A ‘run of the mill’ Tamil film is the usual order of the day, but for films like ‘Taramani’ who try to lend a magic hand beyond furnished boundaries.
Don’t literally sit on the title and wane about the correlation. I think correlation lies in the subject, not in the title. In fact, Harry Potter did not make any sense to me till my little sister and the more intelligent sibling taught me the ropes to understand the finer nuances of a novel and it’s biological adaptation.
Coming back to Taramani. Yes, the title has few connected dots to the name of the suburban railway station it is named after, but that’s it. It rather throws light on the vanity of our relationships we practice in our urban lives. Director Ram juggles, protrudes, yells and mingles the eccentricities of human nature. Needless to quip, our lives are a bi product of our desires and foolish needs. And our growing attitudes towards leading life and judging people around by dress rehearsals is another precarious feather in our pervert hat.
Losing love, procuring another one before losing it for sheer stupid reasons of male ego, treating a lady like a substance. ‘Taramani’ deals with sensitive ethos, few of them very real and very inconvenient to have a conversation on. For instance, seldom does a girl talk about her gay husband to an absolute stranger, even if the stranger happens to be overtly receptive. You can, but generally you won’t.
With a screechy script, relevant narration to some irrelevant depictions, some fresh cinematography and stellar performances from the lead actors, ‘Taramani’ is a watchable film.
But ‘Taramani’ tells me an important story – the railway station will live on forever, like our dreams, filth and caricatures.