Deciding to be a good person is all fine and dandy, but how do you decide which side to stand for? Who’s the oppressor? Who’s the victim? Who’s right? Who’s wrong? These are questions we grapple with every day. And it’s this extraordinarily relatable question that haunts police driver Kumaresan (Soori, who is a wonderful fit) throughout Viduthalai Part 1. He doesn’t have the luxury of being a bystander, with his job forcing him to take a side. However, where another policeman would unthinkingly follow orders—prioritising self over others——this man is unique, for, somehow, some way, he’s managed to retain his manasaatchi (conscience). Another policeman points this about him almost as a statement of doom. It’s due to being wired so that Kumaresan is unable to apologise as a compromise. On some level, it seems like he wishes he could, but he simply can’t. He’s not vain about his behaviour; he just doesn’t fit into the usual boxes of a policeman. In a film about the struggle between systemic authority and rebel forces, Kumaresan is arguably the biggest rebel of them all, a man who just cannot obey/submit. Perhaps it is this that truly defines a good man: The refusal to choose convenience over conscience. Viduthalai Part 1 is terrific when it digs into these subconscious, intimate spaces.

Director: Vetrimaaran

Cast: Soori, Bhavani Sre, Vijay Sethupathi, Rajiv Menon

At a point in his delicate romance with a tribal woman, Thamizharasi (Bhavani Sre), Kumaresan stands confused at a point of ideological divergence. He finds that the anecdotes he’s hearing are at loggerheads with what he’s been fed by the system. I loved that Vetrimaaran, in a way, toys with us similarly. The first time we see Perumal (Vijay Sethupathi) in action, we register him as a brutal killer—not all too different from the policemen, in fact. But then, we, like Kumaresan, have our eyes opened with more information—and suddenly, we see the truth. Isn’t it touching that Kumaresan’s eyes are opened by something as simple and beautiful as… love? Isn’t that, after all, the great equaliser? As Thamizharasi asks him, “Who’s real family? Those you are related to by blood? Or someone like you, who, at great personal suffering, still chooses to stand for us?” In a sense, she shows him the way. It’s perhaps why for an entire song, ‘Unnoda Nadandha…’, we see Kumaresan following her, as she leads the way through the darkness of the forest, shining a torchlight. The song itself feels longer than it needs to be, but I didn’t mind.

Soori is fantastic as the innocent, dogged Kumaresan. There’s just an innocence about comedy actors that comes through so effortlessly. In Viduthalai, this air of innocence Soori carries about him benefits the character greatly. When he’s resisting submitting to his horrible boss (Chethan), where another actor might come through as rigid in an egotistical way, Soori comes across as vulnerable—which makes his character profoundly likeable. This is Soori in a way we have hardly seen him, and much credit to Vetrimaaran for imagining this. There’s none of the slapstick, goofy humour we have come to associate with Soori in this film. It’s instead replaced by situational, organic humour—of course, in small places where it can exist. I laughed out loud when Kumaresan is asked to accompany a senior officer as he walks into the forest, and he says, “Enakku varla, neenga poitu vaanga.” Even his refusal to be forced into an apology is admirable and funny. “Thappu dhaanunga ayya… aana epdi thappaagum?” These are such lovely portions in the film.

But of course, there isn’t much place for humour in this film. We hear a voice in the beginning say that the events are all fictional, that any resemblance to real people/incidents is purely coincidental. But it all does ring real. A corporate-political nexus is eager to exploit land and resources, and as a side-quest, subjugate the residents living in harmony with said land. The question is, do the corporate organisations, political parties, and the police (who seem to act like security personnel for the rich and the powerful) really care about civilians and their rights? Do they care about anything beyond moneymaking?

Vetrimaaran, once again, shows great talent for capturing both the intimate and the expansive. That long, opening shot of the aftermath of a railway bridge explosion is a great example. The camera captures the frenzy, severed limbs, the dead, the crying, the pleas and sobs, the orders… before suddenly rising and moving into one of the train compartments to capture the misery inside. It glides out soon and presents us finally with an aerial shot of the carnage. Vetrimaaran does pretty much the same with the premise of this film. We get the inner workings of Kumaresan’s mind, but we are never too far away from understanding the larger developments and forces at play.

Vetrimaaran isn’t one to flinch from gore and violence. It’s essential to the realism of this film and serves the purpose of eliciting a reaction from us. Like in Visaaranai, the film is constantly asking us questions: Are you seeing this? Are you seeing what’s going on, under the guise of an interrogation? Are you seeing these power-hungry humans lose their humanity? Do you see why it bothers Kumaresan so much? At its essence, the story is drawn from a familiar template: A hunter joining the hunted. And yet, Vetrimaaran is careful not to make Kumaresan the champion of the downtrodden. He’s careful to allow Perumal and team to fight their battles. And in any case, this is just Part 1 of the film, and if I have a major grouse, it’s that we don’t get a sense of completion, despite having spent about 150 minutes on the film. Kumaresan is still foggy at the end, and his moral compass is a bit all over the place. And so, Part 1 ends with some footage from the second film, so we get a sense of what could potentially happen. Perhaps in that film, Kumaresan will finally, truly come of age?

It’s still a relief to know that filmmakers like Vetrimaaran truly care. I’m not talking about cinematic merits alone here; I see real value in their messaging. He cares for the trampled; he sees the value in mounting opposition against authority figures and the big, bad system (like in Visaaranai). In this first film (even if it’s incomplete), whilst documenting the physical and psychological struggles of a driver named Kumaresan, whilst depicting the tragedies that befall a trampled community, whilst raising opposition to the methods of the police, director Vetrimaaran even manages to get us thinking of a question that’s fundamental to our being. Who’s a good man? If it is true that a good man is one of conscience, one who’s willing to reflect on his own actions and change in the face of compelling information, then it’s clear that Kumaresan is a good man. How far will it take him though? How long before the system fixes its crosshairs on him? Hopefully, Vetrimaaran won’t keep us waiting for too long.