People
turn
a
corner
and
overhear
secrets,
men
change
stripes
so
as
to
acquire
shades
of
villainy
most
convenient
to
advancing
the
plot,
secondary
characters
confess
to
past
sins
just
so
that
the
leading
women
are
absolved
of
all
responsibility,
notes
Sreehari
Nair.
Christo
Tomy’s
Ullozhukku
is
set
up
like
a
great,
tensely
wound
short
story.
As
in
a
great
short
story,
Christo
gives
us
a
tantalising
premise
full
of
juicy
particulars
such
as
an
extra-marital
affair
and
the
resulting
pregnancy.
He
gives
us
a
scene
of
death
capped
by
a
sudden
spurt
of
tears.
He
gives
us
a
cavalcade
of
characters
stranded
in
a
house
of
mourning.
As
in
a
great
short
story,
Christo
draws
up
a
sharply
defined
setting:
This
is
the
Kuttanad
of
canals
and
coconut
groves
and
women
rowing
little
boats
in
the
dead
of
the
night
to
meet
their
slobbering
lovers.
The
inclement
weather,
as
in
so
many
great
short
stories,
gets
to
assert
itself
with
such
stubborn
intensity
that
you
shouldn’t
be
surprised
if
some
critic
were
to
announce,
‘The
weather
is
yet
another
character
in
the
story.’
Having
primed
us
for
a
tale
of
human
interconnectedness,
Christo
Tomy
then
goes
ahead
and
drops
the
ball.
He
finds
a
way
to
deify
his
two
leading
women
characters
(played
by
Urvashi
and
Parvathy)
at
the
expense
of
almost
every
other
character
in
the
story.
With
an
overlay
of
extreme
good
taste,
the
young
writer-director
falls
back
on
some
of
the
worst
tropes
of
tabloids
and
soap
operas:
People
turn
a
corner
and
overhear
secrets,
men
change
stripes
so
as
to
acquire
shades
of
villainy
most
convenient
to
advancing
the
plot,
secondary
characters
confess
to
past
sins
just
so
that
the
leading
women
are
absolved
of
all
responsibility.
An
entire
ecosystem
is
reduced
to
sand
even
as
Urvashi
and
Parvathy
are
raised
to
the
level
of
spotless
shrines.
Like
two
Bergman
beauties
caught
up
in
the
whirligig
of
life,
they
beat
on,
boats
against
the
current
and
all
the
rest
of
it.
Though
a
lot
seems
to
transpire,
and
despite
the
steady
stream
of
revelations,
I
thought
the
scope
of
the
story
became
narrower
and
narrower
as
the
movie
went
on,
and
the
characters
played
by
Urvashi
and
Parvathy
less
interesting
with
each
passing
frame.
As
an
ardent
fan,
I
know
it
takes
a
lot
to
make
Urvashi
uninteresting,
and
the
rather
soft-minded
Leelamma
here
does
not
rank
among
the
actress’
most
involved
performances.
At
her
freest,
Urvashi
becomes
a
spokesperson
for
the
moviegoer’s
most
mischievous
instincts.
No
other
Indian
actress
has
so
frequently
needled
at
the
excesses
of
her
co-actors
and
thereby
made
them
more
humanly
appealing
(Jayaram
springs
to
mind),
or
played
around
with
the
platitudes
presented
to
her
by
scriptwriters
and
thereby
rescued
characters
from
banality
(Thalayana
Manthram
springs
to
mind).
With
Urvashi,
you
always
get
the
feeling
that
she’s
talking
to
the
people
she’s
sharing
screen-space
with
while
simultaneously
engaging
in
a
continuous
conversation
with
her
audience.
Watch
out
for
how
Varane
Avashyamund
takes
off
once
Urvashi
enters
the
fray:
She
breaks
the
dreamy,
faraway
tone
of
the
movie
and
opens
a
direct
channel
with
us
bums-in-the-seats.
On
the
other
hand,
Leelamma
of
Ullozhukku
comes
off
as
nothing
more
than
a
delusional
doll
of
a
mother.
She
has
none
of
the
smarts
that
one
associates
with
a
finely
honed
Urvashi
character.
There’s
no
‘intelligence
of
the
hearth’
or
‘low
cunning’
that
you
can
discern
about
this
Achayathi.
The
only
time
she
drops
her
gallant
guard
is
when
Alencier’s
greybeard
character
says
something
to
the
effect
of,
‘If
this
happens,
I’ll
take
my
own
life,’
and
Leelamma
replies,
with
the
piss
and
vinegar
of
Urvashi’s
good
old
days,
‘Dude,
do
you
really
want
to
go
that
far?’
Her
response
seemed
to
enliven
the
proceedings
for
a
bit,
though
it
did
depart
from
the
somber
mood
of
the
movie.
I
was
the
only
one
in
my
theatre
who
laughed,
and
it
was
almost
like
yelling
‘Fire!’
in
a
crowded
place.
Christo
Tomy
seems
to
have
contrived
Leelamma
for
that
final
shot
of
her
as
the
grieving
mother
with
absolutely
no
complaints.
Tomy’s
last
outing
was
Curry
&
Cyanide,
a
documentary
about
Jolly
Joseph,
and
Leelamma
seems
to
be
his
atonement
for
the
murderous
housewife.
At
any
rate,
here’s
the
double
bind
evident
throughout
Ullozhukku:
The
movie
wants
to
cast
an
unsparing
eye
but
it
also
wants
to
spare
its
two
leads
any
overt
soul-searching
(that’s
for
the
subsidiary
characters).
In
fact,
Urvashi’s
Leelamma
is
made
to
face
the
music
just
once,
and
it
happens
when
Parvathy’s
Anju
schools
the
aging
woman,
schools
her
about
the
deceptions
in
her
worldview
and
about
the
dangers
of
holding
on
to
age-old
traditions.
If
Leelamma
has
no
complaints
whatsoever,
her
daughter-in-law,
Anju,
is
all
complaints;
and
Parvathy
playing
Anju
is,
in
every
sense
of
the
term,
perfect
casting.
For
some
years
now,
Parvathy’s
screen
performances
have
come
to
suggest
that
the
audience
owes
her
a
collective
apology
which
she
isn’t
getting
(an
apology
for
what
exactly,
I
am
not
sure).
It’s
the
same
set
of
ideas
that
emanate
from
every
Parvathy
performance.
Here
are
two
or
three
that
I
have
managed
to
catch:
life
is
a
bland
porridge
that
one
is
obliged
to
eat
indifferently;
love
is
a
prison;
small-talk
is
for
airheads.
At
her
most
instinctive,
Parvathy
Thiruvothu
is
our
finest
actress
but
she
seems
to
have
become
too
ideological
to
give
herself
over
to
the
camera
completely.
This
one
is
yet
another
ideological
construct.
By
the
end
of
the
movie,
all
of
Anju’s
misgivings
are
rationalised
—
yet
another
self-exculpation
project
for
the
actress.
In
playing
the
‘misunderstood
woman’
card
over
and
over
again,
Parvathy
may
be
taking
on
the
worst
tendencies
of
those
yesteryear
movies
which
had
an
all-sacrificing
patriarch
as
its
main
focus.
We
are
not
so
much
overthrowing
the
culture
of
self-pity
here
as
dressing
it
up
in
different
clothes.
So
Anju
and
Leelamma
beat
on,
boats
against
the
current
and
all
the
rest
of
it.
The
final
shot
is
a
clarion
call
for
amateur
painters
to
come
recreate
it
as
an
everlasting
image
of
universal
sisterhood.
That
shot,
I
think,
is
as
literal-minded
as
the
movie
itself,
but
if
social
media
is
to
be
believed
the
painters
have
already
answered
the
call.
Finally,
a
few
words
about
the
title.
It
translates
to
‘undercurrent’,
and
it’s
meant
to
be
a
poetic
qualifier
for
the
setting
and
for
the
general
progression
of
events.
But
the
title
is
a
misnomer
when
you
weigh
it
against
the
craft
of
the
movie.
This
is
a
movie
where
everything
is
spelled
out,
and
nothing
even
remotely
implied.
Sometimes
with
a
threatening
look,
and
sometimes
with
the
discovery
of
an
old
file,
skeletons
are
unearthed,
and
the
story
is
steered
to
its
faux-poignant
conclusion.
No,
you
don’t
need
undercurrents
or
overtones
when
a
deluge
of
pure
plot
twists
would
do.
