It’s a timely sentiment now more than ever. ‘Yaathum oore, yaavarum kelir’ can loosely be translated to ‘All places are my hometown, all people are my kin.’ This film genuinely wants to make an appeal for inclusivity and connection across identities. The film’s title refers to an ancient Tamil poem that’s now become a popular adage. Also, for reasons best known to the director, Matilda’s nickname is semmari kutty, meaning lamb. At one point I texted a friend suggesting that Matilda’s characterisation is even more of a ‘loosu ponnu’ Kollywood trope than the self-critical parody version in Tamizh Padam 2 (2018). Particularly grating is the way Punithan’s love interest Matilda (Megha Akash) is written, as is her performance. Weighing all this down is a supporting cast whose emotional range is so limited it’s hard to tell what exactly they’re feeling. Worse still, the multiple plot twists make little sense. Until we reach the ending of the film when pertinent questions regarding the treatment of Eelam refugees are asked, little of the plot is engaging. For those who have been keenly following VJS’s career, it’s easy to see that he genuinely believes in progressive ideals, yet why he chooses scripts that routinely do disservice to both his stellar capabilities as an actor and to the causes they talk about remains baffling. The actor delivers them flawlessly with a conviction that truly feels personal. Unfortunately, all of these points are mostly made in VJS’s final dialogues directed at the audience. It is truly daring of the director to make them in times of censorship and vindictiveness from the state apparatus. What kind of futures can children born in refugee camps expect to have when they too are considered refugees? How should we react to decisive laws such the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA) – to which the film makes a veiled reference – when they infringe on human dignity?Īll these are excellent points to make.
YAADHUM OORE YAAVARUM KELIR MOVIE
That aside, what director Venkata Krishna Roghanth does manage to get right is turning the gaze inwards too: how does India, and particularly Tamil Nadu that purportedly has solidarity for Tamils in Sri Lanka, actually treat Eelam refugees? How oppressively do the refugee camps in Tamil Nadu function? What kind of life are these refugees allowed to lead? For example, the movie points out how refugees from Sri Lanka are banned from enrolling for medical degrees. Whether it is caste atrocities, sexual assault of women, or any other traumatic experience, why, why is it that filmmakers consistently fail to understand that graphic depictions are not the only way to reach audiences? These are lazy tricks employed by writers who depend on sensationalism rather than compassion in order to register their politics.
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