REVIEW 550: PAIPIN CHUVATTILE PRANAYAM

Release date:	December 1, 2017
Director:	Domin D’Silva
Cast: Language:	Neeraj Madhav, Reeba Monica John, Sudhi Koppa, Sarath Kumar, Dharmajan Bolgatty, Aju Varghese, Rishi Kumar, Thesni Khan, Indrans         Malayalam

 

There has been what readers of Western literature might consider a Gabriel Garcia Marquez-ness to the titles of many films rolling out of Mollywood over the years. The latest poetic moniker is debutant director Domin D’Silva’s Paipin Chuvattile Pranayam, Love by the (Water) Pipes, a story of romance blossoming in a seemingly impossible socio-economic situation.

Paipin Chuvattile Pranayam is set on Pandarathuruthu, which is facing a severe water shortage despite being surrounded by a kaayal on all sides. The polluted lake water is unfit for drinking. This one factor pervades every aspect of the local populace’s life, with fights at the community tap a common occurrence, parents seeing marriage as an escape from this hellhole for their daughters and families from elsewhere averse to marital alliances with the men of this village.

Pandarathuruthu lies a universe away from the city just on the other side of the lake. It is the sort of place media bosses and politicians ignore. In this dismal scenario, we meet Govindankutty / Govutty (Neeraj Madhav), a hard-working and resourceful young fellow who earns a living from freelance painting jobs, fishing and assignments for his dance troupe comprising local youth.

Govutty and Teena (Reeba Monica John) are in love, but her parents are opposed to the relationship. Paipin Chuvattile Pranayam is about love surviving overwhelming odds, laughter thriving in a forbidding setting, the human capacity for optimism even when tragedy strikes, and the water wars we should be prepared for if we do not heed glaring warning signs.

Environmental degradation is a depressing subject, yet somehow, without trivialising the issues at hand, D’Silva manages to give his film a consistently light touch. By foregrounding Govutty’s relationship with his buddies and his romance with Teena, the writer-director cleverly ensures that this remains a relatable even if educative human story rather than an esoteric documentary. 

Complementing his intelligent screenplay (co-written with Antony Jibin) is a sturdy cast, an atmospheric soundtrack and thoughtful cinematography.

Neeraj Madhav, for whom Paipin is his first screen outing as the solo male lead, justifies the director’s confidence in him. He carries the film on his able shoulders from start to finish without flinching for a moment. He is a proficient actor, a sweet-looking man and a good dancer.

In fact, it was clever of the screenplay to assign dancing as a talent to Govutty, since this gives the film the opportunity to tap Madhav’s natural skills and makes an important plot point (involving a citizens’ protest) believable. When Govutty’s group gets a high-profile platform in the state, choreographer Sreejith Dancity gives them impressive moves with just enough rough edges to make them credible as coming from a team lacking exposure and professional training.

Since Paipin Chuvattile Pranayam exists on a male-dominated planet – as does most Malayalam cinema, including many otherwise lovely films where scene after scene passes by without a woman in sight – Teena is not given much to do apart from just being there. Despite this, Reeba Monica John makes an impression with whatever little the limited characterisation allows her to do. (For the record, she is a stunner.)

This is not about giving characters screen time alone. It is about writing them with depth. Govutty’s feisty grandmother, for instance, is not visible as often as Teena, yet she is well fleshed out (and well acted) and memorable because of that.

To be fair to D’Silva, this folly in the script cannot be blamed on the male gaze alone. Govutty’s friend Ayyappa is a wholesome character – excellently acted by Sudhi Koppa – but Rishi Kumar’s character has recall value for the actor’s voluminous Afro hairstyle and nothing else, and the younger boy pals for not even that. One thing that can certainly be blamed on the male gaze though is the sexualisation of the little girl who is followed around and gaped at by those boys, and is shown enjoying the attention. She looks like she could be a pre-teen, they are not much older. Even if such behaviour does exist in reality, please stop projecting it as cute. It is not. Not only are these brief scenes an absolutely needless aside, they are also disappointing considering that D’Silva & Co manage to portray the Govutty-Teena relationship without a hint of stalking or leering – male behaviour that is normalised in too many other Malayalam films.

Paipin Chuvattile Pranayam is technically refined. DoP Pavi K. Pavan captures the beautiful locale in all its visual glory, yet his matter-of-fact, un-self-conscious style ensures that the camerawork never diverts our gaze from the people at the heart of this tale.

Bijibal has notched up yet another winner with his music for Paipin Chuvattile Pranayam. Although his songs for Maheshinte Prathikaaram remain the jewel in his crown, this lot is pretty neat too. In fact, the melodic title track – with remarkably conversational lyrics by B.K. Harinarayanan – is a perfect précis of the plight of Pandarathuruthu. Kaathu Kaathittu and its instrumental arrangements are lots of fun. I am not so fond of Kayalirambilu, but it fits well into the film. These songs are not interruptions but serve to take the narrative forward.

These are the reasons why the journey up to the climax is so rewarding and insightful, and it is possible to excuse the pat, simplistic and therefore implausible ending perhaps designed to make the film more viable at the box-office than if the climax had been open-ended or ugly. Paipin Chuvattile Pranayam is a sweetly sad film that transports the viewer to its world and provides a convincing portrait of the social milieu it inhabits. It also adds Domin D’Silva’s name to the list featuring the likes of Dileesh Pothan, Althaf Salim and Lijo Jose Pellissery who are redefining commercial Malayalam cinema.

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

CBFC Rating (India):	U
Running time:	134 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/paipin-chuvattile-pranayam-movie-review-neeraj-madhavs-solo-hero-debut-is-a-sweetly-sad-eco-film-4238725.html

Poster courtesy: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt6208374/

REVIEW 476: ALAMARA

Release date:	March 17, 2017
Director:	Midhun Manuel Thomas
Cast: Language:	Sunny Wayne, Aditi Ravi, Aju Varghese, Saiju Kurup, Sudhi Koppa, Renji Panicker, Manikandan, Indrans Malayalam

When problems beset a marriage, a couple’s interests are best served if they are left to themselves to sort out their differences. Egoistic, interfering relatives tend to make matters worse. This has been a recurrent concern in Indian cinema, but when the director of the screwball comedy Aadu Oru Bheegara Jeeviyaanu zeroes in on the theme, it is natural to expect novelty.

Midhun Manuel Thomas’ latest film, Alamara, stars Sunny Wayne as Arun Pavithran, a young bank employee anxious to be married. After several attempts to find a girl for himself, he falls for Swati (Aditi Ravi) who reciprocates his feelings. Swati also works in a bank.

Arun and Swati’s problems begin from the beginning, when their respective families get off on the wrong foot. The first nail in the coffin of their relationship though is driven in when, just days after their wedding ceremony in Kerala, her parents gift the couple a large wooden cupboard (alamara, hence the title). The two move to Bangalore to work there, but their nosy relatives and that alamara hound them all the way.

Parallel to the lead couple’s marital strife is the tale of a piece of land purchased by Arun and his pals, Prasad (Saiju Kurup), Suvin (Aju Varghese) and Justin (Sudhi Koppa). Poor Arun starts feeling crushed, as he handles the tension with his wife on one side and on the other, resists a land-grabbing attempt by a Karnataka gangster (Indrans).

The narrator of Arun and Swati’s story is their alamara, which in itself is an intriguing starting block. Well begun is not always half done though, as this film proves.

Alamara probably sounded great at the conceptual level, especially in the hands of the maker of Aadu. It flounders, however, in its execution. It is not that it is bad, but that it is lukewarm. Bad can still be fun, lukewarm is boring.

There are some laughs to be had at first, especially because the four male friends share a relaxed chemistry, the actors playing them have good comic timing and it is easy to identify with the family ego hassles that swamp most Indian marriages. Anyone who has attended a desi wedding and seen relatives grumbling about arrangements, in-laws grumbling about gifts, etc, will recognise this bizarre milieu where everyone seems to want everyone to get hitched yet everyone seems determined to mess up everyone’s marriage.

Take for instance that moment when Swati presents Arun’s Mum with a gold bangle in the presence of dozens of family members and local busybodies, and the bangle does not fit. A normal human being ought to see it as a minor problem, but in a traditional desi set-up it could lead to assumptions, presumptions, gossip, politics, years of taunts, hell and humiliation for the bride.

This well-observed episode and the little touches that precede it could have served as a great kick-off to satirise the Indian family system and our obsession with matrimony. Unfortunately, as the story rolls along, a lack of zest sets in. Thomas seems to mistake absence of verve for wryness, and thus is Alamara lost.  

Part of the reason for this missing spunk could be that all the characters are stereotypes. Every man in the film is dying to be married, unless he is already married, at which point he starts feeling hemmed in by that marriage. And why would he not? After all, every husband in the film is a victim. Every man is a paavam (bechara, simple, innocent) fellow whose life is being ruined by a woman. Every woman is a nag who is ruining her paavam husband’s life. All the men are stupid. All the women are manipulative. All the men lack spine. All the wives are unreasonable, belligerent witches. Yawn.

(Spoiler alert) Everything is sorted out in the end when the paavam male protagonist takes charge as only a man can, and the women immediately keel over in submission at a speed you see only from women in films. Yawn. (Spoiler alert ends)

Except for Arun, none of the other characters is fully fleshed out by John Manthrikal’s writing. For the conflict between Arun and Swati to be immersive, she needed to be as clearly etched out as he is. She is not. Swati never rises above being a mere outline.

While it is possible to blame this flaw on the film’s resentful male gaze and a writer who seems not to see women as people, the fact is Manthrikal’s characterisation of the men too (other than Arun) is inadequate.

It is hard to imagine how Midhun Manuel Thomas managed to assemble such a talented cast of actors and still churn out such an average film. Wayne is a natural, Varghese and Indrans are brilliant comics given a good script, but all three are bereft of any spark in this film. The women artistes are lost to the cliched, superficial writing of their characters.

The only one here who makes some sort of a mark with his performance is the attractive Saiju Kurup, even though Prasad too is a stereotype.

Alamara starts off brimming with possibilities and laughter, but peters out early on under the weight of its commonplaceness. Perhaps this scanty script should have been locked up in the cupboard of the title and left there until someone thought of a way to rev it up.

Rating (out of five stars): *

CBFC Rating (India):	U
Running time:	131 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/alamara-movie-review-of-paavam-men-nagging-women-and-lukewarm-comedy-3341178.html

Poster courtesy: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alamara