Readers Write In #742: Vettaiyan: T J Gnanavel walks a tough tightrope, but manages to reach the other side.
By Karzzexped
Let me make a confession right off the bat. I had zero expectations from Vettaiyan: The Hunter due to its bland promotional material and the exploitative nature of the filmmaker’s previous attempt, Jai Bhim. With Rajnikanth as the protagonist and the potential for a “message-based” movie, one would assume that the level of exploitation would only increase multifold.
But this time around, TJ Gnanavel, who has helmed this movie, has a balancing act to perform on a tightrope. He has to contend with Rajnikanth’s on-screen persona on one end and his own issue-based subject on the other. As a result, the writer in him ends up fitting two movies into a single script. The first movie is about an honest, able, and theramai-ulla (skillful) cop—as introduced by Patrick (a.k.a. Battery, played by a kinetic Fahadh Faasil)—who believes in dispensing his own form of justice; a mass-ified version of Inspector Vikram played by R. Madhavan in Vikram Vedha. Although both protagonists’ moralities take different trajectories as the movie progresses, their ideologies are similar in that their swift form of justice is rightful. There is no room for greyness in their personalities, except maybe a tinge in their facial hair. Their binary way of looking at good and evil, and their eventual change in stance, makes for interesting viewing. The other movie, however, has a template-ridden, punch-dialogue mouthing hero who fights goons with iron rods and a Corporate Villain™ (played by a miscast Rana Daggubatti who just stares and glares) with his bare hands.
Do both movies amalgamate into a cohesive whole resulting in an intriguing hybrid? Of course not. But the director manages to reach the end of the tightrope, with a few stumbles here and there.
The initial portions of Vettaiyan are discarded onto the screen as mere formalities. We get introduced to the movie (and in a way its theme) through Justice Dr. Sathyadev (played by a wasted Amitabh Bachchan), who lectures about the IPC and the education system of our nation being fundamentally flawed. We then get the customary introduction scene/fight and the foot-tapping “Manasilayo” song. It almost felt as if the director was in a hurry to get to the story. And he kickstarts the story proceedings with the introduction of Saranya (played by a mostly effective Dushara Vijayan). If Rajakannu (played by Manikandan) was the angelic do-gooder with a conscience in Jai Bhim, here, it is Saranya who is the Rajakannu parallel. Although I’m not going to go into the minutiae of how the deaths of both these characters are used as plot devices in a borderline-sadistic manner, they are certainly a means to an end. And I’m saying this because in the latter part of the film, another central character’s death (shown only once, mind you) evoked a deeper emotion and registered a greater impact on me.
The ensuing investigative portions post-Saranya’s death were the most engaging. I liked the fact that the protagonist doesn’t immediately get a chance to avenge her brutal death. He has to watch the proceedings helplessly and learn about the developments primarily through news channels. Rajnikanth the actor excels in these portions. He’s teeming with angst, but he can’t do much. He is called in only when the lead investigation team lets the suspect escape. These procedural portions are dealt with with the robotic precision of an assembled car, rather than, say, a class of handcrafted Rolls Royce. Be it a scene where a judgmental cop (who seems to be the poor punching bag of this film) is given a dressing-down by Athiyan or Manju Warrier’s ambivalent reaction to Rajnikanth’s glory, we see flourishes from TJ Gnanavel that show he can write mature scenes without the compulsion to underline each emotion. The intermission portion is another scene which, even if not completely unexpected, definitely registers an impact.
These portions aren’t entirely perfect, though. Take a scene in which people talk about Saranya posthumously. We get not one, not two, but three bawling testimonials to underline the personality of the deceased. The initial scenes between Justice Sathyadev and SP Athiyan are supposed to explode on screen, but strangely, even with a throbbing score from Anirudh, the scenes largely fall flat. If not for the nostalgia factor and the pan-Indian marketing need, the casting could’ve gone to any veteran actor out there. An actor like Sathyaraj could’ve done more justice to this role. We might now have to wait for Coolie to witness that combination.
It is post-intermission that the movie largely becomes one-note, save for a few interesting scenes: like how Athiyan views the reflection of bullets at his home in a completely different perspective or how the “Meet the Mentor” step in the Hero’s Journey is written. The women, too, get kick-ass mass moments in a predictable but neatly-staged scene. I almost expected Subramani from Leo to protect Manju Warrier when machete-wielding goons are sent by the villain, but thankfully, the scene was handled with aplomb. The one-notedness of the third act is mainly due to the way the central conflict is introduced so late and the ultra-generic nature of the skirmishes between the protagonist and the antagonist. I laughed aloud in two instances. Like when the team of lawyers kept popping up exactly whenever Nataraj (Rana) was about to be arrested. Is this what the words “in-house lawyers” mean, I wondered. Or when the antagonist is planning to escape a court hearing but chooses to do so in a grand convoy of three black cars, that includes a giant Hummer.
The ending of the movie has Justice Sathyadev overseeing a lecture, but this time it is Athiyan who is delivering it. And he says policemen aren’t supposed to be hunters, but protectors of the law. Maybe if the director had explored this dynamic in a deeper manner, stripping the movie of the coaching centre angle, we could’ve gotten a much tighter film. But as of now, this 60:40 formula seems to have done the trick to an extent.
