Jigarthanda (Or how a movie can become an experience)

Ability to appreciate fine-arts is the preserve only of humans.  To discriminate between what is worthy of appreciation and what is not, even among fine-arts, is a matter of opinion and taste.  Again, taste is relative. Some may relish their lime juice with salt and others with a dash of sugar.  Which taste is superior? There is no end to this debate.  The only thing that is beyond debate is that the man with one particular taste will surely consider his as the superior and will look down upon others with different tastes with disdain.

Like the makers and rasikas of a particular genre of cinema will not even condescend to consider the mass-type films as good cinema.  Just as the masala potpourri manufacturers will laugh, snigger and sneer at the art-house type film makers and brand them as mettukudi or some such uncharitable monikers.  But one thing the present day world has now grudgingly come to accept.  That cinema is indeed art. A fine-art, in the same pedestal as music and painting and performing arts.  That in itself is quite an evolution.

Jigarthanda is a fine example of cinema as a fine-art.  It shocks, awes and pokes.  It soothes, touches that raw chord somewhere inside you.  The puzzle it manages to successfully put forth is that both the ‘class’ as well as the ‘mass’ consider it as ‘their’ type of film.  It manages to weave a web of intrigue appealing to both the sects.  Now if both the sects like the film, especially those on the mass side of the fence, it surely can’t be good cinema! I don’t know. Something is wrong somewhere. For Jigarthanda is, without doubt, good cinema, at least an attempt at one.

Jigarthanda is like no film I have seen for a long time.  It is difficult to precisely pinpoint what exactly is awesome in the flick, even for the seasoned reviewers, I dare say.  After all, a film is not the sum total of 200 grams editing, 250 grams music, 300 grams direction, so that it should all add up to 1 kg. and that any measure short in any parameter would be readily thrown up by the weighing machine.  The film manages to kindle feelings somewhat akin to how one would feel after a few puffs of ganja or three pegs of whiskey. Or that strange, pleasurable yet uncomfortable itch you get some where on your leg but unable to exactly locate the itching spot. That is, the emotion and the feeling the film generates is neither pleasurable, nor painful. It is just an unidentifiable itch.  It is there for sure but no clue as to where.

The title itself is an attempt to present Madurai as the motif of the film.  And this is one face of Madurai we are not accustomed or schooled to expect. Not the malligaippoo, mattuthavani, meenakshi amman facet of Madurai, but its dark, bitter-sweet  underbelly of gangsters.  To be sure, the Meenakshi Amman gopurams and Teppakulams are there to be seen in a few shots but they successfully manage not to hog the limelight. The screenplay and some excellent acting manage to keep the Gopuram background shots to where they belong in the larger picture. Which is,the background.

To even think that Madurai could be a possible habitat for gangsters! Aren’t we all programmed to believe  that when it comes to gangsters Madras rules the roost? How can Madurai even pretend to throw up any meaningful competition to Madras here? Well, we are wrong.  Jigarthanda successfully presents the possibility and probability of the premise of a Madurai underworld.  That is one of the shocks the film dishes out.  Again, even granting the hallowed status of a gangster-inhabited city, it is not the stereotyped aruval vettus the rowdies exchange.  Most of the murders are executed  by the gangs with the latest revolvers. A nice, grown-up, evolved Madurai we get to see here, through the eyes of Kartik Subbaraj.

The film is a nicely packaged wonder of gloss, glitz, style and intelligent craft.  Without being garish. Without being staid and bland.  Without the pretensions or need to be the art-house type.  Without the compulsion or (again) need to be the ‘mass’ type. There is elegance, there is aplomb and there is poise in the way Kartik Subbaraj has crafted this masterpiece.  Certain scenes really stand out. Like the death scene where Sethu turns up and the mourners take a break from oppari to animatedly discuss the film-hero visitor (with the wife of the dead even getting up to congratulate Sethu on his fine performance and then leisurely going back to the mourning ritual). Like the scene where Sethu wickedly laughs and has the traitor Sundarraj, called upon to execute a ‘sambhavam’, pushed to a seat in front of him and then coolly makes a ‘sambhavam’ of the mole himself. Like the scene where the 64 year old shopkeeper beautifully manages to bring out the pain of a village bumpkin trying to get a foothold in the big bad world of Kollywood. “Opportunity does knock the door. It’s up to you to grab it.  If you hesitate to compromise and wait for the next knock, it may never come at all…”

Despite abundant opportunities to dish out a lavish spread of pathos, melodrama, glamour and romance, Subbaraj expertly manages to avoid all the traps and still lay out a delectable fare.  It is some thing like as if he says “well this is what you expect from the scene but this is what I will give. Take it or leave it but dare to dislike it”. Yes, he dares us to dislike his fare. He knows what is offbeat, he knows what may not sell, yet doesn’t shy of attempting to sell it all the same. Not with the high-pedestal snobbish anger of a “I know it all” art-house film maker, nor the lower-rung perched aspiring-to-be-different masala-house product peddler.  To repeat, this Subbaraj knows his craft.  He makes us believe that it is possible to produce a low-budget good film that can be liked by an audience across the spectrum, violet to red.  

There are other props to make the film what it has turned out to be.  Good cinematography for one.  The whole film smells and feels like the dusty, rustic, soft gangster land of Madurai.  The lightings perfectly capture the ambience the director would have wanted.  Absolutely  riveting screenplay. Crisp editing. Some (un-intended?) parody of Nayakan-brand  dialogues like “edhuvme thappille, if it is to save your ass”. Nothing is wrong even if it is murder. Nayakan justified the murders if it would do good to some people.  Jigarthanda has no such pretentious preachings. The protagonist justifies murders merely to save his own life!  Some nonchalant,  effortless acting, especially by the king and his gang, led by Simhaa.  Some good background score and a catchy song.

Jigarthanda destroys the oft-repeated refrain that it is not possible to make good cinema and still earn money out of it.  Especially in the context of Tamil cinema.  Jigarthanda deserves to be spent Rs.120/- on. Not just for the return it delivers, but also with a view to doing our bit to encourage such ventures.  So before it takes its inescapable avatar of “India tholaikkatchiyil mudhal muraiyaga” on TV this Diwali, go out guys, to the nearest multiplex and savour the Jigarthanda experience. Or the nearest talkies of a Dharmapuri or a  Tirupattur. This is one movie that is sure to be lapped up  by Dolby-Atmos equipped halls as well as the keethu kottais.