US: And what do we do? We mow these girls down with the big, flashy cars we’re driving. THEM: What do their boys do with the girl to whom they profess affections? They sacrifice their lives and lock themselves up in jail. (Maybe we laugh evilly afterwards, but that detail remains unseen.) US: But what do we do? When we see that this rehabilitated prostitute has turned flower-seller, we refuse to believe her and harass her sexually and drive her out of this city of ours. THEM: What do they do upon witnessing the plight of a prostitute? They take all the money they have, the pitifully tiny amount that it is, and thrust it into her hands and seek to rehabilitate her. All you need to know is that US refers to Evil Chennai Residents (ECR, naturally also that highway to hell), callused by city living, while THEM refers to those dreamy, doe-eyed folks from faraway hamlets like Eechambalam, near Dharmapuri. Let’s just dump all the “issues” in the most rabble-rousing format.
For now, though, let’s just thumb through our catalogue of sins, shall we? Better yet, taking a leaf from the writing in Vazhakku Enn 18/9, let’s not bother shaping any kind of coherent argument.
How can supposedly major filmmakers be so myopic in their vision, so bereft of nuance, so black-and-white in their worldview?īut that’s a different topic for a different kind of rant. If I weren’t so outraged, I’d be clutching my sides and laughing till I ran out of breath – because it’s all so simpleminded and ridiculous, like a child pretending there’s no sun by holding up a thumb against the sky.
Paruthiveeran dialogue enna mama full#
There is something repugnant about the way films like Angadi Theru (see here), Kattradhu Thamizh (see here), Easan (see here) and, now, Vazhakku Enn 18/9 seek to – in their respective ways – denigrate Chennai as a sewer and its denizens as rats, dirty and diseased in mind and spirit, especially in those darned coffee shops, where random Caucasian types lock lips in (you’d better be sitting down for this!) full public view. At least, that’s what a certain stripe of directors in Tamil cinema, every single one a tiresome scold, appears to be telling me with nauseating earnestness. All these years, apparently, I’ve been living in a city that’s not the sweetly traditional home of filter coffee and mallipoo idli and the Music Season, but really Sodom and Gomorrah combined and quadrupled and relocated to the Ninth circle of Hell.
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