Vaazhai Is The Antithesis To Coming-Of-Age Film

GREEN is lush. Green is fertile. Green is calming and relieving. It is cathartic and powerful enough to cleanse the soul. It is why people holiday in the hills and forests, in the lap of nature and away from the bustling cities. Nature as it should seem and as it should heal. In Varumayin Niram Sivappu, Rangan (Kamal Haasan) paints green on canvas and calls it sezhumai. The Tamil word’s closest meaning is fertile. In Mari Selvaraj’s new film Vaazhai, we see this greenery all around the frame. The green envelopes the frame to the extent that it eats its characters and allows little space for them. The characters become the worms we see in some of the scenes, minute and invisible within the lush greenery of farms, plantations, hills and mainly banana fields as far as the eyes can see. A peaceful and serene atmosphere where one can imagine nothing but a beautiful life, a thought that misses the violence and injustice amidst it all, that conceals the loss of innocence and an entire childhood.

Vaazhai begins with the note that it is a fictionalised account of true events—from his own childhood—and a picture of him with his parents. The note mentions that the events shattered his childhood. Vaazhai is indeed a shattering film; it embraces us with the warm and sweet innocence of childhood, sheltered but not protected from harsh social realities that govern the day-to-day vagaries of that time. Our protagonist is Sivanaindhan (Ponvel M) who lives with his mother (Janaki) and his sister Vembu (Dhivya Duraisamy). They are all wage labourers in the banana plantations surrounding the village of Puliyankulam, their day goes by breaking their bones with banana stalks over their heads carried through mud and slush for little money. The plants even grow between Sivanaindhan and his best friend Sekar’s home, the adults stand on their toes to tower over them to communicate. Sivananindhan cowers away from this job, he is one of those children who finds refuge at school, not only because he is the only kid in the class who passes his exams, but also because it keeps him away from the job in the fields. He goes to great lengths of lies and deception to keep away, to rush to school with Sekar to study or interact with his boyhood crush—his teacher Poongodi (Nikhila Vimal).

Puliyankulam, where the filmmaker grew up, crops up in many of his creations. It is famously the village of the eponymous protagonist in Pariyerum Perumal. It is also central to his published fiction—Marakkave Ninaikkiren, his series in the magazine Ananda Vikatan and his collection of short stories Thamirabharaniyil Kollapadaathavargal. In many ways, Vaazhai is Mari Selvaraj’s version of François Truffaut’s The 400 Blows. It is a film close to his heart, he once compared himself to Antoine Doinel and how he ran in a similar manner in his childhood. Sivanaindhan too runs a lot—he runs away from the laborious work, he runs away from his family, he runs to meet his favourite teacher, he runs to school. As suggested by the title of Thamirabharaniyil Kollapadaathavargal (The ones who were not killed in the Thamirabharani river), the violence of the Manjolai tea estate labourers massacre (1999; the film is set in 1998-99) haunts the narrative in Vaazhai too. The labourers led by Kani (Kalaiyarasan wearing Young Prince Sports Club, Puliyankulam t-shirt) strike for wage increment. The Manjolai labourers too were protesting for wage settlement (and Sivanaindhan’s mother says his father, a communist, died in a river). The strike excites Sivanaindhan for it means no job in the fields and he can do as he pleases when there is no school. Mari puts the surrealist image of a banana stalk on their head in the classroom too, and one of the male teachers remarks about their necks (like Pariyerum Perumal, here too, the female teachers are painted as supportive in a young man’s life).

Vaazhai is a gorgeously filmed work (cinematography by Theni Eswar), its wide shots of fields blur the difficult lives of its people. The filmmaker uses these greens to his advantage, how fertility is deceitful, how it clamps down on their lives like they are mere worms that crawl on Sivanaindhan’s feet. Mari’s usual affinity for animals too is a constant signature—the cow, the worms, a hen, the goats, a chameleon, everything reminds us of a life in unison with the fauna, a life where the animals show more humanity and compassion than humans themselves. The editing by Suriya Pradhaman is another masterwork, it complements the film’s gradual building of our affinity for these characters, the warmth and camaraderie of the first half dominated by puppy love, cinema, Rajini-Kamal conflict paving the way for a more tense and brutal finish that is entirely organic. Mari’s visual flair is terrific in Karnan and here it finds an even grander release, one where shots are composed with care, be it the monochrome shots that create an aura of mystery or the angles that stay within the height of Sivanaindhan to conjure familiarity for us.

Santhosh Narayanan’s music works in parts but is overused in some of the scenes, pushing the pathos further when the visuals and performances (Ponvel, Raghul R as Sekar, and Nikhila Vimal are terrific) are doing the heavy lifting anyway. A couple of songs also feel unnecessary, the love track between Vembu and Kani force-fitted to induce an emotion later in the film. There is also text on screen bang in the middle of the film. But these are minor objections, not even flaws. Vaazhai is the antithesis of the coming-of-age film, it is a film about how a childhood comes to a stop in its tracks. Innocence gained is lost to struggle at an uncomprehending age. It is yet another film that puts Mari Selvaraj as the premier documentarian and filmmaker in Tamil cinema, a man with a wealth of stories in his heart and mind.