Ratheesh Balakrishnan Poduval is very allergic to predictable narratives. Right from the beginning of his filmmaking career with Android Kunjappan Ver 5.25, he has strived relentlessly to push the boundaries of his films with plot trajectories that venture into spaces you don't initially see coming. In Android Kunjappan Ver 5.25, Ratheesh brought a robot into the life of a conservative old man to address issues of caste, religion, loneliness, old-age romance, and cyberstalking. Kanakam Kaamini Kalaham talked about marital issues, male egos, and how a woman's career is sacrificed after marriage. Nna Thaan Case Kodu turned into a David vs. Goliath story when an ex-robber decided to drag a minister into the courtroom to seek justice, and even a misfire like Sureshanteyum Sumalathayudeyum Hrudayahariyaya Pranayakadha skims over the subjects of art and artists, intercaste romance, and the power of art to unite every human being. All these movies start as comedies and then slowly reveal themselves to be hectic satires that directly confront the various ills prevailing in society.
That resistance to predictability isn't limited to narrative; it extends to the visual language of Ratheesh's films as well. Except for Android Kunjappan Ver 5.25, all his other movies are extremely volatile in style. You can sense the images tussling, boiling, and shaking to free themselves from the confines of the screen. Ratheesh makes movies that dare not only to leap off the screen but also to defy their own established rules and boundaries and enter morally conscious territories. His movies converse face-to-face with the audience and the society they inhabit, and the conversation doesn't take the form of the clean, simple-minded manifestos that plague most Bollywood-produced message movies. Ratheesh's films, instead, explosively break the fourth wall, with characters lucidly expressing what's on their minds. And these characters are no stick figures either. In Kanakam Kaamini Kalaham, for instance, we spend enough time with Haripriya to get a glimpse into her life, her past, and her shattered dreams. She tells her husband that the gold earrings he has gifted her are valuable not merely because they're made of gold but because they're the only gift he has given her since they got married. What's more, when strangers recognize Haripriya in public (she used to be a TV actress) and request a selfie, her face lights up with joy, and it becomes easy to see how much she loved acting. Then there is also the slow buildup of a mood of silent hostility between Haripriya and a receptionist named Shalini.
This is why, when Haripriya detonates and attacks everybody both physically and verbally, the source of her rage is distinct. Similarly, you are able to identify Joby's frustrations and Shalini's mood swings. Ratheesh works with a plan in his mind, and yet his aesthetic is so energetic and inflammatory (again, except for Android Kunjappan Ver 5.25) that his movies look spontaneous, overcharged, and eruptive. In Oru Durooha Saahacharyathil, however, Ratheesh takes all these familiar elements to new heights. On top of being spontaneous, hectic, socially conscious, and explosive, Oru Durooha Saahacharyathil is also more polished, loose, and organic than all of Ratheesh's previous films. There are clues planted early on regarding the direction in which the story would eventually head—there are dreams and debates about Maoists—but Ratheesh still manages to blindside you with his sense of humor, which is terrifically refined in this film. In Oru Durooha Saahacharyathil, jokes don't simply fly across the screen like lines spit-shined with wit. Ratheesh brings a sharp rhythm to the way these jokes are delivered. When Dr. Sasidhran (Sudheesh) inspects an old man and Sethu (Kunchacko Boban) asks for leave to see a prospective bride, Ratheesh cuts between the three characters and a nurse with such precision and such a sharp ear for when each of the characters starts or stops speaking that the editing pattern attains the back-and-forth rhythm of an exciting game of tennis.
Ratheesh also displays an intelligence in boosting the effect of a joke with well-timed cuts to reaction shots of people listening to something in disbelief. During an early scene in which Armiyas (Chidambaram) is suspended for losing his pistol, when one officer comments about potatoes being cooked raw, the other policeman sitting opposite him observes him with wide eyes before sipping his tea. His "Are you kidding me?" face, though quickly glimpsed, lends great comic force to both the comment and the scene. But Ratheesh keeps stretching the boundaries of humor until it lands in the zone of something absurd and wild—to the point that you will either stay with him or leave him. The mini love track that he unleashes through an interrogation of a female receptionist, Renuka (Divya Vishwanath), who has bangs and white-colored glasses, has its seeds of eccentricity firmly planted in the character herself, who tells the police not to update the software when they confiscate her mobile. Vishwanath's dry delivery of her lines is one of the best comic elements of Oru Durooha Saahacharyathil. She accepts Rajendra's (Sajin Gopu) wild wooing techniques (he sets off firecrackers in the car showroom where she works) so naturally that you can't help but wonder more about her life. This saree-clad woman gives a performance that's commonly described as "scene-stealing." By elevating quirkiness to the level of normalcy and making a meal out of lines like "I am guarantee," Vishwanath, in her few scenes, effortlessly turns what could have been just a shallow caricature—a funny cog in a funny machine—into something memorable, vibrant, and alive.
Ratheesh, like any good filmmaker, pulls out eye-catching performances from everybody. Chidambaram is terrifyingly chilling; Dileesh Pothan (as Madhu) does so much with his mouth that he seems active even when he is simply lying on the bed; Gopu is always so frightened that he looks like a scared kitten, and Boban is operating at such a high pitch that he renders even his emotional state tactile. In a movie like Oru Durooha Saahacharyathil, high-quality performances like these are mandatory because of the risky leaps these movies take in defiance of everything conventional and crowd-pleasing. And even within Ratheesh's go-for-broke sensibilities, what makes Oru Durooha Saahacharyathil a cut above his previous comedies is the thoroughness with which it shifts its gears after a point. Nna Thaan Case Kodu can, at the end, show you a truck following Rajeevan to instill a sense of fear, albeit temporarily. Oru Durooha Saahacharyathil, though, plunges into Sethu's psychological field and unearths a man stuck in a safe job that he doesn't like and living a life devoid of meaningful friendships. He is so meek that, at his workplace, Sasidhran exploits him. Armiyas, too, cares little about him.
Sethu, then, spends his days caring for his bedridden brother, Madhu, who talks to a man who exists only in his mind. This only puts more mental strain on Sethu, especially when there is a fight, but he loves Madhu so dearly that he often acts as that dead man to keep his brother happy. You feel sorry for Sethu; the darkness underneath the cheery surface is visible from the beginning, which is why, when Ratheesh diverts the tone of the story, the result feels inevitable rather than jarring. In fact, Ratheesh would have done a disservice to his film if he had maintained a comic mood all the way to the finish line. Sethu's isolation, the Maoist angle, Rajendra's restless frame, and the lines of oppression burst forth with such great force that Oru Durooha Saahacharyathil no longer remains a laughing matter (it also gently pokes at the "100% literacy rate" slogan of Keralam). Rather, it becomes an origin story of a rebel that strives to tell you what pushes mild-mannered people like Sethu toward rage and violence. Ratheesh's voice tears through the screen with a razor-like sharpness. It's as if the very genre of comedy was suppressing the real issues earlier, which is why, as a filmmaker, Ratheesh decides to fight against the comic tone itself to lend clarity to what really matters. With Oru Durooha Saahacharyathil, then, Ratheesh leads a battle against the oppressive rules of popular convention through the very aesthetics of the film, making it almost impossible to slot into a fixed label or a fixed genre.
This is a cinematic fight that Ratheesh has been engaged in since Kanakam Kaamini Kalaham, but he reaches his apex here. There is something free-flowing about Oru Durooha Saahacharyathil. The cheeky yet commanding attitude with which it disregards all kinds of expectations to follow its own path screams cinematic defiance. It's a bold, audacious move that could have yielded a Sureshanteyum Sumalathayudeyum Hrudayahariyaya Pranayakadha-like misstep. Thankfully, Ratheesh has a firm grip on his voice and the material—he realizes his vision with plenty of chutzpah and courage. The final shot neatly sums up Oru Durooha Saahacharyathil: a mad, rebellious face covered with a mask, its smile painted with a blood-soaked hand. The movie spits in the face of formulas and patterns, beginning with a comic tone that brushes against a dark subject before ending up with cuts and bruises. Oru Durooha Saahacharyathil is a comedy of recalcitrant proportions. It's also one of the most bizarre and original films you will see this year.
Written by - Vikas Yadav
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Publisher at Midgard Times