Every young Tamil-film hero looking to become a super star(if not the Superstar) makes a film in which he plays a cop. That’s when he announces his ambitions of entering the big league. Enough with all this love from the urban pockets. I now want B- and C-centre adoration. Maari is Balaji Mohan’s announcement that directors can do this too. He wants to show the industry that he isn’t just the sweet guy who made Kadhalil Sodhappuvadhu Yeppadi and Vaayai Moodi Pesavum. He wants to show he has chest hair. No more long, lyrical titles, please. Maari: one word, rhymes with massy. It’s the kind of film that would be fifteen minutes shorter if they removed all scenes with slo-mo strutting by Maari(Dhanush) — but if they did that, how would the excited boys seated ahead of me have gotten the opportunity to stand up every few minutes and bring the house down? Maari is Balaji Mohan’s stab at the uniquely Indian genre meant for Whistling Thronging Fans. It’s a WTF movie.
Which isn’t to say it’s a terrible movie. The director shows that he can stage a mass moment with the best of them. One of these moments involves a table and Maari’s propped-up feet. That’s it — he doesn’t utter a word. This setup is repeated a little later, this time with firecrackers. Again, no words. But Maari can’t be silent all the time, especially if he’s got to keep repeating the mantra that’s such a part of the mass-hero persona. It’s a good one: senjiruven(I’ll do you in). Maari’s fingers scissor through the air and land inches away from the opponent’s throat. It’s a mark of Dhanush’s capabilities that we don’t laugh when these heroics come from a man who could hide behind Kajal Aggarwal’s arm. The part is by no means a stretch — all it needs is star power. But Dhanush acts his heart out, as though he believed he were the first ever actor to play a small-time rowdy with a heart as golden as the fat chains around his neck. At times, he makes us believe too.
Kajal Aggarwal plays Sridevi, who wants to set up a boutique in Maari’s lower-middle-class neighbourhood, but finds him to be a nuisance. He wants a cut. They’re opposites, and you think it’s just a matter of time before they’re attracted to each other. In fact, I thought this would happen the first time they met. He sees her and the world sort of goes silent, the way it does in the movies when people fall in love. A few scenes later, he tells her, “I love you.” But this angle comes with a surprisingly sharp edge. We think, for a while, that Sridevi is your garden-variety loosu ponnu, and then we see that she isn’t. Balaji Mohan seems to be saying that he isn’t selling out — at least not completely. He knows these are clichés, and he knows we know these are clichés — and he’s trying to present them in a new light. There’s another nice scene between Maari and a distraught little girl. You roll your eyes and think it’s the usual ‘sentiment’ scene, but the way it ends made me smile.