What is the secret sauce behind Atlee’s mega success as director? Since he started his career a decade ago with Raja Rani (2013), the 36-year-old has had back-to-back superhits with Thalapathy Vijay (Theri, Mersal and Bigil).
Cumulatively, his films have earned over 600 crores, and although he has only made films in Tamil, the combined YouTube views of their dubbed versions stand at over 500 million. There could be many reasons behind his 100 percent hit record: it could be his larger-than-life imagery, converting simple scenes into an epic. It could even be his ability to marry his directorial style with the persona of his superstars. It may also be his skill at picking a story template so timeless that his focus can then be directed at finding the newest, coolest way to say the same old thing.
It is most likely a combination of all of the above, along with his skill to write the massiest dialogues. But there’s one more skill that separates Atlee from his contemporaries. While other directors of his generation employ cameos, twist endings or their own cinematic universes to revitalise a formula, Atlee chooses to work extra hard to write the best flashbacks of recent Indian cinema. Ahead of Jawan, his entry into Bollywood and film with Shah Rukh Khan, let's see how he does it.
But what’s so great about Atlee’s flashbacks, given how they have always been part of our films? The difference is in the way Atlee uses them. While many directors use flashbacks merely as excuses to justify the otherwise unjustifiable actions of the hero, Atlee instead looks at flashbacks as a movie in itself.
Not only does Atlee’s films follow the usual three-act structure, but so do his flashbacks. They play out with such grit and intensity that it often makes the present period look plain. It’s a skill he borrows from his guru Shankar, a master of flashbacks in his own right.
In films like Anniyan (2005), the writing in the flashback is so good that it not only explains the trauma that changes its hero, but it also creates a larger, intangible villain that is beyond any one person or group: the villain here is a corrupt mindset.
Like his guru, a reason why Atlee’s flashbacks have an afterlife of their own is because they are, at the core of it, tragedies. They begin with a lightness that present happier, more pleasant times, taking us back to protagonists before life screws them over. The comedy works better, the family is tight and the look itself is very different.
Theri (2016), which allocates the most amount of time to flashback portions among Atlee’s films, does this in the most unexpected fashion — the flashback ends with a terrific interval block in the rain, but it haunts the second half too.
When we see Joseph Kuruvilla for the first time, he is taking his daughter Nivi to school. Atlee goes to great lengths to show us that this single father/bakery owner keeps his head down. But of course, this is all too good to be true, Atlee reminds us by blasting GV Prakash’s BGM in the background. And when the payoff does happen, right about the 25th minute mark, we see the life, love and “death” of a loving husband, and an honest police officer play out in such an impressive piecemeal fashion that it could be seen as a movie by itself.
The worlds in these flashbacks are marked by characters who are diametrically different from their present selves. Vijay Kumar is nothing like Joseph. The first time we see him, he’s bursting with character. He prefers to tuck in his ironed shirts and doesn’t step out without his raybans, in contrast to the laidback Joseph who resorts to flannels and unkempt hair.
When Motta Rajendar says “Vijaykumar 5 varshathuku munadiye sethupoitaru,” he doesn’t just refer to an end of a phase in a character’s life, and the end of his marriage to Samantha’s Mithra, but also the end of a film inside a film.
As two brothers (a magician and a doctor) confront each other in the middle of doctors being killed in the city, Mersal (2017) takes us back 30 years to 1979. Warm tones replace the reds of Vetri’s house of mirrors, as we see the life of village protector Vetrimaaran and his wife Aishwarya. In under 45 minutes, we get familiarised with not just the Vetrimaarans, but also the village that populates the heart of Thalapathy — up to the paati who gets a cataract operation. And when this family is decimated — in true Atlee fashion — grief comes in a big wave, leaving us wondering how he managed to make us feel so much pain in an otherwise familiar film.
Nothing is random in an Atlee flashback. Mersal begins with the rousing ‘Aalaporan Thamizhan’, which introduces Vetrimaaran and registers his place in his community. But the song is more than an intro. It begins with his wife going into labour in the kusthi-grounds of Punjab, with older women standing in for midwives. We look at this sweet moment as yet another notch in Vetrimaaran and Aishwarya’s simple village lives. But we realise its impact when Aishwarya (Nithya Menen) goes into labour a few scenes later for her second child — unlike her first birth, she delivers in a hospital she owns, but she ends up losing her life. The irony here is profound and intentional. Atlee doubles down on this tragedy by showing us a two-minute scene of Vetrimaaran telling his son how he met his wife, blissfully unaware of what’s happening in the other room.
When Nayanthara’s Regina is waiting for Surya (Jai) for hours outside the register office, we see the passing of time with a shot of her standing unmoved in the same position — the dried jasmine on her hair conveying the decay of time and a romance.
The same effect is apparent in Bigil (2019). When Michael finally takes the train to pursue his football dreams, he sees his father getting stabbed from behind. And as he steps off the train, his football slips off his hands and onto the ground, for it’s time for him to hold the dagger instead.
It is also the filmmaker’s ability to draw parallels with minimal melodrama that helps keep the act in place. We see that newlyweds Regina and John aren’t able to enjoy each other’s company because in their heads, they are unable to escape their marriage to their past lovers — the flashbacks show us Regina and Surya exchanging rings, and Keerthana (Nazriya) and John (Arya) marrying in a temple. These parallels continue even in their death. When Regina learns of Surya’s death, it is through a phone call, and when Keerthana dies in front of John’s eyes, among the most heartbreaking in recent cinema, he is on the phone. The falling of both phones indicate the shattering of two lives and four hearts.
Atlee seems to have a bias towards his flashbacks, and it’s evident in the effort that goes behind its writing. In Theri, Vijaykumar and Mithra’s relationship isn’t just developed over an attraction. Their love comes from a respect for their professions. Atlee also throws in a tiny detail to further convince us of their overnight bonding. Mithra (Samantha) and Vijay are both raised by single parents.
When Rayappan wants his son Michael to play football, it is not just because he wants him to stay away from his world of crime, but because he doesn’t want to repeat his father’s mistakes. “16 vayasula kaththiya kuduthitan,” Rayappan tells Michael in a warm moment with his son.
Apart from putting aside the most stylish action moments in the film for its flashback, Atlee also reserves the most chilling villains for this part. These scenes tell us the origins of the most snarkiest villains— if Mahendran plays Vijay’s dirty game to win over him in Theri, SJ Suryah’s doctor plots to bring the hero down, playing on a simpleton’s naivete. This is where regular characters are forced to become superheroes and this is also where the villains are in their meanest best.
Deaths too are an inevitable part of Atlee’s films. On the surface, his pattern of having an emotionally high impact death in the flashback could be considered a cliche. But Atlee picks the final moments of a character, which is also the last few minutes of the flashback, to build an entirely new life for the protagonists. The final wish is crucial in an Atlee film. Take Theri for instance, which sees Mithra tell Vijay her dreams for her family just before being killed. Fast forward to the present, Vijay and their daughter lead the exact same life, that Mithra wanted for them.
Who can forget the line “Cuppu Mukkiyam Bigilu?” These are also Rayappan’s last words before he gets stabbed, shattering his dreams. In an earlier scene, Rayappan says, “Our identity is going to change only because of your game.” We see this come true, even if Michael doesn’t end up becoming a player. The post-climax sequence where Michael’s enemy enrols his son in his football coaching centre is a superbly staged echo of Rayappan’s words.
If the trailer of Jawan is anything to go by, Atlee is back at it to tell a dramatic story of a man with a troubled past. Shah Rukh Khan carries various looks in the film, but the main ones seem to be of army officer Vikram Rathore and a ravenous bald SRK who scares off passengers in the metro. But what we do know is that we can expect a raging flashback or two in Jawan. If we had to place our bets (potential spoilers alert?), we’d say that Deepika Padukone — who is seen taking down SRK in a wrestling match in the rain — might suffer a fate that one too many stars have in Atlee’s films. But it always hits hard in an Atlee film, even if we’ve seen it coming. That’s the Atlee magic.
With inputs from Vishal Menon and Harshini SV.