The first scene in Salaam Venky, Revathy’s third directorial, is that of an ambulance with a flashing light rushing towards the hospital under a sky full of twinkling stars. It’s a picture of hope juxtaposed with despair – and it sums up the duality in the film’s conception. Loosely based on Shrikant Murthy’s novel The Last Hurrah, and inspired by the true life story of K Venkatesh, Salaam Venky is about a young man with Duchenne muscular dystrophy. He knows that he’s going to die very soon, but he wants to speed up the process for a special cause.
The poster of the film shows Kajol in a red saree, the pallu trailing behind her like a cape, pushing Vishal Jethwa who is in a wheelchair. Her resemblance to a superhero is deliberate. As much as this is Venky’s story, it’s also the story of Sujatha, his mother, who refuses to give up on him. She doesn’t think she’s as brave as her son, but she has to try for his sake.
There isn’t much suspense in the plot. It’s not that kind of film. Just minutes after the credits roll, a doctor grimly pronounces the verdict on Venky’s fate. He is going to die young, and there is no cure for his condition. But Venky has one last wish he wants to fulfill and the film revolves around this desire – it isn’t to travel around the world or any other item you’d find on a typical bucket list, but to obtain permission for euthanasia.
The hospital is Venky’s home, and most of the film is set inside his room where sunshine streams through the window, lending it a tranquil, meditative quality. His doctor (Rahul Khandelwal), Malayali nurse (Mala Parvathy), visually impaired childhood sweetheart Nandini (Aneet Padda), sister Sharada (Ridhi Kumar), and his mother are his visitors.
This is already a grim story, ripe with melodrama, and the writing tries to counterplay this by characterising Venky as a movie buff who disguises his most difficult moments with dialogues from Bollywood films. So, when the doctor asks him if he’s in pain, he replies with a cheeky “Mard ko dard nahi hota”. His favourite film is Anand (1971), in which a cancer patient lives each moment to his fullest, and it is a line from this movie that defines his aspiration – life should be great rather than long. A lighthouse serves as an important landmark in the film – physically and metaphorically — and Revathy uses it as a framework to weave the tapestry of Venky's journey.
Vishal and Kajol are both light-eyed (the boy who plays little Vishal isn't though!), and the close-up shots that frame their eyes brimming with emotions are effective in drawing out the bond between them. But the film goes overboard with the close-ups in the second half; the camera swivels from one face to another, registering a line and then following it up with a reaction shot. The poignance of the opening scene with the sky and the ambulance goes missing, and the emotions feel spoon-fed, the moments generic. The writing becomes overly ‘inspirational’, sounding like lines you’d find on BrainyQuote rather than what people would say in conversation.
Kajol is incredible as Sujatha, a mother who has fought so hard with death on behalf of her child but must now seek it. The waves of anxiety, fear, and doubt that wash over her register with every change in expression. However, Sujatha’s battle isn’t fleshed out. Her husband wants nothing to do with their son, so their marriage ends. But how does Sujatha pay for Venky’s medical expenses after that? How did she get through life being Venky’s caretaker? Not only are these questions unanswered, but the plot thread about her marriage is also rushed and narrated in broad, melodramatic strokes. Venky’s life also unfolds in a montage song towards the end when it should have been the spine of the film.
The second half is a courtroom drama, and Priyamani and Rahul Bose play lawyers on opposing sides with Prakash Raj as the judge. It’s a good choice to cast a woman in the role of Nanda (Priyamani), an unsentimental and almost ruthless lawyer. The legal battle, however, is over the top and feels dated. Aamir Khan’s cameo lends an interesting layer to the script, but it becomes ‘Bollywoodized’ as the film progresses. The maudlin background score and song placements dilute its realism, making the film tonally inconsistent.
There have been quite a few films on characters with serious diseases, and it is a challenge to tell these stories with a fresh approach. I found myself thinking about the dining table scene in Althaf Salim’s Malayalam film Njandukalude Nattil Oridavela (2017) where the mother (Shanti Krishna), a cancer patient, cites the example of families that have shaved their heads in support of a loved one with the disease. Her family clearly doesn’t want to do it, and there’s unexpected humour in how the sequence plays out. The situation itself isn’t amusing, but the scene feels real and human, touching a chord within us because we recognise what we see on screen. People who are caught in such circumstances are expected to be selfless and of an exalted disposition, but this is an unfair burden to place upon them. It is their ability to cope — or not — as ordinary humans confronting extraordinary situations that brings the story home.
Salaam Venky, however, only has characters who are superhumanly good or bad, making it difficult for a viewer to be fully involved. The film is anchored by Kajol’s remarkable performance, and Vishal’s charming innocence (and to think he played the brutal killer in Mardaani 2). But it says too much where it shouldn't, and too little where it should. As a result, we get a film that tries too hard to tug at our heartstrings when it should have allowed for pauses; pauses that would have led us to arrive there ourselves, through the liminal space between personal experiences and what unfolds on the big screen.
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.
Sowmya Rajendran writes on gender, culture, and cinema. She has written over 25 books, including a nonfiction book on gender for adolescents. She was awarded the Sahitya Akademi’s Bal Sahitya Puraskar for her novel Mayil Will Not Be Quiet in 2015.