Theerppu review: A metaphor for the Babri Masjid demolition and the betrayal of Muslims, it has the depth of a teaspoon

Language: Malayalam

When Parameshwaran Potty (Saiju Kurup) bumps into his childhood friend Abdullah Marakkar (Prithviraj Sukumaran) on a street in Kerala in Theerppu: Verdicts and Beyond, the tension between them is palpable. Parameshwaran seems awkward, Abdullah burns with resentment.

The two meet again at a luxe beach resort run by another companion of their youth, Ramkumar Nair (Vijay Babu), and his wife Mythili (Isha Talwar). We soon learn why there is hostility between the men. Years back, Ramkumar and Parameshwaran’s fathers had colluded with the parent of yet another friend, Kalyan Menon (Indrajith Sukumaran), to cheat Abdullah’s father Basheer (Siddique) into selling off a large ancestral home of historical significance for Kerala’s Muslims. An official in the archaeology department discovered the building’s vintage, but failed in his attempt to save it from being knocked down.

In flashbacks to Basheer’s betrayal by those he trusted, the referencing of the Babri Masjid demolition is elaborate. This and the uni-dimensional differentiation between Hindus and Muslims makes it clear that his story is a metaphor in the script for the destruction of the ancient mosque in Ayodhya in 1992 by Hindu fundamentalists.

In a script with greater maturity, this could have been lauded as an act of courage, but director Rathish Ambat’s Theerppu, written by Murali Gopy has the intellectual depth of a teaspoon.

This is the sort of film in which injustice against Muslims is portrayed by presenting Muslims largely as saintly, innocent people. Depictions like these are neither good cinema nor good politics. Air-brushing a marginalised minority community is a form of othering that completely defeats the purpose of representation, which is to normalise such social groups.

All the villains in Theerppu are Hindu and they are all just as superficially characterised as the Muslims, but at least there is heterogeneity among the Hindus. Ramkumar, for one, is an out- and-out nasty, whereas Parameshwaran is cowardly and wants to be seen as nice. His wife Prabha is willing to trade her soul and body for a beneficial commercial deal, but is definitely not comfortable with her father-in-law’s actions. Mythili seems decent enough, and instead of silently suffering Ramkumar’s brazen infidelity, has her own fun on the side.

Rathish Ambat’s earlier collaboration with Murali Gopy was Kammara Sambhavam. That film was insidious, purporting to lampoon propagandists yet acting as a propaganda vehicle in its own way. Theerppu is just plain simplistic.

The script is so busy aiming at grandeur that none of the friends or their spouses is fleshed out enough to be relatable, not even Abdullah who you might imagine would earn our empathy.

The conversations in Theerppu indicate that there was a profound intention behind naming the central villain after Lord Ram, but it makes zero sense.

Theerppu’s evident conviction that it is deep is quite embarrassing. Ramkumar’s seaside resort houses a history museum that is impressively captured by cinematographer Sunil K.S. At one point, when shots are fired within its walls, the bullets strike two artefacts: Gandhi’s glasses and Safdar Hashmi’s pen. A statement is obviously being made here, but the script is too pre-occupied with appearing clever to actually be clever or substantial.

In the backdrop to the games between the ‘friends’ in their adulthood, a rally of Hindutvavaadis unfolds. This has the support of Ramkumar and Mythili’s household help Pawanputra Bhede, a slimy man who is the constant target of the former’s contempt and class bias. Yes, this is that kind of film too: one in which the sole identifiable north Indian character is a creep.

Ironically, Theerppu repeatedly pays tribute to cinema from the north, namely Bollywood, and not Malayalam cinema.

Meanwhile, the word theerppu (meaning: decision / settlement / judgement) is rubbed in our faces through dialogues to establish the reasoning behind the choice of title.

If, despite its mediocre writing, you feel Theerppu must be commended for commenting so forthrightly on the Babri Masjid and Hindu-Muslim relations considering that we’re living in times when Indian artists are increasingly facing censorship and attacks from right-wing extremists, hold on. Firstly, Malayalam cinema is routinely brave – unlike Hindi cinema these days – so the standard by which it is judged cannot be this basic. Second, even while appearing to bat against the exploitation of Muslims by Hindu radicals, Theerppu walks on eggshells. The only real-life political leader cited in the context of Ayodhya is the Congress’ then Prime Minister P.V. Narasimha Rao who is blamed by a Muslim in this script for allowing the mosque’s demolition to happen. While Rao as the person at the helm must of course be held accountable for his acts of omission and commission in 1992, Theerppu must be called out for avoiding mention that the actual movers and shakers in the Babri Masjid movement were/are from the BJP, which is India’s current governing party, and its associate organisations.

The film plays it safe on another front by crediting Rao for the liberalisation of the Indian economy in the 1990s without additionally mentioning his trusted Finance Minister Manmohan Singh. This is not surprising since Singh, who was India’s Prime Minister from 2004-14, is anathema to the BJP.

The cast does as well as any cast possibly can in the midst of such hollowness and over-caution. Hannah Reji Koshi as Prabha looks beautiful, and Isha is pleasantly low-key, but both are mere bystanders in a men-centric drama.

The casting of Vijay Babu (who’s one of the film’s producers, along with the writer and the director) merits a separate discussion. There are those who believe viewers and critics must mentally delink the art from the artist while consuming art, but the senselessness of that dictum is underlined in a film like this one in which it is actually easier to buy into Ramkumar’s immorality because of the fresh memory of the actor’s recent pronouncements following a rape accusation against him.

In contrast, Prithviraj and Indrajith’s naturally arresting personalities cannot compensate for the bombastic lines attributed to them, in particular the ridiculously facile: “When you kill the powerless, they win the war with their own death.’’ What the what?! This is Murali Gopy’s understanding of oppression? Okay, my head just exploded in exasperation.

Theerpu is in theatres

Anna M.M. Vetticad is an award-winning journalist and author of The Adventures of an Intrepid Film Critic. She specialises in the intersection of cinema with feminist and other socio-political concerns. Twitter: @annavetticad, Instagram: @annammvetticad, Facebook: AnnaMMVetticadOfficial

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