Think of a Rajni film and it
usually boils down to hyperbole – omnipotent, never with the smallest sign of
weakness – invincible! Go on any day (near the release date) to any show of a
Rajni film in Tamil Nadu – You are sure to be drowned in whistles, loud
intrusive cheering and confetti (sometimes even currency notes!) – fan hysteria
comparable in scale remotely only to football mania. Rajni fans are to be found
in various shades in the family across generations, some of who went all clad
in black for the preview on Thursday before the film was released in India. I
grew up enjoying Rajni’s stylish ‘stunts’ but I am not exactly a fan. I have
usually preferred Kamal Hassan’s repertoire over Rajni’s repetitive rigmaroles.
But that changed with Kabali. Here was a director who could ‘tame’ this
superlative superstar’s image into that of a human being. (I also like the way
Pa. Ranjith retains the Tamizh way of writing his initials.) He brought to the
diehard Rajni fan what she/he wanted to see, even as he gave the discerning
audience something unusual in a Rajni film – a decent storyline, a sensitive
hero, and deadly symbolism.
The usual opening scene that
introduces Rajni in his film is almost James Bond like in its attempt to
leverage his mass appeal, but not in Kaala. (And strangely, there was no
chest-beating display of emotions from his fans in the audience, no confetti.
Just a weak applause, almost an apologetic disturbance of the routine silence
expected in the film hall.) Pa. Ranjith gets Rajni to play gully-cricket and at
a crucial point in the match, Rajni is clean bowled to a young boy’s bowling.
The invincible Superstar is shown as weak and frail in several other scenes as
well, throughout the film – taken to jail, made to sit on the floor, asked to fall
at the feet of a political leader etc. These scenes are interspersed with
several other reminiscent of standard Rajni fare – come out of blazing fire
unscathed, survive gunshot wounds with panache etc. Ranjith refuses to feed the
crazy, unthinking Rajni fanatic the usual fodder. Rajni cannot take down the
powerful establishment single-handedly here. He cannot avenge the loss of his
loved ones, all by himself, like he usually does. It is only the people’s
support that catapults him into the demi-god status in the film. Without them,
he’s vulnerable.
Pa. Ranjith makes caste-based
discrimination ooze out of every pore of the film’s skin. The ardent Ram-bhakt
who thinks he is ‘born to rule’ like his idol refuses to drink water offered
(outside) Kaala’s home. If Kaala’s Karikaalan is named after the local village
deity (protector), the villain Haridev is named after Vishnu. If Kaala is
usually clad in black or blue (always in a lungi, stylishly worn as a defiant marker
of identity in India’s commercial capital), almost deifying BLACK as a symbol
of hitting back, Nana Patekar’s character is all clad in white, his home
resplendent with white furniture and upholstery, all snowy and ‘pure’ with the
stark exception of the black LED TV. When Karikaalan enters this home (after
promptly taking off his footwear outside the door!), he drinks the water
offered by Haridev’s granddaughter (in contrast to the host who had refused to
drink it at his home, possibly due to caste and purity reasons), and disallows
her from falling at his feet. Respect for all humans as equals without the
demeaning act of paying obeisance is in one stroke a hitting out at casteism,
classism and ageism.
Pa. Ranjith’s Dharavi is not Mani
Rathnam’s one in ‘Nayagan’. There is no gloss applied. Nothing made palatable
for consumption. No euphemisms. It’s crass and crude and black and sooty, like
it is. You are made to see it. You are made to feel it, like it is. Iconography
is everything for Pa. Ranjith. Periyar, the Buddha and Ambedkar occupy the settings prominently
in all the nooks and crannies of Karikaalan’s Dharavi, even as huge political
hoardings with Haridev’s photographs (and slogans reminiscent of the ‘Swachh
Bharat’ campaign) look down, screaming out his political philosophy – clean and
pure Mumbai without the dirty slums of the city. Haridev’s home prominently
displays white marble statues of the Ram-Sita-Lakshman triumvirate. The
Africa-return NGO-type represented by the clean and suave Zareena has quotations
of Wangari Maathai and pictures of herself with her daughter (Who has the Greek
word for black, as her name) in a collage on the wall. Flags for the Dharavi
masses have the colour blue (Ambedkar-ism) prominently in them and the saffron
ones of Haridev (and the lion’s face) are very reminiscent of Bal Thackeray’s
Shiv Sena. The Periyar-inspired idea of Raavan as a ten-headed hero whose head
is resurrected each time it is slain is used as a motif for Dalit struggles
against the Rama iconography representing upper caste and class.
Kaala in Haridev's 'white' house
(Image: https://scroll.in/reel/874368/rajinikanths-kaala-gets-u-a-certificate-no-clarity-yet-on-release-date)
But the finale/climax was most pregnant with meaning and held some promise for the future. Just like Raavan's head did, did Kaala come back to life by surviving the raging fire and the explosion? Ranjith doesn't make it clear whether that was real or an illusion! In an almost Modi-like pattern, the masses don Kaala's face as a mask, we see the villain decimated by the power of the organised masses and we see three colours run riot against and sully the crisp white of the villain (the pro-corporate political establishment) - black, blue and red. Is Pa. Ranjith clearly calling for a unity of three political forces, namely the Dravidian movement (black), the Dalit-Ambedkar movement (blue) and the communist movement (red)? Will Rajnikant the person, who is poised to take an actual plunge into electoral politics fit into this envisioned kaleidoscope or will he simply turn saffron-wards? We are left wondering...
Deepesh C
