At three hours, Prithviraj Sukumaran’s L2: Empuraan is not a slog for even a split second. It traverses a gamut of exigencies on the burning issue of international terrorism to show us that the more we plough through time, the less we comprehend the vast complexities of the dynamics of terror and violence.
The film opens during an unnamed communal pogrom in a North Indian state(no, no, not Godhra) where men, women, children, and unborn babies are massacred indiscriminately by a villain ominously named Baba Bajrang (Abhimanyu Singh) who gives the plot a run for the saffron.
Singh portrays red-hot evil, and Sukant Goel, as his right-hand manslaughter, is even more vile.
The vivid portrayal of carnage made me think. How important it is for the evil to be effectively represented for the good to be coherent. L2: Empuraan is not finicky about pounding into the festering wounds of a battered civilization in pursuit of answers to the question that we often ask: when did our country become divided on the basis of religion?
Ah, and the other question: does the politics of Kerala, and by extension the nation, suffer from congenital corruption? Is there a finality to the venality? The rounded format of the complex plot suggests there is no end to the vicious circle triggered by the heady mix of religion and politics.
There is the seeds of a devious political thriller over here when siblings Tovino Thomas and Manju Warrier, both in fine form, find themselves on the opposite sides of the political fence, with one joining hands with radicals and the other fighting to remain true to her father’s secular corruption-free ideology.
Both Warrier and Thomas are riveting on their moral ground. But their battle of morality gets diluted by the slippery and scattered stands of storytelling that spread their tentacles every which way until we are unsure of who is on the shakier ground: the characters pawning their conscience for power or us, the audience trying our utmost, not to judge them in the light of their chaotic ambitions.
Eventually it all comes together in a climax where the pulverized plot culminates at the point where it all began. The film is uniquely structured with no leeway for the lazy section of the audience to be spoonfed information on the characters who come and go as the plot deems suitable.
As an actor, the very watchable Prithviraj Sukumaran has very little to do except towards the climax. As a director, he reveals a sound sense of storytelling, weaving twists into the drama with an attentive grasp of the grammar of violence. Mohanlal’s double identity as a wounded doer and a compromised messiah is not fleshed out in detail. A large part of our comprehension of the abstruse plot depends on our familiarity with the first part of the trilogy.
Mohanlal’s Lucifer doesn’t have all the answers on the conundrum of contemporary politics. But he makes the questions seem like an integral part of the answers.
This is a film in a hurry to get along, not sure how to get there, but certain of where it is going. Sujith Vaassudev’s cinematography is a solid ally to Prithviraj’s vision. Even as it portrays a heart gone to seed, the film looks stressed to kill.
