It is unfortunate that many people who have watched this movie consider it an imperfect remake of Cheran’s epic Thavamaai Thavamirundhu. In my opinion, that is the sort of preconception, borne of an urge to describe new things in the light of those familiar to us that can – and has – corrupt(ed) their ability to appreciate Gautham Vasudev Menon’s latest – but not greatest – movie. (Candid admission: I do not deny having acted this way in the past.)

When I say so, I do not blame them. After all, the opening is remarkably similar. A father on his death-bed, a son recalls the influence his father has had in life… Twenty minutes into the movie, the similarity ends. Here’s why. Thavamaai… is a movie about the father. Vaaranam Aayiram (வாரணம் ஆயிரம்) is a movie about the son.

In the former, the idea of the father is central to the movie; it is the theme. In the latter, the same idea exists, but only as a glue.

Many movies have a character who acts as a passive listener. If the movie were a parallel universe, this character represents the audience. Think of the Kay Adams character in the movie The Godfather. The audience watches the movie through her eyes. Another example, though not from movies, is that of R.K. Laxman’s omnipresent “common man” character – who represents the general public.  This character does not need a clear definition. In the 1976 movie Manmadha Leelai, K. Balachander uses the role of Kamal Hassan’s secretary, Mr. Iyer as a conscience keeper – another example of an in-movie audience. In Varanam Aayiram, the older Surya is used in this role.

Towards the end, the younger Surya says, “வாழ்க்கயை மறுபடியும் வாழ்ந்து பார்த்தா மாதிரி இருக்கு, டாடி. இவ்ளோ நாளா இதெல்லாம் நினைத்து பார்ததே இல்லை.” This is the raison d’être for the movie. The events in the old man’s life (including his courtship of Simran, the only event that has been given significant screen time) are incidental to the movie, which is about the son. The father is at various times (pardon the use of the cliché) a friend, philosopher and guide to the son. So yes, this is a biopic, but about the son. Closer to Autograph than it is to Thavamaai.

Surya

After watching Vel, I wrote that Surya is poised to become Tamil cinema’s next superstar. Here is a correction. When Rajnikanth fades away, there will be wannabes like Vijay and Ajith to continue the tradition, in a sloppy fashion albeit. Surya, however, seems to have set his sights on Kamal Hassan. This is the bigger prize; it requires real talent, and there are very few contenders. And he seems closer to it than the competition.

Surya carries the movie on his gym-toned shoulders. I cannot recall a frame in which he is not present. Lesser actors are not capable of such ardor — a Kamal-esque inability to be away from the screen, that is.

The rest

If you didn’t know this was a Gautham Menon, there are a hundred places where you can guess who the director is. For one, the ease with which his characters can throw out names of the educational institutions they went to. REC Trichy, University of California Berkeley. Remember “M.Sc. Maths, IIT Madras”? Or the use of “We made love.” Or the unimaginable “kiddo” appellation. Or the “You look like a million bucks.” Sans these oddities, this movie is as much Menon’s as it is Surya’s. I guess this movie is some kind of thavam for the director – semi-autobiographical. In translating it to screen, and getting Surya to successfully carry the emotional intricacies lies Gautham’s success.

I thought Harris Jayaraj’s re-recording was a let-down. Simran was apt in the wife / mother role. Sameera Reddy didn’t seem one to die for. The actual scenes depicting the final rescue operations seemed superfluous, given the movie’s length.

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A friend of mine called me on Friday asking me if I had listened to “Kallai mattum kandaal” song from Dasavathaaram. I had listened to only one song from that movie, and it was downright abysmal, so I had not taken a chance with the other songs. However, he insisted that I listen to this song, and that there was a particular set of lines that he found impressive.

When I listened to the song, I immediately figured which lines would have impressed my friend. The lines are:

Rajalakshmi naayagan Srinivasan dhaan

Srinivasan saei indha Vishnu dhaasan dhaan

Naattil undu aayiram raaja raajar dhaan

Raajanukku raajan indha Rangarajan dhaan

This translates to “Rajalakshmi’s husband is Srinivasan. Srinivasan’s son is this follower of Vishnu. There may be thousands of kings around. But I, Rangarajan, am king of kings.”

I knew that Kamal Hassan’s parents are Rajalakshmi and Srinivasan. However, I wanted to check for the names of the lyricist Vaali’s parents, specifically if his mother’s name was Rajalakshmi too. It is Ponnammaal, but Vaali’s father is also Srinivasan. Vaali, of course, is the lyricist’s psuedonym. His given name is Rangarajan. (Ref: Wikipedia pages for Kamal & Vaali)

The lines quoted here therefore can be taken in different ways. The most straightforward (and probably intended) meaning is such that the first two lines refer to Kamal Hassan the person, and the next two refer to Vaali.

Passionate supporters of Kamal Hassan, who have already racked their brains to come up with a thousand theories to explain the movie, will say that in the movie, Rangaraja Nambi’s parents are Rajalakshmi and Srinivasan. So there is nothing egotistic about the lyrics, and that all four lines are about Rangaraja Nambi.

Be that as it may, I am reminded of an interview the lyricist Vairamuthu once gave on TV. It was a show about Rajnikanth, and many film personalities were praising the superstar, as being modest, humble etc.

Vairamuthu said, in his usual peter Tamil, “Rajnikanth is a very modest person. When I was penning the lyrics for the song Kikku eruthey for the movie Padayappa, I wrote a line that read

jeevan irukkum mattum, vaazhkai namakku mattum, idhu dhaan Rajni chiththar paattu

(Live your life fully, and waste not a second; this is Saint Rajni’s advice)

“When Rajnikanth looked at this, he said that he did not want his name to appear in the song, as it would sound ostentatious. So I was forced to change it to gnana chiththar paattu (the advice of a wise saint). It is a anachronism in today’s world where while people with very modest achievements, if any at all, crave for their name to appear everywhere, a person like Rajni, who has achieved so much, does not want his name to appear in a song, in a line which, after all mirrors his philosophy.”

I know the two examples are not like-for-like comparisons, but you decide.

P.S.: Personally, I feel the line would have sounded awful if it was Rajni chiththar paattu. So I thank Rajnikanth for getting it changed.

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