SCREEN WRITER
Remembering a classic movie, from a classic novel by Jnanpith award winner Jayakanthan.
MAR 27, 2005 – WHEN A WEALTHY MAN IN A CAR gives a lift to an impoverished girl one rainy night, and when he plays on her wide-eyed, jaw-dropped awe at his luxury to initiate lovemaking, is that an act of seduction, or is it rape? When this girl (named Ganga; played marvellously by Lakshmi) reinitiates contact with this man (named Prabhu; played by Srikanth) – after several years, when he’s forgotten all about that night in the car – and falls in love with him, despite his being married, despite his daughter being perhaps just a few years younger than her, is she striking an I-will-do-what-I-want-to-do blow for feminism, or is she surrendering to him because no one else will have her?
It isn’t surprising that such open-endedness existed in Jayakanthan’s Sahitya Akademi-award-winning novel, Sila Nerangalil Sila Manidhargal – he was, after all, a left-leaning writer who used the pointed tip of his pen to jab readers into seeing and sensing things they wouldn’t ordinarily see or sense.
What’s surprising, even shocking, is that the mid-70s movie version – by A Bhimsingh, of all people, the man behind melodramas like Paasamalar and Paalum Pazhamum, known more for messing up your mascara than making you mull over minutiae – sustained this open-endedness till the very end. A last act is meant to supply answers, but Sila Nerangalil Sila Manidhargal ends with a question – a song, actually, a magnificent MS Viswanathan melody that asks, through Jayakanthan’s lyrics, Veru Idam Thedi Povaalo? What will happen to Ganga, we wonder, as the film itself does, as we leave her, alone, huddled in a chair, covered by Prabhu’s coat after he leaves her. It’s the rare Tamil cinema moment revealing that in the movies, as in life sometimes, there are no answers.
This is the only screen work of Jayakanthan that I’ve seen… and seen, and seen. I’ve never caught Unnai Pol Oruvan or Yaarukkaaga Azhudhaan – do prints of these actually exist? – and Oru Nadigai Naadagam Paarkiraal, that other cerebral Jayakanthan-Bhimsingh-Lakshmi collaboration, I saw just once, way too long ago, when I’d have easier gotten all six faces of a Rubik’s Cube than comprehended the movie’s complexities. Still, I’d wager Sila Nerangalil Sila Manidhargal is the best of the author’s work that made it to film, and arguably Tamil cinema’s finest literary adaptation of our time, at least till Thi. Janakiraman’s Mogamul found itself on screens.
And yet, when I first saw the movie, I thought it was a cheat. With Nagesh’s face on the poster, I’d had hopes of ribs being tickled – I ended up with my heart crushed. Not only was he not being funny, he was downright creepy, voyeuristically observing Ganga and Prabhu, using their lives for a story of his own – a short story named Agni Pravesam. Only later did I learn that this short story was actually written by Jayakanthan and later expanded as the novel Sila Nerangalil Sila Manidhargal, which means that Nagesh was really a stand-in for the author, which means that this is probably the only instance of a Tamil film that self-references both its creator and its source.
Is it surprising, then, that Sila Nerangalil Sila Manidhargal feels as much a movie as Master’s thesis material? It may be in black-and-white, but its concerns – the loneliness of the single woman (Ganga is lusted after by an elderly maternal uncle), the issues of gender (for Ganga, the incident in the car is life-altering; for Prabhu, it’s just something that happened one night) and caste (the tonsured, widowed mother in Ganga’s Brahmin family versus the tennis-playing, mini-skirted daughter in Prabhu’s “non-Brahmin” household) – are anything but, and that’s why this borderline-improbable, borderline-perverse love story remains as controversial, as fascinating, as endlessly debatable today as it was upon release.
Copyright ©2005 The New Sunday Express. This article may not be reproduced in its entirety without permission. A link to this URL, instead, would be appreciated.
Baradwaj Rangan 
brangan
March 19, 2008
I think this was written for a special issue on books and film — and strangely, my column this weekend is about books and film too…
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Friend
March 19, 2008
–Still, I’d wager Sila Nerangalil Sila Manidhargal is the best of the author’s work that made it to film, and arguably Tamil cinema’s finest literary adaptation of our time, at least till Thi. Janakiraman’s Mogamul found itself on screens.–
Did you know that Thillana Mohanambal is considered the best literary adaptation till date.
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Vamshi
March 20, 2008
I remember seeing this movie nearly 15-20 years back when it was shown on DD regional movies series (how i adore and miss that series).Lakshmi had given a awesome performance. Did not remember the name of the movie but just that it was quite engrossing. Thanks for clearing the dust on some of those memories.
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Sagarika
March 21, 2008
brangan: I simply loved this piece. (It’s always a challenge for me when there’s a sudden influx here…three or four pieces pulled up at once from the older site. It’s when I feel my instincts being truly challenged, as the order in which I read these pieces directly affects my moods and vice versa. Luckily, I’ve been choosing wisely thus far — middle of the night is just the right time to walk down this particular memory lane!)
I can never forget this movie though all I can consciously recall are a few impactful scenes. I was maybe 12 or 13 when I first watched it on DD. And when I saw Sindhu Bhairavi a couple years later, my thoughts promptly circled back to Lakshmi and this movie…maybe because it felt strangely reminiscent of yet another “rare Tamil cinema moment revealing that in the movies, as in life sometimes, there are no answers.”
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vijee
July 29, 2013
Rangan — Have you read the book?
It is not *so* open-ended. Ganga turns into an alcoholic — probably loses that high-paying job which made it possible for her to be independent in the first place.
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vijee
August 5, 2013
Also does anyone know who played that mini-skirted Manju. I thought her acting was also very good and I am pretty certain I have not seen her in any other Tamil movie.
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brangan
April 9, 2015
Jnanapith winner Jayakanthan dead…
http://www.thehindu.com/news/cities/chennai/tamil-writer-jayakanthan-dead/article7081930.ece
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tonks
December 3, 2016
Saw this today on YouTube for the second time. The first was when I was a child, on DD. Some scenes I still remembered well. For instance, the scene where Lakshmi’s mother pours water over her head to cleanse her. I was a bit confused when it didn’t turn up at the beginning, I thought perhaps the movie had been edited, but then realised that it is shown in the fictionalized version of her story. I was a little exasperated to see that no one including Lakshmi seems to see the rape as a heinous crime ( I didn’t see any seduction in the scene at all) or him as a criminal. I was also exasperated at how she chooses to play her life, after the event. But it is a pleasure watching Lakshmi at the height of her beauty and sensuality : what a mobile, expressive face. Loved Nagesh too, as always. And Lakshmi’s family’s Tambram accent sounded very authentic (and nostalgic) to me
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tonks
December 4, 2016
What I found disturbing is not just that his rape is not even treated as a crime but his character is even glorified a little, his actions justified by a stereotypical bitchy, old fashioned, non understanding wife. And such a movie was considered liberal/ revolutionary? I’m not able to come to terms with this. Perhaps I shouldn’t be using modern values to judge older ones, the same way Enid Blyton or Herge shouldn’t be penalised too much for what they showed then for what maybe politically incorrect now
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Thupparivaalan
December 13, 2018
Caught this on YouTube and stunned such a film was made in 1976. And did the next logical step : To read anything BR has written on the film.
Tonks: Lakshmi projects it as rape to her family, when it actually was a mutual encounter. At least that is what wiki says. Even I was confused initially.
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Thupparivaalan
December 13, 2018
I’m convinced it is consensual. There’s a point where Lakshmi’s talking about the man, and he asks her if he had really compelled her, saying ‘I never did that to anyone’, and that her accusation hurts him. Anyways, what a film! I’m very curious to know how it was received by contemporary critics and magazines.
Another thing I wasn’t really expecting was the expert direction. The blocking is very real, the frames are moody, reaction shots are surprisingly non-melondramatic. What a powerful and courageous film!
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Eswar
July 15, 2019
Thanks BR for sharing the link. 2005! Almost 15 years. Doesn’t read like your writing, in parts 🙂.
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vijee
December 11, 2021
Explain yourself Eswar 🙂 “Doesn’t read like your writing, in parts 🙂.”
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Ravi
March 30, 2023
Apart from “Veru idam thedi Povalo” at the end of the movie, there is also “kandathai sollugiren”, a haunting MSV melody, one of my favorites.
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