Nobody can deny that J Jayalalitha’s life was designed for a movie. And now, after seeing Kangana Ranaut play this version of Jaya in Thalaivii with a wonderfully balanced blend of vulnerability and hauteur, there’s no doubt that she owns the role. Would a Tamil leading woman have done a better job, knowing the language and body language better? The issue is no longer relevant. One of the delights of this biopic bordering on hagiography is seeing the meta streaks in it. This is an actor at the top of her game, portraying a former actor previously at the top of her game.
From Jaya’s early days as a young actress, coat-trailing the great MGR (Arvind Swamy), to her stratospheric ascent in the film business, and her gradual transformation into an ambitious, give-no-quarters politician, Kangana fills this extremely complex character like skin in Thalaivii.
Without delving into whether the events depicted in the film were true to events in real life, the film succeeds in providing a glimpse of Tamil Nadu politics at the time. MGR never hid the fact that Jayalalithaa was his protege, and their closeness was always a sore point among his party members; in the film, it is exemplified by MGR loyalist RMV (Raj Arjun), who becomes almost comically one-note in the way he keeps glaring at the woman who diverts his beloved leader’s attention away from where it should be.
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There’s a scene in which Jaya enters the exclusive boundaries of Parliament, where she delivers a stirring speech that captures the attention of then-Prime Minister Indira Gandhi. It was a time when Mrs G’s Congress was looking for Southern allies, and Jayalalitha, as MGR’s chosen spoke, was doing a good job of putting his case forward while also smartly advancing her career: for someone who claimed to despise politics, she did a remarkable job of sweeping aside her opponents.
The killing of Indira Gandhi is a minor narrative point in the film; Rajiv’s takes a few minutes longer. And it immediately demonstrates how remote the southern nations were from faraway New Delhi, as seen by their friends’ extremely phlegmatic reception of the news. The death of MGR is catastrophic, as the film wonderfully depicts: the swelling masses, chest-beaters, and wailers turn this public grief into a performance act. For those who recall, Jayalalitha was pushed and shoved and not allowed to approach MGR’s body; we see Kangana devastated and alone, and then we show her resolve to not let it get to her, to fight, and to move forward.
This may be yet another meta link. As Jaya points out, rising to the top for a woman in politics and a woman in cinema (both of whom are in public life) is a difficult task, and you can’t help but think about the path of this actress portraying that actor, who came in from the outside and triumphed.
Even though the film centres upon its main lady, it does give the other characters their due: Arvind Swamy’s performance as MGR is fantastic; his razor-thin moustache, helmet, a shawl draped across his shoulders, and the way he leaps bulkily from one location to another on stage are all eerily similar to the guy he portrays. Jaya’s mother, Bhagyashree, is protective of her daughter while also understanding that concessions must be made if a woman makes a difference in an all-male society. Nassar, who plays Karunanidhi, completes the ensemble.
The picture begins to sag after the intermission. It develops into political jousting from the on-screen, off-screen hijinks, which are far more intriguing in the way they demonstrate the manner of the song-and-dances, the brassiness of the clothes. The background music blares nonstop as the film cherry chooses incidents to add to Jaya’s shine on screen. There are too many instances where Jaya comes off as too heroic, too courageous, a lovely woman who is everyone’s adored Amma, and far too many exchanges that seem like booming speeches.
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However, looking for reality checks in desi biopics is like looking for needles in a haystack: there’s this climactic flourish that makes up for all the uncritical adoration of its chief subject: as Jaya tries on her chief minister’s chair for size, her partymen file in, and when they refuse to sit, she orders the chairs to be taken out. She’s got them where she wants them now: the winner gets everything. Kangana does a fantastic job with the appearance. And then there’s the movie.
