain is not aware of the basics of a digital search? In one unintentionally comical scene, Captain sees the hero’s name written as “Surya Krishna Moorthy” in a file. He searches for “Soorya Krishnamoorthy” on Facebook, finds no one – of course, since a misspelt name on this social networking site will not throw up the person you are looking for – and immediately gives up.

Why, Jeethu Joseph, why?

Now excuse me while I go off to weep in solitude over this sorry moment in Malayalam cinema.

Rating (out of five stars): 1/2

CBFC Rating (India):	UA
Running time:	140 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/bollywood/oozham-review-whats-a-fine-actor-like-prithviraj-doing-in-this-shoddy-film-2999764.html

Poster courtesy: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oozham_(2016_film)