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Indiralogathil Na Azhagappan Movie Reviewed
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Posted by
TSV Hari -
8 mnths ago
Views 392
Indralogathil Na Azhagappan: Triple folly
By TSV Hari
Gluts of cleavage, corny conversations, bulbous blobs of bull defecation in sets sillier than straightforward stupidity and senseless loudness in the name of comedy just about sums the gargantuan waste called Indralogathil Na Azhagappan starring three hamming Vadivelus and a femme fatale called Yamini Sharma.
Heavens have mercy on those who have booked their tickets in advance for this caper because they are slated to be treated to one sans logic, the opposite of godliness in this asinine venture claimed to have been ‘directed’ by Thambi Ramiah.
Vadivelu plays a wig donning, bucolic dramatist allowing himself to be browbeaten by tots, to be led up the garden path by a fancy dress damsel (Yamini Sharma) in a fantasy land (supposed to be heaven) that emits dry ice fumes like a volcano ready to erupt, mouths enough illogical tripe about grandmothers’ tales to trigger a splitting headache, appears as the Lord of the skies in enough gilt that looks guilty and compounds this confusion by playing an asininely cruel God of Death nuttier than Marquis de Sade.
The script says that the central character Na Azhagappan (Vadivelu - in case you are wondering the rationale behind the title) is cursed to be a 90 year old man by the ungodly boss of the ethereal realm (who else but another Vadivelu?) but turns out lucky enough to be resuscitated into youth by the a potty, petite immortal courtesan’s double whose north Indian parents’ Hindi in Badrinath (complete with a huge tank and greenery instead of snowy cliffs) is as colloquial as a Chinese trying to spell supercalifragilisticexpialidocious speaking Tamil like locals during a worship sequence in a southern shrine.
Amidst this madness, Shreya gyrates like she has got epilepsy to exorcise the ‘possessed’ Azhagappan with costumes that are a cross between a country couturier's closet and a French fashion flaunt. Yet, the frontbenchers get their money’s worth when she sways, strays seductively and swears at global home-breakers and includes Aishwarya Rai [Bachchan] into the rogues’ list.
And then there is Nasser sporting enough long hair bedecked with fresh flowers singing in a falsetto voice to be mistaken for a belle.
That section of diehard Vadivelu fans which didn’t have to review the movie bade the tale a thumbs down and trooped out at the intermission itself.
The six songs are an assault on the ears.
There is this huge contingent of extras – half of them midgets with disfigured faces, dozens of dancers who must have given oodles of ulcers to the costumers and canteen chefs and a simplistic old woman (Sumitra) with no apparent source of income but rich enough to live in a huge stone mansion feeding a motley crowd of village idiots.
The film is supposed to be a comedy.
The solitary faint snigger can be heard only when Vadivelu parodies Kamal Hassan’s essay in the eighties’ classic called Nayakan.
The climax featuring three speeding ten-tonne trucks with motifs of stone buffaloes’heads jutting out from the radiator's exterior, fail to hit a doddering old man (Vadivelu with an appropriately old look) to morph into a curse's impending disastrous antidote is as appealing as a piece of insipid bubble-gum masticated for an entire millennium. Instead of dropping dead, Na Azhagappan gets to wed a Hindi speaking, good looking satin-clad lass who and immediately spills a pearl of wisdom in her mother-tongue – which is neither understood by the audience, the director and possibly 7th Channel – the company that funded this colossal, 3-hour scatalogical exercise.
The title of Vadivelu’s earlier commercially successful costume drama translates into English as “the king of nuisance.”
In Indralogathil…he is certainly one.
Views 392
Indralogathil Na Azhagappan: Triple folly
By TSV Hari
Gluts of cleavage, corny conversations, bulbous blobs of bull defecation in sets sillier than straightforward stupidity and senseless loudness in the name of comedy just about sums the gargantuan waste called Indralogathil Na Azhagappan starring three hamming Vadivelus and a femme fatale called Yamini Sharma.
Heavens have mercy on those who have booked their tickets in advance for this caper because they are slated to be treated to one sans logic, the opposite of godliness in this asinine venture claimed to have been ‘directed’ by Thambi Ramiah.
Vadivelu plays a wig donning, bucolic dramatist allowing himself to be browbeaten by tots, to be led up the garden path by a fancy dress damsel (Yamini Sharma) in a fantasy land (supposed to be heaven) that emits dry ice fumes like a volcano ready to erupt, mouths enough illogical tripe about grandmothers’ tales to trigger a splitting headache, appears as the Lord of the skies in enough gilt that looks guilty and compounds this confusion by playing an asininely cruel God of Death nuttier than Marquis de Sade.
The script says that the central character Na Azhagappan (Vadivelu - in case you are wondering the rationale behind the title) is cursed to be a 90 year old man by the ungodly boss of the ethereal realm (who else but another Vadivelu?) but turns out lucky enough to be resuscitated into youth by the a potty, petite immortal courtesan’s double whose north Indian parents’ Hindi in Badrinath (complete with a huge tank and greenery instead of snowy cliffs) is as colloquial as a Chinese trying to spell supercalifragilisticexpialidocious speaking Tamil like locals during a worship sequence in a southern shrine.
Amidst this madness, Shreya gyrates like she has got epilepsy to exorcise the ‘possessed’ Azhagappan with costumes that are a cross between a country couturier's closet and a French fashion flaunt. Yet, the frontbenchers get their money’s worth when she sways, strays seductively and swears at global home-breakers and includes Aishwarya Rai [Bachchan] into the rogues’ list.
And then there is Nasser sporting enough long hair bedecked with fresh flowers singing in a falsetto voice to be mistaken for a belle.
That section of diehard Vadivelu fans which didn’t have to review the movie bade the tale a thumbs down and trooped out at the intermission itself.
The six songs are an assault on the ears.
There is this huge contingent of extras – half of them midgets with disfigured faces, dozens of dancers who must have given oodles of ulcers to the costumers and canteen chefs and a simplistic old woman (Sumitra) with no apparent source of income but rich enough to live in a huge stone mansion feeding a motley crowd of village idiots.
The film is supposed to be a comedy.
The solitary faint snigger can be heard only when Vadivelu parodies Kamal Hassan’s essay in the eighties’ classic called Nayakan.
The climax featuring three speeding ten-tonne trucks with motifs of stone buffaloes’heads jutting out from the radiator's exterior, fail to hit a doddering old man (Vadivelu with an appropriately old look) to morph into a curse's impending disastrous antidote is as appealing as a piece of insipid bubble-gum masticated for an entire millennium. Instead of dropping dead, Na Azhagappan gets to wed a Hindi speaking, good looking satin-clad lass who and immediately spills a pearl of wisdom in her mother-tongue – which is neither understood by the audience, the director and possibly 7th Channel – the company that funded this colossal, 3-hour scatalogical exercise.
The title of Vadivelu’s earlier commercially successful costume drama translates into English as “the king of nuisance.”
In Indralogathil…he is certainly one.
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