Vilayath Buddha movie review: Prithviraj Sukumaran film shows why not everything shot should make the final cut

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Although Jayan Nambiar’s Vilayath Buddha isn’t as painful an experience as Indian 2, it also suffers from a curious case of the director being seemingly unsure/unready to keep only what’s necessary, instead stubbornly packing the film with as much canned footage as possible.

Panchayat president Bhaskaran Master (a commanding Shammi Thilakan), a former schoolteacher, is the all-in-all in Marayoor, a hilly area known for its sandalwood forests. However, an unfortunate incident brings him significant embarrassment, forcing him to give up public life and retreat to his home. His only wish in life now is to be cremated, upon his death, with wood from the sandalwood tree standing in his courtyard, so that a tantalising fragrance arises from his pyre, symbolically eliminating the stench (literal and metaphorical) of embarrassment he faced.

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A few years down the line, sandalwood smuggler “Double” Mohanan (a sturdy Prithviraj Sukumaran) is now the uncrowned king in Marayoor. Posing a significant headache for the Forest Department, he keeps sneaking out precious timbers from the village. Once he seals the deal for a sandalwood tree, Mohanan will fell it no matter what. And his biggest cheerleader is his childhood sweetheart, Chaithanya (Priyamvada Krishnan). As he continues his reign, Mohanan’s eyes land on the rare sandalwood tree in Bhaskaran’s courtyard. Although he tries to persuade Bhaskaran to sell it to him, the ex-politico refuses, prompting Mohanan to issue a warning that he will smuggle it out of the compound anyway. What follows is a war of wills between “Double” Mohanan and Bhaskaran Master, his former teacher.

Based on a novel of the same name written by GR Indugopan, who co-authored the movie’s script with Rajesh Pinnadan, Vilayath Buddha’s most significant shortcoming is that its texture and narrative style resemble a literary work far too often. Instead of adapting it for the screen by removing its inherent novel-like quality — particularly the lengthy and ornate dialogues and descriptions employed to give readers a detailed account and overview of everything — Vilayath Buddha gives off the feeling that Indugopan and Rajesh primarily tried to stay as faithful to the literary work as possible. While any writer, in such a situation, should strive to protect the soul of the work, the Prithviraj Sukumaran-starrer proves that mere attempts to translate words into images won’t help create a solid script for a solid movie.

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Take, for instance, P Padmarajan’s Thoovanathumbikal (1987). Although it’s based on his own novel, Udakappola, the two only share a nucleus and are widely different from each other, like day and night. Or consider A Vincent’s Bhargavi Nilayam (1964). Despite being based on his short story Neelavelicham, when author Vaikom Muhammad Basheer adapted it for the screen, he did not blindly replicate the literary work’s texture and style to stay true to it. Instead, both Padmarajan and Basheer distilled the essence of their respective works and crafted fresh films, so to speak, without losing the souls of the originals, thereby giving moviegoers unique experiences that remained true to the art of cinema, rather than reducing the films to mere spectres or shadows of the literary pieces.

It is in this domain that Vilayath Buddha has failed the most. There are quite a few instances and dialogues in the movie that give the impression that they were created for a novel or by someone who isn’t well-versed in screenwriting but is a brilliant author. On many occasions, I felt that I would have loved these lines had I been sitting alone and reading them, with only these words and my imagination as companions, but not so much when uttered by characters on screen. For instance, at a crucial moment, Bhaskaran Master explains for the first time why he wishes to be cremated using sandalwood, and the dialogues here are too contrived for a movie. If not for Shammi Thilakan’s impressive performance, the artificiality in the lines would have been extremely apparent.

Where Jayan Nambiar has stumbled as a director is in his inability to overcome the narrative flaws through visual language and the powerful tool of editing. Instead, he has mostly tried to picturise the written words as is, without attempting minimalism or finding ways to condense lengthy scenes/dialogues into few striking visuals. The many scenes that stretch on endlessly, with the best example being a speech by a politician from Bhaskaran’s rival outfit in public, stand as a testament to this.

Had Jayan put more effort into expressing the many shades of emotions spread across the movie in a more striking manner — by trimming down the numerous unnecessary moments that never seem to end — Vilayath Buddha could have been far better. Unfortunately, the film fails to tug at the audience’s heartstrings most of the time. Although the sequence towards the interval, where Mohanan steals two sandalwood trees back-to-back, accompanied by the iconic track “Vanithamani” from Vikram (1986), is goosebump-inducing, such moments are not plentiful.

Vilayath Buddha also proves that crafting exceptional opening sequences or songs featuring numerous brief shots — the best examples being Dileesh Pothan’s Maheshinte Prathikaaram (2016) and Lijo Jose Pellissery’s Angamaly Diaries (2017) — thereby providing a 360-degree view of the respective landscapes, is an art that not everyone can execute easily. Nonetheless, the films does feature quite a few moments where glimpses of the debutant director’s potential shine through, underscoring that he may excel going forward. Jakes Bejoy’s music, and Arvind S Kashyap and Renadive’s cinematography also praise-worthy.

One of the major ways creators celebrate the stories of people like Mohanan, who are involved in illegal activities, is by portraying them as having their hearts in the right place and doing good for their people, using the money made through such means. Even Sukumar’s Allu Arjun-led Pushpa movies, which also revolve around a sandalwood smuggler, follow a similar narrative style. This pattern is evident in Vilayath Buddha as well. Although the makers haven’t tried to present Mohanan as a god in human form or the ultimate saviour of the downtrodden, shades of this clichéd plot device are visible throughout the film.

At the same time, Vilayath Buddha shows that male creators have ‘smartly’ moved away from tapping into male toxicity and are now focused on portraying it through female characters while disguising them as independent, motivated, and alpha-like. Although Chaithanya’s reasons for her eventual actions are understandable, the way her toxicity — far surpassing that of both Mohanan and Bhaskaran — is portrayed stands as a testament that this trait is like a bad habit that male writers and filmmakers are addicted to, that they can’t seem to give up. If not a man, then inject toxicity into a woman, and try to convince the naive segment of the progressive audience that she represents a “liberated woman.” The sickeningly sheer level of brownfacing that Prithviraj and Priyamvada Krishnan have been subjected to in Vilayath Buddha also deserves ‘special mention’.

Vilayath Buddha movie cast: Prithviraj Sukumaran, Shammi Thilakan, Priyamvada Krishnan, Anu Mohan, Rajasree Nair
Vilayath Buddha movie director: Jayan Nambiar
Vilayath Buddha movie rating: 2 stars

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