Readers Write In #850: Mysskin Madness

By Ananya Natarajan

(Spoilers ahead for some of his films)

Mysskin’s Psycho opens with the quote – ‘We are simultaneously worms and Gods’. Is it a nod to the multitude shades of grey that resides in his characters? Or does this refer to the two complementary shots that he is enamoured by – the yin and yang of the bird’s eye view and the low angle?

Regardless, Mysskin seems to take this lesson to heart, both spiritually and cinematically. From his interviews, it is clear that he has two major influences – Dostoevsky’s existentialism and Kurosawa’s expressionism. The former shapes the morality of his universe. The latter informs some of his cinematic idiosyncrasies and staging styles. He synthesises them with an emotional fever pitch to produce works for a modern Tamil milieu.

In his works, Dostoevsky grapples with the meaning of life. His eventual conclusion is not necessarily rational or an explicable argument. Rather, he seems to resolve it with a type of universal compassion and reaches to religion to support the same. A lot of his works feature a pure Christian figure who forgives the wrongdoing of the morally confounded characters. Forgiveness pervades Mysskin’s world too. He dunks our head into the faults and cracks of human nature – demanding us to face it, to embrace it.

In Onaayum Aatukuttiyum, the lambs forgive the Wolf for his inadvertent killing of their son – and the Wolf takes up the mantle of protecting the family as his redemption. In Psycho, Dagini recognises the child squirming within the titular character, and she becomes protective of him. Pisaasu escalates forgiveness into kaadhal. The girl who is accidently killed falls for the perpetrator. She floats above her beloved as a guardian angel, in her blue-figured, Raggedy Ann glory.

Where he diverges from Dostoevsky is in the way they deal with the concept of God. For Dostoevsky, the answer to the meaning of life is ultimately religion. He appears to be a strong proponent of Russian Orthodoxy and often posits an Orthodox Christian protagonist against atheistic and nihilistic characters. While religious symbolism abound in Mysskin’s works, God itself is referenced in a futile manner. His characters often appeal or curse at God for their misfortunes, with no particular answers in sight. Mysskin’s answer in the apparent absence of a Divine seems to be humanism – to rely on each other for compassion and support.

A strong parallel between Kurosawa and Mysskin’s characters is their exaggerated nature. The erratic ways in which the latter’s characters acted is especially reminiscent of how Toshiro Mifune portrayed his roles in Kurosawa’s movies – prone to outbursts of emotion and making inexplicable choices.

Another specific influence of Kurosawa on Mysskin is the way he stages action sequences. Often, they do not look choreographed, and a bit awkward – like how a fight might look in real life. In the final account in Rashomon, the fight sequence between the samurai and the bandit looks terribly uncoordinated – both of them slip and fall multiple times and struggle to oust the other. In the only action sequence in Pisaasu, the fight is two-sided – both the protagonist and the goons claw at and punch each other with great difficulty. This is a bit unusual for a masala-crazed audience where the invulnerable hero is ubiquitous.

But let’s throw this analysis out of the window. At an emotional core, what is it that really, really makes Mysskin’s movies click for me?

Perhaps, it is the utter tragedy that is often at the centre of his movies. The scene in Pisaasu – where Bhavani’s spirit gently removes Siddharth’s hand from her body and drags the latter to destroy it – clawed at my heart. In his best performance yet, Mysskin narrates his heart breaking story as the Wolf, veiled as a parable. These are repentant protagonists who sinned inadvertently. They would never forgive themselves for it.

Perhaps, it is due to the fact that they evoke the child within me – who was uninhibited in her emotions, cried when she wanted, laughed when she wanted and expressed rage when she wanted.

The magnetic quality of the best Mysskin characters is that they are child-like – they make unexpected choices and express themselves to the fullest possible degree.

Perhaps, it is the philosophy of compassion that cocoons his films. He shows again and again that extending a hand to a fellow human – no matter how wretched they might be – can make all the difference.