Jithu Madhavan is a Malayalam director (Romancham, Aavesham) making his first Tamil film. But if there’s one sequence that needs to be studied to understand a Malayali’s undying love for Tamil cinema, it’s the one in the second half of Scene. At first glance, it might seem like another Easter egg referencing one of the many films that made Suriya the superstar he is today. But dig a little deeper, and it brings together two aspects of Tamil cinema that are particularly important to every Malayali cinephile: legendary composer Ilaiyaraaja and the films that Suriya made in the early 2000s.
The scene is built around Raaja’s ‘Thendral Vandhu’ from Avatharam (1995), an epic song in which actor Nasser uses his words to describe the beauty of colours to a blind Revathy. This idea alone might have been enough to make the sequence unforgettable, but Jithu Madhavan goes a step further. He marries the mood of this song with a scene from Ghajini, in which Asin’s character uses words to describe everything happening around her to an older visually-impaired gentleman. Despite the ambition, the two ideas merge seamlessly, creating a moment that could only work in a film like Scene.
Of course, the film is also loaded with other signatures from Suriya’s earlier filmography, including a heroine named Maya (Kaakha Kaakha), a punchline from Singham and, of course, the Vaaranam Aayiram proposal scene. The film also hides a killer two-second cameo that makes a bigger impact than all of those in Jailer 2 combined.
But it’s in the aforementioned Ghajini tribute that you fully appreciate the sheer expanse of ideas that went into creating a film as peculiar as Scene. In terms of the plot, it is Maya’s (Nazriya) job to be Inbaraj’s (Suriya) eyes throughout the film. Inba, a talented but reckless DSP, has been trying to push for retirement when he begins losing his vision. As is usually the case in films like these, a particularly complex case brings him back into action. While you might expect a series of cookie-cutter scenes to set up this investigation, Inba’s lack of vision and the spectacularly well-written serial killer Eswaran (Naslen) result in a first half unlike anything you’ve seen (or heard) before.
This applies even to the film’s very first scene. The tonality is comedic, but Scene needs no more than a line or two to establish Eswaran’s psychotic nature. So when he rounds up a bunch of goons and asks them for a “consultation fee” to help dispose of a body, there’s a cold shiver running parallel to just how hilarious the whole thing is. Jithu is fully aware of the deviousness of the serial killer he has created, but instead chooses to treat Eswaran like a regular nobody, simply trying to follow his 9-to-5 passion of killing people.
This wicked irreverence extends to every single character in Scene. The same goes for Maya and the childhood trauma she’s trying to hide, or her judgmental father, who also happens to be a cokehead. And what about Inba’s parents? His father is a forensic genius who must also contend with a very Ghajini-like reality, while his mother is a personality expert with severe issues surrounding her own personality. These aren’t the kind of darkly comic flourishes you often see in a superstar film, but they give even the most familiar investigation scenes a never-before-seen feel.
Which is why Scene gets even better as it moves into the third act. The tension between two equally intelligent and idiosyncratic rivals provides the foundation, but it’s the inventiveness of how their conflict plays out that makes it special. And in a film about a blind hero, some of its biggest elevation moments are built around the occasions when Inba must see his nemesis.
If the film struggles at any point, it’s because it is stuffed with so many clever ideas. At times, you can sense it overlooking the larger plot in favour of the comedy packed into individual scenes; this could explain why Inba’s growing feelings for Maya feel a little sudden, or why Eswaran becomes a tad too obvious with his plans.
None of these are particularly difficult to overlook, but you do miss the narrative smoothness of the first half during these portions. Another reason to stay invested, however, is how refreshing it is to see Suriya play someone as laid-back as Inba. Since becoming a superstar, Suriya has often been forced to load his performances with so much bland earnestness that we’ve almost forgotten his silken-smooth touch when it comes to making fun of himself. This is the Suriya we remember from films like Ayan and Pithamagan, and we’re grateful that Scene gives him the space to take himself a little less seriously.
All of this comes together because Jithu Madhavan dares to venture into territory that might seem too risky for a film with such serious undertones. Through it all, this remains the director's film, complete with a peculiar brand of sinister humour that only his team could have imagined. What we’re left with is the joy of watching a director with a wonderfully strange vision, even if it happens to be in a film about a hero with none.