Metaphor in contradiction: The cinematic language of Dance Like a Man

An imposing mansion, A dysfunctional family. Four individuals brought together more by their bondage than bonding; caught in a web of passion, ambition and insecurity. Seeking redemption by their penance-like adherence to Bharatnatyam. The Dance of the Gods.

Mahesh Dattani's eponymous play is a tale of two states. Essayed through well-defined characters, within the claustrophobia of domestic and societal repression. A balanced work, combining the euphoria of creative expression on one hand with the pathos of non-attainment on the other.

Pamela Rooks weaves together the seemingly incompatible realms of dance and despondence in her celluloid adaptation of Dattani's work. Set in the late-90s Bangalore, shot on a hectic three-week schedule, embellished by the histrionic dazzle of Shobana, Mohan Agashe and Arif Zakaria , winner of the 2004 National Award for Best English Film , DLAM has more accolades to its credit than a niche film can afford.

The Plot:

'Dance Like a Man' opens- after a foot-tapping title track- in contemporary Bangalore. Ratna and Jairaj, Bharatnatyam dancers past their prime, are making hectic arrangements for the Arangetram ( debut dance performance) of their daughter Lata. Painstakingly attending to every detail, the menopausal mother Ratna vents her frustrations upon her all-enduring husband Jairaj. The unexpected accident of the mridangist ( drum player, an indispensable accompanist to Bharatnatyam) only makes matters worse, driving Ratna into a fit of perplexed rage. The strained couple are totally unprepared for their guest Vishal, Lata's boyfriend whom the latter has invited home for introducing to her parents. Ratna is too preoccupied with her 'tension' to acknowledge the visitor .Vishal is the ambitious son of a rich businessman whose irresistible charm and tact sustains a visibly embarrassed Lata and eventually wins over Jairaj, (over glasses of alcohol, of course). Ratna agrees to the alliance on the condition that marriage should not foil Lata's career as a dancer.

Lata practises rigorously for her debut; while her parents- Ratna, to be specific- swallows her pride and borrrows a mridangist from her arch-rival Chandrakala, who had shot to fame upon Ratna's premature retirement. As the plot develops through cleverly juxtaposed sequences from past and present, the older dancers' heydays are brought to light:

The year is 1977. Jairaj, the promising young son of a shrewd freedom-fighter Amritlal Parikh, practices dance with his talented bride Ratna. The affluent and popular Parikh resents his son's 'unmanly' interests and often tries to dissuade Jairaj, in vain. Parikh discovers to his chagrin that Ratna has been taking dance lessons from Chenniamma, a veteran Devadasi ( temple dancer, wrongly construed as prostitute). This leads to yet another confrontation between father and son. The latter sticks to his guns and strongly questions his father's apparently progressive ideas of social reform. Things turn sour between Jairaj and his father; Jai walks out from Amritlal's mansion, taking Ratna with him. The young couple seeks refuge in the house of Ratna's uncle, whose lascivious interest in the beautiful Ratna soon becomes evident. Jairaj feels helpless and frustrated at this, but his wife pacifies him. One day, the cunning Parikh steals a conversation with his daughter-in-law. He talks Ratna into trying to dissuade Jairaj from dance; promising her in return, the freedom to pursue her career ambitions.

In what provides a turning point in the film, this scene brings forth Ratna's manipulative character. She acquiesces to Amritlal Parikh's demands while ensuring lucrative offers for foreign performances for herself. Jairaj's pecuniary constraints force the couple to return to Parikh's mansion, where they are permitted to resume their dance sessions. Ratna's superior dancing skills soon become evident; driving Jairaj into despondency.

Cutting back to the present, Vishal courts Lata with an affection bordering on coercion. All his conversations with Lata invariably point to their impending marriage and family life.. Lata finds an outlet for her repressed frustrations in Vishal. She confides in him about her parents' strained relationship, her mother's obsession for making her famous; above all, her gnawing suspicion of how an unpleasant family secret seemed to drive her parents apart. The viewers' suspense also get heightened when, at more than one occasion, Ratna's grating arguments with her husband get abruptly cut short by Jairaj's allusion to their past.

The narrative proceeds, alternating between past and present. In spite of everything- including her rather disapproving prospective in-laws, Lata makes a commendable debut- under her mother's hawk-eyed supervision, unrelenting arrangements for publicity and media attention. All seems to go well, even as Jairaj is forced to resignedly acknowledge Ratna's upper hand in the whole melee. Lata receives compliments for her dance from the glitterati of the town, not to mention rave reviews in leading dailies. Things turn grey when Ratna's discomfiture about her daughter's star status resurfaces in yet another confrontation with her husband. Jairaj argues that Lata's fame can be attributed to her talent alone, much to his wife's frustration. She is about to leave the scene in her characteristic huff, when Jairaj reminds her of their son Shankar. The story flashes years back to a fateful night, one of Ratna's big-ticket performances. The orange- tinted frame has Ratna and Jairaj returning home from a dance performance; the former filled with imperious pride and the latter, with alcohol and apathy. Their baby boy Shankar had been left with the ayah ( baby-sitter) who, unbeknown st to the couple drugs the child with opium. What she doesn't know is that Ratna, too, does the same before handing over the baby to her. They return to see the baby asleep fitfully. Jairaj, more out of exasperation than drunk stupor, accuses Ratna of being a neglectful mother and a scheming woman, who prioritised her ambitions over her dedicated and hardworking spouse. Ratna retaliates telling Jairaj that he never had it in him to make it big; that his failure was his own doing. She tries weakly to assert her motherly concern for her baby, Jairaj in turn informs her of the Ayah's act of drugging the baby on every night of the mother's dance shows. Ratna cries horrified, “ You mean, Shantamma gives Shankar opium, too?!” She collapses out of guilt and dejection.

The present, a few months later. A deeply strained Ratna beside a bed-ridden Jairaj. The situation unfolds in Ratna's narrative.” The demolishers arrive tomorrow, Jairaj... You should see Vishal; he's as excited as a young boy. Sad about the gulmohar tree; it'll have to go too- they say it's blocking the traffic... I had taken Ratna for her medical checkup. She says, if it's a boy, she wants to name him..Shankar. I told her everything; how our lives changed, after Shankar died...She says she doesn't want to dance, Jairaj...Hope she'll change her mind after the baby's born, like I did... Do you remember how we once had a dream- to dance in unison, you and I, not missing a single step, or a beat, to dance with all the grace, all the brilliance, all the magic, to dance.... like the Gods...!

My Take:

Layered, luminous, patchy, pithy... reviewers before mine have been mixed in their judgment of the film. Which, I beleive, is a good thing. I remember the range of responses I received when I screened the film before my MBA students: Rapt attention to indifference to drowsiness... Well, let's face it: DLAM is not everyone's cup of tea. Except, of course, if you are a dancer, or dance lover, or a hard-core fan of Shobana. Well, I'm glad I'm something of the first, and very much the last two! But there's much more to the film than Shobana's presentation of Ratna.

What's it About:

A mix of paradoxes, no doubt! I think it's about Power and abuse , Relationships and conflicts , Ambition and Achievement, the insignificant 'other'... some paradoxes, some metaphors, and more!

Power and Abuse:

The Power Divide reveals itself sometimes vividly; sometimes subtly. Jairaj, for one, is at a clear disadvantage. Indecisive. Emotionally and financially dependent- respectively on his wife and his father- he represents the disempowered; except for his passion for dance. Ratna, on the other hand, revels in her abundace of beauty, talent and admirers. She also had a mean streak, ambition of steel, and an attitude of superiority- bordering on imperious contempt – towards her husband. The senior Parikh- Amritlal- rules the household, the society and his son's life with the iron fist of power, political clout and authority. His principles, self-proclaimed progressive ideas and opportunistic psycophants feed his lust for power. He, too, revels in his absolute control over everything around him. He used his shrewdness to fullest advantage, which convinces even his fiercely individualistic daughter-in-law into reconciliation. He wields his power like a multi- pronged weapon: brandishing, striking- even abusing it at will. He argues with his son and daughter-in-law to the point of driving them out of the house, cunningly bring them back, bribes Ratna with the promise of fame and even watches passively as his son gets consumed by a frustrating sense of inadequacy. He ensures the stability of his social reputation, at the cost of his only son's happiness. In fact, his towering persona haunts the mansion- and Jairaj's mind- as a recurring spectre; an unnerving, unsettling, uncomfortable memory.

The abuse of Emotional Power is too conspicuous throughout the film. Be it the over-maternal Ratna or the uber-manipulative Vishal. Ratna's fiery passion- which met an untimely deterrant in the death of her first child-, resurfaces with more vigour in her attention and affection towards her daughter. She lets herself be consumed by the spirit of dance- the 'divine' in her- and strives to 'conquer the demons outside- those who donot see the beauty of what we do', as she confides in her daughter. She wants Lata to be everything that she could never be; “ my sacrifices should amount to something, no?' she asks her daughter. Her overbearing nature traps Lata into helpless submission, who has no choice but to live her mother's dreams. Which, no doubt, kept her vulnerable to the advances of Vishal. Shrewd and manipulative- albeit generations apart from Amritlal Parikh- he (ab)uses his boyish charm to conceal his disregard for dance, his lust for Lata, his greed for her inheritance. Lata seeks protection in his passionate embraces and finds reassurance in his sales talk.

Less tangible and more impactful are the forces of ambition and disillusionment. The older dancers- Ratna in particular- is driven by ambition. She holds on to fame and recognition too tightly to even let her daughter enjoy her fair share. Ratna dreads the thought of (Lata) being 'an average human being'. She's always ready to read the roster of her efforts and her husband's incapabilities.” We have nothing to worry, because nothing is what we are”, she reminds Jairaj, taunting him with, “ You stopped being a man the day you came back to your father's house... never stepping out of his shadows or standing up on your feet”. Ratna's guilt at Shankar's death, however, gnaws at her all the time. Knowing this, Jairaj 'attacks' and silences her with reminders of Shankar whenever she gets too worked up. Ratna's ambitions put her on a high; while her disillusionment brings her down just as easily.

On Relationships

Idealistic, but with shades of grey. DLAM carefully dissects the relationships between the lead characters. Ratna's role as a mother is smattered more with dominance and ambition than the milk of maternal affection. She feeds her daughter with idealised images of being a dancer,unaware of Lata's need for her own space as an individual and artiste. Ratna comes across as too preoccupied to be an empathetic parent; dependent , in fact, on her daughter for strength and reassurance. Ratna's overbearing demeanour is often a source of embarassment for her daughter- be it in front of her prospective in-laws, or amongst their VIP guests. Ratna's role of a wife takes backseat to that of being a dancer. While one could either love to hate her, it becomes just as easy to feel enraptured by the femme fatale aspect of hers.

She's a far cry from the quintessentially submissive Indian daughter-in-law ; irreverently provoking Amritlal when not displaying her apathy towards him. Jairaj tries to assert his position as a husband, but his own ego- fuelled by his father's insults and reminders of his non-earning status- pull him back. Jairaj is the living image of frustration, insecurity and inadequacy; his relationship with his father is devoid of any warmth. With Ratna, he essays a wry, non-commital exchange; dance being the only thread that binds them together and- paradaoxically- becomes an eventual issue of contention. In his older avtar, he finally seems to have come to terms with his predicament, seeking escape in his affair with the bottle, as well as his affection for his daughter. During their brief moments together, (away from Ratna's meddlesome presence, of course) Lata comes across as a daddy's girl; silent conveying love, warmth and camaraderie for her father.

Lata looks up to her mother with starry-eyed admiration all right, but keeps a wary emotional distance always, especially, when the latter develops 'one of her moods'. The strain of having to live up to her mother's ambitions has a telling effect on the bright youngster, who nurses a sense of rebellion and defiance against everything: the house, it's oppressive secrets and social stereotypes. Watch her closely in the scene soon after her dance debut, when her hyperactive mother showcases her before every other VIP around. Her repressed uneasiness and irritation shows in her uncomfortable posture all along. Nevertheless, she does soften while comforting her aspirin-popping mother; more with a studied graciousness than with any indication of wavelength. Her frustrations unravel through her revelations to her fiancé.

The Father- son duo of Amritlal and Jairaj Parikh share a frigid relationship bordering on animosity. Their absolute disregard for each other's views and principles shows up in almost every scene in the film, although on rare occassions, Amritlal does betray something approaching guilt at having failed as a father.

The conspicuous absence of Romance between the lead couples is as much a welcome relief as a bold attempt at characterisation. Ratna's imperious contempt for her husband contrasts sharply with her daughter's blind dependence upon her fiance. In fact, Vishal's mercenary interest in Lata comes as a sad case of poetic justice against Ratna's the manipulaton of her husband, his desires and ambition.

The strongest bond that comes across in the story is that between art and the artist. The making of Ratna as a dancing diva- and the corresponding relegation of Jairaj into despair and disillusionment- throws light on this kind of passion. The film portrays several other kinds of artists: the veteran Guru, the erstwhile Devdasi, the opportunistic Chandrakala, the bumbling Mridangist- amidst the generationally different wannabe Lata and her have-been mother. The element of devotion of the artist for his vocation becomes evident through he verbal and visual. One cannot miss the larger- than-life image of Lord Nataraja in many sequences.

Conflicts:

The film is as much about conflicts as it's about relationships. DLAM brings together some markedly incompatible individuals through encounters of the odd kind, some of which are discussed here:

Ambitious father Vs. Passionate Son: Amritlal Parikh's political and social interests clash aloud with the passions of his dancer-son. During their confrontations, the duo come across as very irreceptive of each other's views and principles. So stark are their contrasts that a viewer tends to automatically take sides with either of the two Parikhs. Soon, their conflict becomes the viewer's own. I know that's debatable, but...

Mother's dream Vs. daughter's life: No different is the contrast between the two women Lata and Ratna. A Human Resources expert would instinctively detect the Personality Type variation between the two! The recklessly ambitious Ratna somehow gets along with her independent;y- willed daughter, but it's interesting to see how Lata sounds a bit like her grandfather at times: more practical, shrewd in her own way; and certainly just as individualistic. Being young, educated and urbane is a plus as far as Lata's outlook is concerned; she seems to balance her life well with her pursuit of dance.

Watch this clip on a palpably confused Lata:

Talented wife Vs. frustrated husband: At the risk of sounding sexist, here's a case on the Male Ego! The grey area between Ratna and Jairaj becomes ominous with Jairaj's inability to acknowledge his wife's talent. However, he seems to tone it down by blaming Ratna of her negligence to her family. “What wouldn't I do for you?” he bitterly asks his wife- hinting at his self-consuming love for his wife. As a youth, Jairaj was fraught with the tribulations of an artist- a man at that- practising a woman's art-“the craft of a prostitute for displaying her wares”( surely his father's words). He seems to realise that a man who does that – is no man at all! His wife brooks no such nonsense, however, sternly reminding him that he chose not to dance with her since he feared exposing his own mediocrity. Only a minority would opt to sympathise with his predicament; and – don't ask me why- I'm one!

Marriage Vs. Business prospects: The social oddity of disguising a business interest as a wedding proposal emerges during the restaurant scene involving Vishal, Lata and their families. The former's North Indian business-class family ( Marwari?) have no idea about Bharatnatyam; their biggest worry being, whether Lata had any plans of joining the films! At this point, one may also feel inclined to rate Lata as a pampered, impulsive teenager who fell in love the wrong guy. Lata'a parents- who were too picky regarding her career- seemed to care much less when it came to the question of her future ( as echoed in Ratna's only queries “He's well-off no?” and “ He'll let you dance after marriage? )

Excessive Ambition Vs. Elusive Achievement:The question “ Can the price of passion be too high?” repeats itself through more sequences than one. 'Don't take away the one thing that he loves so much; you'll destroy him,” a somewhat concerned Ratna warns Amritlal about his son. At a a later sequence, she snubs her shocked pa-in-law with an accusing ,' You should know- you've finally made a man out of him!” Amritlal couldn't have been in for a worse rude shock than to be reminded of how his plans to 'make a man' out of his son backfired.

The poignant scene where Ratna, dressed in her dancer's finery, collapses on the staircase upon realising her baby's death speaks for personal tragedy at the height of professional triumph. Also, how her passion for the art made her forgo her role in the family.

The history of disillusionment repeats itself when Ratna's ambitions for her daughter fail to fructify either.

Budding artist Vs. confused daughter: Lata is more of a soul-searching individual than a dedicated artist. She practises dance “ in order to please me” than by way of any Sadhana. As an artist, he's undoubtedly New Gen; and like most , is basically a confused teenager- from a troubled family. In general, she epitomizes the dilemma of the contemporary woman, having to choose between career and life.

Sacrifices Vs. Losses:The senior couple had to pay a heavy price for their growth as artists. They faced stiff opposition from Amritlal Parikh, struggled to make a mark, had to prioritise dance over family concerns.. even compromising on the choice of guru ( like when Ratna was forced to stop learning from Chenniyamma). Jairaj sacrificed his talent, desires, even his Self respect in order to let his wife take over his career and his life. In the past, even Amritlal made a compromise: patronising his daughter-in-law's career although it may not have been in the best of his Gandhian interests. However, every sacrifice met with a loss. Ratna and Jairaj could not grow to the heights they had envisaged for themselves; deterred by their guilt at Shankar's death. Lata is assumed to have found peace as a home-maker, at the cost of her growth as an artist. Jairaj's losses as a man who loved and lost- both his wife and hi art- are heavy. Equally bad is Amritlal's case of having come to terms with his son's interests too late; by then, he loses Jairaj to a quagmire of self- destruction.

Recognition Vs. Ridicule:An artist's fall from recognition to ridicule is not unsual, but is quite painful. Jairaj lost even before he started his game. Ratna was forced to make a premature withdrawal from the limelight to which she had become addicted. By the time their daughter was poised for Arangetram, the scene had changed. Gone were the days of admirers; Ratna realises with a shock that that musicians and other artistes are after her money; not calibre. She makes valiant attempts to point out ethical issues in the selection of Indian artists for foreign conventions, in vain.

The elusive nature of success- an artist's craving for it- and the grey shades in the business of art- these are painted in bold strokes in the film.

The insignificant Other:I commend the film for its portrayal of the minority. Many a time, the film essays the trauma of being different from populist interests. “ A Woman in a man's world may be considered progressive; but a man in a woman's world is pathetic” Amritlal Parikh's statement cuts through the narrrative like an unpleasant but painfully true reminder in the film. Jairaj encroaching into forbidden grounds lead to his getting shunned by his father. He never gains his righful place in society. Even his wife adopts a condescending view towards him.

The films also handles a rather touchy issue: the Devdasi tradition. The traditition of young women 'dedicating' their lives to temple deities during the Chola and Pandya era, was questioned on social, legislational and moral grounds during colonial times. This had led to exploitation of the community in various parts of the country. The purported- and on some occasions, true- cases of immoral practices by members of the Devadasi order led to the tradition to be branded as the practice of prostitution. In DLAM, Amritlal Parikh also condemns his daughter-in-law taking dance lessons from a Devadasi. Even as he makes a pact with Ratna, he hastily arranges to pay a sum of Rs 500 ( a princely sum for the 70s) to Chenniyamma as 'compensation for depriving her of a worthy student'. This sequence also brings out the narrow viewpoints of the self-proclaimed 'liberal' social reformer Amritlal.

An artist's family life; how their aspirations differ from those of one not inclined to the arts- emerges in a part-grim, part-humourous manner. Vishal's amusement at the lifestyles and beliefs of Lata's family is indicative of how, the 'masses' perceive an artiste offstage. Another sequence, when Vishal expresses his discomfort over Lata's performance of the erotic 'Ashtapadi' ( choreographed by her father) brings out the same perception. The artist's Creative passion locking horns with the hopelessly materialistic Other is depicted in the darkly humourous restaurant scene featuring Lata's and Vishal's families.

The Metaphor of dance:

The script of 'Dance Like a Man' uses the powerful medium of metaphor. Dance has not been included in the film for visual entertainment alone' it represents Life itself; and how a dancer aspires towards Divinity through his practise of the art.

The fast-paced Nrittya practised by the young Ratna- Jairaj duo symbolises youth and energy. Jairaj's jelousy towards his wife, and their separation- is symbolised beautifully in a sequence where Jairaj misses step while dancing with the twinkle-toed Ratna. With Shankar's death, she slips from her career and attempts at a comeback as a choreographer for her daughter's debut. The occasional references to 'dance' like a man vary with the context. Ratna's ideal of life is to 'Dance like the Gods'; while Jairaj ends up dancing like mere mortals. Amritlal and Lata subscribe to the 'Live Like a Man' philosophy.

As much as dance connects abstraction in space, in the film, it connects stages in time: Ratna's Hi- voltage practice sessions, her sparkling stage show; Lata's preparations, her debut...appear like chapters in the film.

The metaphor itself, gets embroiled in conflict, heightened for good effect by Ratna's closing commentary and her dream-like dance sequence in the closing credits.

Critique:

Niche and specialized, no doubt. Yes, you need reservations for watching this. I don't mean reservations of the mental kind ( they're the last thing you should be carrying!). The film offers a visual treat for connoiseurs of the art. Aesthetically pleasing sets, bright clothes, beautiful people, the works- all subtle. The use of music and dance is well-balanced and timed. Ganesh- Kumaresh's tracks are addictive, to say the least. The film translates the spirit of Dattani's play without stripping it of its soul a bit ( I quote other reviewers here; not having read the original play myself).

As far as performances go, Shobana triumphs in this gem of a role ( incidentally, 'Ratna' means 'gem'). She essays the bold-and-beautiful artist, the strained wife and ambitious mother, all with panache. Her youthfulness, however, make it difficult to visualise her in a mother's avtar. Her dance sequences are a sheer treat to watch; her body language powerful during the other sequences. Her classic South Indian look sits prettily on her character as a plucky Kannadiga. Shobana's South Indain accent also lends credibility to her dialogues as a nervy woman. It's strange that she missed the national award for best actress , although she did make it to the final nominations. Watch her at her mesmerising best in some of the fluid dance sequences in the film. Truly, DLAM is a testimony to Shobana's role as a consummate artist.

Critique:

Niche and specialized, no doubt. Yes, you need reservations for watching this. I don't mean reservations of the mental kind ( they're the last thing you should be carrying!). The film offers a visual treat for connoiseurs of the art. Aesthetically pleasing sets, bright clothes, beautiful people, the works- all subtle. The use of music and dance is well-balanced and timed. Ganesh- Kumaresh's tracks are addictive, to say the least. The film translates the spirit of Dattani's play without stripping it of its soul a bit ( I quote other reviewers here; not having read the original play myself).

As far as performances go, Shobana triumphs in this gem of a role ( incidentally, 'Ratna' means 'gem'). She essays the bold-and-beautiful artist, the strained wife and ambitious mother, all with panache. Her youthfulness, however, make it difficult to visualise her in a mother's avtar. Her dance sequences are a sheer treat to watch; her body language powerful during the other sequences. Her classic South Indian look sits prettily on her character as a plucky Kannadiga. Shobana's South Indain accent also lends credibility to her dialogues as a nervy woman. It's strange that she missed the national award for best actress , although she did make it to the final nominations. Watch her at her mesmerising best in some of the fluid dance sequences in the film. Truly, DLAM is a testimony to Shobana's role as a consummate artist.

Arif Zakaria is not Indian Cinema's poster-boy. However, he is a honest artist. His portrayal of Jairaj is restrained but precise. He is more convincing as the resigned older man than the frustrated youngster. His dialogues give him a certain refinement which his brooding character by itself cannot afford. It's commendable that he trained in Bharatanatyam five months before the film; and in some sequences, he's quite good. He was reportedly signed in after being spotted in the (unmanly) role of a eunuch in Kalpana Lajmi's Darmiyaan. It takes guts to accept such roles in stereotypical Bollywood; and that's where Arif Zakaria scores as a discerning actor!

Anoushka Shankar makes a promising debut as the presentable young Lata. She's cute and vulnerable, and maintains her space even in the sequences with the senior actors; even deserves praise for her arduous dance sequences. Samir Sony is the quintessential Bollywood hero; combining boyish humour with a callous romantic air. As the imposing Amritlal Parikh, Mohan Agashe fits the bill; but doesn't seem to convey much through body language.

Pamela Rooks dedicated the film to Protima Gauri Bedi- dancer, dreamer, visionary. I think the film speaks to all dancers, dreamers and visionaries alike. It addresses them and moves them in a very evocative manner. She has skilfully handled the original play and retold it in a Cinematic language without making it appear stagey. Technically speaking, the film comes a cropper : the cinematography and editing leaves a lot more to be desired. On this aspect, Dattani's Morning Raga scores, thanks to Rajeev Menon!

What Makes it Special For Me:

DLAM appealed to the artist in me. It narrates the trials and tribulations faced by aspiring artists. I watched the film at a time when I was contemplating upon grey shades in relationships; just the thing the film speaks of so well. I've always appreciated bold portrayals of reality which donot spill over the top. Rooks has a gift for craft, which gives DLAM the edge it can boast of.

More so, DLAM always feeds my insatiable appetite for Bharatnatyam, Shobana's in particular. Each viewing of the film energises me in an uncannily manner, thanks to its electrifying dance sequences.Sample the clip below. It begins with Lata's debut performance, and blends into her mother's memory ( watch Shobana at her blazing best here!)

More than being a tribute to the dance, DLAM also stands up for the art form. By not sugar-coating it as a fanciful, ethnic offering.Sometimes, movies based on plays do appear stagey, but that is because the director has yet to master the cinematic language, or has deliberately decided to treat the subject thus.d take on relationships- the grey shades for one- is noteworthy.

I recently viewed Morning Raga ( the film) directed by Mahesh Dattani himself.

Well, despite the verdant outdoor locations, presence of acting talents like Shabana Azmi, Lilette Dubey and Nasser among others and even the new- age musical accompaniment, Morning Raga failed to move me the way Dance Like a Man did. The brooding intensity of DLAM had a charm by itself, which could not be matched by the melodramatic mood of Morning Raga. Read Dattani's views on http://www.rediff.com/movies/2004/oct/26mahesh.htm

As a closing note, the film also evoked the reviewer in me. DLAM is my favourite screening for Movie Workshops in my college. And it works each time: in its ability to engage viewers, stimulate thinking, go beyond the story, read between the lines, and to generate dialogue. So readers, what say you????

Manichitrathazhu: Classic Sans Parallel

I could not think of a better opener for this blog; a movie I have viewed, reviewed and re-viewed a great number of times- and still haven't had enough.

The movie was released in 1993 – I'm not sure which month (although I recall an interview where Mr Fazil, the Director, admits to have released the film in good time to be the best contender for the State Film Awards)- and went on to become one of the most memorable Malayalam movies ever made. Sweeping awards, spawning remakes... the film remains an unchallenged masterpiece.

The Tale (For the uninitiated few)

Manichitrathazhu opens in an unnamed, idyllic village ( must be in Alleppey, going by the dialect, names and closeness to Evoor- the only indicative reference throughout the movie) with Unnithan, a simpleton, checking in on the refurbishments at an old mansion- Madamballi- of which he has been assigned custodianship.

The Mansion belongs to Saradamma, his sister-in-law from Calcutta, and being a responsible Taluk officer and doting husband, he's anxious about the preparations in anticipation of the visit of Saradamma and her family. However, only Saradamma's young son Nakulan and his wife Ganga come down, this being their first visit to Kerala since marriage. The entire family - Uncle Thampi the patriarch ( Saradamma's brother), his wife and three children; Unnithan, his wife Bhasura ( another sister of Thampi) and daughter Alli- fuss around the young couple.

Thampi, in fact, tries his best to suppress his resentment of the sophisticated Ganga ( since he had wanted his daughter Sreedevi to marry Nakulan and upon Saradamma's refusal to the alliance, got Sreedevi wedded on the same day to another man, hiding a major flaw in her horoscope. Sreedevi's in-laws reject her on knowing this, forcing her into a widow-like existence at her father's house) and warns Nakulan that staying at Madamballi may not augur well for girls coming from other families. At this point, the viewer is reminded that the Madamballi mansion- which the villagers dread from visiting- is really unsafe. However, Nakulan brushes aside his uncle's apprehensions and decide to move in with his wife, much to Thampi's concern.

The story now focusses on the couple. Nakulan is a hardworking engineer whose work keeps him engrossed all the time. Ganga is an energetic, urbane Archaeology Graduate who occupies herself with poetry and books, apparently unaffected by her husband's professional commitments.She takes a liking to Nakulan's bubbly cousin Alli, who visits often. Alli discloses that she's engaged to her lecturer Mahadevan, who's incidentally one of Ganga's favourite poets. Ganga is even more thrilled to know that Mahadevan stays just next-door ro Madampalli.

Alli and Ganga explore the Mansion- searching for a suitable room which Ganga could convert into a library. This takes them to the forbidden Thekkini ( the room to the South), which they are unable to open since it has been sealed with a sacred lock ( Chithrappoottu). Thampi the patriarch intervenes and warns Ganga, forbidding her from opening the Thekkini, lest she should incur the wrath of the dead. A piqued Ganga approaches Aunt Bhasura, who explains to her the story of the jinxed room.

Legend had it that about a century-and-a-half ago, the then-patriarch Sankaran Thampi- a cruel, rapacious man- brought down a beautiful dancer Nagavalli from Tanjavur and put her up at the Thekkini. Nagavalli's secret lover Ramanathan came to rescue her and stayed next door to the mansion. Somehow, Sankaran Thampi got wind of the affair as well as of the lovers' elopement plans. Angered, he killed Nagavalli in her room. Eight days afterward- on the auspicious Durgashtami, Nagavalli returned as a vampire, lusting for Thampi's blood. Thampi, aided by powerful sorcerers, managed to capture the vampire and lock it up in the Thekkini. In due course, Sankaran Thampi commited suicide. The spirits of both these troubled characters have been rumoured to haunt the Thekkini wherein they have been 'locked' with the Chithrappoottu.

Ganga, although fascinated by the story, shrugs it off as a purported tale to keep trespassers from the Thekkini where, she believed, some ancient musical instruments have been preserved. Her Archaeologist instincts are aroused and she forges a key and unlocks the spooky room.

She discovers to her delight, the secret treasures in the room: jewels, musical instruments and other antique belongings of Sankaran Thampi and Nagavalli ( not to mention their life-like portraits).

However, Uncle Thampi – more worried that the Spirit's Bloodlust for the patriarch might befall him and his family than chagrined at Ganga's effrontery- decides to take corrective measures for the trespass into the sacrosanct Thekkini.

Pandemonium ensues in the Madamballi household: Uncle Thampi and his well-wishers carry out elaborate rituals to re-lock Nagavalli's spirit- only to be chased out of the Thekkini by a female apparition; servants and neighbours report similar 'sightings'; crockery and furniture get broken, Ganga's clothes catch fire...

The pragmatic Nakulan suspects Sreedevi
( who has invited herself and brother to stay at the mansion “lest something untoward should befall Nakulan and Ganga”, but has been displaying more-than-necessary interest and enthusiasm in Nakulan's affairs) of causing the havoc, and tells his uncle Thampi so in no uncertain terms. Things turn sour between Nakulan and his uncle; with the former insisting on seeking the best psychiatric treatment for Sreedevi, and the latter admonishing Nakulan and his irreverent views ( and wife). By now, Nakulan's entire kin moves in to Madampalli Mansion. Sreedevi's hyperactive behaviour reinforces Nakulan's doubts in everyone's minds- and a crestfallen uncle Thampi ( who resigns to the inevitable truth that the Vampire has indeed possessed his hapless daughter) proceeds in search of more powerful sorcerers to 'cure' Sreedevi.

Enter Nakulan's friend Dr Sunny Joseph, an acclaimed yet somewhat eccentric psychiatrist from USA. Soon, he experiences some of the bizarre goings-on in Madampalli: Alli gets chased around the house and gets locked up in a suffocating room by an unseen follower, Sunny's bags get burnt... he resolves to lock the miscreant up with a Manichithrappoottu ( Ornate Lock).

Dr Sunny familiarises himself with the mansion in his frivolous, freaky manner- much to the consternation of the family elders. He tries to befriend the grim-looking Sreedevi, teasing and provoking her. Sreedevi keeps a wary distance from Sunny. One night, Sunny hears a soulful Tamil song from the Thekkini and tries in vain to catch the elusive singer ( the viewers get to see only a woman's shadow ). He checks in on Sreedevi, who at that time is asleep. Next morning, a confused Sunny is taken around the Thekkini by Ganga, who enthusiastically shows him Nagavalli's portrait, Ramanathan's hideout , the dancer's jewels...

Sunny seems to get an idea into the mystery, but goes about his eccentricities as usual-flirting with an increasingly resistant Sreedevi, teasing her homophobic brother Chandu, sending Nakulan to the temple accompanied by Sreedevi, stubbornly arguing with the more knowledgeable Ganga on the questionable authenticity of Nagavalli's missing anklet, cribbing to Nakulan about her haughtiness... That night, he hears music from the Thekkini, sneaks upstairs and , posing as the fabled Sankaran Thampi ,talks to the apparition in the room ( behind the safety of locked doors, of course), who introduces herself as Nagavalli. The vampire rants and raves, threatening to kill him on the soon-to-come Durgashtami ( the eighth in the nine-day Dusshera festival)day. Sunny orders the apparition to return on Durgashtami. He becomes more vigilant and purposeful from then. He advises young Chandu ( who's determined to dispel his sister's alleged mental illness) from wandering about alone at night. He rides to a distant village Evoor and interviews some householders and School authorities. He persuades uncle Thampi to lock up Sreedevi as a precaution, but in vain. One day, he discovers an empty bottle of poison in the kitchen, next to a boiling milkpot. In a flash of understanding, he rushes in time to stop Nakulan from drinking the poisoned tea. In the presence of the entire shocked family ( including a visibly uneasy Ganga), he forcibly drags away Sreedevi and locks her up in a room. An outraged Sreedevi vehemently resists the accusation, repeatedly asking Sunny ,” Do you think I poisoned the tea- I, I?” Sunny puts her on sedation.

Days pass, with the family drowned in collective gloom over Sreedevi's predicament. Uncle Thampi, advised by the Revered Brahmadattan Namboothiripad ( a powerful sorcerer) , reinstates the nine-day Navaratri ( Dusshera) celebrations at the Madampalli ancestral temple. On the seventh day, a Kathakali performance is staged in the temple, and the entire family attends it. Sunny drags the workaholic Nakulan to the temple too, and apparently enjoys the performance. Nevertheless, he continues his irksome mannerisms among the audience; at times repeatedly glancing backwards, where the women ( including a deeply engrossed Ganga) are seated. He looks back the third time and discovers that Ganga is missing. Agitated, he leaves the temple and searches for Ganga all over. He's soon joined by a concerned Nakulan, who has just noticed Ganga's absence. The two friends are shocked to discover Ganga in the backyard of the mansion, clothes tattered, straining to escape a bewildered Mahadevan. Nakulan beats him up thinking that Mahadevan was forcing himself on Ganga, while an exhausted Dr Sunny pacifies him. Painfully, Sunny reveals to Nakulan his shocking finding: that the mental patient of Madampalli was none other than Ganga.

Dr Sunny elaborates that the day he landed at Madamplaii, he was convinced without doubt that Sreedevi was normal; that the real patient was somebody else; somebody elusive. His doubts get confirmed when he's accompanied by Ganga to the Thekkini. Ganga's hyper- enthusiasm when showing him Nagavalli's jewels, betrayed some “peculiar psychic vibrations”. Sunny almost attributed Ganga's illness to the uncomfortable presence of her husband's could-have-been bride, Sreedevi; had it not been for the fateful day when he urged Nakulan to visit the temple with Sreedevi. Ganga was unaffected by Sreedevi's proximity to her husband, but reacted oddly, ominously, when Sunny contradicted her on Nagavalli's anklet. Her expressions took on a murderous look, and for a few seconds, she was transforming into the bloodthirsty vampire Nagavalli. Sunny diagnoses Ganga with Multiple Personality Disorder which, he explained, was the outcome when an individual assumes a more powerful alter-ego, when he wants to ventilate his consciously- repressed emotions. In Ganga's case, the powerful alter-ego is Nagavalli. This transformation equips the patient with near-magical prowess- like ability to dance and sing in a foreign language, to break/ burn things unnoticed... The conversations he had with Nagavalli, while posing himself as Shankaran Thampi, revealed to him the intentions of Ganga's mental alter-ego. He visited Evoor, Ganga's native town to learn more about her past. Ganga was raised in the village by her grandmother, a devout lady who kindled her imagination with songs,stories and fables. However, Ganga longed for her parents to be with her, but they were busy building their careers in far-away Calcutta. Ganga grew up as a bright student in school. Out of the blue, she is informed of her parents' plans for her higher education in Calcutta. The prospect of leaving her grandma and the village- of which she was inseparably fond- troubled Ganga deeply, leading to an early mental breakdown- her first psychic disorder. Ganga's parents flew down from- and promptly returned with her- to Calcutta for her treatment. Although a sedative cured her well enough to forget her past and prepare her for the fast-paced urbane life in Calcutta, the “possibility of another psychic order” lay dormant in Ganga. She married Nakulan, and came to know about his ancestral mansion. An eager Ganga accompanied her husband to his village; promptly embracing its rustic simplicity – plus its fables and superstitions. Her forbidden Thekkini and its intriguing rumours captured her imagination- so much so that she gradually started empathising with the tragic heroine Nagavalli, losing her own individuality in the process.

Dr Sunny felt that the best way to treat Ganga was to keep her oblivious to her illness. He revealed that once, when Ganga's illness started to show up in front of the entire family, he had diffused the situation by blaming an innocent Sreedevi and distracted Ganga by locking up Sreedevi. Later, he had persuaded Sreedevi to act as a lunatic so that Ganga could go unsuspected and eventually get cured. Thus, he had kept Ganga- and the rest of the family in the dark about her illness.

What he did not reveal to Nakulan was that, during Ganga's moments of transformation into Nagavalli, she nursed the hallucination that Nakulan was the cruel Patriarch Shankaran Thampi; while the agreeable Mahadevan was her lover Ramanathan. The whole pretence of getting abused by Mahadevan was an attempt to break his engagement with Alli, so that Ganga ( Nagavalli) could reclaim her lover ( Ramanathan). Worse still, Nagavalli was determined to kill Sankaran Thampi on Durgashtami day and if her plan failed, she would kill herself! Dr Sunny is caught in a dilemma- whether he should cure his patient Ganga by letting her kill his best friend Nakulan; or save Nakulan and watch Ganga commit suicide. He feels demoralised and sighs that only a miracle can save both Ganga and her husband.

The plot takes a dramatic turn when Pullattupuram Sree Brahmadattan Nampoothiripad presents himself on Durgashtami day, in order to carry out some powerful pujas in the family. Uncle Thampi and his kin are visibly relieved upon his arrival, but they get the biggest shock of their lives when the grand old sorcerer recognises Dr Sunny from his previous visits to USA, where he had been impressed by Sunny's expertise in parapsychology. A confidential discussion follows between Dr Sunny and Nampoothiripad, which flares into an impassioned argument: The older man tries to convince Sunny that the logical thing to do was to separate Nakulan and his mentally-ill wife, now that her murderous intentions were clear. Sunny declares that he's willing to “break all conventional concepts of psychiatry” for the sake of his close friend and his beloved wife, since he wants them to be together. Nampoothiripad encourages Sunny to do his best. A motivated Sunny decides to carry out a dangerous experiment: the first step was to appraise Ganga that she is ill, and if she outlives that shattering moment of truth, Sunny could carry out his second, more gruelling plan.

Upon Sunny's instructions,Nakulan encounters his enthusiastic wife getting ready for jewellery- shopping and firmly forbids her from going out.

Ganga is first surprised at her usually permissive husband's sudden volte- face, but when Nakulan sticks to his guns, she displays a dramatic transformation: her voice rasps, her veins grow taut, hair gets dishevelled, eyes flare open and she rants in Tamil “ You lowly dog! You still had the nerve to confront me... today's Durgashtami...I'm going to kill you, drink your blood and dance the Tandava upon your carcass...” and single-handedly lifts up a wooden bed in a display of brute strength. Nakulan, though at his wits' end, calls her name with all the courage he can muster, shocking his transformed wife to return to normalcy. Ganga realises, to her intense horror, that there's something terribly wrong with her. She breaks down and pleads her husband not to leave her; not to hate her. Nakulan is overwhelmed- and helpless- but promises Ganga that he'd always be at her side. Ganga lapses into a deep sleep, while Nakulan argues with Dr Sunny on the futility of his way of treatment. Sunny assures him that if Ganga outlives one more crucial test, she could be cured completely. Nakulan offers his own life if need be, but begs of his friend to revive Ganga.

Nakulan, Sunny and Mahadevan ( whom Sunny calls upon 'for assistance') watch over Brahmadattan's elaborate rituals from a balcony outside Ganga's bedroom. They are distracted by the sound of anklets. Following it, they are led to the abandoned Dance Hall of the Mansion, where the threesome behold Ganga, dressed in Nagavalli's clothes and jewellery, dancing with abandon under the hallucination that she was performing before a royal audience.

Sunny and Nakulan watch undetected, but send Mahadevan to the dancer. She gets transfixed by the look on his face, like Nagavalli would have been in the presence of her beloved Ramanathan, and follows him- as if hypnotised- to the exorcism chamber where Nampoothiripad and his aides stood waiting.


To Ganga's delirious eyes, the assembled crowd appears as henchmen of the slimy Sankaran Thampi, waiting to attack her and Ramanathan. She spots Nakulan, and starts baying for his blood.The entire Madampalli family stare dumbfounded at the vision of their murderous daughter-in-law, but Dr Sunny takes control of the situation. In a brilliantly orchestrated

manoeuvre, Nampoothiripad and Sunny get Nagavally ready to behead Nakulan, but at the spine-chilling moment, replace him with an effigy. Nagavally vents out all her anger on the life-like effigy, chopping it to bits and savouring the gore...

Dr Sunny 'conditions' Ganga back to her normal self. Upon waking up, Ganga expresses her deep gratitude to Sunny, Sreedevi and everybody else, but was at a loss how to thank her Nakulan for loving her so unconditionally. She decides to go back to Calcutta to be with her husband -in body,mind and soul. Dr Sunny too, decides to leave with them- now that the purpose of his visit had been met. However, he visits Sreedevi- who lights up at his presence- and proposes to her, on the grounds that 'for Christians like him, horoscopes donot matter”. He promises to send his mom over to Uncle Thampi so that she could ask Sreedevi's hand in marriage for her son.

The film closes with Nakulan, Ganga and Sunny driving away from Madampalli Mansion; Sreedevi watching them leave with new hope in her eyes...

My Take:

I was undoubtedly smitten by the sheer magic of the film on my first viewing ( I was only 13 then, but the charm of the tale- and the creative manner in which it was narrated- gripped my imagination). I'm sure a large cross-section of the Malayalee population would agree with me on this.

Before I get too carried away eulogising the movie's acting talent , we must applaud one person who has remained unsung and uncelebrated, watching the rest of the bunch savour the accolades: Sri Madhu Muttom, whose script and lyrics have sustained the movie. It was sad to note how unceremoniously, we tend to forget the most instrumental people, irrespective of their contribution in immortalising a work of art. I must condemn the heartlessness of the 'remakers' of Manichithrathazhu more for their negligence in acknowledging Sri Muttom's contribution, than for their sheer clumsy handling of his brainchild script( which isn't even worth discussing). I bow before his creative genius, for penning such a soulful story, weaving out a magic carpet of a screenplay, and embellishing it with so subtle-yet-powerful dialogues. I haven't the requisite clout to contradict the various producers, who have' passed' the original story from one to another, but I do feel outraged at their collective verdict that “the story writer's role would finish when the story was handed over to the producer after accepting the remuneration.The producer have all the rights to sell the story to anybody according to his choice and the original writer could never question it.” ( http://news.oneindia.in/2007/02/15/manichitrathazhu-hindi-remake-kicks-up-row-1171538336.html)

Nevertheless, I vehemently feel that this cinematic classic wouldn't have been, if not for Sri Madhu Muttom!

It goes without saying that I started idolising the eclectic Shobana since this film- I'd never believed there was so much energy in that lithe being of a actress. She's really performed well- expressively- and the accolades she received were well- deserved. It is noteworthy that despite Manichithrathazhu brimming over with such histrionic talents as Mohanlal,Nedumudi,Thilakan et al, Shobana still stood forth as the undisputed best, although her best sequences in the film may have been about twenty minutes in all! ( Of course, one must acknowledge dubbing artiste Bhagyalakshmi, the signature voice behind Malayalam Silver Screen),but then, what do we have to say to the unforgettable 'Oru Murai...' and the somewhat extended exorcism scenes? To quote Shobana from a '94 interview, “... it was a very very different- and I could say, a difficult role; because in that film I had to play two characters... one was the normal, competent housewife- an outgoing, modern girl; but the other was – a maniac- she was a killer, who spoke a different language... I had to first believe in myself, to make the audience believe in me...so I had to believe that I was a killer, which was very difficult!” She goes on to say,” the “ 'Vidamattey?!' scene was the most difficult scene from the whole film... and from that character of Nagavalli, I had to transform back to Ganga...but Ganga is not a normal person then- she's just realised that she's sick... so she starts to cry and asks her husband ' donot leave me..'. So I found that change very difficult- from Nagavalli to Ganga'. Upon her dance sequence she feels that “In general, my dancing talents have not fully been exploited...in fact, Manichitrathazhu was the only film where I had some dancing to do- and the dance was not very relevant to the whole theme...”. However, her love for the film is evident when she asserts in her characteristic style “...I like to feature in artistically made films. there could be Art Films, there could be commercial films. Art films need not necessarily be good, and commercial films need not necessarily be bad. Well, Manichitrathazhu was by and large a commercial film, but it was a beautifully made commercial film!” The film worked well for Shobana, who at that time was going through a filmographic transition from a demure, doe-eyed damsel through a glamorous, diva-like, multifaceted icon to a mature actress.

Although I had grown up on a diet of “artistically made” Malayalam films of the 80s, this one established Director Fazil and Actress Shobana as the best, in my mindspace.

Director Fazil, the captain of the ship deserves a round of applause for his directorial panache. I have always found him to be a gifted raconteur: all his movies have had a story-telling charm that somehow makes the audience follow without protest.( not unlike a transfixed Nagavalli following Mahadevan- her Ramanathan- out of the dance hall, perhaps?) Must be the way the frames strike a chord deep within. Watching a Fazil movie makes me laugh, sigh and gulp involuntarily, Manichitrahtazhu being no exception. That's the sheer magnetic quality in his celluloid poetry- you're drawn, and then you walk with him; live his tale. Evidence of his directorial magic in sketching his deranged heroine is evident in the celebrated ' Vidamattey' scene and in the riveting climax, where Shobana's body language itself had a shock about it; the instability of her mind is lucidly translated into the confusion, and anger in her speech and posture... the way she pulls at the streamers, thrashes wildly, displaying childish obstinacy in one instant and unconcealed mania in the next... But his genius shows up in the subtler instances too- especially the powerful, seconds-long nuances ( most of which are presented as flash- back, but are woven seamlessly into the storyline) which reinforce Ganga's illness- like her reaction when contradicted by Sunny about the dancer's anklet; her agitation when her plans of poisoning Nakulan get foiled... ( Read more on http://varnachitram.com/2007/10/09/can-manichithrathazhu-be-remade/)

However, there are times when the viewer gets confused,too- like when Ganga longingly gazes at Mahadevan's house ( her eyes communicating an emotion quite unlike admiration)! In the closing scene, Ganga teases Alli about her wedding and first night. But the guy next to her, blushing, is not her fiancé, but her cousin Chandu ( who admits to have a crush on Alli)!
Was the engagement really off, then? Again, one simply logic- defying fact: Ganga, Sreedevi and Chandu stand in a semicircle of sorts; and a stone comes hurtling and breaks the glass pane of a wall-clock. Sunny explains later, that it was Ganga and her preternatural destructive psychosis at work, oblivious to others. Did she will a stone to fly in and shatter the glass?

Oh, and not to mention some glaring loopholes in the explanation of Ganga's psychosis ( Fazil, in a candid interview, revealed that he had anticipated his version of MPD to be ripped apart by psychiatrists, - but was gleeful that he faced no such issues): Every night, Ganga wakes up from Nakulan's bedside as Nagavalli, whose sole purpose is to murder him ( Sankaran Thampi). Why would she prefer to walk around the house, singing songs and scaring the servants, when she could rather have sliced his throat then and there ( particularly when the illness has equipped her with the uncanny ability to gauge his sleep)? Again, when Sunny knew that Nagavalli's motive was to kill Nakulan, why did he have to travel miles away to Evoor ( that too on a bicycle!), leaving Nakulan unprotected?( The argument that he had convinced Nagavalli to 'return' on Durgashtami only doesn't hold water since the tea-poisoning incident occurred before Durgashtami!) I do have a lot of queries on the Dual Personality explanation, bit I'd rather leave them unasked, lest I should wreck the charm of an imaginative tale... I should satisfy myself that in matters of the mind, well, nothing is impossible!( not to mention Mohanlal's disclaimer “ I'm going to break all conventional concepts of psychiatry!)

Manichithrathazhu maintains a perfect balance between art, sci-fi, suspense, comedy, eye-candy and entertainment. Art Direction by Mani Suchithra reflects well in Venu's cinematography- converting the museum-like Thripunithura Hill palace into the majestic yet creepy Madampalli Mansion ( maybe it had something to do with the subtly juxtaposed shots of Padmanabhapuram Palace too?).

The narrative also gets enlivened by the understated,sinister quality of Johnson's background score... think of the Thekkini-unlocking scenes, and the scenes when Sunny explores the room at midnight, the accompaniment to Ganga's transformation upon denied permission to go shopping... Like good conversation, the film's BG music also communicates through meaningful silences that heighten the suspense ( one, for instance, which gives way to the sound of crockery breaking when Nakulan scans the backyard; another which is pierced by Ganga's screams when her sari goes aflame- boy, I still remember how I had shuddered at this scene in the theatre!) For the faint-hearted, there was abundant comic relief provided by KPAC Lalitha and Innocent (as the bumbling Bhasura- Unnithan couple), Kuthiravattom Pappu ( as Kattuparamban, the village sorcerer who gets scared out of his sanity- remember when he asks the bicycle-riding Dasappan' “ Oh Meenakshi- what are you doing on a scooter?”- and his hydrophobic scenes?) and Ganeshkumar.

While Mohanlal's freaky comedy scored well- including a 'peeping' scene with Sudheesh- his impersonation of aeroplanes and auto rickshaws were a bit far-fetched. The striking costumes were another highlight in the movie- from Ganga's Calcutta sarees and designer Churidaars to Nagavalli's dance ensemble. Velayudhan Keezhillam, costume designer, recounts in an interview how he had researched into the period costume for Nagavalli's character- enthusiastically joined by Fasil and Shobana- only to discover to their collective horror that at the time of the flashback setting, Tamil dancers were scantily-clad, without blouses, and the Saree worn in a Ram- Teri-Ganga- Maili- style drape! Keezhillam and Shobana together worked out the cut for the dance costumes, taking care not to let the creation obstruct the latter's silver-footed dance steps. He also recalls how, hours before the actual shoot, Shobana 's plain white salwar-kameez was 'dramatised' with patches of men's shirtpieces! Fasil also jovially recollects Shobana's outrage when she was asked to appear for only two brief frames in an orange saree she had grown very fond of!

I would also like to dedicate this post to Music Maestro M.G Radhakrishnan, who breathed his last on the 2nd of July, 2010, weeks before this post went public. MG's soul-stirring music runs like life-blood through the classic film. The unforgettable 'Pazhanthamizhpaattizhayum..." remains one of the most haunting melodies in Malayalam films. The nostalgic 'Varuvaanillaarum..." evokes fond memories of good old times, thanks to its lilting tune. The use of rare ragas in the songs ( kunthala varali for 'Oru Murai'; Vaadi for 'Pazhamthamizhpaattizhayum.., Harikamboji for 'Varuvaanillaarumee...' .) have , no doubt, added to the richness of the film.

Oops, I almost missed out one stellar performance- Sridhar, the twinkle-toed Kannada actor. His 2-minute dance sequence with Shobana would remain one of the most memorable cameos in Malayalam cinema ever. The blink-and-you-missed-him scenes featuring him earlier in the film actually did good for the surprise he offered as Ramanathan. ( reportedly, the role of Mahadevan/ Ramanathan had been offered to Vineeth who couldn't spare his dates for Manichitrathazhu. Director Fasil made good by casting Vineeth in the Tamil and HIndi remakes of the film).

When I look back at Fasil movies, I could gather that relationships also have found a place of pride in all Fasil Movies. There's always a loving mother/ doting husband/ kindly uncle/ grandparent ... to render the Feel Good Factor. Think Nokketha doorathu Kannumnttu, Poovinnu Puthiya Poonthennal, Ente Suryaputhrikku, Pappayudey Swantham Appoose, Manivathorriley Aayiram Sivarathrikal ... All these films- coincidentally- had a common, ( grand) parent- child equation as the central plot. Unconditional love also runs like a common thread in Fazils' tales. Take Manichitrathazhu again. A cured Ganga expresses her inability to reciprocate for the reserves of Nakulan's unconditional love for her. The message is simple: Love does work wonders. But when a maverick story- teller like Fasil tells us so, we don't really complain, do we?

But then, I don't want to eulogise him as the Best Malayalam Film Director either. Not even my all-time favourite. He's good. Clever. He knows some tricks. But he doesn't strike gold always. I think Fasil strives to be a trend-setter of sorts. He's a tad zany ( Vismayathumbathu), unconventional, relooking at relationships (themes like Kaanamarayathu, Manathey Vellitheru, Aniyathipravu... ); flamboyant : the protagonists always hail from affluent families, sport designer clothes and accessories ( Shobana's cut-piece Churidaars and chic sarees, Mohanlal's shirts n tees in 'Manichitrathazhu'; Clotheshorse Mammootty's flashy suits and shirts in '..Appoose' Amala's youthful midis in 'Ente Sooryaputhrikku', Juhi's Yash Chopra-like lace-bordered Sarees in 'Harikrishnans', Shalini- Kunchako Boban's clothes in 'Aniyathipravu.'....) even overdoing it at times ( 'Manathey Vellitheru'- on the excuse that the heroine is a pop artist?)

Well, I could go on and on, but then it's time for inviting comments and criticisms upon what I believe is one of the best Malayalam movies ever made- over to you, readers!