“Minsara Kanavu”

 

There are times when the hype before a film’s release works to its advantage.  Even though there is the risk of the actual product not meeting sky-high expectations, in general, interest created about a film does pull in crowds in droves.  This is what happened in the case of “Minsara Kanavu,” released in Jan. 1997 to celebrate the 50^th year of AVM productions.  Here are the fast facts: a well-respected ad-filmmaker (Rajiv Menon) who, after winning accolades for his work behind the camera for Mani Ratnam’s “Bombay” was making his directorial debut.  That juggernaut called A.R. Rehman that started rolling in 1992 and never seemed/seems to stop.  And, of course, a dream cast— the charismatic Aravind Swamy, the gorgeous Kajol and the loopy, dancing genius Prabhu Deva.  The movie, mounted on a grand scale, is very entertaining thanks to these factors but has its share of flaws too.

 

At the time of the film’s release, one of my friends said, “It’s so obvious that the director is an ad film-maker.”  I think there are two sides to that coin.  Rajiv Menon is a very urbane person (I’ve met him once and have also read quite a bit about him) who believes in style and sophistication in his presentation.  Ad films require you to conjure up something creative and tell a story within a minute or so.  The way something is presented should force you to think about what is being marketed (do we all not associate A. R. Rehman and co. with Airtel cell phones?!).  The medium precedes the message and surrealism, as opposed to realism, is something that’s part and parcel of ad films.  And, this is where the pluses and minuses of “Minsara Kanavu” lie.

 

The movie starts off with a trying sequence involving Amalraj (Girish Karnard), a blowhard who shows off his Grandpa’s vintage cars and videos of his factory inauguration ceremonies to his guests!  We then get to see his daughter Priya (played by the luminous Kajol), a carefree, fun-loving girl, who’s been at a Christian boarding school in Ooty under the tutelage of Mother Superior, the sister of Amalraj’s ex-assistant Thangadurai (SPB).  Thangadurai’s son Thomas (Aravind Swamy) is a Harvard-bred guy who has returned to India to work with his father (the movie gets this detail wrong—a student from Harvard will never have the southern accent sported by Swamy!).  He goes to Ooty to get the blessings of his Aunt and it is there that he falls hook, line and sinker for Priya. 

 

The extended sequences in Ooty are beautifully conceived and gracefully executed.  There’s a lyrical touch to some of the sequences which is missing in the middle portions of the movie (in Chennai).  The sequence where Thomas presents a watch to Mother Superior (though the bathroom scene is unfunny) has some splendid touches, especially the way Kajol praises him for his act.  This could’ve easily passed off as an ad for Titan watches (I mean this as a compliment).  But the best part of this Ooty sequence is the “Anbendra Mazhaiyilae” song hauntingly rendered by Anuradha Sriram.  The song is bound to sway your heart every time you listen to it.  The photography, the music and the reactions of Aravind Swamy alone are worth the price of the ticket.  So, is the subsequent scene in the music room. 

 

Priya, who has finished school, now decides that she wants to become a nun because, having been brought up in the Christian Missionary, she’s felt close to Christ.  Mother Superior advises her to first go “face the world” and see if she still feels the same way about a life of celibacy, sacrifice and service.  This is where one of the major problems of “Minsara Kanavu” arises.  None can fault Kajol for her performance; instead, it is Rajiv Menon who should take the blame for the poor characterization here.  Passion for religion and service is something that must be brought out with all force.  And, rarely, if ever, did I see Kajol’s character that way.  Sure, the reasons don’t ring false and it could also be argued that she had every right to make her own choice in the end (in all fairness, nobody should be forced into such a serious thing against their free will) but there is hardly any dramatic tension about what her decision will be.  The middle portions almost never dwell upon the religious side of her character and so we never sense a purpose or urgency.

 

But the real fun begins with the entry of Prabhu Deva as Guru, a barber, who can dance and who can supposedly read the minds of girls.  He is also part of a pseudo-music band with Nasser and a couple of other guys.  Thomas enlists the help of Guru regarding ways to express his love for Priya.  Prabhu Deva is in his element in the initial portions, weaving his brand of magic with some amazing dance routines (“Strawberry Kannae”) and good, clean fun.  The scenes in the salon and at the top of the building (where he convinces a girl to not commit suicide) are portions where the livewire in him sends sparks in all directions.  The scene where he asks Aravind Swamy to describe his dream girl is one of the best scenes in the movie thanks to the dialogues and poetic verses.  Here’s a line Swamy uses to describe his girl: Kaalai Karukkallil Kathiravan Udhithathum Maraindhu Poagum Saadhaarna Nakshathirangall Matra Penngall. 

 

As Guru comes up with ideas (some are funny the way they’re executed while others seem juvenile) to make Priya fall in love with the notion of romantic love, we sense the direction in which the plot is headed.  That eventually, Priya will fall for Guru.  This becomes very obvious because Thomas, who should’ve been the focus of these portions, actually takes the backseat.  But Prabhu Deva’s coming timing and verve ensures that the entertainment quotient never drops below a certain level.  He is in fine form, whether in his entreaties to Kajol to join their music band or when he dances with lightning speed in the “Ooo Lalalaa” song.

 

The subplots involving Amalraj bringing in unsuitable suitors for Priya (the “yarn dyeing” sequence is laugh-out-loud funny) and feigning illness in order to prevent her from thinking about her ‘mission,’ have their lighter moments.  There is mild humor in pretty much all of these situations (Kajol’s first day at her Vests and Briefs company is a lot of fun thanks to Mohan Ram’s knack for comedy).  Here again, the Director is at fault.  He refuses to make the Thomas character do anything noteworthy.  As Priya takes charge of her father’s firm, she is supposed to be getting Thomas’ help in her business.  This is just explained in dialogues and we never get to see Thomas and Priya together. 

 

But the movie picks up steam in the second half when we finally get to see Thomas in action.  There’s a lovely, little scene in his car where he drops off Kajol and grins to himself in shyness, while thinking of her.  There’s something very cultured and decent about Thomas in these portions, thanks to Aravind Swamy’s performance, which make us root for him, something the Director should’ve done earlier.  Now it is too late since Priya has already developed feelings for Guru and treats Thomas as a friend and a confidant.  There’s a certain sweetness and innocence in the way Kajol says, “Enakku Thomas-a Pidikkum.”  Due to the deft handling of the director, we empathize with all three characters, especially the undying love of Thomas and the dilemma and guilt of Guru who’s realized he’s fallen in love with a person who is in his friend’s thoughts and senses every moment.

            It is the confidence that the Director has in his music director A. R. Rehman that comes to the fore in the second half.  Two major twists happen during song sequences.  The first is the unforgettable melody (I should really be saying “lullaby!”) “Vennilavey Vennilavey.”  This is an amazingly choreographed sequence (which fetched Prabhu Deva a national award) which sort of tells a story within 5 minutes (remember the ‘ad’ influence I was talking about?!).  The one liner for the sequence is: Guru gives Priya company while they’re waiting for Thomas but they end up expressing their love for each other.  This is pure musical genius at work.  The movements are in perfect sync with the tune—watch the way the visuals and music blend in the shot where they’re about to hug each other but quickly come back to their senses.  Of course, Vairamuthu’s lines are legendary (Javed Akthar who wrote the Hindi version of the songs publicly said that he found it nearly impossible to translate the line, “Thalai Saayaadhey Vizhi Moodaathey Sila Mottukkall Sattendru Poovaagum”).  He came up with the perfect line for the crescendo where Guru and Priya succumb to the power of love.  His one line--“Ada Ulagai Rasikka Vendum Naan Un Pondra Pennoadu”—will pop up in the minds of viewers every time they think of Prabhu Deva and Kajol uniting in love.

            The other twist where Thomas finally conveys his feelings to Priya, happens at the end of the “Thanga Thaamarai Magaley” song.  This is my favorite song of the movie because this is the only instance that I remember having heard a singer bring out the feelings of a guy who is totally *intoxicated* with love.  It’s as though he is in a stupor and his feelings of love and, dare I say, lust, are depicted in a telling way.  The “waterfalls” set created for this song deserves special mention.  Kajol exudes undeniable sex appeal (sans vulgarity) and this contributes in no small measure to the Aravind Swamy character deciding to kiss her.  Here again, ARR’s tune and SPB’s rendering of the memorable lines increase the surrealistic effect of the sequence.  Seeing the girl drenched in the ‘falls,’ the guy sings, “Vellam Manmadha Vellam…Siru Virisal Kandathu Ullam…Ivai Ellaam Pennae Unnaaley!”  At the end of the song, as he tries to kiss her, a shell-shocked Priya takes evasive action as she’s thought of him as a friend, nothing more, nothing less.  And, when he comes out with the truth as to how he asked Guru to help him, Priya, feeling cheated, decides to go back to her Church. 

 

After a few completely cinematic contrivances, the movie stumbles to a terrible climax where the actors, writers and the director falter.  In spite of Menon’s frenetic attempts to ratchet up the tension level in the concluding sequence, there’s hardly any suspense regarding the ending.  Both Prabhu Deva and Aravind Swamy, who were wonderful for the first two hours of the movie, falter in the final lap.  The former hams and screams his way while hanging on to a train (!) while the latter does a terrible imitation of Kamal (from the climax of “Moondram Pirai”).  Even Kajol, a picture of composure and sanity for the better part of the movie, isn’t very convincing.  Aravind Swamy’s final decision is one of the most ridiculous ways in which Rajiv Menon could’ve possibly ended this movie and it ends up making a mockery of Church priests.

 

Though these are plot points to mull over, the technical crew ensures that we never think about any of these things *during* the movie (in Alfred Hitchcock’s terms, a “refrigerator movie,” just that this is not a thriller but a romantic comedy!).  Cinematographers Venu and Ravi K. Chandran and Art Director Thotta Tharani combine forces to give a lively, colorful look to the film.  The sets sometimes call a bit too much attention to themselves but as I said earlier, this is very much a fantasy and so, we hardly ever sense a quest for realism that’s evident in the masterpieces of Mahendran, Balu Mahendra or Vasanth.

 

The supporting cast is pretty much filled with one-dimensional caricatures but they’re all funny and infuse a lot of life into the film, especially Nasser and SPB.  The way a drunk Nasser narrates Prabhu Deva’s fling with a girl brings out his comic aptitude.  And, though SPB overacts a lot, his innate charm and enthusiasm is unquestionable.

 

Well, I’ve questioned quite a few aspects of the movie and have said that I wasn’t too impressed with the way certain scenes played out.  Then why am I including it in my “Favorites” list?  It is because, as I said, the movie has a glossy look and exhibits freshness and innovation in its handling of several sequences (especially the songs) that we feel okay to look beyond plot illogic and lack of reality.  It’s like a breath of fresh air as long as you don’t find out that it’s actually coming from a perfume!