That we’re never disheartened or repulsed entirely is down to Narayanan’s excellent ensemble, particularly his leads, who temper the worst aspects of maleness with vivid flickers of promise that suggest we may still witness a positive outcome.Ĭrucially, no one strides on to screen with the conventional bearing of a hero these actors never radiate that vanity, so we believe in them as the kind of blundering dumbos anybody possessed of a penis can be in the absence of proper guidance. These guys can be good together – Pushkaran carefully punctuates the squabbling with moments of genuine fraternal camaraderie – but for two-thirds of the film, we’re just waiting for one of them to put their foot in any given situation, if not to rashly dive in two-footed. It’s literal when Bobby submits to a shave while asking his putative brother-in-law, the uptight barber Shammy (Fahadh Faasil), for Baby’s hand in marriage more metaphorical when Saji comes round from a botched suicide attempt to be offered not counselling, but a slap in the face from a police inspector and the fates alike. Much of the onscreen activity could be defined as relaxed human comedy, but we’re constantly aware how close some of it comes to a knife-edge. These brothers have been afforded a certain freedom and power, but they haven’t fully comprehended what to do with it, and are thus prone to abusing it somehow.
Beneath this placid surface, however, there’s a fair bit going on, not least a tacit understanding of the wider imbalances at play in this patriarchal neck of the woods. Keen as they might be to run their mouths, the film they’re in – written by Syam Pushkaran, and directed by Madhu Narayanan – is instead characterised by a thoughtful silence: it transports us to one of this planet’s quieter, prettier spots, and never feels the need to overcompensate with score, action or frantic jabber, allowing scenes to present as reflective or stilled, like the Kumbalangi waterways.
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