Review of ‘Meiyazhagan’: A Thought-Provoking Film Filled with Emotion and Vulnerability

If ’96’ focused on unspoken and romantic love, this film explores a much broader and more inclusive form of love. It celebrates not only the affection we have for people but also extends that love to the creatures around us, including elephants, snakes, and fish.

In one of the many touching scenes in Meiyazhagan, Arul (Arvind Swami) returns to his hometown as an adult and senses the presence of an adult elephant walking behind him—an elephant he cherished during his teenage years. In a different film, you might expect him to approach the creature, exchange a few words, or even pet it. However, director Prem Kumar masterfully captures the power of what remains unspoken. He allows us to feel how Arul’s heart swells with a bittersweet nostalgia (“nellikaa saaptu thanni kudichaa madhri”), a sentiment we also admired in his earlier film, 96. If he continues to create films that feature protagonists returning home to revisit familiar sights and sounds, we could refer to them collectively as the ‘nostalgia trilogy.’

Early in Meiyazhagan, Arul revisits Thanjavur, and as he reflects on the passage of time and its impact on the places from his memories, both the film and Arul take a moment to breathe. He appears introspective, reminiscent of Ram from 96. While Ram enjoys a quiet life, Arul is not afforded the same luxury, as he is constantly pursued by an unnamed man (Karthi) who refuses to let him be.

Similar to Ram, Arul values his privacy and moments of solitude. This is evident in the subtle scenes that are often overlooked in mainstream cinema—whether he’s gazing out from a train, feeling the wind on his face while cycling, or lying beneath the stars. These moments set the film’s rhythm and infuse it with emotional depth.

Karthi’s character, whom we’ll refer to as M, contrasts sharply with Arul: he is an extroverted individual who…

Just like in 96, this film doesn’t follow a traditional plot, and that’s perfectly fine. The story unfolds over the course of a single night, where two individuals, initially strangers despite their past connections, find common ground through conversation—the true essence of our lives. The film is essentially a tapestry of these dialogues—between Arul and M, Arul and a bus driver, Arul and an estranged uncle, and Arul and a flower seller. These seemingly ordinary exchanges hold the film’s deeper meaning. Composer Govind Vasantha understands this well, often stepping back to allow the dialogue to serve as the real music.

In the second half, we witness a lengthy, intoxicated conversation between Arul and M, with Karthi’s outgoing character dominating the discussion while Arul listens intently. Karthi is an ideal fit for the emotionally expressive M, while Arvind Swami delivers a captivating performance as the more reserved and reflective Arul, which may actually be the more challenging role.

The impact of M’s words resonates largely due to Arul’s keen listening. There was one moment that felt a bit forced for me—when Arul leaves his guest at the end, appearing unsteady and broken, almost mirroring the opening scene. His sadness seemed like an exaggerated poetic touch, but then again, Arul is the type of person who converses with parrots and seeks their approval before embarking on a journey.

The brief diversion into the jallikattu scenes, perhaps meant to highlight a more heroic aspect of Karthi’s character, feels somewhat indulgent, especially given the film’s lengthy runtime. Similarly, M’s reflections on police violence and the Eelam Tamil genocide seem a bit off-topic. Nevertheless, they contribute to the film’s wandering, conversational style, akin to the diverse subjects one might casually explore in a deep conversation.