In the opening shot of Pissasu, the camera zooms out on the face of a beautiful woman, almost smiling. As the camera continues to zoom out, we see that she’s on the road, severely bled from a head injury. Onlookers – an auto rickshaw driver and two other men (which include the hero Siddharth) rush towards her and quickly take her to the hospital. Minutes before entering the operation theatre, the girl, lying on the stretcher reaches out to hold Siddharth’s hand standing right next to her. She mutters the word ‘Pa’, and passes away. Few seconds later, the girl’s father enters the scene. We hear from his voice it’s Radha Ravi, but we don’t see his face clearly as he stands at the end of the hospital corridor and breaks down loudly upon hearing of his daughter’s death. From his crying, we learn that the girl’s name is Bhavani. I, for a moment, thought this was one of the best introduction scenes to a character.
When we first see Bhavani lying on the road, we’re completely clueless about her identity. We are complete strangers to her but Mysskin informs us that Bhavani is extremely beautiful and maybe that’s why he shows us her face in the opening scene followed by a frozen shot of her sandal, focusing on its brand ‘Princess’ (the sandal plays a pivotal role in our understanding of the story). It’s not a random shot. You’ll only understand it when we meet Radha Ravi once again. This time, we see him building a ‘samadhi’ for his daughter, who has now turned into a ghost and has taken residence in Siddharth’s house. Isn’t every daughter a princess to her father? Bhavani is Radha Ravi’s princess, and this fact is underlined in the scene where Siddharth invites him home to meet his daughter, and Radha Ravi almost made me cry when he goes on all fours. The climax further reiterates that Bhavani was indeed her father’s princess.
Mysskin’s Pissasu is a love story that’s been given a paranormal touch. It’s the father’s love for his daughter; it’s Bhavani’s love for Siddharth. Going back to the first scene, if you wonder why did Bhavani pass away muttering the word ‘Pa’, while holding Siddharth’s hand, it’s to inform her father she’s found her ‘mappillai’. In one of the scenes, Radha Ravi tells us that her daughter despite his numerous requests never got married because she said she won’t until she finds a suitable bride. It’s precisely why Bhavani stays in Siddharth’s house, pushes his best friend off the bed (while sleeping next to Siddharth) because it’s a place she has reserved for herself.
It’s love at first sight for Bhavani. When Siddharth helps Bhavani on the road, she stares at him with eyes wide open. And then, seconds before passing away, she turns towards him, makes eye contact with a smile, and holds his hand. It’s one of the most poignant love stories in Tamil cinema, whose idea of romance has always been ogling and stalking women until till the point they give in. Mysskin kicks the clichés of romance and horror genre right in the crotch to make watching Pissasu an experience you won’t regret. Love need not always have to be about holding hands and singing duets, it could also be as abstract as Mysskin describes it in the film.
The initial thrills might evoke laughter. It actually did for many in the hall where I watched, and people passed stupid comments. Anyone in Siddharth’s shoes would’ve reacted the way he does in these scenes. When you experience something similar in real life, how do you react? Of course, you’d freeze, remain shocked and disturbed mostly. I have absolutely no complaints about debutant Naga’s performance. It was supposed to be the way he portrayed his character and, I think, he’s done complete justice to it.
Mysskin’s signature elements are abundant in Pissasu. The opening scene is like an extended shot from Onayum Aatukuttiyum (I haven’t watched Anjaathey, but I’ve been told there’s an accident scene in it as well). Here, the only difference is people rush Bhavani to the hospital. Maybe they did because it’s a woman, and let’s admit we all have a soft corner for a woman. His other signature moments include a group of blind beggars accompanied by a small girl, a subway, a scene in auto rickshaw, a fight sequence wherein the hero tries to protect the girl, and so on.
When I recently interviewed Mysskin, I asked him why all his films are dark. He said darkness usually leads to discovery. Quoting an example, he said, when we look under our cupboard, most of us would discover something we’ve been looking for a long time. It could be a comb, a visiting card or even a ring we may have accidentally misplaced. Yuddham Sei and Pissasu are very similar. In both the films, when the darkness is uncovered, something very heartwarming comes to light. In Yuddham Sei, for instance, underneath all the darkness, the multiple killings, we learn the touching story of the couple who avenge their daughter’s death. Likewise, in Pissasu too, when the darkness is cleared, a compassionate love story will sweep you off your feet. It’s now evident that Mysskin discovers darkest corners within him with each film.
Mysskin has a knack for extracting spectacular performances out of newcomers. In Pissasu, it’s not the actors who impress so much (even though they’re quite good); it’s the debutant composer Arrol Corelli. He tugs at your heartstrings with the violins. Siddharth plays a violinist, who is part of Illayaraja’s music troupe (Mysskin’s reference to the maestro).
Mysskin achieves so much with so little in Pissasu. It gets almost everything right despite the underwhelming climax.
Four stars
