Meesaya Murukku 2 Movie Review:

Hiphop Tamizha Adhi’s Meesaya Murukku 2 was eagerly anticipated, as the film was expected to make an earnest attempt to explore the roots of Gaana, even if it was not intended as a documentary. However, the film feels misplaced in time. At a point when the music scene has long moved beyond its erstwhile dependence on Carnatic aesthetics, it posits that Carnatic music continues to hinder the growth of Gaana and Hiphop. With this argument, Adhi, who broke into the mainstream from the independent music scene almost two decades ago and has remained successful since, shoots himself in the foot. While Meesaya Murukku 2 is right in observing that independent music is slowly losing its democratic spirit and, consequently, the very purpose of its existence, it shies away from confronting the more pressing conundrum facing the scene today.

The film begins in the late 1970s, when Gaana Dass is humiliated at a recording studio as Carnatic music is given preference and Gaana is accorded stepmotherly treatment. Across generations, Dass’ son Tiger Shiva and grandson Jeeva strive to make a mark in music. With both Dass and Shiva left high and dry, the film follows Jeeva as he attempts to succeed where they failed and carve out a space for struggling musicians like himself and his family.

The politics of Meesaya Murukku 2 is chequered, especially because its treatment of caste, class and privilege feels trapped in a simplistic old-versus-new binary. The film functions in three timelines: The late 70s, late 90s, and 2026. Since the film has chosen to pit Gaana against Carnatic, through which the underprivileged fight the system for recognition, it is understandable that the makers resorted to a cookie-cutter approach in wanting their antagonists to look a certain way and speak a certain way. Carnatic purists (or a section of Brahmins) have long considered cinema music and Gaana as crude art forms. The film is solid as long as Gaana Dass (Adhi/Karunaas) wants the record labels to acknowledge the commercial viability of Gaana at a time when Carnatic enjoys an absolute monopoly. However, as tables are turned and Gaana becomes mainstream, thanks to the likes of Deva, the film struggles to decide whether it wants to stay on its Gaana vs Carnatic challenge or make it a story about an individual's struggle. Tokenism is replete in the film in the form of a needlessly protracted LGBTQ reference and collection of Gen Z slang terms. These portions too make you wonder which side of political correctness Adhi wants to stand on, whether he wants to have fun or send a message. None lands, however. What's the worst? They also remind you of Anbarivu (2022).

The film, after a slippery first half, finds its feet in the flashback featuring Tiger Shiva (Adhi/Baba Baskar) and Vaani (Ramya Ranganathan). There are some beautiful lines in this portion where Ramya's Vaani addresses the inferiority complex in Gaana performers, where at times they themselves feel they need to shrink themselves due to their art form. The flashback, although it treads on the road most taken, acts as a redeeming factor to the film. The interactions between Jeeva and Shiva after the flashback are mostly endearing and also give a hearty laugh occasionally. Adhi is reluctant to let go of the 80s premise in the present day as well, as it seems he needed to be talked out of brooding, as Dass and Shiva do to Jeeva. The middle-class struggles that Jeeva supposedly faces, too, needed the precision afforded to his father Shiva. Although his surrender to circumstance, taking up another profession to make ends meet and care for his father, adds warmth and makes the two more likeable, a more solid exploration of their lives would have made these portions considerably stronger.

Cast: Hiphop Tamizha Adhi, Chaitra Achar, Nassar, Karunaas, Ramya Ranganathan, Ketika Sharma, Baba Baskar, Harshath Khan

Director: Hiphop Tamizha Adhi

The antagonists of each time period are progressively bad. The more the merrier is not the case with villains like Seshadri (Nassar), Srini (Bagavathi Perumal), and Sanjay (Sabharish Ramachandran). Other than calling Gaana lesser music, there is no villainy they do. Not the regular villain hard stuff or using influence to spoil Jeeva's chances. Set in an age where the landscape has changed, counter-culture featuring Gaana and Hiphop like Margazhiyil Makkal Isai has emerged, and caste pride can be flaunted without necessarily subscribing to the Brahminical worldview, the three look like paper tigers with no purpose or power, simply present for convenience's sake. If their recognition of Gaana or the lack of it is the primary plot point, there are no scenes suggesting how they gradually gravitate towards respecting the art form. In fact, the film should have focused on how Jeeva and his family reach heights beyond Seshadri's 'clout' and not yearn for his 'approval'. That is in total contradiction to the film's politics and makes for a weak screenplay. Like how Vaani puts it in a scene, why should Gaana require a Carnatic exponent's approval? This choice would have been the poetic justice for a Sarvam Thaala Mayam-like film where a Mridangam-maker finally gets to play the instrument, which was kept off-limits due to his caste, in front of an audience that believes music is a hereditary gift and not for all. Gaana is accessible, democratic, has earned a wide market, and the internet is a relatively effective buffer against monopoly. So why bother about what Seshadri thinks and make an imaginary villain out of him at all? Also, there are no musical battles like in Sangamam (1999) to test which one is the best.

With barbs rightly aimed at how even the independent space is being encroached upon by the creme de la creme of society and is gatekept from 'outsiders', the film helps itself towards the end. The 'kutty villain,' in Kollywood parlance, Sanjay would have stood a chance if he was an aspiring music composer and not an actor. That way adds authenticity to the confrontations between him and Jeeva. As for performances, there is intermittent flair from almost all the members of the star cast. But they do not add up for the lack of a proper conflict. Music, which matters the most in films like this one, thankfully, has a verve more often than not. The songs 'Aura 10/10,' 'Goindhamma,' 'Poda Padichikuren,' and 'Adi Podi' have a verve to them. If not the film itself, engaging Gaana artists in the film's music will be an additional help to these artists and their art forms. 

Meesaya Murukku 2 deserves plaudits for speaking up for artists without a background and pointing out how the independent scene is becoming increasingly corporatised, defeating its very purpose. But it forces this conflict into a simplistic hero-villain template, pitting Carnatic music against Gaana and Hiphop, as though the latter are merely contemporary alternatives to an older tradition, rather than musical forms with their own histories, traditions and evolving identities. This might have worked had the film been set entirely in the 1980s or 1990s, when Gaana was still trying to get its foot in the door.