“One should be ashamed of inherited privileges”, exclaimed one of my friends over the phone after watching Mari Selvaraj’s Vaazhai. Notably, the friend hails from a socially privileged section of society. He further elaborated, stating that most of these privileges are acquired and accumulated over the years by ruthless exploitation of the underprivileged using social divisions and hierarchy. I could understand that such cognisance and realisation undoubtedly impact a Mari Selvaraj masterclass. The masterclass encompasses cinematic discourse on Antonio Gramsci’s Hegemony— cultural dominance of one social group over the other through societal norms and beliefs; Pierre Bourdieu’s Cultural Capital— non-financial socio-cultural assets ensuring power and status; Ambdekar’s’ Graded Inequality — Hierarchical social structure with multi-layered discrimination and privilege- along with many such socio-cultural discourses. These are in a gripping cinematic narrative that convincingly argues for Selvaraj’s political conviction and evokes a progressive response from a privileged other. Vaazhai is a testimony to Selvaraj’s ability to convey the toil and strife of the underprivileged and voiceless. The film, to me, is not just a visual narrative; instead, it is an experience that roots the audience into the emotional milieu of his characters, thus making their striving palpable.
It is convictional aestheticism at its finest—a term I explored in an essay on Dravidian and Dalit populist films to exemplify how filmmakers adeptly balance their ideological conviction with cinematic aesthetic populist techniques that appeal to and engages a broader audience. Convictional aestheticism explains the symbiotic relationship between ideology and aesthetic production. This term finds its closest visualisation in the films of Mari Selvaraj, a filmmaker who has largely influenced how Tamil cinema approaches social justice. His recent venture, Vaazhai, epitomises Selvaraj’s commitment to making populist yet provocative films. For Selvaraj, his films are not merely a medium to vocalise his ideology and artistic skills but also to amplify the voice of social justice among the privileged larger audience. In one of his interviews after the release of his maiden film, Pariyerum Perumal, he was candid about his commitment to this mission. He believes that the audience might not like him or the producer of his movie, Pa. Ranjith, or their ideological stances, but if the audience can appreciate the allure of his films, they can eventually realise the historical pain inflicted on his community.
I consider every film of his as an episode or chapter in a much bigger narrative canvas focusing on empowerment. His filmscape is a realistic cinematic universe exploring the odyssey from suppression to liberation; Selvaraj himself has discussed how this journey’s multiple layers are spread over all four films. Vaazhai is a vital cog in his cinescape (cinematic landscape), painting the formative years of a suppressed young protagonist. To effectively fathom his cinescape and his larger narrative arc, understanding the journeys of Selvaraj’s other protagonists is essential: a landscape like the one depicted in Vaazhai certainly needs a defiant Karnan who would ensure that the bus stops in his village so that a young man like Pariyan from Pariyerum Perumal would reach a law college in town, which, in turn, empowers someone like Maamanan or his son to ascend and occupy influential Socio-political spaces.
Apparently, he wanted Vaazhai to be his directorial debut, but his mentor and ace filmmaker Ram opposed it. He was sceptical of its scope because he feared the film might experience a reception similar to his maiden enterprise, Kattradhu Tamizh, which became a commercial disaster despite receiving critical appreciation. The failure made Ram struggle for the next few years before starting his next project. Ram even recalls that it was during that phase that all his assistant directors deserted him, except for one gentleman named Mari Selvaraj. While we cannot assume how Vaazhai would have managed as a maiden attempt today, the critical and commercial success of his first three films certainly propelled the value of this semi-autobiographical work as it was not only successful but also celebrated by the artists, critics and the audiences alike for its ideological profoundness and aesthetic achievements.
Recently, I saw a video where fans hoisted Director Selvaraj on their shoulders, which is uncommon in Indian cinema, where only actors receive such demi-god-like celebration and worship. However, carrying an actor on their shoulders is a rare sight. This visual of physically lifting him symbolises an act of gratitude becoming a celebration. The fans honour Selvaraj for bearing the weight of oppression on his shoulders throughout his creative journey. By carrying him, they recognise his struggle and service to the cause of equality through his art. The act of elevating him literally and figuratively is their way of paying tribute. It also denotes a crucial shift: While celebrated directors were present in different epochs of Tamil Cinema, there was always a respectful distance between the fan and the director. It can be viewed as an intellectual pedestal with which the creator-director wants to be associated, ensuring a distance from the larger populace. However, in the case of Selvaraj, he stays connected with the people, a relationship that has only grown stronger with his critical and commercial success. His casual style of giving interactive interviews, often choosing to sit on the floor with commoners from his socio-cultural landscape, is a testament to his organic bond with the people.
In his conviction that he came from the depths of oppression, he speaks for them and will always be with them. One could sense the spirit of José Martí’s words, “Con los pobres de la Tierra, Quiero yo mi sutra echar” (With the poor of this earth, I share my fate). He is an unassuming, humble persona with strong empathy-driven political convictions and intellectual flair whom anyone can quickly look up to and simultaneously engage with as a peer.
(On a personal note, in this article, whenever I refer to his name, I had an emotional urge to type ‘Mari Annae’ (Mari Brother) in place of Selvaraj; however, the necessity to ensure a formal tone denied me the affectionate privilege that anyone around him can affably enjoy.)
In his convictional artistic pursuits, Selvaraj confides about the conflict between the writer and the director within him. In a revealing moment during his interview with Bharadwaj Rangan, a film critic, Selvaraj opined about the intricate relationship between the two: the writer is driven by conviction, whereas the director is by aesthetics. For example, In Pariyerum Perumal, Selvaraj consciously allowed the writer within him to supersede its counterpart, the director, hoping to end the film with an intriguing, quiet moment of social commentary rather than a conventional cinematic climax. Even though the general audience would have happily accepted and celebrated a well-deserved revenge-driven fight sequence between Pariyan, the titular hero and the antagonist, a director’s delight, the writer in him chose to end it on a more introspective note.
This scene, where two glasses of tea—one black, one with milk— symbolises the stark divisions and the need for equity, is chiselled in the audience’s thoughts, leaving a more lasting impression than the emotional high the fight sequence would have provided. While the director’s inclination towards weaving an aesthetically appealing visual is understandable, it is undeniable that the writer’s victory has revealed a new sense of aesthetic appeal that weaves together a conviction-driven clarion call and a gripping, multi-layered, convincing aesthetic portrayal. Significantly, he has stuck to this gameplay even in Maamannan, a film that involves a much more influential star as its hero, who happens to be a political icon and also the film’s producer by the name Udhayanidhi Stalin. Selvaraj went against the wish of the hero to avoid the climax fight with the antagonist, played by one of the finesse actors of this time, Fahadh Fasil. He argued that it was not his intention to defeat the antagonist for what he did. Instead, he wants him to realise, which he accomplishes through another powerful ending scene, including Ambedkar’s voice talking to the antagonist.
Critical acclamation, commercial success, mass celebration and pleasing personality are not enough to avoid criticism. Presumably, most of it is not directed towards Selvaraj’s filmmaking techniques but his choice of themes and socio-political ideology. In the checklist of criticisms aimed at Selvaraj, the most prominent one is the charge that caste is an obsolete entity overhyped in his film narratives. In addition, most viewers, often belonging to the upper strata of “polite” society and who are mostly oblivious to the pernicious effects of caste, would pose their criticisms through questions such as: Is he or his community the only group which is undergoing suffering? People like him are successful and affluent today; why do they still complain about their past? Another critical censure comes from the seemingly neutral audience who would sympathise with Pariyerum Perumal or Vaazhai but would disagree with the ideological stance placated in Karnan or Maamanan under the pretext of violence, citing the latter two as gruesome portrayals, whereas the former two as humble expressions of suffering.
Like his contemporaries, Selvaraj continues to respond to these critiques with gripping artistic narratives and nonchalant public discussions. For example, responding to the criticism that Selvaraj’s films are only about grave suffering and caste-based oppression of people, his response has traces of Pablo Neruda’s reply to a similar question in his poem “I/’ m Explaining a Few Things”. The poem accounts for why Neruda did not write about the lilacs and other beautiful stuff around him but chose to write about blood in the streets. The reason was that he wrote about what he saw in reality; on the same lines, Selvaraj also asserts that he represents his people and their pain; therefore, he can only seize to be the voice of their pain and an amplifier of their narratives. Along with their responses to criticism, as socially responsible academics, we also share the onus to respond to such criticism in the academic spaces, especially among privileged youngsters.
Critics, especially cosmopolitan elitists and youngsters from the privileged social class, often argue that caste-based oppression is a thing of the past, contesting why filmmakers like Selvaraj persist on these aspects. As a response, I would refer to one of my learned friend’s response to the film; while he was sympathetic to the sufferings of the underprivileged, after a short moment of silence, he exclaimed, “What can we do about it, after all, it is the result of their sins of the previous birth that they are born as Shudras and Dalits?” Coincidentally, a couple of days after this conversation with my friend, there was an elaborate lecture by a godman named Maha Vishnu on this topic in a government school in Chennai, which embodies the permeating influence of caste in urban and academic circles. In a video clip from the lecture released on his social media handles by the godman himself, he was found explaining the Karmic consequences of the actions committed in previous births as the reason for poverty, physical disability and suffering. This talk was delivered among mostly underprivileged female students in a state-funded school. Thankfully, the godman’s rambling was interjected by a visually challenged teacher, Dr Sankar, who contested his claims, stating that propagating unscientific religious beliefs among government-funded students is unethical and unlawful(Article 28.1 of the Indian Constitution.) Ironically, no other teacher echoed his voice while he was verbally assaulted by the ‘love’ preaching godman. Instead, they tried pacifying Dr. Sankar, raising serious concerns about the ideological and ethical ignorance of his so-called “academic” peers. Such narratives that pin human adversity as a karmic consequence or divine design obstruct any empathetic engagement with the issue among the privileged and coerce the underprivileged to encounter a treacherous journey laden with guilt and trauma. These regressive, ever-fixated perspectives that exist among educated individuals expose the deep-rooted religion-driven prejudices that continue to control social bias and attitude.
Many religious perspectives seem to explain human hardship as being the will of god or part of a divine plan, with suffering viewed as something that glorifies god or events allowed by god to show how god can miraculously transform adversity into a blessing. If these beliefs are common even among the educated, it raises questions about the prospects and hopes for a future where the disadvantaged receive a fairer share of resources. Hence, it is not about why there are portrayals of caste-based oppression; instead, we should be asking why more filmmakers from India are not addressing these grave concerns about divinely institutionalised graded inequality. Other film industries must also become increasingly able to make artistic depictions that convey an urgent and “now or never” eagerness to deconstruct dominant grand narratives and peel away ideological assumptions that justify human suffering as divinely ordained.
Yet another critical smear sprayed on Selvaraj involves a generalised narrative that focuses on human suffering as unwarranted and overhyped, as every individual suffers in their own way. Some people even argue that even if I suffered, do I complain about it? Especially while talking about the suffering of young boys as pictured in Vaazhai, my honest opinion about such comments is that they are blatantly lying about their suffering or their view of suffering is prejudiced because if they have genuinely undergone suffering, they should be able to relate to the film with a sense of belonging that it is their struggle that is being voiced on the silver screen. The elite view of suffering often confuses suffering for ‘more’ from a conducive pedestal with fall-back cushions, with the daily toil and suffering for bare existence.
Similarly, people concerned about directors like Selvaraj leading a comfortable life claim that successful Dalits like him should not complain about their past. They are typical jealous products of a landlord mindset who would consider serving occasional alms to the poor and the people who toil for them as a divine duty: an atonement for their sins so that they attain salvation. They love to help them by assuming a higher position but would not be happy if the meek and ordinary were empowered to surpass them in socio-economic status. Such a mindset is quite common even among so-called religiously pious individuals whom I have heard saying, “Look at the masons; they make much money. Earlier, they used to walk or commute using bicycles. Nowadays, they all carry mobile phones and ride motorbikes; they seem more affluent than us”. After I referred to Vaazhai in one of my classes, a postgraduate student from Odisha, after watching the movie, opined that she was reminded of how her landlord relatives were uncomfortable with the people working in their plantations becoming socially empowered. Finally, the criticism of violent portrayals of caste in his earlier films showcases a jaundiced view of the elite, who might derive pleasure by watching sympathetic portrayals of the marginalised pleading for equality. However, when they strike back due to continued suppression, they have a different yardstick to view it. This phenomenon reflects the sadistic nature of the dominant classes, who always want to see the oppressed at the receiving end, even if it is used or abused.
Interestingly, Selvaraj has a rather insouciant way of responding to his critics. He claims he is least bothered about the older generation ranting about their preconceived beliefs and norms. On that note, he further states that he cannot even convince his parents that their indoctrinated beliefs about the social order are not valid. Hence, he is laser-focused on talking to the next generation— a generation that may desire an egalitarian society, free from familial and societal peer influences and which affect caste, class, gender and other similar differences. Many of them, thus, should be made to hurriedly question this intricate and imbricate social hierarchy we find ourselves in today.
This mission to ignite young minds, coupled with his artistic brilliance, bears fruit. The reaction of a random 10-year-old boy, as accounted by his father after watching Vaazhai, is accreditation to Selvaraj’s convictional aesthetic mission. The boy, who is usually distracted in theatres even while watching high-budget 3D animated films made for children, was glued to his chair during the entirety of the film Vaazhai. After an intense silence throughout that night, the child the next day enquired the father about the cost of a banana and followed that with another question after the father’s response, “For such a cheap thing, will people go to the extent of doing such severe things to children?”
This reaction, evoked by the horrendous and brutal events depicted in the film, epitomises the success of Selvaraj’s convictional aestheticism, which can kindle the youngest of minds and probe them to contest the established social order. It is indeed deplorable that we come across incidents where little children are made to be attacked by dogs for allegedly stealing mangoes from a landlord’s garden. The little boy’s profound reflection and the introspective reflection of my student being vocal about the landlord mindset of her family are real attestations of Selvaraj’s success. Conveying the magnitude of these episodes and obliging privileged kids and youngsters to respond empathetically is undoubtedly a substantial fulfilment of Selvaraj’s vision. Sensitising children from socially privileged sections of society about their privileges regarding accessibility to their needs, such as food, clothing, water, food, commuting comfort, and parental guidance in personal and professional pursuits, is the fulcrum of the futuristic social change. This social change must be attentive to the differences in cultural capital to ensure equitable distribution and democratisation of resources and public spaces. Indeed, Selvaraj has made young minds realise that what is ‘normally’ accessible to them is still a dream for many.
Selvaraj’s cinematic accomplishment is remarkable because of the segueing wedlock between a conviction-driven auteur writer and an aesthetically brilliant commercial director. His cinematic language is aesthetically convincing as it is ideologically committed.
As a clarion call for social change and empowerment, he should continue to resonate across generations.
Moving forward, I wish my Mari Annae (I finally succumbed to convictional affinity – an aesthetic license I have availed for this essay) would add new slices and episodes to his cinemascape, powered by convictional aesthetics, each one drawing us nearer to the dream of a genuinely egalitarian and socially just society.
“Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable” – Caesar A. Cruz.
Mari Selvaraj’s conviction comforts the disturbed by giving them space, voice and power and disturbs the comfortable with his conviction-driven razor-sharp aesthetic engagement.
Indeed, a “Terrible beauty is born!”
J Jehoson Jiresh is an assistant professor in the Department of English and Cultural Studies, Christ Deemed to be University at the Bengaluru Yeshwanthpur Campus. He completed his UG, PG, and M.Phil in English Studies at the American College in Madurai. He has a PhD in English language teaching from Madurai Kamaraj University. In addition, he is also pursuing a PhD in English Literature from the Central University of Tamil Nadu. He has a certificate in Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages with A grade distinction from the Trinity College, London. He is also the first Indian recipient of the TOEFL English-Language Researcher/Practitioner Grant, awarded $7500(USD). His experience in teaching English includes a 6-year stint as a lecturer at the American College, Madurai and a 3-year stint as an Assistant professor at Christ Academy Institute for Advanced Studies, Bengaluru. His area of specialisation in research and teaching includes teaching English Language skills, learning-oriented language assessments, reading in the age of watching, effective and ethical use of AI in education and research, literary theories and cultural Studies, critical reading and watching. He has published 12 research articles in peer-reviewed international journals and has presented research papers at international conferences in India, UAE, Singapore, Malaysia, and Hong Kong. He is a member of the review board of 4 International journals, including MEXTESOL, a Scopus Indexed Journal. He has also co-authored two in-house communicative English Textbooks for the students of Christ Academy Institute for Advanced Studies, Bengaluru. Currently, he is the edior-in-chief of English Language Teachers’ Association of India’s Monthly Newsletter. He has delivered more than 50 invited lectures and conducts workshops on topics related to English Language Teaching, literary theories and cultural Studies, and film literature. Recently, He has also started contributing to print media with Op-Ed articles on academic and socio-cultural issues. He has also completed MOOCs funded by the US Bureau of Education and Cultural Affairs on Education Technology and Media Literacy. Furthermore, he has also completed short-term courses, such as Shakespeare’s Life and Works, offered by Prof. Stephen Greenblatt through Harvard EDx and Academic Writing Made Easy from the Technical University of Munich.
The author can be contacted at [email protected]
