Even if director Nelson hadn’t flaunted the Breaking Bad tee in that teaser video of Jailer’s single, we all know by now, on evidence of his films, that the series has had a serious impact on him. Cocaine smuggling in Kolamavu Kokila, twin assassins in Doctor, Walter White masks in Beast… and now, Jailer gives us more evidence of its influence on him. In this film, people get dissolved in acid, a ceiling comes crashing down, a policeman pretends to be drunk and lures away two enemies before finishing them off… and perhaps most importantly, a cop father deals with the loss of his cop son.
Director: Nelson
Cast: Rajinikanth, Vinayakan, Yogi Babu, Vasanth Ravi
We also know by now that Nelson’s film universe milks tragedy for comedy—and that, and his visual signatures, make him such a unique filmmaker. In Jailer, heads get lopped off, family members disappear, women are perpetually unsafe… and like its men, the universe of Jailer feels cold. Nelson isn’t interested in your tears (not unless they are of laughter)—and so, he shows little interest in capturing emotional consequences of events like the disappearance of Muthuvel’s son (Vasanth Ravi). In fact, soon after this event, you see Muthuvel and grandson enjoying an ice cream—which is a strange scene to come up with so early after a profound loss. But I wasn’t in the mood to resist these developments. This is Nelson’s world, after all, and he has proven ways of delivering unique entertainment. He thrives in unexpected, cool violence; he specialises in deadpan humour. And often, he combines both to powerful effect. When Muthuvel drags a sack to Yogi Babu’s car, we know it’s the aftermath of a murder. But that doesn’t stop the scene from being funny. Quite the opposite, in fact.
These are such great moments in a wildly entertaining first half. Every time Rajinikanth agrees to work with a filmmaker, a question that pops up immediately is, ‘Will the filmmaker, in making the Rajini brand work, compromise on his previous strengths?’ Jailer’s first half suggests no dilution in the Nelson brand of filmmaking. In his fascinating world, when Muthuvel smiles, it’s an expression of pain. When characters squeal in pain, it’s often for laughs (like when a character is hung from a fan). You know it’s the Nelson world when a husband calmly looks at his wife, who’s shocked about a dead body falling on her, and simply advises, “Just push it.” Rajinikanth, at one point, refers to himself as a dinosaur—and somehow, Nelson ensures that this lands as a mass moment. It’s a first-half in which Yogi Babu’s quips seem like the perfect foil for Rajini’s serious demeanour. The film, in these portions, establishes enough motivation for ‘Tiger’ Muthuvel Pandian to go berserk; it establishes a menacing, nutty villain and actor Vinayakan’s performance (those unforgettable eyes!) is wonderfully physical. And above all, perhaps the most important—and likeable—decision Nelson seems to have taken in this film concerns Rajinikanth’s fight sequences. This film almost wholly does away with hand-to-hand combat. Even when it uses it, Nelson ensures it delivers maximum impact (like in that memorable interval scene). Finally, we are realising that Rajinikanth has enough charisma to ensure that he doesn’t need to do all the killing. It’s enough if, like in that pre-interval scene, he sits down and asserts control, while someone else takes care of the shooting.
So, yes, I do think the world of everything that happens in this film before it breaks for an interval, but then, as the click-bait text goes on social media, ‘what happened next shocked me’. The film, for no rhyme or reason, goes into freefall, in directions that don’t feel organic at all. There’s a flashback in which we see a ‘younger’ Rajinikanth—and the Rajini admirer in me felt compelled to enjoy it (make the most of everything you get from him, right?). Let it not matter that the walk of the younger Muthuvel isn’t as dynamic as it needed to be, or that the look itself is not-so-convincing. This scene also shows the policeman, Muthuvel, happily lopping off a prisoner’s ear as punishment, and declaring that he won’t follow ‘rules’ when dealing with those who don’t follow them. Such blatant romanticisation of police violence has always made me uncomfortable—and this time too, it was no different. This film, interestingly, also talks of how cops are generally corrupt—and it’s perhaps for this reason that Muthuvel seems to have closer alliances with reformed gangsters than he does with those in his department. So, no, it’s definitely not a film that’s out to whitewash the police department—but still, the preeminent star of our times, wearing a police uniform, unleashing brutality to Anirudh’s thumping music, doesn’t exactly scream responsibility.
Soon, the film, bizarrely, turns into a sort of heist; suddenly, it’s all a far cry from the pre-interval joys. You get something about a film shoot; there’s something about a bad actor vying to win Tamannaah over a rival, his own assistant; wigs are worn and removed; Redin Kingsley, who was so funny in Doctor, stares aimlessly and mumbles something about ‘refraction’… All these flabby portions fill up big chunks in the second half, and Rajinikanth seems strangely absent for a while. To prop things up perhaps, top actors from other languages play cameos, and we get representatives from across regions including Shiva Rajkumar, Mohan Lal, Sunil, and Jackie Shroff, all making brief, forgettable appearances… Even more forgettable are the women in this film. Ramya Krishnan plays Rajinikanth’s wife in the film, and she’s largely relegated to looking meek and frightened. Somewhere around the interval, there’s a striking visual of Ramya Krishnan rising and Padayappa, sorry, Rajinikanth sitting down, but the film doesn’t make any more of it or of her.
A last-ditch attempt to wrest control over the film feels too little, too late—and there’s a downer of an end as well, for a film that seemed so dynamic, so explosive for long periods in the beginning. I went with the film with all its fanciful leaps (like the convenient idea of CCTV footage bailing out Muthuvel, like allies constantly showing up when needed), in the hope that consistent, memorable payoffs would come, but there just aren’t enough.
None of this is Rajinikanth’s fault though. The man seems to belong as organically in Nelson’s universe as Sivakarthikeyan did in Doctor. He’s smiling while killing. He’s crying while laughing. He’s lopping off heads like a vendor slices vegetables, which perhaps leads Yogi Babu to confuse bloodstains with beetroot colouring. He polishes the shoes of younger actors; he even does a self-deprecatory jig as a back-up dancer at one point. This is an actor who clearly doesn’t have a problem submitting, on evidence of this film; if there are problems in Jailer—and the second half is a sackful of it—it has to be attributed to the writing.
As Jailer ended, I was left with many thoughts. I thought about whether that brief flashback was enough to justify the title. I thought about the film seeming so full of promise at the half-way mark and bizarrely losing direction from then on. I thought about another unforgettable Tamil film from 27 years ago that spoke about an incorruptible father dealing with his son, without compromising on ‘commercial entertainment’. Above all, I thought about how many more films Rajinikanth has in him and whether we are making the most of his willingness to submit to filmmakers.
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