Psycho (2020}

The word Psycho became popular after the Hitchcock masterpiece that terrified audiences all over the world in 1960. 

It became a slang word to describe anyone mentally disturbed, to the point that it is now labled politically incorrect to do so.

This film took the title to pay tribute to the master as the opening credit sequence noted that it was dedicated to Alfred Hitchcock. That saved the director, Mysskin, from being labelled as a thief to a dutiful filmmaking fan in the vein of Tarantino and Ritchie who picks from a buffet of celluloid creations and label them as “tributes” or “homages”.

Anyway, this film is not intended to glaze over or sugarcoat some serious issue. The last time there was an intentional rawness to the sexual animality mixed with psychological derangement was four decades ago in a film called Sigappu Rojakkal (Red Rose), director K. Barathiraja’s third directorial feature (a huge jump from the folksy Pathinaru VayathinilE and KizhakE POgum Rayil that did have bloodshed, anyway). love stories

This, in fact, could be a brilliant, padded remake of Sigappu Rojakkal, coupled with Kamal’s own Rajaparvai for that eclectic mix.

I am not too familiar with Mysskin’s oeuvre, having seen only Onaiyum Attukuttiyum, for the audacity of its tracking long shots, and Mugamudi that was interesting as the first superhero flick (especially now after Sivakarthikeyan’s sub-standard Hero) and have given the other flicks a miss for reasons that only I know, before wanting to become a cinephile again.

Here, the plot surrounds a serial killer, a psychologically very effected dude, Angulimala (Rajkumar), a blind protagonist Gauthaman (Udhayanidhi Stalin), his kidnapped crush (Aditi Rao Hidari) and a quadriplegic ex-cop (a  very wonderful Nithiya Menon, more on her later). There are many beheadings, bleeding and brooding to be seen and not one second was wasted and not one millisecond was the film boring. Mind you, I watched this after an early lunch in the afternoon...and I am not even aware of the Buddhism history to appreciate the killer's namesake in the lore.

The film persistently grabs you by the throat and gets you involved emotionally with the characters that you will sympathise, even the usually uninteresting Udhayanidhi who does not play a blind who is too sympathetic nor as completely a capable differently-abled hero like the Daredevil’s alter ego.

The aftermath of the killings is gory, for the uninitiated, considering the victims are shown headless, often in their undergarments. The killer is a psychopath, as the title suggests, who Mysskin did not stereotype as per the usual baddies and heavies in films (except for the Kubrick-ian stare ie, head down, eyes through the eyebrow trope… come on Mysskin, you could do better than that).

The killer is given a human angle, with a backstory as to support his behaviour, not too dissimilar to Kamal’s character in Sigappu Rojakkal, hence my self-delusion that this is an awesome remake of that classic; and his killing spree comes to a halt briefly when he decides to make his latest victim a prisoner and witness to more of his horrific actions.

It was only now that I was made aware of the actual Angulimala character and I leave it to the overtly enthusiastic film students to break down the symbolism, the parallelism, and anything else that will take the discussion all the way to the Lumiere films, so I will spare the intellectual talk considering my own inadequacies.

But what I can talk about though is the impact this film had on me. Though it does not glorify violence as many films of this genre would, it does paint it in the goriest possible manner that it might make the creepy ones happy. The room where the incisions are done does not look inviting, the pool of blood are only half mopped, the atmosphere seemed to stank that...no, no Smell-O-Vision, thank you.

The cops in this film are adequately portrayed as men with jobs to do, no snivelling cunning cop on the take, or chiefs with outsized vocal cords. Mysskin would not be interested in that. He pays great attention to the visuals; every frame is a product of a skilled photographic output of its own. They do not scream for attention as would many Manirathnam films that threatened to overshadow storytelling and genuine performances.  The cinematography in this film is what a navigator is to a spaceship, it truly takes the storytelling to the places it should go. No distraction, no disruptions, and no disturbances.

The plot is simple enough for those who are familiar with this genre: The serial killer does the killing. The good guy does the sniffing (literally, considering he’s blind) and there’s the damsel in distress, except they are not your usual pigeon-holed screaming blonde…the reason why he puts hold on her killing is interesting and seem convincing enough.

Two things do stand out (heck every aspect does making this the most important to come out of the Tamil film industry at least the last few years):

One, the music. I have complained consistently how music seems to drown many scenes of the films lately. They are everywhere like goddam cockroaches, and it doesn’t help that you are aurally assaulted by piss poor mishmash of mostly electronic sounds as I have noticed in some of the recent Tamil films. Here, the maestro himself, Ilayaraja, goes from full-blown orchestration to quiet droplets (watch Kalaignan with Kamal Haasan, which could have been a classic if they protagonist himself was indeed the killer…what a miss) and the silence in between the scores are themselves eerie music…the timing, the pacing and the placement are top-notch.

Next, is the second heroine of the flick, a quadriplegic ex-cop played by Nithiya Menon. I recall in a writing by scriptwriter William Goldman who wrote of his admiration in the performance of James Caan in a film he wrote Misery (adapted from a Stephen King’s novel), where the most physical actor of his time was confined to bed… the struggle, the repression, being tied up provided the trigger to a brilliant performance.

Likewise, Nithiya who is on a wheelchair most of the time, easily displayed her frustration, while at the same time dishing out hilarious retorts making her one of the most three-dimensional female characters I have seen of late. She shares the protagonist’s anxiety having her own dreaded past to relate to (that caused her to be wheelchair-bound) and we care enough for her to worry about her involvement in the whole fiasco.

All in all, this is a wonderful fare that will give the jolt to the Tamil film industry that seemed to have gone back to its dreary routine of late, with masculine heroism, patriotic flag-waving, etc. Mysskin himself is a force to reckon with, and he really needs recognition outside of India. He is way better than some of those who are still basking in the glory that was given to them decades back.