I plan to keep this piece relatively short and answer the question: “What’s your verdict on Leo?” from two of my favorite people – Kavya and Gowtham, My niece and her husband. My verdict, I am sure, will please one of them to no end, and the other will perhaps frown a little, but I beg the indulgence of both parties for this verdict. In fact, there isn’t much to say about a film that doesn’t claim to do much except project and perpetuate an actor’s personality and underline the increasingly disturbing trend of disrespect that big-budget Indian films have for a movie’s content and the audience’s intellectual and emotional sensibilities. Leo is supposed to be an adaptation of David Cronenberg’s 2005 ” A History of Violence,” a great film that probes the nature of violence and the primal level at which violence truly exists in all of us, no matter how much we attempt to hide that instinct behind the facade of civilization. Leo picks the storyline from this film, but what Lokesh does with the material doesn’t come close to what Cronenberg achieved in The History of Violence. Cronenberg focused on the characters and their inner contradictions. In Leo, the hero stands tall, and everything else is subsumed under his aura, leaving little room for any real meaning to emerge from the movie. The only thing I am glad about is that Lokesh chose an excellent film to adapt, but didn’t have the courage or the finesse required to measure up to the original.
Leo is a really big-budget film, so big that one can make a dozen or more reasonable, meaningful movies out of it, and it is a significantly successful film, commercially – so we are told. The movie pundits claim that it took about 300 CR rupees to make the movie, and the film so far has raked in more than 600 CR Indian rupees in global sales. That is an astonishing figure for such an average fare and riding on the fan power of one man. I wonder if this speaks to how low our artistic benchmark bars have become or if such films really fulfill a need that I am not aware of. If it is the former, I am bothered; if it is the latter, I am fine without that need. Philosophically speaking, we get what we seek. And I guess these are the kind of films we really want.
Lokesh is a young director. He, along with a few others in the same zone as him, have taken upon themselves the serious and high-browed directorial responsibility of creating cinematic universes. It has become a fashion these days to call one’s body of work, especially in films, as universes( one more instance of unquestioningly aping Western idioms without understanding why or what). After “Master” in 2021 with Vijay, After “Master” in 2021, Leo is the second film with Vijay in the lead role. Like Master, he has once again put together nearly a three-hour movie with enough violence and shallow characterization to keep the viewers in a state of continuous aesthetic limbo. I am beginning to think that, in some perverse way, such films must have a therapeutic value; otherwise, why would so many people actually pay money to watch them (Thankfully, I didn’t, but I pay Netflix who has paid 125 Crore rupees to purchase the rights of Leo) The only theory I could come up with for such abnormal behavior is that such movies not only suspend disbelief – which, to an extent, is necessary for commercially entertaining films – but obliterate any sense of belief at all and empties the mind – a shortcut to achieving a mind state which otherwise would need spiritual and psychological practices. Young directors in the mold of Lokesh Kanagaraj have started using technological pyrotechnics as substitutes for true artistic vision, like using intoxicants as an easy way to achieve an emotional high. I understand that technology is a good tool if used well and could enhance one’s artistic vision, but for those who have no creative vision, work with a wafer-thin storyline, bank on a convoluted poor screenplay, contrive sequences whose sole purpose is to accentuate meaningless violence, and, more importantly, do not care to bring in even a grain of realism; in such hands, technology ends up becoming a convenient and abused surrogate mechanism instead of having to put in the effort to creating meaning and substance on screen. Cinema as a medium of art is sacrificed at the altar of gross commercialism.
Leo begins with the weirdest opening sequences in Indian cinema, at least as far as I can remember. A Hyena strays into a small town in Himachal Pradesh, and our Hero, Parthiban ( Vijay), enroute to school to drop his son, is called by a Range officer to think of a plan to anesthetize the disturbed animal. For fifteen minutes after that, cameras hover, roll, zoom, and alternate between the blood-thirsty faces of a computer-generated Hyena and Vijay – who demonstrates considerable athletic skills ( or are they computer generated too? Anyone’s guess) in negotiating the animal’s charge. All this action happens within a school compound. When every ploy fails, Parthiban shouts out a command to have his son throw a Javelin with a tranquilizer attached to its end; he leaps in the air to intercept the weapon and, after a skillful maneuver, manages to subdue the animal. Our exhausted hero now lies beside the hyena, gently caressing its fur with a gentle smile on his pretty face. I am sure theaters would have erupted with applause at this point. Such an adrenalin-filled opening scene, followed by an unexpected shootout at the coffee shop that Parthiban runs, sets the tone for the rest of the movie. Without getting into further details, in a nutshell, the film from thereon is about resolving the identities of Parthiban and Leo – two solipsistic versions of Vijay: The elder Vijay, a.k.a Parthiban, in a weird hairdo with grey locks of hair falling across his forehead, is a family man who essentially tries to remain non-violent; and, the other character is the dashing, debonair younger version of Vijay a.k.a Leo who smokes, sells drugs, kills and dances his way. What is the connection between the two? Why do mafia groups led by the likes of Sanjay Dutt, Arjun, et al. ( an elite star cast) pursue Parthiban, convinced he is Leo, and why does Parthiban resolutely refuse to acknowledge that he is Leo? These are some of the philosophical questions audiences are left to ponder and wonder for three hours before the answer is revealed.
A redeeming feature of Leo is the lack of duets. There are no dances around trees or basking romantically in the temperate conditions of the Mediterranean or Italian beaches. Except for a group song whose intent, more than anything else, was to herald and glorify Vijay’s impending entry into politics, the movie is free of any distractions from the violence that runs through it. Even comedy as a separate track is absent. There is raw energy in the film, and it moves at a swift pace. These are the only positives I can think of. Trisha looks jaded in most scenes and sleepwalks through her performance. She has nothing much to do in the film, and what little she has, she doesn’t display enough conviction. Performing as a queen in PS 1 & 2 for over two years might have blunted the edge of Trisha’s normal acting range. Just a guess, that’s all. Parthiban’s children bring some realism into the atmosphere of their family life. Anirudh’s music is irrelevant except as a cacophonous background to the violence played out on screen. His tunes are becoming monotonous and appear rehashed. For someone who doesn’t sit down and compose tunes in his head as a composer should but assembles them through the latest digital tools, we shouldn’t expect anything more than this. The special effects team has done justice to what they were asked to do. The Hyena scene alone, I read somewhere, cost 15 crores to make, and God only knows how many crores the action scenes swallowed. In a 300 crore budget, special effects and Vijay’s salary alone would account for 70% of the cost. Rumors have it that Vijay was paid 120 crores for this film. Man, that is a lot of money.
There is no doubt that, over the years, Vijay has dramatically matured as an actor. By no means was he a naturally talented actor when he initially entered films. He got his break because his father was one of the prolific directors of that time. I remember watching Vijay’s movies in the early nineties. He possessed rudimentary skills, nothing more. It was clear that he needed time to get used to the camera, his expressions, and his dialogue delivery. If not for his father’s blessings, he wouldn’t have gone far. But over the years, he has worked on all aspects of his acting, including, if I am not mistaken, a subtle corrective surgery to his nose as well. One thing he was always good at was – dancing, and even today, he is one of the most agile dancers in the business. To command 120 crores as salary and to be single-handedly responsible for bringing in over 600 crores as collection attests to his star power and also to fair comparisons with Rajnikanth. But there is something about Rajni’s aura on screen that Vijay has yet to capture. It is difficult to describe or even point out what that quality is, but it is there, and Vijay fans can shout all that they want, but their man can only inherit the throne after Rajni quits acting. However, Vijay is happy being the “Dalapathi” and not the “Superstar.” It is a safe position to take.
A final word about “Leo”. I wish the movie had spent more time exploring the subjective roots of violence. That is the basic theme of the original film. In Leo, this exploration didn’t come out well at all. It was buried under inane violence sequences, erratic screenplay, and characters who meaninglessly flitted in and out of the screens. That violence is never eradicated but only subdued and suppressed until the soil is ripe for it to resurface – is a deeply resonant message that is true at all times. And that is the theme of this story. Look at what happens when there is a civil war. An ordinary person turns violent and does unimaginable things to others. The other thing is that violence, once cultivated and practiced, never dies. In fact, it is passed on. In Cronenberg’s film, the son inherits the violence of his father, and in Leo, too, the young boy, a sharp javelin thrower, responds instinctively to action. It is there in his blood. But all this subtlety is lost on the audience.
I started this piece with the resolve to stay within 500 words. I know I have not succeeded. So my verdict, my dear Gowtham, and Kavya is this: Leo is only for ardent Vijay fans or those who love to be benumbed by heroic violence and, yes, it may be prudent to keep a painkiller ready at home to counter a possible headache.