For Mani Ratnam, film is not just black and white or colour. It’s grey. ‘Raavanan’ epitomises the Mani style – the hero appears more like a villain as the film progresses and the villain looks more of a hero.
That’s real Iife, says Mani, when asked about this. Things are not what they seem. There are shades of grey in everything we see around us. The truth is neither here nor there.
As hero Vikram told indianewsreel.com after a preview in Chennai, “There’s a bit of a hero in every one of us. And there’s a bit of a villain in all of us too.” It all depends upon the angle from which we are looking at things. Historical events too can look different depending upon each one’s perspective.
Mani’s film is in many ways a mirage. The comparisons with Ramayan are bound to be there as that’s a cleverly drawn red herring. The similarities with the epic are there. But that’s a mirage. A camouflage of leaves as drawn from the Madhya Pradesh or Chalakudi forests where most of the film was made.
In reality, Mani’s focus is really on the Veerappan saga – the conflict between the forest dwellers led by Veera or Veeraiyyan (how much closer can Vikram’s name be to Veerappan?) and the police or the STF in the forests; between the law-enforcers and those arraigned as law-breakers.
Vikram has, in fact, admitted that Mani wanted him and the others in the unit to do a lot of homework on Veerappan, the way he would talk, eat, walk around and brandish his eccentricities even while carrying out outlandish murders, reprisals and abductions. Vikram and the rest had to study how the forest-dwellers would move around in the jungles where survival was essential especially in the face of raids by the STF.
“It’s natural that we would study how Veerappan operated, functioned and even walked since the story is set in the jungles and we had to portray them as realistically as we could.”
That’s as far as Vikram would go on the Veerappan track.
The rest is for us to make out on our own.
The Movie
‘Raavanan’ begins with the abduction by Veera (Vikram). The camouflage comes with changing the character from a male celebrity, Kannada superstar Rajkumar, into a female (Ragini played by Aishwarya). Her husband Dev (Prithviraj) leads the special police force to free her. But is that the real intention – is the cop more after vanquishing the leader of the forest dwellers?
The film, for most parts, rests heavily on the forest-dwellers, their lifestyle, the modus operandi, the reprisals and their clashes with the police. These skirmishes form the key element of the plot. Foresters versus police repression.
Vikram’s body language is heavily moulded on what we know of the Veerappan style – bravado, fearlessness, mocking at the police, city-bred ‘mettukudis’, educated gentry.
Interspersed are some gentle reminders about the Ramayan. Like the references to 14 days in the forest; the humiliation of Soorpanaka (Priyamani), the role of Hanuman (Gnanaprakasam played by Karthik), the indirect references to Raavanan’s relatives (like Prabhu) including a brother who questions the wisdom of abducting the wife of a police officer. There’s even a reference to the Agnipariksha in the context of a lie detector test for Ragini.
However, the thrust on the confrontation in the forests between Veera and the police, and the final act of ‘magnanimity’ in the release of Aishwarya bring us back to the Rajkumar freeing episode.
Vikram eschews the temptation of overdoing Veerappan’s antics. The restraint has come largely due to Mani’s emphasis on underplaying the role. Thus has come about a stellar performance from Vikram that has even his co-stars and colleagues gaping in admiration.
Ash is caught in the cauldron of the outbursts between Veera and Dev. Her moments come when she gradually learns about the police excesses and hatred of Veera turns into a grudging respect. The poignant expressions in her eyes, in particular the look of hurt in the final moments with Veera and Dev, will enhance her reputation as an eminent actress and not just a star.
The return of Ash to the forests lends an unexpected twist to the tale, though inexplicable and seemingly flawed. Yet, Mani converts this into a poetic landscape, a touch of class. Technology apart, Mani has the knack of extracting outstanding performances even from stars. He doesn’t make Ash fall in love with the abductor in accordance with the Stockholm syndrome. That would be far too stereotyped for him. It’s the way he makes Ash look at Veera and Dev in turns in sharp contrast to the way she looked at them in the earlier part of the film – that’s where Mani tells his story and elevates the film.
Mani has no hesitation in dissecting Dev – revealing the use of third-degree methods, the gunning down of an unarmed messenger, the crushing of compromise moves, using the woman he loves to weave a trap for Veera even to the point of casting aspersions on her. He has no qualms either in exposing Veera’s weakness in falling for Ash swayed by her beauty and his refusal to heed the advice of his brothers.
There can be no surprises as to who carries the audience in the end – it’s Vikram. He shows great ease whether it’s bouts of humour, or wicked taunts, or slaying a betrayer or carrying out reprisals on the police or in displaying bonhomie with his people, be it man, woman or child.
The Mani combo needs Rahman and Vairamuthu, and they don’t disappoint him. Vairamuthu is a clincher (thought-provoking lyrics) as also Santhosh Sivan for some breathtaking visuals. Suhasini plays the perfect foil with some earthy dialogue and catchy one-liners.
‘Raavanan’ is more about emotions and subtle exchanges than technological razzmatazz, even in the absorbing climax. And that’s where Mani scores. The film is open to myriad interpretations and analyses. And endless speculation about what Mani really aimed at. Was it a modern look at Ramayan or was it Veerappan re-visited? And that’s where Mani scores again.
There are gaps in the tale, intended or unintended, we will never know. That’s where Mani scores for a lasting impression. The heard voices are sweet. The unheard voices are sweeter.
If music is the silence between two notes, then Mani’s magic comes in the silence between two sentences or two frames.
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