In a stark reminder of the ideological double standards in India’s censor board decisions, the recently released Tamil film Thug Life, a slick yet sleazy gangster drama featuring Kamal Haasan, has walked away with a U/A certificate despite depicting morally questionable themes and vulgar relational dynamics. Meanwhile, Paramasivan Fathima, a film exploring the contentious issue of religious conversion and rooted in Tamil spiritual heritage, has been slapped with an ‘A’ certificate—even after 14 censor cuts.

The Hypocrisy Of Certification

Thug Life, directed by the celebrated Mani Ratnam and starring Kamal Haasan and Silambarasan TR, sells itself as a gritty gangster epic. In reality, the plot is a regressive, cringe-worthy mess. The central storyline revolves around Rangaraya Sakthivel, an ageing gangster played by Haasan, who juggles between a wife and a mistress (Trisha Krishnan) in a disturbingly casual affair. What’s worse is the later development where Simbu’s character, raised as a son by Haasan’s character, takes over his father figure’s mistress as his own romantic partner—with no emotional or ethical reckoning.

Despite this distasteful, sleazy narrative arc, the Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC) issued Thug Life a U/A (16+) certificate with only two minor mutings of cuss words—allowing it easy access to theatrical releases, satellite deals, and OTT platforms.

In contrast, Paramasivan Fathima, directed and produced by a relatively lesser-known filmmaker, offers a strong cultural commentary on the impact of religious conversions in rural Tamil Nadu. Drawing inspiration from the Periyapuranam, the film critically examines how missionary activity—often disguised as charity—can erode familial and cultural structures in Tamil society. It also highlights the contradiction of Christian institutions receiving state aid while openly promoting religious indoctrination.

Despite addressing serious societal issues without any explicit vulgarity or gory violence, Paramasivan Fathima received an ‘A’ certificate, limiting its theatrical scope, blocking its access to major satellite and OTT deals, and severely affecting the producer’s financial prospects. The filmmaker has publicly lamented that the A certification, unjustified in content terms, is costing him key distribution deals even though the lead actor has significant market value.

“I’ve already agreed to 14 cuts. But the A certificate means I can’t sell to FMS or satellite. Everyone is asking, why this film? Why this label for this content?” said the director at a recent press interview with Pesu Tamizha Pesu.

Ideology or Certification?

The disparity raises uncomfortable questions. If Thug Life—a film that portrays extra-marital affairs, regressive gender politics, and a plot twist straight out of soft-core melodrama—can get away with a U/A certificate under the guise of artistic freedom and “raw gangster cinema,” why is a film like Paramasivan Fathima, which interrogates religious conversions and reaffirms Tamil Hindu identity, treated as adult content?

Even more telling is how Thug Life uses its U/A rating to mask deeply problematic content behind the veneer of “mainstream cinema.” Kamal Haasan’s character is not just flawed—he’s glorified, even after cheating on his wife, lying to his son figure, and being complicit in morally bankrupt decisions. The affair, far from being critically explored, is normalized. Trisha’s character, shown first as the father’s mistress and later as the son’s love interest, is a disturbing example of character recycling without a shred of ethical reflection.

Meanwhile, Paramasivan Fathima is cautious, even apologetic in its approach. It critiques colonial tropes, skewers casteist filmmakers, and calls out foreign-funded conversion tactics—but does so through dialogue and metaphors, not blood and sleaze. It reclaims the Tamil spiritual identity without vilifying other faiths—yet is deemed unsafe for a general audience.

Thug Life isn’t just a cinematic failure; it’s a cultural statement in how mediocrity and moral grey zones are rewarded when wrapped in celebrity glamour. Paramasivan Fathima, for all its production flaws, dares to ask difficult questions about identity, faith, and cultural continuity. And for that courage, it pays a steep price.

In the end, this isn’t about one film versus another. It’s about fairness. About whether India’s film certification system can treat all stories equally—without punishing some for challenging narratives that make the elite uncomfortable.

Because if a film about an old gangster lusting over two women gets a U/A, and a film about religious conversion gets an ‘A’—then maybe the real story isn’t just on screen.

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