Not art for art's sake: Pa Ranjith’s politics confronts Tamil cinema’s norms

It has been one year since Natchathiram Nagargiradhu released in cinemas worldwide. While some have enthusiastically appreciated Pa Ranjith’s attempt at addressing a range of contemporary socio-political topics, others have called it an experiment gone sour. Most commentators, however, agree that this movie saw the filmmaker flexing a novel story-telling muscle to communicate abstract yet progressive ideas. There is one fine detail that most reviewers and critics seem to have missed. Natchathiram Nagargiradhu has not emerged from a blank canvas. Instead, it artfully continues a conversation that was set in motion long ago. 

In the groundbreaking BBC docu series Ways of Seeing (1972), Marxist art critic John Berger says, “Remember that I am controlling and using for my own purposes the means of reproduction needed for these programmes … As with all programmes, you receive images and meanings, which are arranged. I hope you will consider what I arranged, but be sceptical of it.” This statement would be very apt as the prologue of Pa Ranjith’s Natchathiram Nagargiradhu. It is one of those movies that allows everyone to seek a message on the basis of each person’s perspective.

A postmodern approach to Tamil cinema

Natchathiram Nagargiradhu draws inspiration from many popular Tamil movies 

In the 1970's, postmodernism emerged as an artistic expression that rejected elitist notions of art. Instead of buying into artistic trends and the notion of creative genius, postmodern artists combine aesthetic influences from everywhere and infuse them with anti-establishment ideas. Natchathiram Nagargiradhu borrows characters, plot devices, and visual motifs from a wide range of popular Tamil movies including Minsara Kanavu (1997), Goa (2010), Vinnaithaandi Varuvaayaa (2010), Aruvi (2016), and Super Deluxe (2019). 

The Rene-Iniyan-Arjun story arc is a contemporary take on the 1997 cult classic Minsara Kanavu. Directed by Rajiv Menon, this movie was produced during the cusp of India’s neo-liberal market reforms aimed at globalisation. AR Rahman’s music composition for this movie won many accolades including the National and State Film Awards. Twenty six years later, Minsara Kanavu continues to be seen as a beloved piece of Tamil nostalgia. 

(Left) Kajol and Parabhu Deva in Minsara Kanavu; (Right) Kalidas Jayaram and Dushara Vijayan in Natchathiram Nagargiradhu

Here’s a quick plot refresher: Priya Amalraj (Kajol) is a devout yet fun-loving girl. She has a beautiful voice and she loves singing — it is also an outlet to navigate the grief of her mother’s death. After her mother’s death, she was raised by a loving nun, Mother Superior (Arundathi Roy), in a convent. Her industrialist father Amalraj (Girish Karnad) wants her to take over his clothing business and marry a man of suitable status. But Priya declares that she wants to be a nun and lead a pious life in service of the needy. Priya also has a secret admirer — Thomas Thangadurai (Arvind Swamy). He is a childhood friend and has now returned home after studies in London. In a bid to change Priya’s mind, Thomas enlists Deva (Prabhu Deva). Deva is a hairdresser who charms women with his innocence. Soon, Deva and Priya fall in love. The rest of the story takes a predictable turn. After many emotional tugs-of-war, Priya and Deva get married while Thomas becomes a priest. Priya also becomes a playback singer and Deva takes on her family business. Interestingly, the Bollywood version has an alternate, nihilistic ending.

Minsara Kanavu represents a homogeneous brand of love stories that went on to become a staple of 2000’s Indian cinema — with bland, eye-candy heroines, charismatic and resourceful heroes, and compliant sidekicks. Typically in such stories, the lead pair’s romance forms the central conflict, accompanied by a generous dose of predictable love songs and action sequences that mostly cater to the male gaze. The political undertones of Minsara Kanavu are hard to miss. It touts an utopian view of free-market capitalism as a solution to overcome social barriers like caste, class, and gender-based oppression. It also propounds conservative viewpoints about organised religion and traditional family structures. 

The cinema critic in Pa Ranjith has shredded the plot and characters of Minsara Kanavu to derive a more assertive narrative about love, with the angles of conflict foregrounded in multiple intersections of social oppression. The postmodern aesthetic of Natchathiram Nagargiradhu appears to be a direct response to Minsara Kanavu’s modernism. Rene represents a mystical antithesis to Priya Amalraj. Priya’s life is bound by patriarchal institutions like the church and a traditional family. She is consistently gaslighted by the men in her life, including her father. Rene, on the other hand, possesses the emotional awareness and courage to walk out of an abusive relationship. She does not commodify her art in the service of Savarna capitalists. On the contrary, Rene’s keen political awareness enables her to exercise agency in all her private relationships. Priya is predictably passive like a moon, caged by patriarchal impositions. Rene flies free like a shooting star, dynamic and liberated from the shackles of limiting political imaginations. Thomas goes from being a shy boy to a molester and then a priest. Iniyan, on the other hand, does not receive any benevolence for his transgressions. There are many other parallels and counterplots that I will not spoil here.

Pa Ranjith’s second muse is Venkat Prabhu’s 2010 venture Goa. Babasaheb Ambedkar once famously said, “What is a village but a sink of localism, a den of ignorance, narrow-mindedness, and communalism?” The movie Goa begins on a similar ominous note. Three young men escape from their remote village in search of a more purposeful life. Eventually, they reach Goa where they embark on frolicking adventures such as serenading exotic women. The plot features two gay men whose portrayal brims with homophobic tropes. The movie is peppered with kitschy references to themes from popular Tamil movies. Many of Natchathiram Nagargiradhu’s characters – Arjun, Roshni, Sekar, Medellin, and Dayana – were modelled on the characters appearing in Goa but with some ironic twists. Needless to say, the tokenised gay characters and the foreigner woman receive a more dignified treatment in Natchathiram Nagargiradhu. Pa Ranjith also derives a more nuanced narrative about how villages impede individual and collective liberation from the shackles of caste and patriarchy. 

L to R: Aruvi (Aruvi), Alien girl (Super Deluxe), Rene (Natchathiram Nagargiradhu)

How many of you remember the characters Gaaji and the mysterious alien girl from Thiagarajan Kumararaja’s Super Deluxe? These characters are elements of magical realism that question mainstream notions of eroticism. Magical realism provides an artist the licence to create elements of stark contrast against mundane reality. By challenging the audience to wonder about things that are taken for granted, it critiques elite society and its arbitrary rules. The characters of Rene, Yashvandhiran, and Arjun’s grandmother in Natchathiram Nagargiradhu bear similar magical realist traits — each one’s actions are grounded in progressive morals as opposed to their peers. 

Gautham Menon showcases a glorified sneak-peek into the creative process of filmmaking –metafiction – in Vinnaithaandi Varuvaaya (2010). By placing a sub-plot centering visual or performing arts in a movie, the audience becomes aware that they are witnessing a work of fiction. Another movie that shines in this regard is Arun Prabhu’s Aruvi (2016). By depicting the manufactured nature of reality shows, the movie encourages its audience to develop a critical perspective on the commodification of personal trauma and its role in breeding apathy among the masses. The titular character Aruvi reversed the victimhood narrative that often gets enforced on the marginalised. Instead she calls out the moral bankruptcy of the larger society. Pa Ranjith tries to replicate this charm of metafiction by exploring the inner workings of a theatre troupe. Also, Rene imbibes Aruvi’s gutsy manner of calling out society’s hypocrisies. Sylvia is an alter ego of Emily.

One might wonder — when most of the above mentioned movies are easily accessible on streaming services, what motivated Pa Ranjith to replicate these images, characters, and plot devices? By borrowing heavily from previously produced art, does Pa Ranjith risk the notoriety of being inauthentic? 

As soon as the criterion of authenticity ceases to be applied to artistic production, the whole social function of art is revolutionised. Instead of being founded on ritual, it is based on a different practice: politics.

- Walter Benjamin in The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction (1935)

Through deliberate revising, reframing, and amalgamation of various cinematic expressions, Natchathiram Nagargiradhu influences Tamil movie buffs to orient away from the contexts in which the images are initially produced. As if to emphasise the irrelevance of ‘art for art’s sake’, Pa Ranjith delivers a resounding political message that confronts patriarchal, casteist, and heteronormative ideas that have thus far dominated Tamil cinema. 

Aesthetics of Politics vs Political Art

Theatre Troupe in Natchathiram Nagargiradhu /  Yaazhi Films and Neelam Productions

Despite subverting dominant narratives through poetic sounds and visuals, Pa Ranjith does not indulge in utopian dreams. Natchathiram Nagargiradhu contemplates the purpose of art and artistic practice, but how does this cater to the audience? After a tough day at work, does cinema merely function as a form of escape? The advent of mass media and social media can potentially stir the masses into upturning oppressive structures. But can mainstream cinema truly be radical when it is embedded in a capitalist rat race that is obsessed with box office returns? Or does it get appropriated in the service of hegemonic powers? These are critical questions one ought to consider. 

An elite coterie of intellectuals who dominate public discourse tend to valorise artists coming from marginalised social groups, vicariously seeking radical politics in everything they create. The work of artists is ultimately rooted in self-expression, but Dalit artists like Pa Ranjith and Ilaiyaraaja are expected to speak on behalf of their larger community. Instead of bemoaning this plight, in this movie, Pa Ranjith cheekily toys around with such fetishists.

A defining feature of performing arts (a music band, theatre troupe, etc.) is the unfiltered proximity between the artist and their audience. While mediated via the cinematic lens, the audience is trapped behind the restrictive framing and deliberate editing of the filmmaker. Walter Benjamin states it best — when an artistic form is displaced from its primary context, it loses a certain aura. The original meaning of the artwork becomes irrelevant. Instead, the message and impact delivered will depend on the intentions of the filmmaker. 

Consider the song En Janame — this oppari about ‘honour’ killings unfolds as the theatre troupe watches the singers in real time. For the cinema audience, Pa Ranjith adds heart-wrenching visuals of the atrocities. This is a powerful demonstration of how the craft of cinema can speak the language of empathy. However, he reverses this gaze in the sequence leading up to the climax. While watching a live play, the members of the audience exercise individual sensory autonomy. They can focus on the stage design, the performers or even look away into nothingness. However, the song Kadalar is shown almost entirely from the perspective of the Joker look-alike villain. The cinema audience only sees frustrating visuals that glorify the antagonist. The postmodern philosopher in Pa Ranjith is not invested in making ‘feel good’ movies. He aims to incite critical engagement — something that is very important for the times we are living in. Pa Ranjith is deeply invested in the philosophy of art and its emancipation from oppressive shackles. But he refuses to lend his voice in service of polarising propaganda. 

My chief objection to propaganda, apart from its besetting sin of monotony and disproportion, is that it perpetuates the position of group inferiority even in crying out against it. For it leaves and speaks under the shadow of a dominant majority whom it harangues, cajoles, threatens or supplicates. It is too extroverted for balance or poise or inner dignity and self-respect … It is the art of the people that needs to be cultivated, not the art of the coteries.

- Alain Locke in Art or Propaganda (1928)

More often than not, mass media platforms are appropriated to highlight the interests of those in power, distorting the experience and opinions of the masses. The craft of cinema is also susceptible to fall in line with the dictates of majoritarianism and cult worship. As an antidote, Natchathiram Nagargiradhu offers political awareness, invokes compassion, and promotes critical thinking about how to produce and consume movies. 

All stylised images by Annapoorna Shruthi.

Annapoorna Shruthi grew up in Bengaluru back when it was called Bangalore. She enjoys watching old Tamil movies, complaining about capitalism, and thinking endlessly about the future of humankind.