Thangalaan and its unparalleled ambition : Valley Vision

Pa Ranjith’s ‘Thangalaan’ is undeniably a very important and ambitious film. It is quite exciting how the filmmaker has attempted to blend folklore, history and politics. But the resulting film is only partially satisfactory because of multiple issues in its execution. 

Ranjith takes the crux of Dr. Ambedkar’s book ‘The Untouchables: Who were They and Why They became Untouchables?’ and converts it into a dramatic premise for the film. At surface level, the film tells the story of Dalits from North Arcot district – who migrated to present day KGF as part of the British empire’s quest for gold. But the central core of the story lies deep within – about Dalits finding their true identity. 

Ranjith draws from the following lines of Dr. Amedkar in the book – “It is a fact that the term Dravidians and Nagas are merely two different names for the same people. It is not to be denied that very few will be prepared to admit the proposition that the Dravidians and Nagas are merely two different names for the same people and fewer that the Dravidians as Nagas occupied not merely South India but that they occupied the whole of India—South as well as North. Nonetheless these are historical truths.” and cinematically asserts the ancestry of Dalits – linking them to Nagas and Buddhism. As the protagonist Thangalaan in the film, Ranjith too seems to believe that if Dalits understand their true identity – that they are the native inhabitants of this subcontinent, then it could set them free.

This is of course mindbogglingly ambitious and I don’t think any other contemporary Indian filmmaker has even dared to come closer to such a vision. But this interesting story idea is not effectively converted into a screenplay.

The folklore on Thangalaan being a descendant of Aran, a Naga leader is revealed too late in the film. Ideally, the film should have opened with the folklore segment and then arrived at the 18th century North Arcot district. Further, when Thangalaan narrates the mythical history to his kids, he ends up narrating everything central to the film’s story within the first 30 minutes itself. Which is why the first 30 minutes of the film are super gripping, but post that, it feels like the film was repeating itself in varying intensities. 

Aarathi – the mythical local deity is also revealed too early in the film – which strips the mystery around her. Plus, I felt casting Malavika Mohanan as Aarathi wasn’t that effective a choice. The role needed someone majestic, attractive and mysterious in every bit of their performance. Mohanan struggled to meet these expectations and reduced Aarathi to a mere visual prop. The role needed someone like actor T. R. Rajakumari who could be magical on the screen. But of course, there is no actor like T.R. Rajakumari today. But the film should have found someone as closely brilliant as her.

The second half of the film seemed confused about what to narrate and what not to. If necessary, the filmmakers should have gone all out and made a 3.5 hours film. But because they have squeezed the running time to around 2.5 hours, the edit never gives any moment for emotional connection with the audience. The film is in a hurry to tell everything it wants to but ends up being emotionally stagnant. 

When Thangalaan eventually realizes that he is indeed the descendant of Aran, the Naga leader, we should have felt a moment of overwhelming high. But we feel almost nothing. It merely feels like a piece of information has been handed out to us without any emotional impact. Also, instead of us connecting the dots about Thangalaan’s history and realizing who he truly is, Vikram’s character is forced to summarize it to during the climax in words. Ideally, the film’s screenplay should have ‘summarized’ it for us through its narration and not let the protagonist spell it out literally. These crucial moments end up feeling flat because of inadequate emotional layering in the narrative structure.

It is Vikram’s performance as Thangalaan that holds the film together. I also loved actor Pasupathy’s performance. And the actor who played Thangalaan’s eldest son Asoka. These three were particularly exceptional. Parvathy was less stiff than her usual acting style, but was also over-performing at times. But the serious problem with the characters was in how several of them were left hanging loose without a proper closure. The characters in ‘Sarpatta Parambarai’ (2021) stayed with us because of how they all had a distinct emotional arc and got proper closures. But here, when Thangalaan’s daughter dies or when actor Hari and his wife are killed, the film doesn’t seem to stay with them for a moment. It immediately rushes to the next scene, making these characters utterly inconsequential. 

I also missed the presence of Santhosh Narayanan’s music in ‘Thangalaan’. Ranjith and Santhosh had magical chemistry in their collaboration. While GV Prakash wasn’t bad, his music here sounded quite generic. He seemed to have gone for adrenaline pumping music rather than striving for emotional depth. And was overtly present and quite loud too.

I enjoyed how Kishor Kumar’s cinematography was immersive. And tried to transport us to the site of the story. But still, there was something odd about the film language adopted in ‘Thangalaan’. Ranjith’s films – from Attakathi (2012) to Natchathiram Nagargiradhu (2022) have all had a distinct visual imagery that was unlike any other Tamil or Indian film. But here, the film often reminded one of ‘Paradesi’ (2013) and ‘Aayirathil Oruvan’ (2010).

Though the scene where Dalit women are introduced to blouses was shot endearingly – particularly the conversations in that scene – I also felt it was deliberately trying to play to the liberal masses. Because even as recent as late 1980s or early 1990s, elderly Dalit women in Tamil villages were not wearing blouses. And that was not because they were prevented from wearing them. Or because they couldn’t afford them. But merely a Tamil cultural practice they continued. 

During my childhood, I knew elderly Dalit women from Trichy and Perambalur districts who wore chunky gold jewellery, silk sarees but still no blouse. Because they found the blouse very stifling and uncool. If am right, it is the Victorian prudishness that brought blouses to Indian culture. So I wasn’t sure if we could look at that scene as a matter of social assertion.

Though there were problems in the VFX department, it didn’t bother me as much as the issues in the screenplay or the impatient edit that kept us emotionally distant from such an interesting story. The sync sound and the local dialect made it difficult to follow the conversations, distancing us further from the proceedings. But when I watched the film the second time, the sound levels were re-calibrated and the addition of subtitles made the watching experience relatively smoother.

But in spite of these flaws, I am sure ‘Thangalaan’ will be appreciated and understood more generously over the years for what it has attempted to do. This is unparalleled ambition. Some might claim that it is better to dream small and achieve it well. But ‘Thangalaan’ dreams at such a huge level, that even if it only partially achieves what it has set out to, it is still an extraordinary achievement.

Rajesh Rajamani is a film critic and director.