I would not like to be in Mani Ratnam’s shoes now. For an artist, his work is like a child; and no child can ever be more or less precious than the ones preceding or following it. The passionate reactions to the bilingual take on the Ramayana, with Raavan(an) as the protagonist, is highly flattering in a way – no one would take the pains to diss for instance, Sura, in such vocal terms. The collective nausea of a majority of the audience to Ratnam’s most recent piece of work (and the voices of a few lone supporters, equally vocal) is a testimony to the fact that much was expected from this man, that much respect was accorded to him, and therefore the audience considers it a right to be vocal about their opinions of him.

The Ramayana is a well known story. To re-interpret this story for an audience requires some conviction and courage, because it implies meddling with some of the deepest entrenched beliefs of our people. I don’t mean belief just in the religious sense; as a story, the Ramayana is as familiar to us as Thiruvilayadal or Sholay or Lagaan.  One cannot go about telling this story in particular without thinking about audience perception. So, while retelling the story, there are two considerations – the vision of the artist, and the reception of the audience.

When an artist proposes a story, who does he owe more to – his own vision that created the story in the first place, or the audience in whose interpretation of his thought his work goes to completion? It is kind of like asking “If a branch falls to the ground in a Raavan-esque forest with no one around to hear it fall, does it make a sound?”

I do not have a doubt as to the fact that the movies we saw were the movies that Ratnam wanted to make. This was his vision. So when we as the audience come out unsatisfied by the fare, is the fault with our perception and disposition, or is it with the artist’s vision and execution? Alternately, when we come out of the theatre satisfied with what we saw, is our satisfaction stemming objectively from the movie we saw, or by unconscious features our mind provides to make the movie more likeable (like a partiality to Prithvi’s Rayban sunglasses for instance)?

I have heard people say that is very difficult to really know what ‘works’ in a movie, that there is no formula to make a movie ‘run’. When it comes to movies, it is not just the artist’s vision that matters; usually there is a producer who, when the movie is finally released, would just have enough money to buy a Tiruppur towel for his head in case the movie flops. So does this mean can an artist cut the legs of his baby to fit the audience’s cradle?

These are just a few questions running through my mind.

When I heard about the theme for this month, “Man proposes, man disposes”, I immediately thought about Mani Ratnam, because I believe him to be a man with a lot of insight and vision. He proposes things we know an awful lot about – a young girl’s aversion to things being forced upon her against her will, the proverbial sparkling drop of water in the hardened rock of a man, the pangs of passionate love, a child lost without her roots, a mother lost without her child. He proposes these things very well, very smooth and light on the surface and passionate underneath, much like his on-screen protagonists. We love his proposals because they speak to us, and we are ready to adore him and his vision. When he does not deliver the fare we expect him to, we are angry with him. It is maybe out of love for him that we expect him to deliver and be his best at all times?

Why should our love for our favourite director not take the form of a little indulgence? Why should we judge him like greedy children always wanting more? Why not take him for a free artist and give him the freedom to screw up, make mistakes and create? Let him, propose, let him dispose, it is his, after all.

 

Mani sir, I am waiting for your next movie, because it is yours.

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