These carefully layered addenda might collectively be taken as a softening, were they not so urgently needed as grace notes. Aadujeevitham's first half is a sorry string of deprivations and humiliations, in which we witness Najeeb first kicked by a goat he's tried to milk from the wrong end, then headbutted by an angry ram. (Just when you think he's getting the hang of this nature lark, he blunders into a fight scene with CG vultures.) Najeeb is so profoundly useless at the tasks he's been pressganged into performing - it's like asking a software engineer to build a barn, or kiss a girl - that we might wonder why his ruthless employers don't just cut him loose: he can barely bring a jug of milk to table without spilling it, so he hasn't a hope of dodging hailstones the size of baseballs. Yet what Blessy shapes from his story is a secular parable of endurance: that of a hapless fellow who spends time enough in the desert to regain his bearings and achieve something between basic competence and enlightenment. His progress is aided by Blessy's ability to pick the most memorable images at each stage. A thin trickle of spilled water merges with a wide shot of a river. Fragments of a shattered mirror in the sand speak both to years of bad luck and an identity in the course of being atomised and reconstructed. A scrap of paper, on which a man's life may depend, is scattered to the desert winds. A shoe gets removed to reveal a foot that is now one big blister. Throughout, Sukumaran does compelling work as someone who isn't heroic in the conventional movie sense, rather a bumbler and a fumbler whose survival actually gives us only greater reason to cheer, because Najeeb's panic, indecision and ineptitude aren't so far from our own in unfamiliar surroundings. The whole constitutes one of those new and distinctive-feeling stories Malayalam cinema has been excelling at finding of late, not to mention a film that seems to fix all manner of problems with Western films that laboured through similar territory. (I'm thinking specifically of Herzog's Rescue Dawn, which did something roughly comparable with Christian Bale in the jungle, and Peter Weir's desert-set The Way Back.) Blessed as he is with the popular touch, Blessy gives us the discovery, wonder and action necessary to convert a taut and terse account of latter-day slavery into an epic that fully merits the term; his film is as if Lawrence of Arabia had focused not on a Great Man of History, but some bloke who took a wrong turn and stumbled into the back of shot, where he remained understandably petrified of the surrounding camels.
Aadujeevitham/The Goat Life is now playing in selected cinemas.
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