Skip to main content

Classmates

According to Wikipedia Classmates is the highest grossing Malayalam film ever!

The ‘House Full’ sign outside a theatre is perhaps the best advertisement for any film and “Classsmates” has worn that tag for every show for more than fifty days now. Half past nine in the morning, soon after breakfast is an awkward time to run to the theatre but I did it to check out what was drawing the crowds……

Review

The lights dim and her laughter of arrogance echoes through the darkened cinema hall and his smirk suggests, ‘no one can get the better of me’. She- Thara Kurup (played by Kavya Madhavan) the daughter of a MLA is a dancer and he- Sukumaran (played by Prithviraj) is the SFK leader- both final year students of the BSc Chemistry Class of ‘91. Two strong personalities are out to get each other and the scenes rapidly unfold to tickle you with their mishievous inventiveness. You know they are destined to fall in love but meanwhile only Thara seems to have the guts to stand up to Sukumaran’s bullying political decrees: No one should attend class while a strike is on, least of all my classmates.

When the realization of love dawns on them, Director Lal Jose is careful to steer it away from excessiveness and the romance scenes are confined to the minimum. You naturally expect an immediate makeover of the woman’s character: the feisty woman to transmute into a demure faithful shadow. Not so. In the midst of sweet love when Sukumaran asks Thara with cocksure male chauvinism not to stand for elections as the Arts Club secretary from the opposing camp, her answer is succinct and firm. “You get a job, marry me and then I will listen to you and only you. But right now I live under my father’s protection and he has asked me to stand for elections and I have to listen to him. Our love will just have bear with this election.” It is not her sweetheart alone that is surprised even the audience is taken aback. She stands her ground conveying her individuality with aplomb. You want to get up and applaud her and the Director for getting it so right. Love does not have to be treated as servitude- we see so much of it in real life and reel life- the instant subversion of the feminine self for the sake of love and marriage. Here her lines come as a refreshing change.

As the election fever on the college campus rises to a crescendo the miffed lover boy seems to take the spirit of competition in his stride. But the art of manipulation and cunningness are often learnt on the campus and juvenile politicians learn the dirty tricks of a very dirty trade right there. So how did Thara Kurup’s revelatory love note find its way into the ballot box? It was meant only for Sukumaran. Did he put it in there to malign her and get her defeated? He was framed but he cannot convince Thara or anyone else of his innocence. There is something tragic about this hero: he is a failure. He fails as a son, as a lover, as a friend and as a student but it is this helpless vulnerability that reaches out to the audience and strikes a chord.

Fourteen years later at a class reunion the past begins to unfurl seamlessly interlacing with the present. Scenes are deftly repeated to reveal different perspectives and it does not bore the viewer. The erstwhile sweethearts have now matured and there is a resigned tenderness that is emoted and captured well in the film. It is the element of surprise that keeps you on the edge of the seat in this campus film with a death thrown in for shock. As the minor details of the death of the popular singer Murali emerge, a sub-plot evolves beautifully at the fag end of the film. Fun, love and dreary death Lal Jose has held it well.

Lal Jose's flms are different and he treats them differently.

By the way, it is a great idea to rush to the theatre first thing in the morning: a pleasurable way to start the day.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Book Review: An Autobiography Of A Sex Worker by Nalini Jameela

I am 51 years old. And I would like to continue to be a sex worker.” This is how the candid and defiant opening statement in Nalini Jameela’s autobiography in Malayalam, Oru Lymgika-thozhilaliyude Atmakadha, goes. It at once throws a challenge at society’s double standards — harsh on prostitutes and soft on the clients. Nalini Jameela, who is the coordinator of the Kerala Sex Workers’ Forum, reveals her sordid story with no trace of compunction. Nalini was a 24-year-old widow when she entered the profession to feed her two children. At that time she did not think about the repercussions of her act. She writes, “I was earning Rs 4.50 at a tile factory near Trissur. My mother-in-law served me with an ultimatum to either give her five rupees a day to look after my children or leave the house. I recounted my woes to a friend, who introduced me to Rosechechi. Rosechechi promised me Rs 50 if I spent time with a man. The first thought that came to my mind was that my children would be looked...

SnooTea: Just My Style

(Photographs by Minu Ittyipe) It began on a lark to spiff up my morning cuppa. Oh well, I just wanted a change from what I had been drinking all my life. I am not complaining about the faithful brew that I stir up with tea dust, it does merrily improve with two extra spoonfuls of sugar but I was just plain bored with the regular. My concept of a cup of tea was corralled in the traditional Indian style- coppery coloured liquid topped with plenty of milk and sugar but now there was in me this undeniable thirst for a more delicate bouquet. Tranquilitea, Coonoor Curiously, though grown in our own backyard, few of us have heard of the orthodox leaf tea, forget the Silver Tips, Golden Tips and the White Tea etc.. that quietly find their way to the export market. To make a foray into this relatively unknown terrain, I headed for Tranquilitea, a tea lounge in the Nilgiris, for a cup of “Tippy” tea. On a sober note, you are cautioned not to confuse “Tippy” with the more commonplace “Tipsy” for...

At 17, V S Achuthanandan joined the Communist Party

Born on October 20, 1923, VS Achuthanandan joined the Communist Party in 1940 when he was just 17 years old. Abject poverty and deprivation were the only things that flourished in Punnapra, Kerala, in those days. My father had a grocery shop close to our house so we did not suffer too badly when we were young. He was a social activist and a SNDP Yogam leader and respected by all.  He had leased some land from the landlords in Vendhalathara and cultivated it. He built a house there too. In this way, along with the grocery store, we could make ends meet. Punnapra school had only up to class three, so I joined Kalarkode school to do class four. It was in an area where the upper caste lived and one had to walk past the temple to go to school. The elite would ridicule the less fortunate, beat and chase them away. Many children discontinued their studies. I was once attacked by the well-to-do students and they asked me. “Who are you to walk this way to school?” I tried to st...