Maaman movie review
Men are such ‘cute’ creatures, aren’t they? They’re at their cutest when apologising; you know, after having ignored the women in their lives for the longest time, disregarding their feelings, prioritising everyone and everything else, manipulating and gaslighting them whenever they raise questions, and even embarrassing or harassing them in public. What truly elevates the ‘cuteness’ is the tagline that often accompanies their apology, “(Regardless of being a complete douche), I have nothing but love for you.” Arey wah! Who wouldn’t want the chance to forgive such ‘cuties’ — the very ones who’ve long served as the safety net for Indian filmmakers specialising in family dramas? And now, there’s a new ‘cutie’ in town, Inba (Soori), the ‘hero’ of Maaman, director Prasanth Pandiyaraj’s spin on the age-old misogynistic template that once helped many celebrated makers churn out massive blockbusters. What’s even more ‘funny’ is that just as the condition of women in these movies remains unchanged, so too does the way the stories are envisioned and written.
For Inba, his family, particularly his sister Girija (Swasika), means everything. Though he would fetch her the moon if she asked for it, life has been anything but happy for Girija as she and her husband Ravi (Baba Bhaskar) have been unable to conceive a child despite many years of marriage. Finally, to everyone’s elation, Girija becomes pregnant, and no one is happier than Inba, who had been waiting his whole life to embrace the role of maaman (uncle). Meanwhile, during hospital visits with his sister, Inba falls in love with Dr Rekha (Aishwarya Lekshmi), and she reciprocates his feelings. With the arrival of Nilan (Prageeth Sivan), Inba is over the moon, and the bond he shares with the child grows with each passing day, and they can’t even sleep without each other.
Five years down the line, Inba and Rekha tie the knot. However, his bond with Nilan that everyone, including Rekha, found adorable earlier soon becomes a problem as the boy remains inseparable from Inba even after the latter’s wedding and unintentionally denies the newlyweds their much-needed time together. To Inba, the child is his entire world, and he’s willing to sacrifice anything for him. This attitude sparks minor arguments between the couple, gradually escalating into serious rifts and eventually, full-blown family feuds, especially between Girija and Rekha. With no other option, Inba is forced to move to Madurai with Rekha. But how can Inba and Nilan ever truly stay apart?
Although the initial scenes, showing Girija being emotionally tortured by others for not embracing motherhood and Inba serving as her emotional anchor, makes one feel that the film might be compassionate towards women, Maaman quickly reveals its true stance; it too believes that a woman’s worth is defined by the roles she plays in life; as a daughter, wife, sister, mother et al. Both Girija and her mother (Geetha Kailasam) are the best examples to understand the movie’s flawed depiction of women as they seldom rise above being Inba’s sister or mother, or Nilan’s mother or grandmother, respectively. Their lives revolve entirely around Inba and Nilan, their bond and its future, leaving the women with no room to express personal joys or sorrows. It’s as if they have no existence outside these two male figures.
Simultaneously, from very early on, Maaman makes it clear that it’s not just riding an outdated, misogynistic narrative, but that it’s also presented in a stylistically obsolete manner, as if Prasanth is either unaware or dismissive of the evolution in visual storytelling and cinematic grammar. From the very first sequence, the writer-director wastes no time in establishing that the film is a full-blown melodrama, with a heavy-handed emotional tone and dialogues infused into every moment. In fact, Prasanth seems intent on overloading even already emotional scenes with extra layers of sentimentality, almost as if to ensure that viewers are overwhelmed by emotion and don’t notice the blandness in the script, based on a story by Soori himself, and the many age-old tropes at play.
Festive offer
While Indian family dramas have long vilified women who demand emotional availability from their husbands — as seen in films like director Rajasenan’s Njangal Santhushtaranu (1999) and Priyadarshan’s Mithunam (1993) — as they mostly prioritise their families even after marriage, taking their wives for granted, Maaman cleverly sidesteps that direct portrayal. Although Rekha isn’t shown as pure evil, she endures the harshest treatment in the film, both emotionally and physically. A particularly jarring moment shows a pregnant Rekha being slapped by Inba – who is frequently referred to as saami (god) by others – in public for questioning his continued overt affection for his relatives, overlooking her and their expected child.
Nonetheless, writer-director Prasanth Pandiyaraj does not forget to include performative, tokenistic lines, delivered by the village elder Singarayar (Rajkiran), that compare wives to gods and advocate for treating them with the same respect as one’s mother. To be frank, though, Inba has always treated Rekha like he treats his mother, as a volunteer caregiver.
And yet, after all that’s happened, once Inba apologises by touching her feet, Rekha melts because she can’t bear to see him in that position; or rather, she doesn’t melt, Prasanth makes her. To be honest, I’m waiting for the day when movie characters come to life and I’m certain that Dr Rekha would have a few sharp questions for Prasanth for writing her so subservient. She’s a doctor, for crying out loud.
From forgettable moments (especially since they all feel like déjà vu) to one-dimensional characters who only know how to scream their emotions rather than express them naturally, Maaman unfolds strictly according to the writer-director’s will and never organically. Throughout the narrative, there are several points where it’s painfully obvious that Prasanth had no clear idea of what to do next. At such instances, Nilan is made to go ballistic, throwing tantrums demanding Inba’s presence. And when Prasanth feels Nilan has been overused in recent scenes, the emotional baton is passed to Girija, who either fumes (usually at Nilan) or performs some overly dramatic act, just to stretch the story beyond the 150-minute mark. When even that creative well runs dry, what better fallback than a good old-fashioned accident to push the plot forward? Prasanth, unsurprisingly, doesn’t hesitate to pull that trick also out of his sleeve.
Nonetheless, despite their characters being poorly written, it’s the female actors, particularly Swasika, Aishwarya Lekshmi and Geetha Kailasam, who keep the film afloat with compelling performances. While Geetha’s vast potential — as seen in Angammal — remains largely untapped, she still manages to steal the show whenever given more than a couple of seconds on screen. Especially striking are her scenes with Swasika, and during their quarrels, in particular, the two clearly challenge each other to elevate their performances. Despite poor dubbing and even poorer dialogues, Aishwarya Lekshmi also manages to leave a lasting impression, something she hasn’t quite been able to do with her recent roles in Malayalam films.
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