Vowels Movie Review:
An atlas is a book of maps or charts. The latest Tamil anthology film, Vowels, carries the tagline An Atlas of Love. Ideally, that would mean five distinct stories charting different terrains of love. Instead, only two of the five even attempt to map that territory. With an average runtime of about 30 minutes per segment, some films feel like fragments rather than full sentences, while others go in circles when a straight line would have more than sufficed.
Directors: Hemanth Kumar, Dhilip Kumar, Sangeeth, Santhosh Ravi, Jagan Rajendran
Cast: Yugi Sethu, Chinni Jayanth, Raj Ayyappa, Deepak Paramesh, Samyuktha Viswanathan
The anthology opens with director Sangeeth’s Mars il Oru Azhagi, a meta-segment centred on a movie-critic podcaster known for analysing films in depth. The very first frame shows a woman objectified through the camera’s lens, accompanied by a voiceover that describes her beauty with poetic similes. Just as we begin to wonder where the story might go, the protagonist bluntly gives away the central twist, confessing to a crime on camera. The narrative then shifts to a flashback explaining how the two characters met, peppered with detailed discussions about films ranging from The Shawshank Redemption to Kancheevaram. While the film makes it clear that the filmmaker is a cinephile, we wonder why he didn’t take much inspiration from the films mentioned throughout the segment as it ends rather suddently with an update on the psycho's psyche. It feels less like a chapter and more like a footnote—so abrupt that one wonders if the editor cut it short. And beyond the protagonists’ unsettling fixation, there is little here about love, saved for a scintillating song that leans more towards lust.
A segment that actually treads on the theme of love, even if through a rather cliché and oft-told route, is Dhilip Kumar’s Eros. The film unites veterans Yugi Sethu and Chinni Jayanth within the same story, though they don't share the screen. Yugi Sethu plays the titular 'God of Love', and with his portions largely confined to narrating a story to a recently heartbroken young man, the segment becomes a playground for the comedian’s iconic one-liners. As he saves the boy from the cusp of his death, he quips, “Yerkanave kadhal la vizhunda, ippo madilerndhu vizha pakuriye.” In another moment, when the boy confesses to loving a woman deeply, he counters, “Deepa va irundhalum seri, deepfake ah irundhalum seri, deep ah mattum love panna koodadhu.” A five-minute banter between the two, packed with such wordplay, finally brings some laughter and relief, especially after two segments of dry, meandering storytelling. The story within the story gives us a Power Paandi-like arc featuring Chinni Jayanth, but it slightly undermines the segment’s originality. Still, Dhilip Kumar manages to redeem it with an ending that feels sweeter than merely happy.
Another story with a hopeful ending and a heartwarming narrative overall is Santhosh Ravi’s Varnajaalam, featuring Deepak Paramesh and Samyuktha Viswanathan. Confined largely to the walls of a hospital, yet occasionally opening up to the vastness of the sea, the film conveys a simple idea: trust forms the very basis of love. With Samyuktha playing a cancer patient and Deepak a photographer, the segment explores how vulnerability can make someone retreat inward, building a fort around the heart. As the story revolves around allowing love to enter one’s life, the film leaves you with a small, quiet smile. It does not attempt anything too elaborate within its brief runtime, but it still manages to chart its emotional course with sincerity.
If these two segments speak the language of love fluently, the other three, are still learning its grammar. In that, Meendum Oru Payanam, helmed by Jagan Rajendran, plays out like a public service announcement on road safety. Revolving around motorcycle racing, the film attempts to tap into Raj Ayyappa’s Valimai-like persona, but the effort falls flat as his scope for biking is rather limited. Silences fill much of the segment, and the narrative tries to hold on to suspense until the very end. When the reveal finally arrives, it only confirms that there was little need to stretch the journey for what is essentially a straightforward warning. Here too, love seems to have missed the ride altogether.
After four films comes the most complex and ambitious entry in the anthology: Hemanth Kumar’s Reload. With almost no background given to its characters, who are introduced as members of a mafia-like setup, the story begins on an intriguing note. The problem arises when the film keeps adding clauses where a full stop might have been enough. Revolving around trust issues within a relationship, the segment attempts to visualise how the lack of it can spiral into intrusive thoughts taking over one’s mind. The idea itself is compelling. However, the narrative leans heavily on nightmares to foreshadow their futures, and this device is used one too many times. By the end, the repetitive loops make the experience feel like being stuck in a cycle. At one point, you almost wish you could treat the film itself like one of those dreams, wake up, and hope for a better story.
A quiet backbone to the anthology is the music composed by Saravanaa Subramaniam. Almost every segment has at least one song, with montages doing much of the storytelling to suit the limited runtime. These songs often serve as a breath of fresh air when the narratives grow a little too monotonous. It is here at times the music supplies the emotional voice that the stories themselves struggle to find.
Vowels, after all, are what gives a language its sound. In a film titled Vowels – An Atlas of Love, you expect love to be the note that carries each story forward. Instead, with only a couple of segments truly exploring that emotion, the anthology feels written mostly in consonants. Which leaves a simple question lingering: why call a film about love Vowels when so few of its stories actually speak that language?