Nana Patekar, who passed away on October 8, leaves behind an enviable filmography. His most enduring work came in seminal Hindi and Marathi cinema, but his filmography has also extended across industries. His turn as the Bengaluru supercop and father in Yaksha (the 2010 Kannada film) and a misunderstood filmmaker in Bommalattam (2008 Tamil film) are largely memorable attempts. But in one of his most menacing turns in unfamiliar territory — arguably holding his own among the unforgettable antagonists he brought to life — comes his role opposite Rajinikanth in Pa Ranjith's intricate Dharavi drama Kaala.
Ranjith deliberately positions Hari Dada (Nana Patekar) as Karikalan’s antithesis. We see this in the way these two powerful Mumbaikars dress in the film: if Kaala (Rajinikanth) wears black, often through creased dhotis and linen, the colour of the working class, Hari is decked in crisp whites, his class seeping in through the starch in his shirt and the gold in his spectacles.
If Hari embodies gentrification through an unnerving thirst for power, Kaala represents the fight for land as a fight for dignity. But what Patekar brings to Hari Dada, through quiet tact and restraint, goes far beyond a mainstream Rajinikanth villain.
This is on best display in the film anytime the duo is on screen. When Hari Dada meets Kaala for the first time in his humble Dharavi abode, he is welcomed with a smile. Pleasantries are exchanged, and they get down to business. But Patekar makes sure you take notice of his shifting body language. He refuses water with folded hands, smiles after every word, but you know a blade is waiting to quietly follow the gentle smile.
He walks away thinking he has had the last word, his stance and smile betraying his pride. But when he's forced to come back to the guy he detests for permission to leave, Patekar shows his bruised ego with just a cower. Not only does this scene become this incredibly important moment of "mass" for the hero, but it also creates palpable tension and a buzzy anticipation in our heads about how Dada will retaliate.
This restraint is also what makes the final showdown between these two forces an engaging battle of wits. When Kaala comes over to Hari's house (an obvious parallel to their previous rendezvous from hell), the vicious politician offers Kaala water, which he graciously accepts to make a point. He pretends to speak to Kaala as an equal, often waving away his henchmen, eager to come inside and make a scene. Here, we also anticipate an immediate war of words, an obvious escalation, considering Hari has just killed Kaala's wife and son by accident. But Patekar’s restraint begins to gradually crack, allowing a bubbling mix of anger and repulsion to rear its ugly head.
His apology for the accident is genuine, perhaps symbolic of his trust in karma as a god-fearing Hindu. But as Kaala retorts, his caste biases are insidiously laid bare — something that Patekar depicts with a tiny but visible recoil of the body and the disgust of sitting eye to eye with a man he terribly wants to control.
Patekar's turn as Hari Dada remains memorable for the actor's enviable moderation, but it is also a testament to what a superior villain can bring to a mainstream superstar film. Sensational craft met sensational style in Patekar and Rajini's one and only reckoning.