Characters sometimes have this rather unpleasant habit of being unreal. In such a scene, as exists in Munnariyippu, there isn’t really much that an actor can do.
Mammootty dons the role of a real, classic case. He is Raghavan, an ex-convict who has served twenty years for a double homicide that he insists he has not committed. With his sweet smile, carefree movements, and gentle, childlike demeanor, he could easily pass off as the friendly neighbor next door. His is an act that he has done many times before, but the nuances seem fresh, and yes, the act is perfectly apt.
Aparna Gopinath, though, finds herself in an odd spot. She is Anjali, who is supposed to be a journalist but does not possess the essential mental properties of one. Her character throws her attitude at the wrong people and fails to do so when necessary. She wears a tough mask. But pulled up by the cops while driving, she shivers in her pants and allows herself to be insulted.
Listening to Aparna’s dialogue delivery with the visuals shut off, one notices that she has put in quite some effort to get it right. Watching her outbursts and expressions with the sound cut off, one notices her range. With the sound and visuals on together, though, the result is mostly something of a mismatch, the performance being out of sync with that of the character that she portrays and the respective situations that she’s in.
In keeping with the commercial cliché of the times, a corporate entity is the antagonist. They offer the girl a handsome check to get the ex-con to write a tell-all book in one month flat. Then, as the deadline draws nearer and a default appears imminent, they inundate her with stern warnings.
She houses him in a nice, cozy place, gives him paper and pen, and tells him to reveal the details of the real murderer/s. As the days and weeks pass by, and he continues to greet her with the usual happy smile and blank papers, she begins to yell at him. One would expect a yellow journo to instead give him an audio recorder, or to sit down and have a chat with him, and if everything fails, to resort to ghost writing a fictional account. She simply does nothing.
Flowing at an artistic pace, the images of veteran cinematographer-turned-director Venu’s drama are dark and accentuated by a brooding, ominous soundtrack (Bijibal). It’s a pity that one of the lead characters was created with such noticeable defects. But come to think of it, if they were corrected there would be no story worth telling.
