Gross 
Save Ur Life!
Awful 
Avoid
Worth a Look!
Good! 
Dont Miss It!
Excellent!
Simply Wow!
Speechless!
Ore Kadal
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Shyama Prasad’s Ore Kadal is a confounding saga of a raging sea that rocks within that deliberates on the nature of love that can be aching and paradoxical. It’s a wonderful, well-acted and adult love story that appears at the surface level to be an intelligent musing about decisions, lost dreams and love, but which on a closer look reveals itself to be an untainted, classy narrative that strikes up a verve of its own.
The tetragon is all encompassing with the four perennial figures occupying the four corners; and vehemently crossing borders over to narrate a tale that forever keeps haunting. The exquisiteness of it all lies in the reality that we would never ever realize why Deepthi finds herself drawn to a loner; the isolation and yearning that drives her to schizophrenia are etched out in solid strokes though. Like other women of her generation, she has channeled her romantic idealism and sexual energy into nurturing her child and her honest but dreary husband. However it might be in this lack of a need to find reasons and answers that lies a coarse refinement that leaves this tale wholly diverse. Nathan, the object of her love, may not be much to begin with, but once he lightens up, he emerges as a deft and affable leading man. He is a wreck of a guy; lusty and indifferent, and caught in the perplexity of a forlorn city, his queries remain unanswered as well. Reaching out to Bela, who herself seeks solace from the tempest deep inside; he loses himself amidst tinted glass bottles and dimming club lights.
Yet it might be rather strange that Bela gets to utter the best lines; perhaps she’s the spokesperson of quintessential womanhood that has seen quite a few rough patches with brazen scars glaring all over that she hastily covers up with an impressive wardrobe. You wouldn’t blame her for being caustic or even a bit too untailored, when she tells you of her newborn that died of starvation somewhere down the streets; that gave birth to whom she is, and always will be. Even as she accentuates that love is not for their likes, she brushes aside Nathan’s denial with a sneer; and plainly admonishes him to think where he’s headed, lest he goes berserk.
This is a film that turns out to be significant not merely for its singular plot, but for the tower house performances of its leading cast as well. It starts off with a series of vivacious shots of its protagonist making love; and in conversation, looking harried and a tad jaded. Mammootty lets go of an alleged reticence and is at ease being the unfussy womanizer; the slipshod gait or the unyielding gaze as he words those hazy lines in an outlandish accent lingers around as a trademark of a seasoned actor who knows his way about a job that he simply loves. Meera builds up her feat not out of grand gestures, but out of countless subtle little moments of growing love; the frenzy and the fury of a hapless woman caught in the midst of a surge of passion that leaves her devastated has been dexterously captured. Bela is an otherwise uncomplicated persona that should throw no fresh challenges to the fantastic actor in Ramya Krishnan. But the kind of anguish that she carries somewhere deep inside reflects particularly in her hazel eyes that refuse to shed a tear. The obstinacy and sturdiness of a bruised heart is all too evident in a staunch stare or a casual smirk. Naren as the mystified spouse confidently underplays his part to perfection as well.
The vital tale simply glows and demands a genuine attention to the nuances of voice and gesture. This is an account that could so easily be vulgarized, could be reduced to obvious elements of seduction, sex and melodramatic parting. Mammootty and Meera weave a spell, and it is based on that particular knowledge of love and self that transcends all ages and time.
The tetragon is all encompassing with the four perennial figures occupying the four corners; and vehemently crossing borders over to narrate a tale that forever keeps haunting. The exquisiteness of it all lies in the reality that we would never ever realize why Deepthi finds herself drawn to a loner; the isolation and yearning that drives her to schizophrenia are etched out in solid strokes though. Like other women of her generation, she has channeled her romantic idealism and sexual energy into nurturing her child and her honest but dreary husband. However it might be in this lack of a need to find reasons and answers that lies a coarse refinement that leaves this tale wholly diverse. Nathan, the object of her love, may not be much to begin with, but once he lightens up, he emerges as a deft and affable leading man. He is a wreck of a guy; lusty and indifferent, and caught in the perplexity of a forlorn city, his queries remain unanswered as well. Reaching out to Bela, who herself seeks solace from the tempest deep inside; he loses himself amidst tinted glass bottles and dimming club lights.
Yet it might be rather strange that Bela gets to utter the best lines; perhaps she’s the spokesperson of quintessential womanhood that has seen quite a few rough patches with brazen scars glaring all over that she hastily covers up with an impressive wardrobe. You wouldn’t blame her for being caustic or even a bit too untailored, when she tells you of her newborn that died of starvation somewhere down the streets; that gave birth to whom she is, and always will be. Even as she accentuates that love is not for their likes, she brushes aside Nathan’s denial with a sneer; and plainly admonishes him to think where he’s headed, lest he goes berserk.
This is a film that turns out to be significant not merely for its singular plot, but for the tower house performances of its leading cast as well. It starts off with a series of vivacious shots of its protagonist making love; and in conversation, looking harried and a tad jaded. Mammootty lets go of an alleged reticence and is at ease being the unfussy womanizer; the slipshod gait or the unyielding gaze as he words those hazy lines in an outlandish accent lingers around as a trademark of a seasoned actor who knows his way about a job that he simply loves. Meera builds up her feat not out of grand gestures, but out of countless subtle little moments of growing love; the frenzy and the fury of a hapless woman caught in the midst of a surge of passion that leaves her devastated has been dexterously captured. Bela is an otherwise uncomplicated persona that should throw no fresh challenges to the fantastic actor in Ramya Krishnan. But the kind of anguish that she carries somewhere deep inside reflects particularly in her hazel eyes that refuse to shed a tear. The obstinacy and sturdiness of a bruised heart is all too evident in a staunch stare or a casual smirk. Naren as the mystified spouse confidently underplays his part to perfection as well.
The vital tale simply glows and demands a genuine attention to the nuances of voice and gesture. This is an account that could so easily be vulgarized, could be reduced to obvious elements of seduction, sex and melodramatic parting. Mammootty and Meera weave a spell, and it is based on that particular knowledge of love and self that transcends all ages and time.
Ore Kadal operates at a totally different pace. Even as it is slow, long, delicate and weepy, I would not dare discredit it as a torrid love yarn that manages to hold our interest thanks to the vulnerabilities of the two main characters and the astounding thirst that draws them together despite the odds against such a miracle. On the contrary Shyama Prasad provides the fantasy of total eroticism within ideal virtue, stirring the too familiar daydream to a devout level in which a perfect stranger materializes in the otherwise humdrum life of a housewife and takes her into his outstretched arms. It's easy to believe that Nathan and Deepthi’s love is profound and unique, but perhaps the real test of the film's power is whether the testimonials, conditions, and characters surpass the screen to leave a lasting impression. Not many movies are created with the obligatory expertise to confront our discernment and beliefs, but Ore Kadal is a rare exception.
