“People tell me I’m narcissistic but I disagree; if I were to identify with a figure from Greek mythology it wouldn’t be Narcissus, it would be Zeus.”
-Sandy Bates (Stardust Memories)
“If it’s a wedding, I must be the groom. If it’s a mourning, I must be the corpse.”
-Vallavarayan (Ejamaan)
Prometheus, punished for his transgression of the divine laws of Creation, must be one of the most crucial symbols of modernity and is certainly something of a patron saint for modernist art. In this proto-democrat is incarnated the secular myth of the artist as creator, as opposed to the artist as messenger. The legend that looms over Uttama Villain is that of Hiranyakashipu, the illicit child of Prometheus and Narcissus, in whom the actor-writer of the film, Kamal Haasan, sees an alter ego. Now Hiranya was – or rather is – a special one. He is not only in love with himself, but wants the entire world to worship him. But then, in Kamal’s inverted version of the myth, Hinranya is a hero, the artist figure who cheats death and achieves immortality, the implication being that a profound narcissism must lie at the heart of all artistic enterprise. This is as close to a self-defense from Kamal Haasan as we are going to get.
The film opens with a mirrored image – a reverse shot of a projector in a movie hall – signaling its strictly behind-the-scenes ambition. Kamal plays Manoranjan, a popular star churning out vacuous movies who is jolted out of his passivity by the news of imminent death. He wants to make one last film with his estranged mentor Margadarsi (K Balachander) – the one he wants to be remembered by. There is hardly anything that needs unveiling here. Here’s the sixty-year old actor, contemplating aging, death, fame, relevance and legacy, placing his self squarely in the foreground, without really sliding it behind a curtain of impersonal entertainment like he usually does. This is part of the reason why Uttama Villain falls more in line with European auteur cinema than with the multi-authorial, generic cinema of movie industries.
The other, more surprising trait that situates the film in the arthouse tradition is its narrative construction. Unlike any of Kamal’s recent pictures, the three-hour long Uttama Villain takes its own time to unfold – ironic enough for a film about the lack of time. Scenes breathe easy. Transitions between public and private spaces take place like clockwork. There are no twists, no revelations, no withheld pleasures. In other words: no poisonous vials, no ticking bombs, no safely-guarded secrets. Throughout the film, there is no additional information that the characters know which the audience doesn’t. This atypical lack of any narrative legerdemain is amazing, for it means that there are no big emotional payoffs that await the audience. This is probably Kamal’s riskiest script to date. On the other hand, there are redundant scenes, those whose objectives have been already either established or well understood. For instance, the earliest bits with Jacob Zachariah (Jayaram) or those featuring Manoranjan’s manager (M S Bhaskar).
At a late point in the film, Manoranjan points at a tree of life chart hanging on the wall in his cabin containing the photographs of those close to him. He says it would help him not forget these people. This, of course, appears to be the very intention behind Uttama Villain: a tree of life project of its own that brings together important individuals close to Kamal personally and professionally (barely an actor here who hasn’t worked with Kamal before). More importantly, this is an attempt by the actor to narrativize his own life and to place himself in a personal and professional continuum. When his daughter (Parvathy Menon) hints that he is the villain in her life, Manoranjan quips that he is trying to be a hero in his own. This film is a veritable response to the question “Who is Kamal Haasan?” posed by those around him, sure, but also himself.
There are numerous precedents to this type of confessional cinema – Wild Strawberries (1957), Kaagaz Ke Phool (1959), 8 ½ (1963), Startdust Memories (1980), Deconstructing Harry (1997), and more pertinently here, All That Jazz (1979), of which a great writer once wrote: “There is something convenient and self-pitying about artists using their works as confessionals, where a modicum of inbuilt repentance tries to fish for unwarranted redemption, but there’s also something irresistibly human and disarming about it.” And there lies the rub. For a work that seeks to bare it all, Uttama Villain is astonishingly anodyne and unblemished. There is nothing about it that portrays Manoranjan/Kamal (there is little reason to doubt the congruity between these two personalities) as anything other than a nice bloke caught in wrong circumstances, none of the honesty and messiness that comes with this type of personal cinema. This is not as much Kamal Haasan opening himself up to us as it is him telling himself the story of his own life. There is certainly a lot of intimately personal material in here, whose truth can only be judged by those very close to the actor, but, for the outsider, the overwhelming impression is that of a martyred saint. One always senses a remove, a separating wall between his true self and the sort of self-portrait he paints here. It is as though Kamal can’t stop acting even in his real life, as though he can’t step out of the character of Kamal Haasan that he is playing every day and kill it, at least a bit. Immortality is indeed tragic.
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PS: I realize that I have not even mentioned the elephant in the room: the film within the film. I liked this segment, with its pleasant use of traditional forms and their innate expositional superfluity, and wondered what a full-length children’s movie from Kamal would look like today. The segues into and out of this track, in particular, are fantastic in the way they bridge narratives of vastly varied visual and emotional textures. More interestingly, it presents us a Kamal Haasan we rarely see these days: vulnerable, self-deprecating, less than perfect, pawn of nature and fate. I take it that the story of this section forms a counterpoint to that of Manoranjan in oblique ways and helps posit the various dualities that underpin this project, specifically, and Kamal’s filmography, in general. I find it unrewarding, not to mention to be complicit in stoking the Kamal Haasan cult, to go into the specifics, but let me just say this: The final, downbeat shot of the film – a zoom into the actor’s grainy face on screen strongly echoing for me the last shot of Altman’s Buffalo Bill (1976) – is something I never expected from Kamal Haasan at this point in his career. It is a moment that throws into question both my view of the man and all the sureties that the film has been hitherto standing on. It is the only truly equivocal image of in film in which everything else is set on a platter for academic interpretation. Has Manoranjan indeed conquered death through his art? Is immortality a product of individual enterprise? Is having your image projected on a screen for eternity immortality at all? What does it mean to live on as a shadow without body? Hell if I know.
May 6, 2015 at 11:39 pm
A bit more on what I think is a fatal problem with the film (most of the following is moral criticism and should not be read as entirely undoing the film):
I’m thinking of the framing device, Manoranjan, that it employs to approach decidedly personal material. Manoranjan has at once enough resemblance to Kamal Haasan and a considerable distance from him. This handy literary manoeuvre where an author deploys a narrator who is similar enough to use as a mouthpiece but different enough to hold at an ironic distance is time-tested and dates at least back to Kierkegaard. In cinema alone, there are countless examples.
On one hand, we have the possibility that Manoranjan is not Kamal Haasan at all but a pure piece of fiction and the film itself as impersonal as any other of his movies. In this case, the film closes in on itself and removes itself from any scrutiny other than aesthetic and literary criticism.
On the other hand, however, he might well be Kamal’s alter-ego and transmitting all his personal concerns onto the screen. This, I think, is more likely given we are talking about a man who has notoriously pumped his personality into even the most commercial of his ventures. Moreover, the personal plugs are overwhelming in number.
So it wouldn’t be incorrect to take the Manoranjan-Kamal correspondence as an axiom and approach UV as a confessional film, which is where my complaint lies.
To be sure, Manoranjan is not a master of the universe like the characters Kamal has played off late. He is not even a hero in the strict sense. He is initially shown to be alienated, in denial of his mortality and irrelevance, swept along by the tides of fame. He is an alcoholic. He is having an extra-marital affair. Hints at womanizing are thrown. But, but, none of these ever balance the preponderantly positive impression that we get of him in totality. Eventually, he is hardly more than a victim of the external world around him. Yamini has been undone by his inaction, but it was really only because of the machinations of those around. He is having an affair, but that’s only because the forlorn guy is trapped in a loveless marriage. He has spurned his mentor Margadarsi, but that’s only because he has been held hostage by his father-in-law. Hey, everyone has their reasons. It’s hard to tell who is acting more in bad faith: Manoranjan or Kamal.
The archetypal existential narrative (that Margadarsi rubbishes) goes something like this: Irresponsible hero lives in denial of his own freedom until he stares in the face of death. Having achieved the clarity that a view from death’s precipice facilitates, hero performs an extraordinary deed (art creation, social engagement, act of faith) to impart a personal meaning to his life. Hero dies. While Manoranjan’s decision to make a good last film rings true, his coming to terms with estranged relations reeks of wish-fulfilment and self-satisfaction. His mentor takes him back, his daughter and son accept him, his father-in-law falls at his feet. Why? Just because he is dying. Not because of understanding, remorse or reconciliation. It is as if all their resentment towards him, no matter how genuine in origin, becomes null and void in the face of what HE is going through. The entire world comes to a halt because his own does. Narcissism 1 – Honesty 0.
The characters in Manjoranjan’s life receive a raw deal because they simply become a fodder to his quest for meaning. Their view of and problems with Manoranjan do not matter because it is HIS narrative. And he who wields the narrative, wields power. (Woody Allen’s DECONSTRUCTING HARRY is especially conscious of this tyranny.) The existential hero succeeds as long as he is chasing an individually-defined meaning, but the moment he seeks meaning from the people around him, he runs into embarrassing problems. We do not get to hear what the others think of Manoranjan the person (while we get a handful about his professional expertise). I just wish he stood more often outside that little room and peeked through that window, hearing what others have (or, more importantly, don’t have) to say about him. The few exchanges (in my count, three) which do not feature Manoranjan are all used to convey to us that he is either loved by all, unfortunate or highly-talented. It is no big surprise who has put these words into their mouths. It seems that Kamal still practices ventriloquism.
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May 11, 2015 at 12:31 am
I wanted to kinda expand on your ‘fatal flaw’ argument and make a case for it being not so fatal after all, and I think the character arcs evolve very consistently..
lets consider the ‘current state’ of the characters in Manoranjan’s life, before they come to know about his terminal illness..
I think most characters in the film had a love-hate relationship with Manoranjan :
Margadarsi – one time mentor, currently estranged due to Mano’s commercial compulsions.. if you take it as pure KB-Kamal relationship, its obvious they share a deep bond, but estranged in recent times..
Wife (Oorvasi) – don’t remember the exact scenes, but it did seem like she cared for him, even though he may not have reciprocated (typical Indian wife, mid-life crisis husband scenario)
Son – ‘hates’ his dad for doing run of the mill masala movies, shown as a typical rebel kid
Daughter – has not met him, obviously hates him for what he’s done to her mom, Yamini.
Chokku – adores him, maybe too much for his and Manoranjan’s own good
Arpana – having an affair with him, and I don’t remember now, but I thought she was urging/hinting to him to divorce Oorvasi..
FIL (Poornachandra Rao) – knows deep down that he’s reduced Manoranjam to a masala ‘star’ (killing his so called artistic ambitions), and of course, complicit along with Chokku in breaking off the relationship with Yamini.. so I would assume there is a lot of pent up guilt over the years.. maybe also a little angry towards him for being indifferent to Oorvasi
with this in perspective, lets see how their character arcs evolve at/after the revelation:
Margadarsi – evolves ‘immediately’ from hate to love since deep down he’s always been his mentor, and jumps on the opportunity to work with him (whereas he was stubborn/relunctant before the revelation)
Wife – shocked initially, ‘dutifully’ takes care of him once she recovers from the shock.. maybe even a bit remorseful for not being a ‘good’ wife.. this is where I feel the ‘grayess’ in Manoranjan’s character comes out very clearly.. he is cheating on his wife, and generally indifferent to her existence, but somehow still has her caring for him all these years, even before the ‘revelation’.. (infatuation to stockholm syndrome ? )
Daughter – this was also handled well I thought, where she gradually gets a window into her biological father’s life, partly due to his illness, which kinda forces her to be near him (if he was not terminally ill, she would have probably never seen him again after that forced meeting arranged by Zachariah).. and she warms up to him slowly, after it is revealed that the Yamini debacle was caused by Chokku and Poornachandra Rao
Arpana – realizes that she’s a ‘vamp’ for trying to ruin Mano’s marriage when she sees how much Oorvasi cares for him, and in fact, how much Manoranjan still cares for her (probably in a platonic way in recent times :) ).. nonetheless, she feels guilty about the affair, and at the same time, obviously sad about his terminal illness..
Poornachandra Rao – if he has all along felt guity for ‘ruining’ Mano’s professional and personal life (atleast thats what Manoranjan thinks), I think it is fairly natural to go through a strong surge of emotions when Mano’s illness is revealed, and ask for forgiveness/redemption..
Chokku – as is slowly revealed to us, and to Manoranjan, Chokku, his confindante, his man friday all these years, has betrayed him, and must comes to terms with it and seek redemption during Mano’s last few days..
Son – this is an interesting character where I think Kamal is trying to say that teens ‘want’ to be ‘cool’ by hating on their parents, but deep down its just a ‘phase’ that they go through, and it too shall pass.. when he learns of his dad’s illness, he sheds his rough exterior and reveals a soft interior, where he does care for his dad, and respects his works/talent.. (a’la jackfruit, so to speak)
in other words, it is easy to drop the ‘hate’ part of the relationship when there is some inherent ‘love’ in the equation.. or, you only hate people you want to love kinda thing..
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May 11, 2015 at 1:18 pm
Thanks for your detailed notes, Ajay. Yes, I am in near complete agreement with you.
This is what vexes me here: their resentment all vanished at the drop of a hat. As though their hate was nothing but the affectionate sulking of a lover. I feel that’s kind of a convenient image to have of oneself.
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May 12, 2015 at 12:02 am
Absolutely agree. This change of nature happened personally in my life. At the end of my dearest’ life i saw hate changing to love, which was an undercurrent all along their life. So unless love was there, it does not work out. Like how margadarsi say ‘who doesnt love this guy…’.
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May 12, 2015 at 11:17 am
I mentioned the same flaw on twitter. I will go ahead and call this ‘justification cinema’ rather than ‘confessional cinema’. Added to the problems you mentioned, which I fully agree with, my major problem was that Kamal missed an excellent chance to go deep into the psyche of a popular actor and talk about the compromises an actor has to make in the Tamil film environment. The film blames someone else for what Kamal has become. My argument is that Kamal became Kamal because he chose to. He wanted the fame associated with blockbusters and also wanted to do ‘meaningful films’. This was probably a conscious decision Kamal made in his life and I think that is a perfectly acceptable decision. He could have brought the dilemma inherent in making such a choice effectively on screen but chose an easy way out. This is a movie of missed opportunities.
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May 7, 2015 at 3:03 am
So your entire rant about the film is that Manoranjan whom you assume to be KH is not shown in enough shades of grey?
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May 7, 2015 at 10:21 am
Yes. And that is problematic for this kind of film.
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May 9, 2015 at 1:49 am
Wouldn’t you say narcissism by its very definition is being dishonest? Being more reinforced by the in-film where he flips the story by having Hiranya kill Narasimha. He kills a god. He is a god. He cannot be killed. Neither can his integrity/immortality.
My interpretation is that this is very deeply personal film and a blatant f*** you in the form of an apology/justification.
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May 12, 2015 at 10:14 am
Yes, coder. This is a personal film. No two ways about it. But there are pitfalls that this subgenre of cinema frequently presents and which I think UV fails to generally avoid.
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May 11, 2015 at 4:38 am
Oh. The choice of the photograph!! You never cease to amaze!
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May 11, 2015 at 1:20 pm
:) Credit’s not mine. I was hunting for images to go with the review, and I landed on this. This is, as it happens, one of the posters for the movie.
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May 12, 2015 at 6:25 am
This is a poster? I think that says a lot more about the message that he intended he to give to the audience. Ironically he turns to religion that he so despises to convey that he is the ultimate creator. Is he being smart or is he overdoing it?
And needless to say, fantastic review! In all honesty, I had to watch this movie because both BR and you had written exhaustively about it. Could not read before watching. So had to watch!
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May 12, 2015 at 10:13 am
Thanks, Kutty!
I think it is a superb poster. I mean, we are talking about an industry which doesn’t have a sophisticated poster culture yet.
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May 30, 2015 at 1:14 pm
Mano s part – Ample opportunity to contemplate on choices / decisions taken by Mano – One end people calling it Justification ( Pure Kamal Fans call it Open Confession) to other end we can take the liberty to interpret that Mano is lying straight faced within the movie itself
Mano s Part – Few of the scenes are not Organic in sense – Director had a Outcome / Transformation in his mind towards which the characters enact out or present in scene -Scene is conveniently arranged which irks viewers / purists where as the scene is enacted out beautifully fantastically most of the times – My Favourite is Tree of Life scene
sequence. – For no reason Mano takes his son to his room while Manonmani reads his letter to Yamini, KB asks andrea to be in screening room when chokku,Mano discuss undelivered
letters, KB accompanies Mano when PC gets to know about Mano s illness – all such scenes are conveniently arranged – Leaf out of Theater for Cinema
Uthaman part – this is at a different level a) All themes of Comedy used are already well oiled as part of Tamil film comedies with few scenes have direct mapping to legendary
debase comedies – Snakebite, Deadbody comedy,Two Bananas(Karagattakaran), Hitting in head( Ullathai alli tha), Kuyil shit (Vel), ear biting, Stoning, Slapping,Trumpets blown while speaking (Pulikesi), kicked onto water (Chinna Gounder),rusted sword (Pulikesi), Ellorum vaarungal when nasser discloses secret(Friends), Rat Chase, body odours, spoof dances, dysentry we have seen it all before in tamil Film s debase comedy – In a subtle indication – barber indicates bell before Uthaman gets kicked into water. Icing on the cake Kamal brilliantly imitates Kaka Radha, Balaiyah & Sivaji as Uthaman story goes on
Kamal wanted to make a film on Adisankara which we were told in the movie that it is dropped to give way to a comedy movie – But it is not dropped altogether – Uthaman part is tracing Adisankara s Story right in between debase comedies listed above. This by itself is an great attempt. Lot of indications throughout the movie about Sankarar’s Advaitam, Jainism & Budhism – We have “small god” worship indication in Sudalaimadan. Adisankarar s Advaitam has direct answer to Mano s quest for immortality
One of the best cinema to have come out of Tamil with lot of Valid subtexts – Felt overwhelmed after Multiple viewings
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