When Saji, sitting in the therapist’s room, cries his heart out, a mild tension building throughout the film releases not only is seeking therapy, but also men crying is normalised. Frankie takes Saji to therapy because Saji, mourning the death of his best friend (and also his father), is unable to cry. While the first half of the film deals with introducing the internal turmoil the brothers are facing but are unable to articulate because of preconceived masculine roles, the latter part of the film unpacks what it means to be masculine. Shammi’s overpowering masculinity which was until then established over the women and children, now weighs on Bobby’s shoulders. The inappropriate is said, and Shammi asks Bobby to get a job before he decides to marry Baby. This scene is so cleverly done: Bobby under Shammi’s razor-wielding hands, vulnerable to being cut if he utters anything inappropriate (which in this case is the marriage proposal) his masculinity dominated by that of Shammi’s.
When they come to meet Shammi at his barber shop, Shammi’s temper gets to them and Bobby sacrifices himself to a shave. There is always a fear boiling underneath Shammi’s pretending-hard-to-be-chill demeanour which doesn’t escape even Saji and Bobby, both of whom dress and behave in a vastly different way than Shammi. From then onwards the story, while centring on Bobby and Baby’s relationship, unties our ideas of masculinities.īobby convinces Saji to meet Shammi, Baby’s brother-in-law, to talk about Bobby and Baby’s marriage. In one of the later scenes, Bobby decides to let his masculinity get the better of him – he tries to kiss Baby in a film theatre, and after repeated failed attempts when she doesn’t allow him to, he rushes off in anger. Bobby will not help them if they refer to it as a ‘job’.īaby’s schoolgirl crush on Bobby materialises into a relationship with him, making me gush over their beautiful dates filmed over expansive, enthralling shots of the sea. So when Baby and her friend, Sumeesha (Riya Saira), want Bobby to work with them as their fishing guide for a day, they ask this as a favour. The masculinities play in contrast and in answer to each other.īobby idles away his time, unconcerned by responsibilities. What unfolds from the very first scene is a complex interaction of masculinities – Frankie’s softness collides with the indifference of his brothers and the (almost) archetypal hegemonic masculinity of Shammi, who is feared not only by his housemates but also by the neighbourhood children, one of whom admits that Shammi “is no gentleman”. Kumbalangi Nights is a beautiful glimpse into how masculinities are performed and what it does to the men performing them, as well as to their relationships. While both the houses are dysfunctional, albeit in different senses, both have also lost their family heads and new ones have (reluctantly or by force) taken over. On their father’s remembrance day, when Saji and Bobby brawl over trivialities, Bonny (Sreenath Bhasi), their fourth brother, who has come to visit, rows his boat away. Frankie, the youngest and most responsible of them, calls their house the worst in the entire neighbourhood. Unlike Shammi, neither Bobby nor Saji want to take responsibility for the house.
In a small, dilapidated house live three half-brothers, Saji (Soubin Shahir), Bobby (Shane Nigam), and Frankie (Thomas Mathew), who do not get along too well.
In the backwaters of Kumbalangi, the situation is slightly different. This is how we are introduced to Shammi, the violent patriarch of a house in Kumbalangi he shares with his newly-wedded wife, Simmy (Grace Antony), her sister Baby (Anna Ben), and her mother. From the way he caresses his moustache, you know facial hair plays an important part in his idea of masculinity. Later he pulls out a bindi stuck on the mirror, a glitch in his reflection of perfection, and spends, what feels like an eternity, adorning himself.
“Raymond, the perfect man,” says Shammi (Fahadh Faasil) as he stands in front of a bathroom mirror styling his moustache.
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