In one scene, two men with guns in hand appear in front of the Manimaaran door. Paru is in their house but clueless. I told him that they were here because of the disappearance of a young girl. Upon hearing this, she was taken aback for a moment, only a split second, then casually returned to her romantic search for the man in question. He didn’t show any suspicion, fear, or even the slightest bit of discomfort about the seedy nature of everything going on around him. Such is the film Māra. You need a remarkable romantic eye to see it, let alone enjoy it.
Maara is the story of Paru, an architect, restorer, and ruthless romantic:
Who is drawn to the art of the hero of the same name because it reflects a childhood story he believed only he knew. With quotes and sketches from his home. He searches for Manimaaran and discovers the size of his heart and the breadth of his art. He fell in love with the myth of Māra and was then happily ever after (or chose).
Maara is off to a good start. In the prologue, we see nurse Mary telling the big-eyed girl Lung a magically realistic story about a warrior and his soul. The story and accompanying animation make us expect a strange world. Even with this expectation, the film struggles to reconcile magic with realism when we return to reality after the prologue.
Characters cross the line of weirdness and weave outwardly or even cheesy. Whether it’s Alexander Babu, who directs his inner Chandrababu, Guru Somasundaram as a boatman. Or Kishor as a restaurant owner who makes music with an empty alcohol bottle against the wind. Or even a woman who rides a scooter in a side cart for her dog – they demand that you are an eyed romantic. Deer to find them attractive.
Events don’t help either. Part found Māra, who was only a few steps ahead:
Albeit in a bustling procession. Instead of screaming or even running to find her, he stopped and admired her. Finally stunned by the shadow she had left behind. Should I take that as his reluctance to meet her? I am not sure. I’m not romantic here either.
And then, of course, Manimaaran himself is unattractive. Initially, he was an artist, storyteller and free spirit that we might like. Soon everything around him turned into a virtue. Throwing the funeral of the prostitute he once met on the ship. He raised his daughter and saved her from her father’s pimp. He gave doctors a “second chance” who wanted to commit suicide. Drinks with thieves; buying Kulfi from an ambitious person in business. Save the slums from destruction by painting art on the walls etc. But we don’t know anything about the people we love.
Madhavan didn’t do much either. He walks around like a lucky ghost. It’s hard to believe he’s the gipsy we told him about. The Lung isn’t much better either. But to be honest with Shraddha Srinat playing Paru, nothing is written about her. It is he who pushes the story forward. Indeed, this was their quest. But I wonder if it was just empty curiosity that made him follow Māra. He made dreamy eyes, smiled broadly, shrugged and continued on his way. He.
The climax is almost strange, as he stands alone by the pillar and waits for Manimaaran to appear.
He can sit and watch TV or cook, and he can find it just like that. As I said, I’m not romantic. Apart from Abrami, which I love to see on screen. The only thing in this film is the seriousness and vulnerability that Velayya brings to the story. Muli, who plays Velaya, fills the well-written character with her heart. Velaiyya is also a hopeless romantic but from the real world.
Desperate, she writes the same letter to her lover repeatedly because she hates the ink to fade. She tells everyone that she keeps finding the same story. Which pisses them off – because she is afraid she won’t forget it. He kept an old photo of his lover and looked at him longingly. His fear is of dying without ever meeting the love of his life was apparent.