Beyond its portrayal of a rebellious spirit, the structural constraints of the patriarchal system, and the nourishing powers of sisterhood, Bad Girl also offers an authentic examination of a flawed protagonist. Ramya (Anjali Sivaraman) is a messy and often confused individual. That could be how a free-thinker/non-conformist struggles to fit inside a rigid society, or she could just be narcissistic and self-centered, unable to understand how she affects those around her. Both of these aspects are either subliminally fed or explicitly stated, based on the emotional pitch the story chooses at any given moment. Bad Girl packs more such layers and carefully folds several societal commentaries within those layers. But where it gains your admiration is how it plays all of it subtly, focusing entirely on the coming-of-age story of Ramya, with the warts and charm of it all.

Director: Varsha Bharath
Cast: Anjali Sivaraman, Hridhu Haroon, Shanthi Priya

For example, the scene where, after a school-wide embarrassing incident, followed by a lengthy sermon by her mom, Ramya stands her ground and declares how, after entering legal adulthood, she is going to live by her own terms and do everything they vilified her for. While it almost feels like a threat to her clearly terrified mother, the moment is punctuated with cinematic framing and elevated background music. This doesn’t mean that we are meant to cheer Ramya’s adamant defiance but just that this is probably how it all unfolds through her eyes. While handling a flawed protagonist, a film might feel the desperation to show how their flaws amplified their downfall or invited tragedies. This is where Bad Girl balances its empathy for Ramya while not being too attached to her. Flaws remain flaws and never transform into devices that generate later conflicts. There is no grand redemption or hard-won wisdom, just a subtle acknowledgement of the flaws. Ramya even thinks to herself, “I’m a cautionary tale to these people.” But it never comes across as a moment of self-pity. The film offers more than just inner monologues to connect the audience to its protagonist. The inner workings of Ramya’s mind are laid bare through several aspects, and cinematography is a key factor in that regard.

Director Varsha Bharath uses three distinct visual styles (designed by cinematographers Preetha Jayaraman, Jagadeesh Ravi, and Prince Anderson) to define the three stages in Ramya’s life. A hazy, dreamy, visual palette clouds the frames throughout the school years, and as she moves on to college and then to work, the frame widens and we get a steadier, more resolute picture. Like how the world always unfolds from her perspective, and Ramya, never out of focus, remains the unwavering cynosure in all three. While Ramya is at its centre, the story also treats every character with an empathetic gaze. No one is without flaws; everyone has some redemptive quality, but it is never done in order to make them likeable, for their flaws are not entirely ignorable. Ramya’s father is misogynistic, but it might come from a place of habitual conditioning rather than willful arrogance. Ramya’s mother constantly tries to pass down her patriarchal shackles to Ramya, but the internalised misogyny makes her view them as a shield that could protect her daughter. Even the college boy friend with mostly no redemptive qualities bursts out in a moment of anger that he did try to communicate his disinterest in Ramya earlier. On the other end of the spectrum is Ramya’s friend Selvi, a wonderfully written antithesis to the absence of positive female camaraderie in Tamil cinema. While initially hesitant to directly confront Ramya about her unhealthy relationship, Selvi goes on to become a constant source of psychological strength, nudging Ramya to confront her flaws and thereby inciting her character’s evolution.

Towards the end, we are not entirely sure if Ramya grasped her flaws and grew as a person, but she does recognise that even the space for her rebellious spirit was borne of privilege carefully accrued through generations, by small victories and defiance. Like when her grandmother made the effort to get a college seat for a woman in her family, or when her father stood against his casteist relative to include an estranged family member in a wake. What Ramya ultimately learns through this realisation is the responsibility that she holds to make things easier for the ‘Bad Girls’ of the future, so that they may revel in their ‘badness’ without being judged, ostracised, or have any such labels thrust upon them.