The Art of Visual Irony
“Saagaa varam pol sogam undo,
Theera kadhaiyai ketpaar undo!”
Manoranjan (meaning —entertainer), a terminally ill modern commercial film superstar, loved by many but liked by few and a man of many vices, battles against time with his mentor Margadharshi (meaning — guide) to complete his swansong — a medieval-era comedy about the adventures of a man named Utthaman (meaning — noble one) cursed with immortality.
Most of the scripts written by Kamal Hassan has an undercurrent of irony. Take Guna(1991) — a man born in a world of lust and brought up in a household of sex workers is deemed a lunatic for worshipping the woman of his dreams. Or consider Hey Ram(2000) — a rational man finds himself working in cahoots with an extremist organization that stands for everything that he once shunned.
Uttama Villain(2015) is probably his most problematic and inconsistent script yet. Vishwaroopam 2(2018) is not taken into consideration here, since it seemed like a 3.5-hour script was stretched to last 5 hours for the purpose of making two films with the artistic effort of one.
Right from the title, Uttama Villain or “Noble Villain”, this movie does not have irony running on a deeper level. Rather, it is right on the face and kudos to Kamal Hassan and Ramesh Aravind for keeping it that way. Shifting between grave reality and comedic (or at least a grave attempt at comedy — unintended irony, I’m sure) fantasy/folklore, between a man struggling for more time and a man cursed with immortality, between a villain disguised as a hero and a hero disguised as a comedian, between a man trying to free himself off plots placed against him and a man plotting against another and so on, the film aims to question our conception of boons and curses, right and wrong.
Placing brilliant and emotional scenes with deep philosophical dialogues between long attempts at pedestrian slapstick comedy has evoked irony in how unintended that juxtaposition might have been. What takes the complete script 173 minutes to show can be summarized in a form better than the entire film, with two scenes spanning 4 minutes and therein lies the genius of Kamal Hassan, the screenwriter and Ramesh Aravind, the director.
On the left, in the fantasy world that Manoranjan attempts to create with his mentor, Utthaman’s immortality is tested by kicking him into a river with his limbs tied. As he struggles to free himself, he is saved by a fisherman’s net. He is lifted out of water to return to his natural habitat, safe and sound, triumphing death once again. As he swings around inside the net hanging above water, he folds his hands, thanking his God — the fisherman, for pulling him out of his misery.
On the right, after shooting that scene, a tired Manoranjan takes a break while wiping blood dripping off his nose. As he takes a minute for himself, he notices an actual fisherman pulling a net out from the river. Fish get caught in the net in the exact same fashion but none of them thank the fisherman for it. They now fail to escape death, gasping their last breaths, much like Manoranjan himself. He looks on as he continues his battle against God trying to “put him out of his misery”.
It is also worth noting that the first shot on the left is a low-angle shot, that is, the camera is placed below the subject’s eye level whereas the first shot on the right is a high-angle shot where the camera is stationed above the subject’s eye-level.
The former angle is usually used to make the subject look more imposing and in control of the situation. For example, consider this famous low-angle shot from There Will Be Blood(2007) —
The latter angle is generally used to make the subject look small, weak and powerless. Here’s a well-known example from Titanic(1997) —
The paradox is brought out beautifully in the entire scene — Utthaman, despite being tied and pushed down the water, is weirdly in control of his life but Manoranjan, despite being safely away from the river and at the peak of his professional powers, is weak before the face of death (the dying fish).
A colourful high-angle wide shot, panning in from a cheering crowd to Utthaman revealing himself as the new King on stage with the words “Mrithyunjaya” (meaning The Immortal One) chanted in the background, cuts to a rather ironical setup with an entire group of people laughing at the TV in a hospital, while they wait for an update on the star’s critical tumor removal surgery. The shot further pans to a grim Dr. Aparna (played by Andrea with great subtlety) coming out of a failed surgery. As the cloth covers Manoranjan’s face, visible from the reflection off glass on a door, the shot turns monochromatic.
Cut to a similar high-angle wide shot — but this time in monochrome. The camera moves from the projector room to the crowd in the theater cheering wildly to the climax of his swansong. The camera pans and focuses, still relatively on a high angle, on the theater screen showing a coloured, slightly saturated, low-angle closeup shot of the star one last time. This single shot summarizes the theme— the final shot of the star with all his acting prowess is captured in all his glory (coloured low-angle) and celebrated at a time when he is no longer alive (monochromatic high-angle) with him crooning in the background, “Saagaa varam pol sogam undo, theera kadhaiyai ketpaar undo!”
Fading into a shot of outer space with millions of stars in the galaxy, Kamal once again, raises the same question and laughs at the end. What does that statement mean? Basically it means, “Is there sadness greater than immortality, is there anyone who would listen to an endless story!” But what does he really mean here?
This statement is repeated several times in the film — but always by Utthaman because his immortality gets tested too many times by his skeptics. But this time, the statement is spoken on behalf of the actor himself.
Every artist’s biggest fear is the existential question of whether they would be remembered even after they pass on and whether their work would be spoken about for generations to come. Earlier in the film, Manoranjan says, “artists never know when they might get their next applause”, thereby making it clear that this fear lingers on his mind too.
So, the question had to be asked again, except this time, what does he really mean?
“Maaradhadhu nam kalaiyum kaviyum,
Maayadhadhu nam arivum anbum!”“What doesn’t change, is art and poetry,
What doesn’t die, is knowledge and love!”
