Burdened beyond his years, a tender-hearted boy from a world far removed from contemporary cinema discourse sits at his bench in school. With the naivities of the age tussling inexplicable feelings he is suddenly brushed with, he takes out a pink, embroidered handkerchief from his pocket and takes a whiff. Like the presence of the person who gave it to him, the cotton too transports him to a world of comfort.
The situation, what the cloth means to him in that scenario, and the relief he feels from it, send him a cold shiver. Now, how would you capture this feeling? In Vaazhai , we see a slow-motion close-up of his feet, letting go of the cold stone floor underneath, and clenching the wooden footrest under his desk. This is just one of the countless moments in the film that make you ponder if cinema could, after all, make you feel the mud under your feet or the pangs of hunger on a sunny day.
In a particular scene, an empath would think of the taste of wind on a parched tongue. In his most personal work yet, director Mari Selvaraj displays exceptional control over his film language. A still from ‘Vaazhai’| Photo Credit:Special Arrangement Through the three feature films and his written work, including ‘Marakkave Ninaikkiren,’ Mari had attempted to ease himself of all the pain he had been carrying.
Vaazhai , a film he had wanted to make his debut with, is a tale inspired by a deep-seated trauma that, as he had said, had become the bedrock for who he has grown to become..