Ratham review: Vijay Antony-CS Amudhan film is an ode to the spirit of good journalism

At a time when journalism in India faces one of its direst battles, director CS Amudhan offers a story that is not only a statement of solidarity but one that also calls out news outlets that side with power over truth. Vijay Antony plays Ranjith Kumar, a once-famous investigative reporter who walks away from the profession after a series of tragedies. The film opens with his struggles as an alcoholic single parent of a young girl, but soon, he’s drawn back into the world he left behind after a series of strangely connected murders take place.  

As Kumar attempts to unravel the mystery, he joins forces with his former boss Rathnapandian (Nizhalgal Ravi), and a crime reporter Madhumita (Nandita Swetha). For a certain generation of Kollywood audiences, seeing Nizhalgal Ravi on screen is certainly nostalgic, but that alone is hardly enough. For an actor who rose to fame playing the villain, his role in Ratham feels tame. It’s not that he should have been cast as an antagonist, it’s just that his character fails to bring out emotional reactions in us. 

This unfortunately extends to the other actors too, including the film’s star Vijay Antony. There are moments when it’s hard to discern between an attempt to portray a man jaded and numbed by his past and someone needing to put a little more heart into his character. Still, Vijay Antony plays a type of hero not common in Tamil cinema – Kumar is obviously a celebrity journalist and the film ensures you don’t forget it, yet he has none of the sneering, dismissive swagger of usual Kollywood heroes playing geniuses at their trade.

We see him as respectful of Madhu’s own work, apologizes when he pushes a limit, and shuts up a male colleague who attempts to vilify her ambition. What somewhat takes away from this appreciable change in how Kollywood heroes interact with ambitious women on screen, is Nandita’s stilted acting. Also, her characterisation is largely limited to being brusque with her team and regularly shouting at them, while offering truly helpful insights once in a rare while. 

Mahima Nambiar and Remya Nambeessan, of whom it’s difficult to say much without giving away the plot, seem similarly hampered. Especially with Mahima, it takes far too long to get used to her rather wooden performance, to take her as seriously as the story demands. There’s a vast difference between bringing a restrained menace to the screen and robotically delivering lines.

Politically, the film scores well on several points. The hero’s alcoholism is handled with a degree of grace and compassion without over-the-top drama (unlike Master for example). Ratham also doesn’t descend to the misogyny typical of Kollywood when women play villainous characters. As a matter of fact, one of the antagonists—a single mother with a dyslexic child – is shown taking an admirable stance about mental health while castigating the child’s school for discriminatory behaviour. The gesture feels even more substantial, though it should be the most fundamental approach, in a film industry that routinely mischaracterises people with mental health conditions. 

But the film’s biggest win is in taking on hate crimes in India. It drops data and hints about the rising rate of such crimes in recent years, particularly along communal and caste lines. Ratham goes further and without shying away, rightly categorises the Pattali Makkal Katchi’s (PMK) spectre of “naadaga kaadhal” (fake romance) as hate speech, though the political party itself is of course not referred. This term has been branded to vilify Dalit men in inter-caste relationships in a vein similar to the bogus claims of ‘love jihad’ by the Hindu Right. 

However, somewhere along the way, Ratham’s dedication to its progressive politics becomes its own undoing since one feels like they’re being lectured repeatedly by a well-meaning professor who over-explains everything. This is true also of how we’re notified about who the villains are. The sound of wolves howling every single time one of the antagonists comes on screen, feels rather childish and very rapidly becomes grating.  

As a procedural drama set in a newsroom, there are some breezy lapses in logic, yet it’s hard to hold a grudge when the director seems so sincere in his statement about our freedoms and responsibilities as reporters. 

Even if you have some misgivings, by the film’s end, singer-songwriter Arivu’s appearance during the credits shifts everything. The raw energy of Arivu’s “Oru Naal” as he roars and dances on screen left me rooted to the spot. It appears as if the young rapper can never misfire, and he leaves us with yet another stunning track that tears into those who use identities as murder weapons. 

While the credits fade, and Vijay Antony and Arivu walk away with their arms around each other’s shoulders, you wonder if the real heart of the film lies in that moment.

Disclaimer: This review was not paid for or commissioned by anyone associated with the series/film. TNM Editorial is independent of any business relationship the organisation may have with producers or any other members of its cast or crew.