C Prem Kumar and the cinema of therapy

I agree it is too soon to fix a style, a label, an intent on a filmmaker who has made just two films, but I have a feeling these two films are essentially who Prem Kumar is as a creator.

As I mentioned in my review, both 96 and Meiyazhagan follow the same structure:

1. A troubled man (a man with some kind of unresolved trauma) finds himself at a social event with familiar faces.
2. In these events, one person (a known woman in 96, an unknown man in Meiyazhagan) gets singled out.
3. And this person leads the troubled man out of his trauma.

I don’t believe in the three-act structure, but these three “acts” form the structure of Prem Kumar’s two films. Now, this is not about the specifics. For instance, in 96, the troubled man himself organised the get-together – as in, he made the calls that got the momentum going. In Meiyazhagan, the troubled man is forced to attend the get-together. Also, in one case, the man willingly talks to the “singled-out person” (his ex), while in the new film, the man is forced to talk to this person.

But these specifics apart, the general “Point A to Point B” arc is the same.

Point A: A man has learnt to cope with loss: the loss of a loved one in 96, the loss of a loved house/town in Meiyazhagan. He is semi-functional – as in, he is not paralysed by this loss. In 96, he is able to function as a photographer. In Meiyazhagan, he is able to function as a husband, father, cricket coach. But deep inside, these men are dysfunctional. They have unresolved issues.

Point B: These men are “cured” after a long series of talks, which is the equivalent of therapy. In 96, the man gets closure.  He may not get the girl, but he gets closure about a lot of things (like why she refused to meet him when he went to her college). Whether he moves on or not, whether he loves again or not, at least this chapter is closed. In Meiyazhagan, the man gets another kind of closure. He forgives the relatives he held a grudge against. He overcomes his fear/hatred of the town/house – rather, his fear about how he will face that town/house, which is very much like the anxiousness that might occur when you set out to meet an ex after a long time.

This is the first time, we are seeing this kind of ‘therapy’ in Tamil cinema. Yes, there have been earlier instances of men who were damaged goods, and who learnt to overcome their issues (for instance, a toxic upbringing in Kaatru Veliyidai, a feeling of failure in Mayakkam Enna). But the “cure” in these films came through harsher means. In Kaatru Veliyidai,  the man had to be isolated from the woman (in jail) so that he can begin to appreciate her goodness, her kindness. In Mayakkam Enna, the alcoholic, abusive man has to face his wife’s “silence” in order to become whole again.

[Only Anbe Sivam, I guess, comes close to Prem Kumar’s cinema – but in that film, the man is not exactly troubled to begin with. It’s just that he learns to be a better human being, with a better perspective about life. He doesn’t need to be “cured”.]

All these other films (Kaatru Veliyidai, Mayakkam Enna, Anbe Sivam) use drama to bring about transformation: capture by Pakistani army, or a miscarriage, or a huge train accident and a little boy who dies. Prem Kumar’s cinema does not involve this kind of drama. I think he is a gentle soul, and his gentleness comes through the gentle means in which the minds of his protagonists are “mended”. These minds are mended through talk that proves therapeutic. Now, some of us may have issues with some of the content of this talk, but no one can deny that the form is essential to these films: that is, the conversational form.

The conversations between Vijay Sethupathi and Trisha in 96, between Karthi and Arvind Swami in Meiyazhagan – these are the closest we have gotten to seeing therapy on the Tamil screen. Because, in the broadest sense, what is therapy? Whether it occurs in a locked room with a licensed therapist or with an ex or with a lovable pest of a man whose name remains unknown, it’s about unlocking your inner self and opening up about feelings and emotions.

The defining moment of Prem Kumar’s cinema — for me — comes in the scene after Vijay Sethupathi drops Trisha off at her hotel. She goes inside, a little surprised. She wanted more of him. But at that time, she accepts that maybe this is all she is going to get. And only after processing this in her mind, inside the hotel room, does she dash to the phone and call Vijay Sethupathi and ask him where he is. Note the incremental nature of Trisha’s “processing”. When he dropped her off, she could have said, “Is that all?”. But when we are meeting people after a long time, it’s sometimes awkward, and it takes time to get familiar with them again. She need time to be alone, time to think, time to decide what to do next. This behaviour is so accurate, as is Vijay Sethupathi’s response to Trisha’s question: “Where are you Ram? Have you gone far away…?” He says, “I am exactly where I left you.”

In other words, he is still at Point A. In 96, Trisha is the “therapist” who will cure his trauma and move him to Point B. In Meiyazhagan, Karthi is the “therapist”. I have heard of 96 being described as a romance, and Meiyazhagan being called a bromance. But, IMO, nothing could be further from the truth. These are gentle, relaxed, extended therapy sessions – and may we see more of them.