Celebrating the spirit of rebellion
Subramaniapuram relates, in many ways, to the politics of betrayal among the best of friends and the closest of relatives.
The backlash of the early 1980s had several flagellants and heading the list was Rajnikant, the complete antithesis of everything that MGR stood for. A little later, he was joined by T Rajendar, who put an end to the soppiness of Tamil cinema, as well as a host of others such as Bharatiraja, Bhagyaraj, Balu Mahendra, Ilayaraja, and me at a later stage.
None of us knew what we were doing and the audience just lapped up whatever we showed them on the screen as long as we were critical of the hypocritical lives that we were living in the name of Dravidian pride.
Subramaniapuram is a celebration of the spirit that had rebels shouting hoarse in the 1980s under a banner called �Nothing�. It is a celebration of the embarrassment that the first post-Independence generation felt about its parents soaked in the fantasy of nationalism mixed with garbled notions of Indian/Hindu tradition. It is a celebration of a rasa called �Disgust� or Bhibatsa, an emotion that Indian dramaturgy had almost forgotten.
Never have I seen the recreation of a film�s opening day done with such aplomb and solid craftsmanship as the release of Murratukalai is depicted here. The choice of this film was apt as it epitomises counter-culture on screen and otherwise, in as many ways as possible.
This film was also known for being the most outlandish duckling that Tamil cinema had ever hatched. This was embellished by the shot constructions and the mise-en-scene by Kadhir that seemed to echo the spirit of a Pontecorvo in the Battle of Algiers or a Nicholas Ray in Rebel Without a Cause.
The detailed art direction of Rembon and the music of James Vasantham added to the richness of an era gone by in a refreshing manner. Hopefully, young makers of Tamil films will take serious note of the amazing craft and commitment that this debutant film crew and the actors have displayed and take bolder steps into the future.
That this film could have been made possible only with the active support of hundreds of �jobless� youngsters in small-town India, who must be leading as �pointless� lives as the main characters of this film, is a pointer that the young Indian is still alive and kicking. That this film is filled with so many minute details by the young M Sasikumar and his crew, who have never experienced the �80s except by watching films of the period made by mavericks of that era proves that some forces in Tamil cinema are still alive and kicking.
That thousands of viewers across the state stand up to celebrate the film today assures all of us that counter-culture, which is the essence of a healthy democracy, is still alive and kicking. Who cares if the upper crust chooses to call such folks porikis?
This film makes me aware of the shameful and disgusting times that we are living in, where the Left, Right and Centre vie with each other in exploiting a billion plus citizens with conceited deceptions of good governance. Like the lame friend, at the end of the film, I would like to pull the oxygen mask off the faces of these traitors and let the average citizen live peacefully.
My only request to Sasikumar is not to wait for the big superstars who will surely beckon him to harness his skills and commitment to abandon this fiery path that he has decided to take. He has to fasten himself to his crew members with hoops of steel and carry forward this encounter with disgust in more creative ways.
