Maharaja
is
an
audacious
attempt
that
breaks
down
the
tropes
of
a
crime
film
with
a
brilliant
Vijay
Sethupathi
in
the
lead,
notes
Arjun
Menon.
Nithilan
Swaminathan’s
sophomore
directorial
outing
Maharaja
hinges
on
an
emotionally
charged,
disturbing
subject
matter
that
could
have
gone
awry
in
the
hands
of
a
lesser
film-maker.
It
starts
with
a
blank
screen,
over
which
we
hear
someone
singing
an
obscure
Tamil
film
song.
We
then
see
that
this
was
from
a
recess
session
involving
a
game
of
Antakshari,
played
inside
a
saloon
between
the
owner
and
his
disinterested
employees.
We
get
introduced
to
our
hero,
a
quiet,
head-firmly-to-the-ground
kind
of
awkward
guy,
a
barber
by
profession,
asking
his
boss
for
a
day
off.
This
detail,
like
pretty
much
everything
else
in
Nithilan
Swaminathan’s
film,
is
derived
from
the
text
of
the
film
and
you
see
every
accumulated
information
gets
some
sense
of
a
payoff
in
the
following
bizarre
chain
of
events.
We
get
an
early
glimpse
into
his
quiet
ways
and
the
absent
personality
in
this
brief
yet
effective
exchange.
Like
his
debut
film,
Kurangu
Bommai
(2017),
this
film
also
brims
with
a
sense
of
detached
coldness
that
is
funneled
through
a
more
mainstream
approach
in
the
writing.
Maharaja
is
a
crime
procedural
in
a
lot
of
ways
as
it
follows
Maharaja
(Vijay
Sethupathi),
a
battered
down,
older
man
now,
who
approaches
the
local
police
with
a
missing
case.
The
missing
entity
referred
to
as
‘Lakshmi’
is
a
source
of
comic
relief
and
we
wonder
at
the
zany
context
of
its
relevance
in
Maharaja’s
and
his
daughter’s
life.
Nithilan
uses
the
story
of
how
the
item
went
missing
for
great
comedic
effect
even
though
Maharaja
seems
to
take
it
seriously.
Maharaja‘S
peculiar
narration
of
the
events
of
the
night
and
the
thing
that
went
missing
becomes
eerily
funny
through
repetitions
and
the
straight-faced
rendering
by
the
hero,
who
seems
to
be
on
the
verge
of
an
emotional
breakdown
over
the
missing
item.
Vijay
Sethupathi
is
the
perfect
casting
choice
to
play
the
low-key,
guarded
figure,
whose
passive
energy
is
matched
by
the
actor’s
innate
gentleness.
There
is
a
blank
quality
to
the
way
Vijay
renders
the
lines
and
his
held-back
body
language
makes
it
even
more
difficult
to
read
the
intentions
and
motivations
driving
Maharaja’s
actions.
The
performance
adds
layers
of
despair
and
lived-in
emotional
stakes
to
the
screenplay
that
is
content
not
diving
any
deeper
into
his
psyche
as
a
human
being.
The
actor
underplays
the
uneasy
squirminess
of
Maharaja’s
personality.
Anurag
Kashyap
gets
to
revel
as
well,
in
a
broader,
villain
archetype,
that
is
upended
by
horrible
revelations.
The
performance
contrasts
nicely
with
the
subtle
obscurity
of
Sethupathi’s
passiveness.
Abhirami
gets
sidelined
in
a
role
that
is
best
warranted
to
support
the
main
engine
of
the
film’s
tragic
echoes
and
the
rest
of
the
supporting
cast,
including
Mamtha
Mohandas,
gets
very
little
to
do
to
drive
the
central
events
forward.
Nataraj
Subramaniam
is
highly
effective
as
the
sleazy,
bribe-loving
cop
and
his
enjoyable
rapport
with
the
supporting
cast
of
police
officers
provide
some
comic
relief.
Ajneesh
Loknath
overuses
the
thumping,
operatic
score
and
sometimes
nudges
the
emotional
beats
of
the
film
a
bit
too
far.
The
camera
work
by
Dinesh
Purushottaman
uses
blacks
to
great
impact
drawing
out
the
murky,
dark
undercurrents
of
the
story.
At
its
heart,
the
film
is
a
story
of
two
fathers
caught
on
the
wrong
sides
of
moral
and
emotional
catastrophes
in
their
personal
lives.
Maharaja
can
be
relentless
in
its
portrayal
of
gratuitous
violence
and
gore,
which
is
a
requisite
in
this
exhilarating
story
that
demands
the
physical
catharsis
and
release
of
its
characters
from
the
grueling
nature
of
their
marginalised
existence.
A
barber,
devoted
to
his
work
and
his
daughter,
is
dragged
into
a
past
misunderstanding
that
propels
the
narrative
forward
and
we
feel
like
playing
a
game
of
catch-up
built
around
a
crime
and
its
effects.
Time
and
narrative
ellipses
are
a
key
part
of
the
film,
and
we
are
forced
to
fill
in
the
structural
design
of
Nithilan’s
smartly
fractured
screenplay
that
never
bothers
to
explain
the
jumbled
timelines.
Maharaja
works
more
like
a
film
of
great
narrative
ideas
that
echo
the
sorry
fate
of
two
men,
whose
faith
is
sealed
after
a
chance
encounter.
Nithilan
spends
too
much
time
in
the
darker
details
of
some
of
the
crime
episodes
and
that
adds
a
flavour
to
the
film,
but
the
running
time
suffers
in
the
process.
Nithilan
packs
the
former
half
with
scenes
involving
Maharaja’s
stilted
interactions
with
the
cops
and
it
almost
looks
like
a
workplace
comedy,
mounted
on
an
emotionally
stunted
protagonist,
whose
straight-face
sincerity
and
innocence
becomes
a
butt
of
many
jokes.
You
keep
waiting
for
the
other
shoe
to
drop
and
slowly
get
to
see
the
film
play
its
hand
ever
so
slowly.
But
some
of
the
ideas
feel
far
more
effective
as
story
beats
that
work
as
a
brooding,
disturbing
idea
that
is
stretched
a
little
too
thin
in
some
places
due
to
convenient
writing.
For
instance,
the
final
moments
with
the
police
characters
and
some
revelations
feel
rushed
and
convenient.
At
the
end
of
the
day,
Maharaja
feels
like
a
whole
picture
derived
from
the
many
accumulated
images,
details
and
reckonings
that
are
tied
together
by
an
unexpected
final
revelation.
The
brutality
of
the
images
and
character
motivations
is
balanced
by
the
distancing
tone
that
does
not
indulges
in
excessive
drama,
except
for
some
parts.
Maharaja
is
a
surprisingly
novel
outing,
rejuvenating
the
tired
tropes
of
revenge
films
with
a
morally
challenging
revelation
in
the
final
hour,
that
compensates
for
the
little
contrivances
in
the
writing.
Nithilan
Swaminathan
comes
up
with
an
impressionistic
image
in
the
final
shot
of
the
film,
where
footsteps
and
drops
of
blood
are
used
to
draw
out
the
fatal
tragedy
that
has
befallen
one
of
the
characters.
That
image
soars
above
anything
seen
in
Tamil
cinema
in
recent
times.
Maharaja
Review
Rediff
Rating:
