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Release
date:
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February 16, 2018
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Director:
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G. Prajesh Sen
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Cast:
Language:
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Jayasurya, Anu
Sithara, Renji Panicker, Siddique, Saiju Kurup, Deepak Parambol, Janardhanan,
Cameo: Mammootty
Malayalam
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A former captain of the Indian football team who allegedly committed suicide by throwing himself before a
moving train in 2006 – this is the sort of real-life saga crying out to be made
into a film. In this country though, where we obsess over cricket at the
expense of other sports, and where contemporary history remains a risky
proposition for scriptwriters due to a national penchant for turning violent
over “hurt sentiments”, V.P. Sathyan has remained in the shadows after his
death.
This week’s new Mollywood release
starring Jayasurya as the late football hero, takes us through his childhood in
Kerala’s Kannur region to his rise on the sporting firmament, his descent into
depression and tragic death. You would think that this poignant subject
combined with Jayasurya’s natural affinity for the camera would guarantee a
quality film. Charismatic stars, concepts and themes have limited value though,
unless backed by strong writing and direction.
After opening with a winning shot
from a tournament that was one of Sathyan’s career highlights (I am not
quibbling over dates and locations here), the film switches to the title plate.
Its full name is Captain: Story of an
Unsung Hero. It then transitions to a shot of a grieving woman telling a
large gathering of journalists around her: They killed my Sathyan.
The woman is Sathyan’s widow
Anitha (played by Anu Sithara). One assumes she is alleging that the system
murdered her husband as surely as if it had actually physically pushed him on
to that railway track, and that the “how?” raised by her pronouncement would be
answered in ensuing scenes. That introduction, as it happens, mirrors the tone
of the rest of Captain: highly
melodramatised, but insubstantial. Because nearly two and a half hours later,
when Captain returns to the same
scene and dialogue, it turns out that in that time we have still not seen or
heard enough to support Anitha’s claim.
Sure, there is a segment in
between where Sathyan is shown being victimised by an officer of the Kerala
Police who resents the government practice of giving sportspersons jobs without
putting them through the grind required for regular folk to qualify for such
posts. Sure, in one scene, Sathyan is humiliated in the dressing room. However,
these are only a small part of this 145 minutes long film, and however
troubling they may be, they do not come across as having the power to break a
tough man such that his wife can rightfully allege that the system killed him.
In fact, what stands out in
writer-director G. Prajesh Sen’s narrative is Sathyan’s own asinine insistence
on playing a crucial match with a serious and extremely painful leg injury,
against the advice of his fond coach (Renji Panicker) and his doctor. His
stubbornness ends up causing his body irreparable physical damage.
Sen appears to admire Sathyan’s
actions, when in fact they were, if true, remarkably stupid. Yet later, having
ruined his own fitness levels, he is shown arguing with selectors – subtly
villainised – that determining whether or not he is fit to play should be his
prerogative and that his confidence is his fitness. Umm…no.
You do not have to be a sports
buff to know that that is a load of rubbish. Perhaps here the film could have
addressed the question of whether foolhardiness prompted Sathyan to continue
playing with his injured leg or depression had already taken hold of him. Sen,
unfortunately, views Sathyan with an uncritical and unanalytical eye, and as a
result, what we get here is a fan film steeped in cinematic clichés rather than
an in-depth study of an interesting character.
(Possible
spoilers ahead)
His childhood is shown in the
form of slow mo shots of little Sathyan playing his favoured game in Kannur
over Gopi Sundar’s background score. The music – loud, loud music! – is still
on when we get a glimpse of his poverty. He plays wearing shoes that he found
discarded by the wayside. We see too that his damaged leg was a result of an
attack by bullies back then.
This is a long-distance view of
the boy, and these scenes are no different from bullet points in a hurried
print media article about him. They do nothing to draw us into his story.
Having cursorily wrapped up that
part of Sathyan’s life, Captain
shifts to the only part it seems genuinely keen on: his adult years as a footballer.
The narrative here gets an episodic
feel. Bits and pieces of Sathyan’s journey form interludes between long
passages visually dominated by close-ups and slow motion shots either on the
playing field or with his wife, where the overbearing music takes centre-stage.
What Sen seems to consider
likeable about Sathyan is in fact arrogance. He is shown ticking off Anitha for
her disinterest in football despite being the future wife of India’s football
captain. On their wedding night he peremptorily and without provocation tells
her he will divorce her the day she stands in the way of his football. Weird
pillow talk, that. And in what Sen seems to consider a comical moment, he
reduces her to tears seconds later by telling her he is already married to his
first love – we can see the laboured joke coming from a mile, but she weeps
till he asks in surprise why she is crying considering that he is referring to
his football.
Their pre-wedding relationship
adopts the Mollywood formula for man-woman romances: she pretends to dislike
him, but her barely suppressed smile – following a conversation in which she
was really rude to him – sends out a different message.
(Spoiler
alert ends)
In fact, Captain in its entirety is a parade of clichés by a director of
indifferent talent. It is obvious that in Sathyan’s life there is a lovely
story waiting to be told. In Sen’s hands though, we neither get a complete
sense of the man’s achievements nor truly grasp his struggles.
Even if you, like me, are not a
football fanatic, if you combine media reports about Sathyan with snippets from
the film, it is evident that a well-researched, well-written biopic of the man
could have offered rich insights on human nature, Kerala society, India’s
destructive sporting establishment, the fallout of childhood bullying,
depression, alcoholism and more.
What we get instead with Captain are broad brush strokes in a
plodding drama that is more pre-occupied with looking and sounding large and
grand than telling a nuanced human story.
The effort at grandeur at one
point translates into embarrassing pompousness considering India’s poor track
record in world football. In the film’s closing scene, when Sathyan hits a
clinching goal in a crucial match, he shrugs off the feat by telling his
teammate that no goalie had the strength to stop a ball that was filled with
the breath of crores of Indians. Err, okay, that explains why we are such
achievers I guess?
After the interval, the narrative
becomes unequivocally boring. The insufferable use of music – mournful and
theatrically suspenseful or celebratory by turns – might have made Captain intolerable if it were not for
Jayasurya’s presence. The actor throws himself into this role, and gives it
more of himself than the script deserves. His take on Sathyan’s pain, that
crumbling face shrunk down from its youthful hauteur, is the only reason why I
managed to sit through this film without dozing off.
In the end, Captain’s achievement is that it made me
hope for a better-made film on Sathyan.
Rating
(out of five stars): *
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CBFC Rating (India):
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U
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Running time:
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145 minutes
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This review was also published on Firstpost:
