Kuriyaachan does not, for instance, equate sexual harassment with courtship or treat women like property. That said, Kaduva is far from being the worst we have seen from this genre of cinema in various Indian languages or Malayalam in particular. The film could also serve as a source for a Museum of Underpants as villain after mundu-clad villain is sent flying in the air or crashing to the ground in positions that put his knickers on display. For the most part it is clichéd, too reliant on Prithviraj’s screen presence, has no time for women and is filled with talented actors such as Samyuktha Menon who have next to nothing to do. A life that inspires a film must surely have been exciting, but Kaduva is only occasionally so. The media has reported that Kaduva is based on a true story of a businessman in Kerala who went to court accusing the film of potentially defaming him. But not when the stunt choreography is being recycled from a zillion other films and the same limited stock plays in a loop throughout, as it does in Kaduva. Just to be clear, films featuring impossible action and an incidental story can be fun. Dominating the narrative instead are long – oh soooo long! – stretches of Kuriyaachan beating up groups of men, often in slow motion Kuriyaachan walking in slow motion Kuriyaachan delivering grandiose dialogues that seem to require him to speak in slow motion low-angle shots of Kuriyaachan perched on a vehicle’s bonnet and crossing his legs in slow motion close-ups of Kuriyaachan’s eyes going through the natural blinking process in what feels like slow motion close-ups of Kuriyaachan’s hand with a ring topped by a tiger sculpture, as he clenches his fist in (guess what?) slow motion.
He struggles through much of the storyline, but we know he will ultimately outwit his enemies because, well, he’s the hero and this is that kind of predictable film. He is also feared for his track record of violently disciplining wrongdoers. Kuriyaachan’s habits are a subject of local lore: he drives a Mercedes, smokes cigars, wears only mundus and white kurtas. The other is a politically well-connected, high-ranking policeman, Joseph Chandy, played by an unexceptional Vivek Oberoi whose career Malayalam cinema seems intent on resurrecting since he more or less fizzled out of Bollywood. One is a rich businessman, Kaduvakunnel Kuriyaachan a.k.a. In a church in Kerala, two powerful parishioners clash. In the background, overshadowed by fisticuffs and speeches, is this story. It is a typical men-centric commercial Malayalam film fixated on establishing a male protagonist’s superhuman strength and prowess. Kaduva is directed by Shaji Kailas – blockbuster machine of the 1990s and early 2000s – and written by Jinu V. But to be fair (to me), how is an earnest critique possible for a film in which the sound of a Big Cat growling in the background is the leading man’s signature, he repeatedly poses – Pulimurugan-style – like a feline crouched on the ground poised to pounce on his prey, his swagger stretches from his walk to his mannered speech, and he soars through the air while bashing up his foes? It takes one Malayali hero to keep his mundu intact while walloping dozens of opponents in multiple confrontations through the 2 hours and 35 minutes of Kaduva (Tiger). It took about 20,000 workers to complete the Taj Mahal. When I finally asked, I was told that some men use belts to secure the mundu around the waist, but some – hold your breath! – don’t.
As a child born and brought up in the north, I would spend my school summer holidays in Kerala wondering how the mundus worn by Malayali men do not fall off since they don’t wear petticoats under them. The 8th Wonder of the World that has not received the global attention it deserves is the mundu, the white/cream sarong-like unstitched garment from southern India. The ancient Chinese may have built the Great Wall of China, but could they have kept their mundus on through a full-fledged fight scene in a Malayalam film?
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