Sex, violence and pulp: Aaranya Kaandam, a fresh Tamil voice

Years of following Tamil cinema have helped me develop a reliable list of items that would cause me to get excited about a forthcoming release. A favourite star in the cast or a marquee name in the writer/director’s credit would usually be sufficient to increase my expectations. These time-tested barometers for excitement were thrown for a loop when Aaranya Kaandam’s promotional poster first made its appearance. It did not parade a famous name or face in the hope that this would be sufficient to draw audience to the theatres. In fact, barring famous playback singer SP Balasubramanyam (listed as producer) and music director Yuvan Shankar Raja, there isn’t a single household name on that poster. Thiagarajan Kumararaja, then known only to Tamil film trivia amassers as the dialog writer for the cult classic Oram Po, was billed as director. What did grab my attention was the poster’s visual design. It was an obvious tribute to the trashy Tamil paperback crime novellas that lined the platforms and mobile bookstalls of yesteryear Chennai. But it wasn’t just the pulpy tone of the promotional material that stood out; it was also the voice of a first-time director who had the confidence to reject the largely banal style choices of popular Tamil cinema. When the film won accolades at the South Asian International Film Festival in 2010, my anticipation grew further. After being mired in problems with the censors, Kumararaja’s debut film finally found its way to Indian theatres on 10 June 2011 – a full two years after its pulse-quickening poster first appeared. [caption id=“attachment_27528” align=“alignleft” width=“380” caption=“The official Aaranya kaandam poster. Image from cinemameter.com”]  [/caption] And what a debut it is. Set in the grimy gangland of North Madras, sex (though not overtly) and violence are integral to the pulpy path charted by Aaranya Kaandam. The film’s name — derived from the portion of the Ramayana famed for the kidnapping of Sita — translates to the chapter in the forest. Therefore it is fitting that the abducted Subbu, played by model turned actress Yasmin Ponnappa, sets in motion the events of Aaranya Kaandam. Subbu is the kept woman of Singaperumal, a once dreaded, now long in the tooth gangster. There exists within his lackeys the uneasy hierarchy of the jungle, probably borne of the realisation that a fight for leadership is on the horizon. At the top of the pecking order is trusted lieutenant Pasupathy and at the very bottom is the benign Sappai. Aaranya Kaandam begins on the fateful day that Subbu protests against Singaperumal’s impotence fuelled violence. Her words, the first spoken in the film, verbalise Singaperumal’s dwindling power. Promptly after this private episode, Pasupathy unwittingly questions Singaperumal’s authority in public. With both his authority and his manhood in question, Singapperumal’s retaliation becomes imminent. What we do not expect though is how this is staged. The film is conscientious, in that it does not neglect the bottom feeders or the outsiders that constitute its ecosystem. Sappai’s purpose in the gang remains something of a mystery – until we realise that he is Singaperumal’s safe option when it comes to entertaining Subbu. The boss carries the sexual load of the relationship while the minion carries the emotional load. However, with the boss not pulling his weight in this load sharing arrangement, both responsibilities fall on Sappai’s shoulders. It is impossible not to think of Pulp Fiction’s Marcellus Wallace, Vincent Vega and Mia, as the dynamics of this trio begins to play out. Once again, a parallel may be drawn to a popular source but its staging and development are markedly different from Pulp Fiction. Two fish out of water outsiders round out the film’s character ensemble. A simpleton father and his acerbic tongued son roam the shady streets of Chennai hoping to earn enough money to redeem their debts. Soon they are unwittingly embroiled in the crossfire between Pasupathy, Singaperumal, rival gangsters and an unclaimed consignment of cocaine. The constantly bickering duo is again a familiar cinematic ploy. From Laurel and Hardy to the servants in Kurosawa’s hidden fortress it is technique that has been employed ad nauseam. Continue reading on next page There are, as indicated, a number of influences that have gone into the making of Aaranya Kaandam. But they have all been reconstituted well enough to render them nearly unrecognisable during the running time. The film is dense with detail in a manner that few Tamil films are. It borrows liberally from a visual and aural language that is much closer to Tarantino than to commercial Tamil cinema. Kumararaja’s penchant for iconography and use of sound particularly set the film apart. A super-sized bottle of Chivas is constantly in the forefront of Singaperumal’s dining area, his henchmen travel in a plush black Contessa that, oddly enough, seems bereft of windows despite its ostentatious red upholstery, a rendezvous is arranged below a clock tower with no arms to tell time and the depiction of a god is curiously similar to an unknown, unnamed benefactor. These images may be mined for deeper meaning or dismissed as superficial with a chuckle, but they simply cannot be ignored. Yuvan Shankar Raja’s now haunting, now impish score, hovers resolutely above the film exerting its influence on our perception in a subliminal manner. A discordant note from the piano embellishes provocation, a trumpet blares to introduce characters with names derived from elephants (Gajapathy and Gajendran) and an ominous operatic waltz clouds the scene transitions. The ambient sound though, is still influenced by popular Tamil cinema. There always seems to be a radio that someone forgot to turn off playing in the background and, except for the lone clip of Slumdog Millionaire’s Jai Ho, it always seems to be playing a Tamil film song from the eighties. The dialog borrows its sensibility from Hollywood but its tone and content still references popular cinema. As the film itself points out, politics and movies are so ingrained in the vernacular that it is impossible to indulge in conversation without them. Characters do not speak merely for exposition; they see it as an opportunity to dispense pop psychology. Opposing gang members (again, Gajapathy and Gajendran) are foreshadowed with a veneration previously reserved for Keyser Soze. The sexual flavour of the month for gangsters is married women, a far cry from the emphasis that Tamil cinema regularly places on virginity. Yet willingness to step out on a spouse is gauged by gleaning their preference for either Kamal Hassan or Rajinikanth, the two leading stars in the south. (Note of caution for husbands: Apparently it does not bode well if your wife prefers Kamal). Contemplation reveals that the defining characteristic of Aaranya Kaandam is that it both is and is not. Conformity is not this film’s strong suite. This is a multi-organ transplant that has come off so well that we can only marvel the surgeon’s handiwork. Sampath Raj and Ravi Krishna are well cast as Pasupathy and Sappai respectively. Sappai’s romantic scenes with Subbu border on the cloying but this may again be a conscious stylistic choice. Somasundaram and Master Vasanth as the father son duo are an absolute revelation. In an industry filed with stars and wannabes, the odd discovery of acting talent is truly gratifying. Even fringe characters in the film emote effortlessly though this may be ascribed to the writing of the film. This is not to say that the casting is without its problems. Jackie Shroff, making his debut in Tamil, powers through his role as Singaperumal with awkward gait, excessive theatrics and William Shatner-esque dialog delivery (the latter obviously due to a lack of familiarity with the language and for ease of dubbing). While his presence does provide the role with some of the necessary gravitas, he stands aloof from the rest of the film at times. Given the larger positives of the film, this is just a minor inconvenience. During a confrontation toward the end of the film, reminiscent of a standoff in a western but without the guns, the background score first gives way to a clap and then kicks into a full Spanish melody. The rhythm of the ensuing sequence allowed me to see Aaranya Kaandam for what it is – a well orchestrated, well choreographed dance. There is a sense of rhythm to Kumararaja’s debut – a grasp of timing and form that affirmed my initial hopes on seeing the poster. With Aaranya Kaandam, a fresh creative voice has been added to Tamil cinema’s lexicon.