Mari Selvaraj’s tamil film, Karnan exploded into the OTT landscape in April this year. Released during the peak of the second wave, I remember being overwhelmed by the sheer force of Selvaraj’s cinematic universe. I believe Karnan is truly a film for the times, and I will tell you why I think so in a bit. After the scathing critique of a caste based society, told through the story of an individual’s struggle against the system in his debut film, Pariyerum Perumal, Selvaraj has sharpened his armoury of symbolism, his visual language and a strain of bold storytelling that draws from real narratives of oppression. The film is backed by the illustrious Pa Ranjith (whose recently released Sarpatta Parambarai is yet another film that gets down and dirty with the business of caste based exclusion, relocated within the ‘boxing wars’ of North Chennai).
There is no unnecessary sophistry in the storytelling. He tells it as it is. But for me, what was interesting is the way Selvaraj subverts the trope of a messiah coming to the rescue of the ‘poor victimised community’. We are familiar with the Godfather/Nayakan mode of aura creation. This was overturned in Pa Ranjith’s Kaala too, where from the start, the protagonist is tethered to the earth (the first scene has Rajnikant being bowled out in a local gully cricket came), even while he fights for his community. The final song in Kaala fortifies the subsuming of the individual into the community, as after Kaala’s death, the community rises in defiance, and the spectre of Kaala surfaces hydra-like in a celebration of the revolutionary moment.
Kaala is every where, every body is Kaala.
The song I share with you (from a translation provided by the filmmakers) opens Karnan. A montage intercuts bruised, bloodstained faces of people from the community of Karnan’s village chanting "Kanda Vara Sollunga Karnana Kaiyoda Koottivarunga - Fetch Karnan right away! Tell him to come. Have you seen Karnan?”. This is a community fighting for survival, stonewalled at every step by those who are higher on the caste ladder. We hear about this mythical warrior from his people. As the film progresses, the motif of a ‘headless’ revolution is evoked in various forms. Karnan is merely the spark, but what he stands for is an identity fused with the community, where one becomes many, and many jostle for space in one. This idea demands a larger discussion, but I wanted to give you a flavour, and hopefully, convince you to watch and engage with texts such as Karnan if you haven’t.
The film not only inspires, but with an aesthetic that is inevitably fused with its context of inequality, it carves out a model for political resistance, community mobilisation and community leadership. I watched it, while I was thinking about the inaction, incompetence and utter apathy of our government. We were (and are) seeing consistent signs of breakdown of multiple systems. In contrast, the groundedness of these underdogs (drawn from real narratives), and their fearless quest for absolution, filled that void for me. Sometimes, art reaches the very cusp of social commentary, and pierces through the noise with astounding clarity. This is one of those texts; and this is why I believe that Karnan is a film for our times.
Note: Do make sure to check out both the videos that I have shared. Santosh Narayanan blends western classical orchestral instruments with traditional instruments (Tavil, Pambai & Nadhasvaram are heavily used in the score) to create a powerful soundtrack, that does a significant amount of the legwork of carrying this film’s profound message.
Subscribe to Poetly to receive regular doses of poetry and commentary in your inbox.