Why not build up to this flashback and save these revelations for a point where they’d have more impact? Or consider the random stretch that gives us an insight into the villain’s past.
It’s the cheapest trick in the book to get an audience to sympathise with a character – and it’s cheapened further when he dies in the very next scene. We see him wave to the loving girl-next-door, who we learn is his loving fiancée. Look at the stretch around a young cop named Albert (Harish Uthaman). Does Suseenthiran think those audiences are dumb? Would the villain himself go to collect ransom monies instead of sending underlings? The writing is wretched. But all it wants to be is a B-Centre, C-Centre hit.
This could have been an operatic thriller straddling the personal, the professional, the political. There’s so much potential here, so many primal emotions. The plot, such as it is, depends on a twist and a villain who cannot be named. Paayum Puli is one of those films where you hear about the plot and you slap your forehead and go Wow! – until you actually see the movie. I wanted them to fill me with their felicity, to say the least. Yaar indha muyalkutty / Un paer enna muyalkutty became “Who is this beautiful bunny / What is your name, honey?” Naan soodaana Rohini / Kai theendaatha maangani became “I am a lass, hot and lush / A mango ripe to refresh.” Marudha-kaari vaadi / Manasukkulla poadi became “Lovely girl from Madurai city / Fill me with your felicity.” And the title song became “Bestial beast / To say the least.” Each one of these songs is horribly placed, but I found myself salivating for them. The theatre I saw the film in had English subtitles that offered way more fun, especially during the songs. He rings the doorbell and a woman opens the door and it turns out she’s the neighbour’s wife – that sort of thing. He plays a drunk who keeps getting into trouble with his wife.
The comedy track, meanwhile, is handled by Soori. When she asked what her character was like, the answer was probably, “You smile at little girls at traffic lights.” Kajal Aggarwal plays this loosu ponnu as a bewildered creature – with good reason. Are you serious, Suseenthiran? And let’s look at the heroine’s entry, in a scene where she’s scared of crossing the road. And why? Because he took a biscuit from a little girl without asking her. Why do they do this? Do they think people with fond memories of the older film will flock to this one? Do they think it’s a charm, that by merely using the name of a superstar film some of that super-luck will rub off on you? Twenty years from now, will aspiring superstars appear in films named Baba and Muthu? Then we have the hero introduction scene, an action scene where the cop Jayaseelan (Vishal) sends someone flying into orbit. First, there’s that name from a Rajini hit. The first half is awful, a shockingly cynical capitulation to formulaic elements.
(Artist? Auteur?) This is the work of someone who kept muttering to himself, “ B Centre, C Centre, B Centre, C Centre…” and “ Maybe I’ll get the hero at this point to place his hands on the heroine’s creamy hip.” This isn’t something made by the man who made Aadhalal Kadhal Seiveer and had you reaching for A-words. Sometimes you’ll get a Jeeva, half good, half bad-taste-in-the-mouth. Sometimes you’ll get a delectable Aadhalal Kadhal Seiveer. The director Suseenthiran’s career is something like that line from Forrest Gump about life being like a box of chocolates… You never know what you’re gonna get.
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