Vettaiyan Movie Review: Much to be happy about, despite some misgivings

In among the best stretches of Vettaiyan, the friend of an accused—both hailing from the slums—is being interrogated for his assistance in facilitating the latter’s escape, and the police eagerly slap their biases on them. Director TJ Gnanavel quietly, and subtly captures the indignation of these two young men at various times, as they square up to the police forces. It takes a great line about friendship from Athiyan (Rajinikanth) to restore a bit of faith in the young man’s eyes. In star vehicles that suffer trying to humanise even one character, it’s a mark of Gnanavel’s kind intentions that in this Rajinikanth film, he’s able to do that to a peripheral character we barely see much of. In such ways, the film eagerly rushes to the defence of the misunderstood. The story of ‘Battery’ (Fahadh) is a great example—like he were an extension of Di Caprio from Catch Me If You Can. Not once is he shamed for his past; in fact, the film treats him with almost the same reverence and affection that Athiyan gets—and almost, if not more, screentime.

Director: TJ Gnanavel

Cast: Rajinikanth, Amitabh Bachchan, Fahadh Faasil, Rana Daggubati, Ritika Singh, Dushara Vijayan, Manju Warrier

Fahadh—you have heard this before—is magnificent as Battery, a character who has no business being as likeable as he is. The importance he’s accorded in this film is once again a testament to Gnanavel’s desire to root for the damaged and the downtrodden. Among Battery’s many unforgettable moments in this film is when he delightfully quips, “Moolai illana police aagalaam, aanaa thirudan aaga mudiyadhu.” I spat my morning coffee in laughter. In another of many sharp dialogues throughout this film, he admires Athiyan’s deduction skills by saying, “Idhu avasaram illa. Speed.”—a line that gets repeated at the end again.

Battery helps to make us feel more fondly about Athiyan, as it’s through their relationship that we recognise that within this Superintendent of Police is a man capable of great forgiveness. In a strange way, both are united by their disillusionment with the system; both feel like mirror images too: Battery is a conman with a good heart, while Athiyan’s good heart necessitates him being a conman. Fahadh’s presence means that even when he’s relegated to the background in a room full of people, it’s impossible to take your eyes off him. He’s bouncing around, flirting about like he were a variation of Vanthiyathevar, breathing much life and balance into this film. Much like in another film featuring a star in which Fahadh did something similar—I’m talking about Vikram, of course—here too, Anirudh’s wildly enjoyable techno score powers the many montages. It’s such a pleasure to be swaying about to the score, as the cops do their investigating.

While on pleasures, for a while, the film seems enjoyably focussed on being an ideological battle, like it were a thesis on encounters almost. Gnanavel presents compelling arguments from both sides, and for a while, it even feels like Athiyan’s argument has more merit. Yes, encounters are wrong, and yes, nobody can be trusted with taking a human life, but as Athiyan asks, what about those who happily escape the clutches of law? Of course, in the real world, it’s hard to imagine someone operating with as much conscience as Athiyan especially when taking human life, and perhaps this is why I wondered how this man seems to feel no weight, no burden on his soul given what he does. As Dostoyevsky said, “Killing is infinitely more difficult than dying.” And as long as the film remained a battle between two good but ideologically opposed men, Athiyan and Sathyadev (Amitabh Bachchan, whose presence screams wisdom, which is ruined only by his bad lip-syncing), Vettaiyan seemed impossible to take your eyes off of.

This is a good place in which to problematise the romanticisation of Athiyan’s kills. Yes, it’s an easy temptation to create hero moments organically—what with Anirudh’s devotional score as an ally as well—but for a film that makes an argument against extrajudicial killings, it’s strange to present them in such a way as to evoke cheers. The problem—and we have seen this happen with many films in the past as well—is that these moments end up having their own life, registering their own impact on the subconscious, which may or may not be undone by any eventual remorse the film or its protagonist may communicate. Perhaps Gnanavel’s idea was to pull the rug from under the feet of the audience; perhaps he expects all of us to possess the same conscience that his protagonist does, but with ‘Hunter vantaar choodu da’ playing everywhere, it’s going to be quite hard to convince someone that the film eventually makes the point that the policeman isn’t a hunter.

Every actor has a finite number of films in them, and it’s especially true of senior actors like Rajinikanth and Kamal Haasan—and so, the temptation for us all who grew up in their cinema is to lap up every good moment they can now serve up. In Vettaiyan, Rajinikanth—whose body may be wearing out, whose voice may not be as energetic and clear, whose wrinkled hands may not be as stiff and firm—is still a poster boy of charm. Fahadh’s Battery pretty much channels our admiration for him, professing his love in one scene and wishing for a hug in another. Rajinikanth's is an unforgettable face we instinctively feel fondness for, and as I’ve always said it, the man’s presence is enough without him having to necessarily beat up people. Gnanavel, however, finds enterprising solutions, even when going through the motions of mandatory fights. One fight, for instance, happens from the perspective of Athiyan, saving the star from having to do the actual fighting—and I quite enjoyed the inventiveness.

The actor’s performance comes to the fore in those portions when he reflects on his actions with guilt and remorse. It’s a rare thing to see a hero, let alone a superstar, reconsider his own supposedly heroic actions and express regret, undoing any celebrations you might have launched into. So dearly did I enjoy the drama of these portions that I wished that the film had continued in this exploration of this man’s conscience, in its analysis of his repentance—instead of the conventional detour it takes to get there involving a villain who sends henchmen to kill everyone.

The hero-villain cat-and-mouse game isn’t as riveting and the victorious self-satisfied responses of Athiyan towards the end felt like a far cry from the vulnerable man willing to pay repentance tax. It doesn’t help that in the constant desire to keep you glued and reminded of the evilness of the villain, an assault scene is played and replayed ad nauseum. Even the first time around, I thought there was no need to shoot it as exploitatively. While Ritika Singh, playing a cop, gets a cool mini-fight scene, perhaps Thara (Manju Warrier) deserved a better moment than gunning down assailants, in a film which speaks against the glamourisation of the gun. There’s also the forced death of an important character, which, of course, is done to accelerate the film towards its end, but whose aftermath feels criminally underexplored. Also, a more enterprisingly written villain might have helped too.

Unlike most star vehicles which throw in offhanded, disconnected references to an actor’s filmography, Vettaiyan handles this with taste and grace. You think of Baasha when you see his cool glasses and later, when he isolates himself in a room to intimidate another man. You see Annamalai as an enemy rises in a lift and later, meets his comeuppance as he is forced to come down. You see Sivaji, sorry, MGR, as Athiyan steps out of a helicopter. There’s even a Jailer reference somewhere when Athiyan assures that if he had a son, he wouldn’t hesitate to punish him. Éven the mandatory Rajinikanth punchline, ‘Kuri vecha, erai vizhanum’, is skillfully woven into the film, and that final iteration when he doesn’t quite finish the line is a lovely touch.

Till Pa Ranjith showed us otherwise, we weren’t sure if it was possible to make star-centred cinema that could stand up for the downtrodden without feeling like escapist fantasies. With Vettaiyan, Gnanavel tackles many real-world issues, including the unfairness of the NEET exams, the oppression of police profiling, the burden of stereotyping, and of course, the problem of trigger-happy policing.

Could Vettaiyan have been more? Sure, but I thought the film must have been such a tightrope walk for Gnanavel, who seems to be engaging in fan service, while trying to retain his conscience as a storyteller as well. Is it a perfect walk? Far from it, but in those stretches when he does pull it off—when he’s not stumbling—the pleasure feels quite worth it all.