Balan: The Boy Review: *Almost* Nails It!

A riveting mother-son drama with a superb first half, Balan: The Boy loses some of its grip after an ambitious but uneven turn, notes Sreeju Sudhakaran.

Chidambaram’s previous two films, Jan.E.Man and Manjummel Boys, are beloved by Malayalam audiences, but both faced one major criticism. Despite being ensemble pieces, neither was particularly inclusive of strongly written female characters or dramatic arcs centred around them.

Perhaps as a response to that criticism, Chidambaram takes a different approach with his third film, Balan: The Boy. Eschewing the ensemble format this time, Balan focuses on the relationship between a child and his fiercely protective mother.

Of course, this kind of thread itself automatically invites emotional investment from the viewer, and to Chidambaram’s credit, he does not merely rely on that attachment.

Instead, he crafts an arresting tale about the extreme lengths a mother will go to in order to protect her child. So much so that when Balan veers away from this equation, you can sense a struggle in both pacing and writing to match what is an excellent first half, even if the film eventually wraps things up with a surprising conclusion.

What’s The Plot of Balan?

Balan begins with the camera panning across drawings on a wall as we hear a woman explain to her young son what happened to his father and how they arrived in the city. When the camera finally reaches the characters, we realise they are inside a prison cell and the mother (Farzana Palathingal) is serving her sentence there, while the son (Adhisheshan) may very well have been born inside the prison.

I won’t name the characters here because I can’t.

We are never privy to their real names.

Once her prison sentence is cut short, the mother assumes a new identity for herself and her child. They keep moving from place to place, with the mother hoping her past never catches up with them. Their identities keep changing, with names even borrowed from places she once worked, while she ensures her son remains in sync with the stories she tells him.

Even the story he knows about his father is a lie, crafted to protect him from the truth.

Later, the mother narrates a disturbing fairy tale about a demon who traps a princess. Suddenly, it becomes clear why she keeps running from place to place, even from places where she has known kindness, like the old tea shop owner who once employed her.

Technically Fabulous

So how does the little boy cope with his changing names and addresses?

For the most part, he is his mother’s partner-in-crime, instinctively providing answers that align with hers when questioned, and knowing exactly how to cover up when circumstances demand it.

But there is one brilliant scene where the boy struggles with this identity crisis when he is asked his name in his new school and has a sort of PTSD episode. The sequence is fantastically edited by Vivek Harshan, whose work in Manjummel Boys is still being celebrated on social media.

It is one of many good moments in a very intriguing and suspenseful first half, where the mystery lies in what exactly compels the mother to keep uprooting her child and whether there can ever be an end to her journey.

That end seemingly arrives when she finds work taking care of a lonely elderly woman in an equally lonely house.

The old woman, bitter about her NRI son settling in a country against which her husband once revolted, slowly warms to the mother and son, and for the first time they appear to have found a home.

I won’t say the first half contains many surprises, but it is the fluid manner in which Chidambaram tells the story that holds your attention, strengthened by Vivek’s razor-sharp editing and Sushin Shyam’s moody score.

The haunting placement of the children’s rhyme-like Thakkol song, showing how the mother and son settle into their new home and bond with their benefactor, is an excellent example of how these elements work so beautifully in tandem. And then there is Shyju Khalid’s camerawork, which shifts effortlessly from intimate warmth, like that lovely candle-lit scene inside the tent, to something spooky, like using the eerie stillness of nature to heighten the tension.

Fantastic Performances

The mother is a wonderfully-written grey character, whose moral boundaries become questionable in the face of survival and protecting her son.

She lies without remorse, and when asked by her son, if she can kill someone before they kill them, she doesn’t sugarcoat her answer.  

In one scene, she tries to share her bread with a mentally challenged woman out of kindness, only for that same bread to become a bargaining chip the moment she spots another opportunity to survive. 

The greyness of her morality is pushed to its limits near the interval point, bringing a very drastic turn to the story.

Farzana Palathingal, with her wonderfully expressive face, delivers a superb performance, complemented by young Adhisheshan, who never hits a false note despite his age.

Dolly June, who plays the elderly woman, also steals scenes with her hot-and-cold performance, particularly in conveying the bitterness she harbours towards her family. Credit to the filmmaker for bringing genuine warmth to their moments together, even if that comfort proves fleeting.

Beena Antony, who plays a pimp eager to bring the mother into her fold, is suitably reprehensible.

A Comparatively Weaker Second Half

If the first half is a masterclass in slow-burn storytelling, then the second half takes quite a bold turn.

Bold, because it is risky to move away from a track that has been so firmly established.

This is where I felt the screenplay by Jithu Madhavan, who directed the immensely enjoyable Romancham and Aavesham, begins to show cracks.

The portions involving the police station, particularly Jean Paul Lal’s ego-driven cop Pavithran and how the boy inadvertently shakes both his professional and personal life, are engaging enough. The build-up to his sense of betrayal is nicely done, but his actions afterwards lack a certain degree of credibility.

Still, he is well cast in the role, and director Girish AD, who plays his superior, and Sandra Chandran, who plays his colleague and lover, perform their parts effectively. But the standout performance in the second half comes from young Muhammed Zinaan. 

Tovino Thomas’ Extended Cameo Was a Miss

So far, Chidambaram’s brother and actor Ganapathy has done a solid job as the film’s casting consultant. Where he somewhat misses the mark is with the film’s biggest casting coup. 

It is no longer a secret that Tovino Thomas is part of the film.

Spoilers ahead.

His inclusion introduces an Oliver Twist-like element to Balan, one that further distances the film from the far more compelling story it had been pursuing earlier.

I understand what Chidambaram and Jithu Madhavan were aiming for. A boy who has never known a father is suddenly given a father figure, even if neither intended for it, and how that relationship ultimately affects him.

What I can say is that the intention doesn’t work to full measure, and in fact, induces a drag in the proceedings. Although the track ends on a poignantly whimsical note, I wish there had been a better way to tackle this plotline, or perhaps even leave it out altogether.

Tovino Thomas’ performance doesn’t help matters either. I like him as an actor, and with the right material he can deliver excellent grey-shaded performances, as he did in this year’s Athiradi. Here, despite the fake paunch and thick facial hair, he never fully disappears into the character. The role needed an actor who could bring more unpredictability, something Tovino’s star image doesn’t quite allow. Thankfully, Balan: The Boy moves towards a much stronger conclusion.

There is a smart twist in the tale, and Sushin Shyam’s score reaches a peak in elevating the drama.

That said, I still felt the finale deserved that emotional high of Subhash being rescued from the pit in Manjummel Boys which it lacked. Once again that comes down to the uneven second half that loses some of the first half’s emotional punch, while also leaving a few plot holes unresolved.

If any movie needed more amma paasam to make it greater, it is you, my dear Balan.