What's Missing from ‘Bison Kaalamaadan’

All Kittan Velusamy (Dhruv Vikram) wants to do is play kabaddi. He doesn't understand why he's targeted, shamed, and blamed for the crimes committed by others around him. A person from his caste will launch an attack and hack bodies into pieces, and the survivors will look at him with suspicion. Kittan is just an innocent kid who's being punished for the crimes committed by someone's father, forefather, or rival gangs from two different communities. In Bison Kaalamaadan, Mari Selvaraj says that the new generation can break the cycle of violence through their talents. "Every child is special," Taare Zameen Par declared, and Selvaraj encourages the youth to use their specialty in the right direction to achieve eminence. Bison Kaalamaadan was released in theaters on 17 October and (rightly) garnered critical acclaim. Selvaraj, working with cinematographer Ezhil Arasu K. and editor Sakthi Thiru, unleashes emotionally charged, highly volatile images that freely interweave past, present, and future. The movie is visually rich and narratively dense — it moves smoothly and energetically through its 168-minute runtime. There is not a single dull moment here. 

Yet, there is something that has been bothering me about Bison Kaalamaadan. I really liked how Selvaraj basically says that it takes a village to raise a talent, but his idea of "talent" is pretty superficial. Kittan, we are told, is a natural kabaddi player. This sport runs in the blood of his villagers. What's more, Kittan's father (Pasupathy) and grandfather, too, were kabaddi players. It's one thing to be born with talent, and another to refine it enough to become a true professional. A ten-year-old child may have a good voice or an attractive face, but that alone does not make them a professional singer or actor. At best, they may be promising — their skills still rough around the edges, waiting to be shaped through practice and dedication. That refinement requires strict routines, daily repetition, and full engagement with the craft's technical aspects. Many young learners choose a role model and compare themselves to that figure to understand what they need to improve in order to move closer to excellence. At the same time, one doesn't need to be born with talent to achieve greatness in any field. Talent can be awakened and cultivated through curiosity, consistent practice, and committed effort.

What's common between these two different categories of people is training and devotion. This is the crucial thing that's missing from Bison Kaalamaadan — or, rather, Selvaraj reduces it to a series of competent yet conventional training montages. In this article in The Hindu, Manathi P. Ganesan, the real-life subject of this film, said that he "grew up admiring kabaddi players such as Raja, Panneerselvam and Suyambu Lingam, taking in their techniques and unique characteristics." Who does Kittan admire? What techniques does he learn from his coach or other players? There isn't a single scene in Bison Kaalamaadan where Kittan talks with other players—at least with those he can actually speak to—about the game and its practical aspects. There is no discussion about form, strength, diet, or even financial aspects. From the Hindu article: "Ganesan says that it was only after joining the TNEB team could he afford to spend on a special diet. 'Till then, I mostly ate pazhaya soru with dry fish and a chunk of karupatti on the side, and large ellu urundais my mother would make at home with jaggery,' he recalls." Here is another quote from an article in The Week: "Thangaraj, the sports teacher at Ganesan's school, ignited the return to Kabaddi, and from then on, there was no looking back. Thangaraj not only coached Ganesan but also supported him financially." From these articles, one sees Ganesan as a human who invested a great deal of time and resources in perfecting his craft. Kittan, comparatively, comes across as a god (he doesn't confer with either his coach or his father about strategies). It doesn't matter what he eats or whether he and his family are short on finances. Kittan merely shows up and wins every match like a one-man-army avatar. He slips only once during the Asian Games, but this is more of a storytelling trick to generate tension.

There is another reason behind the magnification of a point that many will consider trivial. Take these lines from the review of the film by Baradwaj Rangan: "In an early scene, we see a young Kittaan squeezing himself into a corner, terrified at the bloodshed he has just seen. Much later, we get an echo shot of another young man who sees bloodshed and who reacts the exact same way. Kittaan may succeed, but Mari Selvaraj also shows us the other Kittaans who need to save themselves, on their own or with help." But based on this film, those other Kittans need an innate gift to save themselves. The Kittan, at the center of the film, is already an Asian Games-level player. His routines come across as nothing more than obligatory sports-drama montage fillers. What Selvaraj ultimately sells is a troubling notion about talent held by many: it's something one is either born with or doesn't really have. This is why Bison Kaalamaadan, for all its terrific filmmaking and a laudable message, looks like a congratulatory biopic made by a friend for a friend (Ganesan and Selvaraj are apparently relatives in real life). Selvaraj might be one of the best filmmakers working today, but his ideas regarding talent resemble those of an amateur dreamer.

Written by - Vikas Yadav
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Publisher at Midgard Times