Ratings: 2.5 stars
The valour of Malaikottai Vaaliban reverberates like Amar Chitra Katha folklore in the film. And the lore is almost spoon-fed (more so when the writing tonality goes uneven after a point) right from the first frame. As a buffalo cart leads through the dusty desert terrain of a village, a young lad tom-toms Vaaliban’s feats. We are told that he is a wrestler, with the power of an elephant, and the ferocity of a lion and has conquered mighty warriors from all over the land. The lad and the elderly man who rides the cart declare an open challenge for the mightiest wrestler in that village, even as you can hear the sound of someone snoring inside. Meanwhile, Vaaliban’s tall, robust opponent who was slugging eggs raw, throws the rest and charges towards his rival. The stage is set for Vaaliban to unleash himself. And it’s a gracefully staged scene, ensured to bring in the loudest cheers from Mohanlal fans — Vaaliban spots a hipster man bun, gold studs, half-open jacket and loose pajamas, heavily tattooed arms, and that famously slanted shoulder. He casually rests on the ground, loosens a red shawl, and quickly entangles the 6-footer making him immobile (preceded by a gentle BGM). For director Lijo Jose Pellisery, who has always gone for genre-bending narratives this sequence is an anomaly — a mass action set piece for a superstar. But even that, he does within his meter.
Roughly Malaikottai Vaaliban can be dubbed a fantasy drama, or even an Amar Chitra Katha retelling about this legendary wrestler who is known for his superhuman strength and valor (and of course women adore him). So the narrative begins like a journey of conquest, where Vaaliban, along with his Guru Ayyaanar (Hareesh Peradi) and Chinna Payyan (Manoj Moses) travels on a bullock cart, passing through various villages, challenging and conquering powerful men for duals.
Despite the initial glorification of Vaaliban’s gallantry, the narrative turns flaccid when it tries to build short tales around his invasions. And Vaaliban is given a very generic sketch. There is his romance with a young Princess that isn’t conspicuous beyond its stunning framing. And the widening age gap between the two actors makes you wince.
Till the interval, the plot nearly chugs along. Mohanlal though is smooth as butter when it comes to displaying his action fluidity, he is almost embarrassing to watch when romance is involved. Take this portion where he flirts with stage dancer Ranga Rani (a delightful Sonalee Kulkarni) and you almost shudder at the laboriousness of it.
Lijo’s attempt to showcase Vaaliban’s heroism rarely gets the reinforcement or adversaries deserved. Chamathakan (a confused Danish Sait) considered the chief villain looms over with a hyena laugh, awful dialogue delivery, and loud mannerisms. And right from the start you know he is no threat to Vaaliban. Take the portion in which Chamathakan challenges Vaaliban for a dual with one of his chief wrestlers. The opposition looks so visibly weak that you are just waiting to witness how Vaaliban will rout them. This is also that rare film where Lijo neglects his supporting actors. Save for Sonalee Kulkarni, there isn’t a single compelling character, and all are catalysts of bad writing. Somehow all of them come across as underlings to Vaaliban. Hareesh Peradi (Ayyaanar) is an actor who can only manage a single intonation for every character, and it doesn’t help that Ayyaanar has to mouth the most exaggerated lines in the film. And the foreign actors are treated shabbily — lurid and one-dimensional.
There is nothing original or inventive about the narrative, than how Lijo structures some of the action sequences. Take this long-drawn action sequence involving the English King, Queen, soldiers, prisoners, and Vaaliban inside an old fort — it’s chaotic, stunningly shot but so self-indulgent. And typical of a Lijo Jose Pellisery film, you don’t feel the pathos. Even in a mourning scene, despite having an actor of Mohanlal’s gravitas, the sentiments never trickle in. And some of the subplots (clearly inspired by a plot point from Priyadarshan’s Marakkar) are so uncharacteristic to witness in a Lijo film that you feel oddly betrayed. The film is a reminder of what MT Vasudevan Nair brought to the table when he dealt with such a genre. Be it Vaishali, Oru Vadakkan Veeragadha, or Pazhassiraja — his characters were always delineated with heft and were further embellished with rich and profound dialogues that always stood the test of time. Here, Lijo is often confused between the tonality of the characters and the staging.
Mohanlal looks every inch a larger-than-life wrestler. When he lifts an iron gate or uproots an iron pillar, he makes it look believable. But otherwise, the actor has precious little to do and his dialogue delivery leaves a lot to be desired (some remnants of Marakkar still left there).
The fantasy world of Vaaliban is neither a spectacle nor an immersive one. Even with the crutch of stunning cinematography, it comes undone thanks to wafer-thin writing and hapless characterisations. For Lijo Jose Pellisery, who has entered a decade in Malayalam cinema, Malaikottai Vaaliban, unfortunately, reveals the chinks in his armour.
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