Writer and Director: Nithilan Swaminathan
Cast: Vijay Sethupathi, Anurag Kashyap, Abhirami, Mamta Mohandas
Duration: 150 mins
Available in: Theatres
Vijay Sethupathi’s Maharaja is a film that follows Chekhov’s gun plot device to such a microscopic extent that forget about the rifle — one must never place a loaded rifle on the stage if it isn't going to go off, according to Russian playwright Anton Chekhov — even the nuts, bolts, bullets, barrel and every inch of the “gun” itself are rich with meaning. Most of all, they consciously tiptoe back to the screen to move Nithilan Swaminathan’s tightly written story forward.
Maharaja is an unusual film in that its sum of all parts is greater than the “whole”. In a film that has powerhouse performers such as Vijay Sethupathi who plays the titular character (he is sublime as a gentle father whose marriage is cut short by tragedy), Natty (an actor who sits quite comfortably on his role as a swindling cop reminiscent of his part in the clever Sathuranga Vettai), and Anurag Kashyap (a doting dad with a rogue side, who shares a few things in common with Maharaja), Nithilan’s thriller manages to almost achieve the unthinkable. It pivots away from star service to make its screenplay the hero. A hero that always thinks ten steps ahead into the future.
We have a screenplay — a bible that interconnects complicated characters in its universe — that moves like a cheetah. Nothing is really just a coincidence in Maharaja. Which means an adorable but forgettable Shih Tzu from the first act that we might not have thought twice about, exists on paper to move the film forward. A pair of red running shoes we see a full scene about ends up changing the entire trajectory of the film. Why else do we get a shot of a scruffy-looking iron dustbin, seconds before it ends up saving someone’s life? An act that in turn destroys another's a few years later. Maharaja is filled with delightful little pieces of a puzzle that the filmmaker expects us to pick up on and solve to see the finished picture.
But again, the “whole” finished picture hardly matters in a movie such as this. Nithilan makes the journey exciting by engaging and sometimes distracting us by throwing some of the most wonderfully bizarre characters into the mix. We have a bike thief named “police” who roams around with his master key on his neck for fear of losing it to thieves like himself. A politician/goonda parades his gold necklaces everywhere. But his most prized possession is still a pair of sunglasses that a dead yesteryear actor gifted him (Rest in peace, Kadhalar Dhinam Kunal). What motivates a police officer to engage in brutality is his frustration over the fact that a thief steals the lowly TVS-50 mopeds and not expensive bikes. And then of course there is VJS’s Maharaja who moves slowly, always remembers to hydrate before talking and takes care of his dustbin like it’s his child. Nithilan takes his time to establish these oddballs and it pays off in the climax — even if we’re left scratching our heads at this winding screenplay that spans timelines.
At the end of it all, Maharaja is a simple tale about how the paths of two girl-dads collide. While it is refreshing to see mothers not be relegated to playing sympathetic figures, and see fathers take responsibility for their actions, the film’s lack of strong female characters is glaring. One could argue that this absence contributes to the film’s drawbacks, especially for a film that talks about sexual assault, rape and other issues that women are subjected to. Filming sexual assault is always a tightrope, something that Maharaja clearly struggles with. For a film that places so much emphasis on character development, it’s also unfortunate that we never really get around to understanding the psyche of these paternal figures. What explains a father’s complicity in assault against young girls, when the film paints him out to be the father of the year? What explains a father putting his wounded daughter’s mental health on the line for cinematic effect and story closure? Maharaja might be full of such contradictions. But it’s also brimming with writing flourishes that make us want to be a more forgiving person. Even if we don’t always want to.