THIRUVANANTHAPURAM: Director Jiyen Krishnakumar’s latest cinematic venture, Ananthan Kaadu, opens with an extensive and visceral sequence of mass violence, drawing structural parallels to writer Murali Gopy’s previous high-profile script, L2: Empuraan. While Empuraan relied on gritty visuals inspired by the Godhra riots, this narrative shifts its initial focus toward the historical horrors inflicted on Tamil civilians during the Sri Lankan Civil War. The cinematic lens shows little restraint as helpless refugees are lined up and shot at point-blank range, women are assaulted, and makeshift settlements are set ablaze, claiming the life of the protagonist’s mother.
A few narrative years later, the screenplay replicates this state-sponsored brutality in a completely localized setting. A harsh police crackdown on a lower-income ghetto in Thiruvananthapuram results in vandalized homes and physical casualties, culminating in the death of another central character’s mother. The connecting tissue between these geographically distinct incidents is systemic oppression, which serves as the core ideological anchor of the plot.
The primary narrative introduces Krishnankutty (Indrans), Thankaraj (Murali Gopy), Murali (Dev Mohan), and Jackson (Appani Sarath) as local henchmen operating in 1990s-era Thiruvananthapuram, carrying out aggressive political crimes at the behest of influential masterminds. Although the gang heavily desires to abandon their violent history for peaceful rehabilitation, moving away from their past proves difficult. The internal matrix gets intriguing when a rebel fighting for a larger regional cause integrates with them against a common adversary. However, despite early structural promise, the plot quickly shifts into a familiar commercial revenge arc involving a manipulative political bigshot who turns on his own hitmen.
While Ananthan Kaadu directly references profound historical backdrops like the Eelam struggle, the writing rarely stops to analyze their geopolitical complexities. Beyond a few superficial lines regarding local resistance and true Tamil identity, the film offers minimal insight into the movement itself. Consequently, this surfaces as one of Murali Gopy’s most straightforward, commercially oriented scripts, lacking the deeply layered storytelling and heavy ideological framework traditionally seen in his projects. While the visual mapping fails to explore Thiruvananthapuram beyond Choola and Cliff House, the actors’ calculated use of the local Trivandrum dialect lends commendable authenticity to the atmosphere.
The core interpersonal chemistry between the lead gang members remains one of the project’s absolute highlights, with Indrans delivering an inspired performance that intentionally shatters conventional gang-leader tropes. Murali Gopy plays his loyal second-in-command, Thankaraj, securing a powerful mass sequence inside a party office. Dev Mohan brings a welcome earthiness to his role, though his romantic track with a college professor (Nikhila Vimal) remains severely underdeveloped. Structurally, the screenplay places audiences directly into the action, supported by exceptional action choreography before the interval where Arya finally unleashes his physical screen presence. Ultimately, while flashes of a highly ambitious political film remain buried inside Ananthan Kaadu, it chooses the commercially safe route of a conventional entertainer.
ലഘു വിവരണം
ജിതിൻ കൃഷ്ണകുമാറിന്റെ സംവിധാനത്തിൽ ആര്യ, ഇന്ദ്രൻസ്, മുരളി ഗോപി എന്നിവർ പ്രധാന വേഷങ്ങളിൽ എത്തിയ ‘അനന്തൻ കാട്’ എന്ന ചിത്രം ഈലം യുദ്ധക്കെടുതികളെയും 90-കളിലെ തിരുവനന്തപുരം രാഷ്ട്രീയ അക്രമങ്ങളെയും ബന്ധിപ്പിച്ചാണ് കഥ പറയുന്നത്. സിസ്റ്റമിക് അടിച്ചമർത്തലുകളെക്കുറിച്ച് സംസാരിക്കുന്ന ചിത്രം, പിന്നീട് ഒരു സാധാരണ രാഷ്ട്രീയ പ്രതികാര നാടകത്തിലേക്ക് വഴിമാറുന്നു. ഗ്യാങ് ലീഡറായുള്ള ഇന്ദ്രൻസിന്റെ വേറിട്ട പ്രകടനവും ആര്യയുടെ മികച്ച ആക്ഷൻ രംഗങ്ങളുമാണ് ചിത്രത്തിന്റെ പ്രധാന ആകർഷണം. എങ്കിലും മുരളി ഗോപിയുടെ മുൻ തിരക്കഥകളിലെപ്പോലെയുള്ള ആഴത്തിലുള്ള രാഷ്ട്രീയ നിരീക്ഷണങ്ങളോ ആശയപരമായ വ്യാപ്തിയോ ഈ ചിത്രത്തിൽ കാണാൻ സാധിക്കുന്നില്ല.
(With inputs from TNIE)
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