Growing Up in ‘Balan: The Boy’

There comes a moment in Balan: The Boy that hints at the kind of filmmaker Chidambaram could have become with this film. I am referring to the scene where the young boy (let's call him Balan; he is played by Adhisheshan K. R.) is asked to introduce himself to his classmates, and he freezes. The teacher asks him to say his name or his mother's name (let's call her Amma; she is played by Farzana Palathingal) or his address, but the boy is perplexed. He wonders which of the many names and addresses Amma has taught him he should reveal to his new classmates. On top of that, Amma had earlier told him not to reveal their personal details to strangers. What Chidambaram does in these few seconds is both fascinating and simple. Through flashbacks to Amma's lessons, he conjures a subjective perspective and shows the class introduction through the gaze of Balan. We understand the psychological impact of living a life of lies on a little boy. We get a glimpse of his overwhelmed state of mind.

If Chidambaram had managed to develop this aesthetic, Balan: The Boy would have marked a thrilling evolution in his filmmaking. Alas, he merely teases that there is more to his sensibilities than commercial concessions—concessions he ultimately embraces for the sake of box office success. Balan: The Boy might be better than Chidambaram's previous two films (both of which I found about as enjoyable as a root canal), but it is also calculated to evoke the desired reactions. Its darkly comic view of corruption, survival, and exploitation is not so different from the plot twists found in mediocre or respectable commercial movies that replace visual and artistic ambition with well-oiled setups and payoffs. What did the older Balan (Muhammad Zinaan) think about working with Abbas (Tovino Thomas)? Did years of living in one place with him not instill in Balan some sense of belonging or comfort—the comfort one develops with long-time friends and partners? The schoolgoing Balan becomes friends with a girl. Did he ever miss her, considering she was the first person his age with whom he felt comfortable?

The filmmakers have no interest in answering these questions. Their choice reveals their priorities—it tells us what they want Balan: The Boy to be. The answer: enjoyable fluff that nudges at something dark and twisted, but only in the service of mild fun. By emptying out the inner world of the characters, the filmmakers also neuter the full impact of the twists they deliver with palpable enthusiasm. What's more, lines like "no matter how late I am, don't move from this place" and character descriptions along the lines of "this policeman is so egotistical that he has beef with people with whom he quarrels on the playground" are punctuated in bold, so you can be sure they will return later at precisely the right moment. As every piece of plot machinery clicks neatly into place with a satisfying degree of unpredictability, Balan: The Boy comes across as a screenwriter's wildest wet dream—one that would deeply impress a screenwriting professor. No wonder the loudest noise comes from the jubilant clattering of the typewriter.

The Chidambaram of the Manjummel Boys still craves the audience's applause. That itch prevents him from pushing himself further, making Balan: The Boy nothing more than a nice piece of entertainment. But at least that class introduction scene leaves us with a glimpse of Chidambaram's talent—hopefully only latent for now. In some respects, he is still a "balan" ("young boy") when it comes to realizing the full potential of his art. Maybe, then, the title is a form of confession. Maybe Chidambaram will unleash his full potential in his next feature. One can only hope this "balan" grows into a "purusan" ("man") when we meet him next.

Written by - Vikas Yadav
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Publisher at Midgard Times