The poignant symbolism of MT Vasudevan Nair’s writing meets the unsparing eye of director Hariharan in Valarthumrigangal, the 1981 film that peeled the curtains back on the grim lives of circus artistes. The co-habitation of humans and animals lends some heavy irony to this film that reveals the marvel of human ability and the horror of our moral degradation. Let us rewind to this classic masterpiece of socially conscious ‘80s Malayalam cinema.
The titles unspool before the backdrop of a street circus. A man smilingly beats a drum, another plays a flute, a kid is doing cartwheels, and a woman holds a long wooden stick, deftly walking the tightrope. Back home in their small hut, it is not a rosy picture. They know their meagre earnings won’t suffice. That’s when they opt to try their luck in a circus company. Valarthumrigangal, directed by Hariharan and written by MT Vasudevan Nair delves into the inner world of a circus company. It strips the artifice off the bright, colourful, happy façade of clowns, acrobats, and trapeze artists and trains the lens inside the ramshackle and lonely tents, where men and women struggle to make ends meet, haggle for their daily survival, and where human life isn’t any different from that of the caged animals.
Kumaran (Balan K Nair), a former circus owner, is left in the lurch after his company is demolished in a cyclone. But the pittance he gets from playing circus in the streets isn’t enough to feed four more mouths—Nanu (Nagesh), Lakshmi (Nandita Bose), Janu (Madhavi) and Chandran (Ratheesh). When his former colleague Madhavan (Thikkurissi Sukumaran Nair), who owns the successful Grand Malabar Circus, sets up camp in Kumaran’s city, he approaches him for work.
Madhavan in a suit and boots offers them employment, but is quick to put his former colleague in his place. Clearly, the power equation has changed between them. The camp is a beehive of activity. A reminder of the grueling days ahead. A man with a wooden stick monitors a group of children—some stand upside down, a few do jumping jacks. Inside a tent, the manager distributes daily wages and callously shoos away a performer who asks for an advance. Ironically, he is a weightlifter. Necessity makes him cower before the physically weak manager.
The manager is equally contemptuous of Kumaran and his group — “The street circus tricks aren’t going to work here.” They are relegated to ‘B Class mess.’ Little Janu is caned severely when she doesn’t get her posture right. As she cries, Kumaran can only watch helplessly. The sights and sounds inside the camp are depressing. The children are the worst hit. Their tiny, supple bodies are made to endure punishing training. A little boy is balancing a tiny girl on his head and round hollow discs are slipped into their hands and legs. As they skillfully synchronise the feat, the trainer nods in approval. Another boy is tied to a woman’s chest and whirled around. There is a cruel dichotomy between the caged wild animals and the humans walking freely outside. Both are imprisoned by greedy, ruthless humans.
Nanu soon realises that he has to do menial work along with clowning. When Lakshmi is called to the manager’s tent, we see a pattern to the sexual abuses endured by the women in the camp. Every time a woman is called to the manager/proprietor’s camp, the predatory intent is clear. And each time when they return with their face stained with tears and humiliation, the men in the camp look on mutely. After all, they are all pawns of the system that offers them no social or financial security. There is a telling scene when Janu, who is about to take the leap for her act, watches the families sitting outside the arena with longing. A majority of the circus players are there out of compulsion rather than choice. There are those who have been picked up from the streets, while many are there because they have a family to take care of. And worse, they know that their lives which precariously dangle between trapeze ropes, dangerous stunts and tightrope walks aren’t insured.
Lakshmi, who used to be a star player, gets demoted to ‘helper’ with her age working against her. Meanwhile, Janu has risen to the position of a star player. There is no doubt that the female trapeze artists’ fitting costumes, though suited for agility, are also designed for the male gaze—glittering red bustiers with short, cropped shorts. Even if they feel sexualised, the women give no indication of discomfort. For them, it is a costume for their sustenance. You can’t help wondering how much they have normalised the exploitative nature of their job. If in the middle of the arena, they are privy to strangers peering at their body, back in the tent, they struggle to keep the predators at bay. Or perhaps, they feel more safer in the ring. When Lakshmi falls ill, the management’s apathy is shocking. They would rather bring in doctors for the animals than humans. For the owners, the humans and animals are mere tools for their vicarious money-making schemes.
Bhaskaran’s (Sukumaran) entry stirs some interest in the camp. He is the newly hired bike and jeep stunt artiste and is quite the star. On day one, when he takes a tour around the camp, he is quick to point out the inhuman conditions in which they live. And he has no qualms addressing that to the management. When the proprietors’ nephew (Ummer) takes charge, things turn murkier. Not only is he a merciless boss, but he is also keen to dismiss the old guard in the camp. However, the Chinese recruits are spoken to with respect. Women continue to be called at night to his cabin. When Bhaskaran passes denigrating comments on the women for not putting their foot down, Janu points out the “misogyny and male privilege and the politics of abuse and power.” Finally, a chastened Baskaran decides to fight Lakshmi’s case and she is sent to a nursing home for treatment. A romance brews between Bhaskaran and Janu, which also saves her from being molested by the boss one night.
Bhaskaran (who is equated to a growling lion, and it looks rather daft) in effect is also the ‘hero’ of the film, the idealist who raises his voice against the inequalities meted out against the circus staff. The one who demands better pay and “humane conditions to live.” So it seems destined that he ends up as a martyr, which sadly leaves Janu alone and vulnerable. When her boss calls her to his room one night, Janu resists but soon realises that she will have to surrender (they suggestively show a lion tearing into a piece of meat). That turns her into a bitter and angry woman. At the camp she starts making her own rules. When Chandran, who was thrown out of the camp, visits her with a new job offer, she shows him the door, perhaps feeling betrayed for his silence when she was in the clutches of the boss. Eventually, when a freak accident leaves Janu incapacitated, she is informed by the boss that she can stay as a ‘helper.’
Meanwhile, the animal abuse, an open secret in circus companies, is strangely played down (except for the scene where they shoot an injured horse).
The circus has become an anachronism today. But what Valarthumrigangal narrates is the dark side of what we once joyfully associated with our childhoods. The circus which used to be a holiday treat for the children. When we laughed and marveled at their antics, little did we know the cruel reality of these circus companies. Valarthumrigangal is relevant in how it echoes the manipulation, exploitation, and power abuse in such organisations. How the plight of women largely remains unchanged and abusive in a world ruled by men. It is a film that forcefully reminds us that a tiny part of our childhood nostalgia was a big ugly lie.
Watch the movie on YouTube:
Neelima Menon has worked in the newspaper industry for more than a decade. She has covered Hindi and Malayalam cinema for The New Indian Express and has worked briefly with Silverscreen.in. She now writes exclusively about Malayalam cinema, contributing to Fullpicture.in and thenewsminute.com. She is known for her detailed and insightful features on misogyny and the lack of representation of women in Malayalam cinema.