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The article may contain spoilers for the film.
“Love is perhaps the only glimpse we are permitted of eternity.” – Helen Hayes
Prasanth Vijay's first two directorial outings were consciously non-commercial and critically acclaimed. While Athisayangalude Venal looked at how a vibrant little mind processes the trauma of his father’s disappearance, Daayam was about an adolescent girl wading through not only the grief of losing her mother but also the manipulative reality of her household. Having reviewed both movies when they were screened at the International Film Festival of Kerala (in 2017 and 2023 respectively), I was more than intrigued when Ithiri Neram released — with a cute-looking pair, soul-stirring songs (lyrics and music by Basil CJ), and the tagline, “What if those lovers had a little while longer.” The film emphatically marks Prasanth’s arrival in the mainstream while not compromising on what I consider his filmmaking philosophy: the audience should not be spoon-fed.
The spectacle of two souls deliriously in love is often conveyed in our movies just so — a spectacle. The Before trilogy or, closer home, 96, are exceptions rather than the norm. Animated chit-chats peppered with hearty laughs or furtive smiles are shot from afar, their speech made deliberately inaudible. Perhaps what they say are truly ‘sweet nothings,’ irrelevant or even cringeworthy. Anyone who has observed lovers of both the pre- and post-mobile phone eras may vouch for that.
But what truly transpires in words within the world of romance can actually make for wonderful storylines with striking insights, especially if the lovers are meeting after many long years, having traversed distinct personal paths. Scripted by Vishak Shakti, Anish and Anjana’s brief rendezvous opens up old wounds even as they find each other anew. Roshan Mathew and Zarin Shihab lend a breeze of freshness to the estranged lovers reeking of alcohol. Their awkwardness is laced with a crass openness, their demeanour that of tender excitement, even as they try to act mature and measured.
As conversations grow intense and glances intimate, the chemistry becomes palpable. While we wait for the inevitable under the nightly charms of Thiruvananthapuram city — be it a passionate union or the interference of the moral (or real) police — the plot takes a twist and turns into a road movie with two more characters thrown in. From this point onward, the film becomes a study of the Malayali male psyche, aided by stellar performances from Nandu and Anand Manmadhan.
Raju (Nandu) is the not-so-sophisticated, middle-aged driver of the online channel where Anish hosts a podcast called ‘Ithiri Neram’ (a nod to the amount of time allowed for the ex-lovers in the movie). He is an elder-brother figure who has seen life in its myriad hues, thanks to his profession. Raju annan, as he is lovingly addressed by his colleagues, is categorical in his stand against the “almost-affair” but also provides Anish the much-needed empathy. He actually lights a torch from the other side to what activist and social commentator Maitreya Maitreyan says in Anish’s podcast about family being a jail warden to the free individual. Raju annan acknowledges life — and love, by extension — as a messy phenomenon, and articulates it in no ornate language.
As the road trip extends late into the night, it is none other than their live-wire colleague Chanchal (Anand Manmadhan) who becomes the biggest headache. A representative of the reckless young blood of any generation, he is full of himself and quick to jump to conclusions. Devoid of any sense of nuance, he holds a nauseating outlook on women, and any attachment between the sexes means only one thing to him. At times, Anish too acts just as thoughtlessly, despite his Political Science degree or intellectual aura, prompting us to wonder if education really equates to refinement for Malayali men. Running parallel is Jeo Baby’s auto driver, who downright hates the “Technopark-types” and judges the daylights out of women enjoying a drink. This documentation of a cross-section of men lends credibility to the genre shift in Ithiri Neram.
The film offers no overt drama. Or rather, all its drama is internal. Still, in its mission to appear commercial, the background score tries a bit too hard, and in its quest to retain arthouse sensibilities, certain portions resist the editor’s scissors. Rather than forcing the audience to take a stand, what Ithiri Neram does is present a scenario that could happen to any of us.
As more and more terms are added to the relationship lexicon of our times — from “situationships” and “orbiting” to “love-bombing” and “breadcrumbing” — it’s worth asking whether matters of the heart have actually changed all that much. Notions like virginity and fidelity still create life-and-death situations for women. Men are allowed to fail and falter before they find their feet, but women doing so is still their road to perdition. Watching Ithiri Neram, one is struck by the ‘dangerous novelty’ of Anjana walking into a bar teeming with men. She is stalked to the restroom and subconsciously threatened by the sleazy scenario, even in her drunk stupor. The possibility of her intimate moments finding their way to a porn site is readily acknowledged in the movie. Above all, had Anish not been married already, would Anjana have made that postdoc trip abroad?
Even the indubitably spirited RJ Sarah is made to forego her scholarship because her love warrants it in Bangalore Days (2014). When it comes to the aftermath of the extramarital relationship in Cocktail (2010), the woman ends up in a coma while the man gets another chance at life and marriage. The 2017 Mohanlal-starrer Munthirivallikal Thalikkumbol turned into an insipid take on the innovative short story on marital romance, Pranayopanishad (by VJ James), in its attempt to play to the gallery. In real life too, Kerala has been seeing a spate of suicides by young women who found no way forward despite being in socially approved marriages and conforming to traditional mores.
My younger self would have hated Anish for acting like a teenager and getting away with it. That same self would have admonished Anjana for making that phone call in the first place. But in an imperfect world built on unstable ideals, exploring a ‘what if’ could bring unexpected denouements. In the movie, the road trip ends where it begins, but not for the travellers involved. How, and to what extent, their perceptions of life’s little ironies have changed is left to the audience to gauge.
As the end credits roll, I am simply glad for the female lead — because unconventional choices usually do not bode well for her, in society or in cinema.
Rasmi Binoy was formerly with The Hindu and is now pursuing a PhD at Sciences Po, Paris.
Disclaimer: This article was not paid for or commissioned by anyone associated with the film. Neither TNM nor any of its reviewers have any sort of business relationship with the film’s producers or any other members of its cast and crew.