In his latest Tamil film, Maamannan, director Mari Selvaraj raises the crucial question of who holds the true power to determine the future of reserved constituencies. The film features Udhayanidhi Stalin, a DMK MLA, Minister, and actor who declared his intention to quit acting and dedicate himself fully to politics. It also showcases the long-awaited return of comedian-actor Vadivelu, known as “Vaigaippuyal,” whose previous films failed to fully tap into his immense talent, as exemplified in Thevar Magan (1992) and Sangamam (1999).
With a clear commitment to addressing social justice in all his films, Mari Selvaraj boldly declares his political stance and objective. Maamannan revolves around the life and career of the titular character, a Dalit man portrayed by Vadivelu, and his son Athiveeran (Udhayanidhi), who guides him to overcome his oppressed mindset and reclaim his rights in social and political realms. Notably, the film stands out by portraying a non-toxic and mutually supportive father-son relationship, illustrating their collective journey out of the darkness imposed by caste-related struggles.
The director starts by exploring the significant issue of caste in politics. He employs the act of one Dalit being asked to sit while another is not as a narrative device to investigate whether elected Dalit representatives receive equal treatment from caste Hindu peers and leaders. This plot choice holds relevance due to instances in Tamil Nadu where Dalit panchayat presidents are denied chairs in their offices.
Mari’s world
Mari Selvaraj incorporates various overt and covert elements to add depth to the story’s atmosphere. For instance, he uses the absence of facial hair on Maamannan as a symbol of subservience, while his son Athiveeran’s moustache and beard reflect changing times and generational progress. Furthermore, the director’s trademark inclusion of animals, such as pigs, hunting dogs, and a horse, is reminiscent of his previous works, namely Pariyerum Perumal (2018) and Karnan (2021). These animals often serve as vehicles for storytelling or even become central to the narrative. Notably, Mari Selvaraj deliberately selects animals that are derogatory terms within Tamil society, such as “naai” (dog) in Pariyerum Perumal, “kazhudhai” (donkey) in Karnan, and “panni” (pig) in Maamannan.
Maamannan stands out by portraying a non-toxic and mutually supportive father-son relationship, illustrating their collective journey out of the darkness imposed by caste-related struggles.
The director’s storytelling approach is characterised by multiple layers, occasionally introducing fresh perspectives to straightforward scenes. However, at times, the cumulative effect of employing numerous literary devices to drive home a point becomes repetitive. Mari Selvaraj consciously embraces this technique, establishing a parallel imagined world for the audience.
In a scene where Ratnavel (Fahadh Faasil) sends his men to harm Maamannan and his family, the director chooses a metaphorical approach. Ratnavel contemplates and eventually dispatches hunting dogs to kill Athiveeran’s pigs at the pigsty. This scene is powerfully built up but could have benefited from a more direct execution.
Fahadh Faasil, the Malayalam actor, convincingly embodies the role of Ratnavel, the caste Hindu antagonist from Salem in the Kongu region. He captures the body language of a privileged young man intoxicated by his caste, without any indication of his non-Tamil origins. Similarly, the casting of actor Vijayakumar as the opposition party leader appears to be a deliberate choice by director Mari Selvaraj for two reasons. Firstly, Vijayakumar has previously portrayed dominant caste leaders in films during the 1980s and the 1990s. Secondly, it allows the film to sideline a star who, during his prime, delivered casteist lines, and thereby challenge the hegemony of caste.
Problems in the portrayal of female characters
A significant drawback of the film lies in its underdeveloped female characters. Despite having a talented National award-winning actor like Keerthy Suresh, who portrays Leela, a person associated with Left politics wearing t-shirts with revolutionary themes, her lines are generic and easily forgettable, with only one line standing out. Geetha Kailasam, as Veerayi, Maamannan’s wife, falls into the typical role of a frightened housewife, delivering filler lines. Raveena Ravi, playing Ratnavel’s wife Jyoti, has no lines at all. This raises questions about Mari Selvaraj’s failure to match the strong female characters he created in his previous films.
Despite collaborating with Mari Selvaraj for the first time, music composer A.R. Rahman successfully retains the essence of Mari Selvaraj’s universe while delivering foot-tapping songs and an emotive background score for the film.
Initially, Maamannan raises pertinent questions about equality, self-respect, and resistance. However, the film loses its focus as it progresses and transforms into a dull election drama. This over-reliance on youth mobilisation, social media, and campaign management tropes, frequently exploited in Tamil political films in recent years, becomes tiresome.
It is worth noting that Maamannan belongs to a party with “social justice” in its name, and for Udhayanidhi, the film seems like a calculated move, avoiding direct criticism of the fictional political party that shares ideological similarities with the ruling DMK in the State. In fact, the film does not hold the party or its leaders accountable for the casteist elements prevalent in society. The top leadership is portrayed as innocent and oblivious to caste-based discrimination within the party.
Although Maamannan provides an opportunity to reflect and engage in self-critique of the “social justice” party depicted in the film, it falls short by reducing the issue of caste to individual actions, neglecting the institutional nature of caste-based discrimination. By avoiding commentary on the dominance of intermediate castes within the party and the lack of organisation among oppressed classes, the film settles for a compromise, leaving viewers longing for more. In some ways, the film appears rushed and serves as a propaganda piece for the DMK, providing a cinematic reassurance that the “social justice” party is on the right track to deliver justice to Dalits.
As temples continue to be sealed when Dalits demand entry rights and Dalit government officials face disrespect in the workplace on the basis of caste, the impact of Maamannan on public discourse and its contribution to the social justice cause remains to be seen.
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