Angammal: Geetha Kailasam Shines In A Lived-In Tale Of Tradition & Change

IN VIPIN RADHAKRISHNAN’s Angammal, Geetha Kailasam anchors the tension between the old and the new. Based on Perumal Murugan’s short story Kodithuni, the Tamil film is due for theatrical release this week after premiering at prestigious film festivals last year. It is the beginning of the 1990s, and this very intriguing period is bookmarked by Singaravelan, Roja, Sami Potta Mudichu and more. Pavalam (Saran Sakthi) aka Pavala Muthu and Jasmine (Mullaiyarasi) have their dates in the movie theatre amidst modest snacks and seats as they watch the film less and indulge more either in each other (a bout of make out set to Tamizha Tamizha chorus is hilarious) or in familial matters like the impending visit of Jasmine’s parents to Pavalam’s house to discuss their marriage. Pavalam is the rare and, probably, first graduate from his village — and a doctor at that — and his experiences of the outside world cloud his foundation as he comes to see his mother’s style as an embarrassment.

His mother, Angammal (Geetha Kailasam in one of the lead performances of the year), is old-fashioned at the outset; a saree adorns her without a blouse, but she’s stylish in many ways. She has a huge tattoo on her right upper arm, and her lips rarely part with a beedi. She drives a two-wheeler like all air, water and earth belong to her and doesn’t suffer fools, her aggressive ways problematic even for her similarly graced elder son Sudalai Muthu (Bharani) and his wife Sharada (Thendral Raghunathan). Pavalam’s new world encounters go against her seemingly unlettered countenance, one that sneers at modern-sounding alternative names for her granddaughter and doesn’t think twice about tattooing a child. The screenplay by Radhakrishnan values people over plot, so when Angammal begins, we meet these characters and understand their dynamics — how Angammal treats her daughter-in-law, how do other villagers talk to Angammal, her very different equations with her two sons, and what Pavalam and Jasmine are like. Only when we are familiar with them does the film casually drop the plot, causing all the uneasy silences in the film. Who will ask Angammal to wear a blouse when Jasmine visits with her family?

Radhakrishnan’s minimalist design complements the short story setting. The film’s topography resembles a sparse hamlet where everyone knows everyone, and interpersonal histories run deep. Sudalai has a rough past, Pavalam might have been popular with the girls, and Angammal boasts of an admirer from their younger days. The easy conversations between Angammal and her friends coast between polite banter and coarse, if unserious, admonishment. As Pavalam’s predicament gets deeper, even one of the village elders wonders if it is appropriate to wade into the private matters of women. Offhand scenes sparkle. Like Sudalai quietly enjoying the music at a function or a match, cut from Pavalam smoking a cigarette to Angammal smoking a beedi.

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The film sets itself up in a curious timeline. The most significant development in India at the beginning of 90s is the economic liberalisation, which opened the doors to a more globalised modern world. The attraction of witnessing and adopting contemporary mores and lifestyle is obvious to a young, educated man like Pavalam. It is after all the time of Singaravelan, a farmer who courts a woman from the city and Roja, who moves outside of her village for the first time, all the way to Kashmir. But the big-picture progressive ethos of Angammal clash with Pavalam’s performative compulsions born out of latent insecurities. This strain is starker considering the women on either side of him, Angammal and Jasmine, can see the pointlessness of it. When he remarks about the tradition and irony of the girl visiting the suitor’s family, Jasmine scoffs, “Did we see tradition when we fell in love?”

Its writing might jump out of Perumal Murugan’s text, but the filmmaking and its ethos are keenly in K Balachander's territory. Its lurking rage, soft exterior, quiet protest and even the period, all point to a throwback, and the filmmaking evokes the great Tamil filmmaker’s grammar. The ferocious characters fighting for a voice in a domestic setting come with the territory. At one point, a heated family dispute that threatens to pass to an irredeemable terrain, is pulled back by the elder son belting out a tune with his naadaswaram. A scene that is straight out of Balachander’s oeuvre. Kailasam plays the role with panache, her love for her sons just as simmering as her need for authority. Her gestures evoke respect, fear and admiration in equal measures. It might be Geetha Kailasam — her talent finally rewarded with a lead role — as Angammal, but the film concerns the family. The mother and the younger son battle in the foreground, while her personality, the elder son’s tribulations and insecurities, the political and personal dynamic of the village and its past, all play out in the background. Along with Kailasam, Bharani as Sudalai and Mullaiyarasi as Jasmine deliver strong performances in author-backed roles — the former trying to find his voice in a house of opinionated individuals and the latter playing a particular kind of feminist of that age, assertive and open-minded in ways that matter. There is a bit of Angammal in her, as there is in Manju, who lights up at her grandmother when she hits her mother and then stands up for her mother against Angammal all the same. This is an irreverent film where personal liberty and autonomy are paramount.