Comparative piece on Raavan/Raavanan (Abzee)

Having seen the Tamil Raavanan thrice and the Hindi Raavan twice, I strongly felt that I must put my thoughts to writing on these twin efforts by Mani Ratnam. So, despite the fact that in the pieces by Goodfella, Satyam and Qalandar, the movies have already been explored, understood and dissected in great detail; I offer my views on this unfairly dismissed Herculean endeavour by possibly India’s finest contemporary filmmaker. A special shout-out and thanks to Sandy for compelling me to write this piece.

I had already reviewed the Tamil Raavanan for Sakaal Times. I reproduce the review below, followed by my comparative piece on the films.

Almost a perfect 10

Raavanan
Dir- Mani Ratnam
Cast- Vikram Kennedy, Aishwarya Rai, Prithviraj Sukumaran, Karthik Muthuraman, Priyamani Iyer, John Vijay and Prabhu Ganesan
Rating- ****

Krishna has always triumphed over Rama in our films. The staid, if steadfast, ideal God appears too dull for the times we live in. The multifaceted Krishna thus, serves fittingly as a modern God. And by extension, Mahabharata, the text he features in, seems more privileged to address our collective positives and failings. Perhaps why, the Ramayana, of which this Mani Ratnam flick (and its Hindi twin) is an adaptation, can be afforded to be told today not by extolling the deadpan virtues of its colourless God, but in humanizing the hastily vilified antagonist of that piece- the ten-headed demon Ravana.

Southern India has anyways been rather soft on Ravana. The great Tamil poet Kambar, in his version of the Ramayana, tries to understand the reason behind Ravana’s actions and, in doing so, daringly deviates from Valmiki and Tulsidas’ versions at key moments. Ratnam’s adaptation is clearly closer to Kambaramayanam; the Rama of this piece merely serving to balance out the equation in a universe that Ravana presides over. And that Ravana is Veera (Vikram Kennedy), an outlaw bandit living in the Ambasamudram district of Tirunelveli. To the deprived lot that he belongs to, Veera is the protector and provider. Not without his flaws and given to vices, Veera is an imperfect God. So while he is intimidating, he is also vulnerable… a weakness that comes to the fore when he kidnaps Ragini (Aishwarya Rai), the dutiful Sita to cop Dev (Prithviraj Sukumaran).

We all know how the story goes. So it is fascinating to see Ratnam, with superb support from his cinematographers V. Manikandan and Santosh Sivan, visualize the kidnapping as a hallucination and the subsequent confrontations between Veera and Ragini as a fierce clash between forces of nature. Set to apt Tamil lyrics, Usire Poghudey is a visual feast of a song that beautifully showcases Veera’s Ravana- the controller of all worlds -being struck by the simple beauty of a delicate but unyielding Ragini.

Much of Raavanan’s pleasure comes from the relationship between Veera and Ragini. Vikram and Aishwarya Rai display such crackling chemistry; you can literally sense Veera falling for Ragini… and her getting turned on by his proximity, despite him. The Hindu text accorded no Stockholm Syndrome to Sita’s stay at Ravana’s Lanka; but in Ratnam’s Raavanan, the captive Sita finds herself being drawn to her brusque captor. Further subversion is offered in Veera’s back-story. While his sister’s humiliation still remains the prime vexation fuelling this Ravana, Ratnam and his fellow writer (wife Suhasini) spell out what has been hushed among certain scholastic circles for a long time- that Rama’s brother Lakshmana chopping off Ravana’s sister Surpanakha’s nose is indeed a tentative metaphor alluding more than what it literally states.

The back-story which comes about in the second half goes a long way in shifting our sympathies towards Veera. The villain becomes the vilified. And in an even bolder move, the ‘ideal’ Rama is deconstructed as well. But somewhere in dealing so intensely with the text, the narrative loses focus from its setting. We never get a feel of the cause Veera fights for. One supposes the Hindi version will be naturally advantaged in dealing with Naxal undertones. But can the Hindi one paint a neutral picture of Ravana with as much freedom? Or capture the sexual tension between Veera and Ragini, given that Abhishek Bachchan will be coveting his real-life wife on-screen?

This version is a sure winner. Aishwarya has never looked more ethereal, merging with the lush locales; while Vikram delivers possibly his best performance till date. The ten-headed demon finds a worthy player.

Unlearning Ramayana- The Discomfort of Raavan / Raavanan

Mani Ratnam isn’t attempting the twin-lingual (not bilingual, since that would mean a single film with two languages) for the first time. As with many other things, he has been a pioneer in this regard as well…only to be followed by the likes of Gautham Menon who simultaneously shot his Tamil & Telugu films Vinnaithaandi Varuvaayaa and Ye Maaya Chesave. But where Menon’s is merely a token attempt at maximizing profits; Ratnam’s Yuva / Ayutha Ezhuthu and more importantly Raavan / Raavanan exist for a reason. Think of Clint Eastwood’s twin-films on the Battle of Iwo Jima. They exist not as a gimmick, but as a genuine effort to offer the most complete picture, a neutral one, on what is otherwise an incident (and image) that rests in public consciousness as an unshakeable template. To see the Flags Of Our Fathers is to unlearn what we know of that iconic image that sold a war to a nation; only to be then presented in Letters From Iwo Jima a picture of the faceless enemy… this time with a face, and more significantly, a soul. You will never look at that image atop Mount Suribachi the same way again once you’ve seen these two complimentary films. Just like you won’t look at the epic Ramayana the same way again once you’ve seen Ratnam’s twin-films.

At the heart of Raavan / Raavanan lies the onerous task of unlearning that what we know of the Ramayana. And Ratnam lays the onus on the viewer; probably an unwise move given how the Indian audience isn’t equipped to fill-in-the-blanks. (My statement may draw ire, but it shouldn’t be misconstrued as a supercilious condescension of the Indian populace; it is merely an attestation of the generational conditioning brought about by a ‘Bollywood’ narrative that has never really educated its audience base in the art of ellipsis.)

Abhishek Bachchan shouldn’t have refused to do the Tamil version. His absence in the Tamil version restricts Ratnam’s experiment from achieving its full impact, but not to the extent where it hampers the initiative. Allow me to elaborate.

I saw the Tamil Raavanan first. The version of the Ramayana that we have all been fed since our childhood (and by that Ramanand Sagar television show which you’d agree taught us more than the actual text) is the Valmiki one. Going into the Tamil version, in spite of being aware of the subversion in Kambar’s text, one senses a shaking of an old template. Besides the fact that the film itself is titled after the antagonist of the piece, the early bits (a fabulous montage of mayhem that is literally set in motion by the flick of a small rock being hurled into the abyss below a cliff…a motif that appears regularly throughout the film) make you uncomfortable with its ‘anointing’, so to speak, of Veera (the Ravana of this script) as the ‘lead’ of the film. He is still not the ‘hero’ yet; having been introduced to a stand-in proxy hero in Dev (the Rama of this piece; ironic that Rama continues to be the ‘Dev’, but Ravana is named the brave one in ‘Veera’). Laxmana still is the agent who informs of Sita’s abduction (the phone call that Dev receives is that of Hemanth, the Laxmana of the piece), but the systematic destruction of our template is brought about by a peculiar transfer of the mythic bird Jatayu’s allegiance. The physical destruction of the ‘familiar’ world of Ramayana by way of Veera’s boat crashing into that of the ignorantly serene Sita (Ragini here) is portended by the ominous bird. And immediately, we are discomforted. Surely Jatayu’s loyalties lay with the ‘ideal’ hero of the text.

Ratnam further destabilizes the epic text. The 14 year exile that Rama & Sita underwent doesn’t begin here until Veera kidnaps Ragini. It is so subtle, it almost misses our attention…but the pair that undergoes the exile here isn’t that of Rama & Sita, but of Ravana & Sita instead. The only constant to this rewritten world of Ramayana then is the Sita character. Since she becomes a surrogate for the audience, the ‘awakening’ must obviously happen to her. Very cleverly then, Ratnam and editor Sreekar Prasad, ‘awaken’ Ragini, and the audience by extension, twice in this film. First, after the aforementioned montage that gives way to the opening credits which make the film sound more like a ballad of Ravana. The black screen gives way, figuratively as well since Ragini’s blindfold is also removed, to the world of Veera. Having been shorn off our prejudice, we now enter along with Ragini into the world of an antagonist of whom we have our own ideas. Much of what happens to her, of the emotions she goes through, happen to us. The fear, repulsion, curiosity, inexplicable attraction…they all happen to us as well. And much of this is due to the manner in which Vikram plays Veera, and the resultant chemistry he shares with Aishwarya’s Ragini. Vikram’s Veera, right from the very first time we see him share a plane with Ragini, allows us an entry ‘inside’ him. We see a pain being hid, as he stands atop the cliff where Ragini is dragged to. And we see his vulnerability when he hopelessly falls for Ragini, as her fragile frame is gently held by the very nature around him, of which he believes he is the master. Veera’s ‘world’ though conspires against him, choosing to save Ragini. That Ragini’s fall is later mirrored in the climax by Veera’s eventual ‘fall’ to death is a harsh reminder to this moment earlier where Veera’s ‘falling’ in love had manifestly meant his ‘falling’ to death. His ‘world’ wouldn’t protect him, as it had protected Ragini.

But before Rahman’s crooning of Naan Varuven underlines this moment, and the preceding narrative, as the bemoaning of an ill-interpretation that can be corrected only by a resurrection / reincarnation, we (as well as Ragini) have already had our eyes ‘opened’ to the deceit of Rama. The ‘awakening’ happens a second time in the film at the precise moment where Ravana has not so much lost the battle, but conceded a faux-defeat…having actually ‘lost’ his heart. Ragini, who had until then accomplished her ‘exile’, emerges pure from it…only to have Dev questioning her chastity. Cleverly filmed in a corridor, their relationship enters the dark tunnels of suspicion and distrust…only for Ragini to walk away from Rama’s world of recurring tunnels and travel to the ‘open’ world of Veera.

In a sense then, we don’t experience an adaptation of Ramayana so much as a reimagining / correction of the Ravana-Sita equation book-ended by a prologue that identifies Ravana as the protagonist (thereby tearing down our prejudice) and an epilogue that has achieved its subversion by projecting Rama as the antagonist (thereby rendering our template awash). Everything that happens in the middle is the over-text…the ‘education’, not seduction, to the ‘darker’ side. And therefore, the shift is also rightly brought about in the second half, for it would defeat the purpose to present Veera’s back-story in a linear fashion. The only linear narrative in this otherwise non-linear retelling is the gradual decline and systematic non-edification of the Rama character.

This brings me to the Hindi Raavan and the Abhishek performance. Vikram is phenomenal as Veera in Raavanan. He has the majestic presence required to pull off such a role. More importantly, his is a performance that by virtue of its humanity, ‘grounds’ this film which otherwise always seems to be visually and thematically teetering off dangerous vantage points. His is the emotional anchor in this deeply destabilizing world of cliffs, abysses and deluge. Despite the fact that Veera’s world has no contextual bearing, Vikram never lets us feel that absence. He chooses to play the fool and the manic oppressor, but he has nobody fooled. Perhaps he doesn’t want to. We always see and sense the ‘human’ within; directly expressed only in the flashback where we see him cutting loose and breaking a leg at his sister’s wedding.

Contrast this with Abhishek’s Beera. Abhishek plays Beera like an unhinged man. Every time we see him, we recognize that all he needs is a little push to completely topple over to the psychotic side. Even in the above wedding song, Beera doesn’t cut loose like Veera does. He never becomes the ‘human’ that Veera emerges as. Right until the end, Beera never lets us in on what he’s feeling. This becomes extremely problematic when all that you’re likely to watch is the Hindi Raavan. Unlike Raavanan, the subversion is never realized fully and remains only at an argumentative level, because Beera remains the distant ‘mythic’ character, allowing us little to no hint of the ‘human’ within.

Abhishek’s ‘rendition’ further disturbs the balance, as in his scenes with Aishwarya we never sense the chemistry that she shares with Vikram (both as her Ravana in Raavanan and Rama in Raavan). In two very momentous scenes, she reacts differently in the two versions. Firstly, in the surreal slower version of Ranjha Ranjha (Kaattu Sirukki in Tamil), we see her battling the demon in Ravana and trying to escape his clutches. He never touches her, his hands running over the contours of her torso as if he were sketching an outline. She smells his sweat when his shawl brushes past her, and he inhales her scent as he ducks under her to be swept by her hair. Aishwarya’s Ragini is noticeably turned on, inexplicably so, by the carnal undercurrents in her face-off with Vikram’s Veera. When he ‘vanishes’ from the scene, she looks around…surprised to have learnt that he’s left, almost afraid that had he been there, things might have led to something. With Abhishek’s Beera, the reaction she gives is a nervous prayer hoping that he’s left. Later, in that superbly shot sequence against the reclining Vishnu, when Vikram’s Veera questions her whether she loves Dev, Ragini’s silence is a testament to her earlier pleading to the Lord to help her retain her resolve and fight off her weakness. In response to the same question from Abhishek’s Beera, her silence only underlines her longing for Dev.

Even otherwise, as I said earlier, in a film that is attempting such gymnastics visually and thematically; it needed a performance that operates within familiar registers. In all fairness then, Vikram’s is the more apt performance, and certainly the better one, for this reviewer. Moreover, if it were only one film that you’re planning to catch of the two versions, I’d strongly recommend the Tamil, purely because it singularly does and achieves that which the Hindi one as a standalone film doesn’t and cannot. But here comes the fascinating bit…if you’re planning to catch both versions, I’d suggest you watch the Hindi one first. That is exactly how Mani Ratnam intended it…and that is how one must see these twin-films to get the full effect. It took me a second viewing of Raavan to realize this…shedding new light on the Abhishek performance as well. Not that it makes his performance better than Vikrams’s but it certainly does act out its role and function as a complimenting performance. And this is why I rue the fact that Abhishek chose not to do the Tamil film.

At the heart of Raavan / Raavanan lies the unlearning of Ramayana…of veering away from Valmiki’s text, and going closer to Kambar’s version- a North-South, Aryan-Dravidian divide, if you will. Justifiably then, one film is in Hindi and the other is in Tamil. And for the ‘experiment’ to truly work, we must first witness the ‘Hindi’ version, before we can appreciate the subversion in the ‘Tamil’. The Hindi film, though the same, doesn’t really go the distance in its humanizing the Ravana character. The way Abhishek plays it; he piques our curiosity…but never to the extent where we are completely assimilated into his ‘side’. He still remains decidedly distant. The disturbance in this version is brought about more by Vikram’s portrayal of Rama, a stronger foil to Abhishek’s Ravana. And yet, even in the Hindi one, Rama ends up as the negative one…something we buy all the more easily because in a clever inversion, it is a South actor playing the prototypical Northern role.

Switch to the other side of the coin, and Sita still remains the constant. But the villainous Rama of the Hindi has now become the accessible humanistic Ravana of the Tamil. In essence then, what this inverse casting stresses upon is that we shall always see the ‘southern’ demon as a villain, even as a God. For our bigotry to be upset, and our window into Ravana to be truly opened, we required a goading into Ravana’s world in the Hindi version that blossoms fully only in the Tamil version. Abhishek here as the Rama character would’ve added greatly to the event, as it would’ve meant a total recalibration of roles and ideals.

Even the readings of the above mentioned scenes between Beera & Ragini and Veera & Ragini assume new meaning. So in the first instance, our ‘familiar’ reading would be to see Sita wish Ravana were away…only to learn that she probably wished otherwise in the Tamil one. And likewise in the scene before the ‘eroded’ Vishnu statue. The knowledge that Ragini’s marriage to Dev was an arranged one, imparted to us in the Tamil version, sheds further light on her reaction. But perhaps the best twin-moment complimenting each other is the monologue before the reclining Vishnu statue. In the Hindi one, Abhishek’s Beera proudly proclaims that even ‘burning’ with jealousy as he does, Ravana’s is a splendid sight to behold than any of Rama. The Tamil one has a different dialogue, something along the lines of him feeling all too powerful because of his flaw…his jealousy making him human. The Hindi scene alludes to the smoldering pyre of Ravana on Dussehra, while the Tamil one adds a poignant subtext to it. In a sense, Vikram’s Veera becomes the key to unlock Abhishek’s Beera.

And Raavanan becomes the instructional supplement to Raavan!