In the second act of Meiyazhagan, Karthi makes an observation about the concept of the past to his cousin, “Idhu irandha kaalama? Illa, naama kadandhu vandha kaalam (Is our past something that’s gone by? No, it’s something we once lived through).” This spirited conversation between Karthi’s character and Arulmozhi Varman (a superb Arvind Swami) might revolve around Chola kings — the delightful irony of a man explaining Chola history to another man named Arulmozhi Varman is not lost on us — but it holds an important key to the core of the film itself. Yes, we look back at the past with nostalgia, but C Premkumar’s Meiyazhagan also makes a beautiful case for how the “dead” past has a sort of “aliveness” to it — about how certain moments in the past made certain realities in the present possible. 

To put it simply, Meiyazhagan revolves around Arulmozhi Varman, who is trying to kick back thoughts of his past, and at the same time, relive it. He is a cricket coach who lives a full life in Chennai with his daughter, wife (Devadarshini makes a lovely appearance), his two ageing parents and a house full of pets and parrots. But his mind often wanders to the past — the glory days of living in his sprawling family house in Thanjavur and a gnawing sibling rivalry that eventually snatched the property from their grasp. When he is forced to go back to his hometown, over two decades later, Arulmozhi is compelled to revisit the past, and learn things about himself. 

Now, this said past comes in various forms for Arulmozhi to navigate– Kutti, a beloved temple elephant that he was fond of as a kid, a bus conductor who once studied under his father, now giving him life advice, and an uncle (Rajkiran) who reminds him of his childhood. But the biggest reality check and (reminder of the past) for Arulmozhi comes in the form of a mystery man who knows every small detail about him, someone Arul knows nothing about, including his name. Karthi is brilliant as the mystery man — an unnamed youngster related to Arul by his mother’s family — who sticks to his side from the second he sets eyes on him at a wedding. 

Karthi is everything that the coy Arul isn’t. He’s got a big mouth (from the local tea kadda master to a caterer at any given venue, there isn’t any he doesn’t know), but an even bigger heart. It would’ve been easy to make him into a village bumpkin, for he is someone who harmlessly peers into your phone when you’re texting, and someone who asks potentially inappropriate questions like, “one or two?” when you ask him the way to the washroom. But Karthi injects so much warmth and naiveté to this character that you want to immediately befriend him. Or at least, try to protect him from the world. 

The ease in Prem Kumar’s writing is apparent in his characters. We have a bride (Swathi Konde) who opens her brother’s gift on the wedding dias –a scene that will crumble you into a puddle, a flower-seller (Raichal Rabecca) who gives company to a guilt-riddled man waiting for his 5 am bus, and a caterer who doles out some fun inside secrets along with kasi halwa. Prem Kumar constructs a world that we want to climb into, people we want to meet and shake hands with. DOP Mahendiran Jayaraju’s pauses and slo-mos are intentional and affecting, painting Arulmozhi’s world with intimate, silent strokes. 

The first half is filled with moments of mirth, mostly fueled by Arulmozhi’s cluelessness about Karthi’s identity. But the same silliness turns into a form of gnarly guilt when Arulmozhi realises the extent of his friend’s kindness and how it can be mapped back to his own past acts of kindness. Like a cosy book that you want to immediately re-read after you sprint through it, Meiyazhagan has moments that you want to immediately rewatch. Govind Vasantha’s soaring music is the perfect accompaniment at such times. 

The film quickly moves on from the dream-like quality of the first half to a more sober and slow-burn approach in the second half, an effect that doesn’t always work. But we also see why this was important for the filmmaker to flesh out because these are also the moments that establish the class difference between Arulmozhi and Karthi. The former’s privilege is brilliantly called out in a scene where he compares his fondness for his family house to Karthi’s cycle, not realising that the cycle was a hand-me-down. 

But like any conversation film, among all of the big events and conflicts in the film, it is the little moments between characters that stand out. This is also a film that shows that misty eyes are not just reserved for a romantic tragedy. Premkumar shows us the pain and yearning for the forgotten– friendships, familial ties, simpler life that you badly want to relive. 

If there’s anything Sruthi loves more than watching films, it’s writing about it. Sruthi Ganapathy Raman’s words can also be read in Film Companion, Scroll.in, and The Times of India.

Disclaimer: This review was not paid for or commissioned by anyone associated with the film. Neither TNM nor any of its reviewers have any sort of business relationship with the film’s producers or any other members of its cast and crew.