In a time when cinema claims to mirror society’s evolving values, Kaadhalikka Neramillai attempts to embrace progressiveness but falters in ways that are both baffling and frustrating. What starts as a celebration of modern ideals spirals into a chaotic portrayal of questionable decisions, misplaced priorities, and unrealistic social dynamics.
The heroine, portrayed by Nithya Menen as an Iyer Brahmin girl, openly admits to her parents—especially her visibly irked mother—that she has lost her virginity. While cinema can be a space for breaking stereotypes, this moment feels tone-deaf. As a Tamil girl myself, belonging to the same generation the film tries to represent, such a scene feels far removed from reality. Despite our exposure to modernity, respecting parental values and maintaining a sense of decorum remains integral. It’s not progressiveness to hurt or humiliate parents, especially when it adds no depth or purpose to the story.
Her father’s nonchalant reaction and the aunt enabling her post-breakup indulgence in alcohol and cigarettes further stretch credibility. It’s one thing to explore rebellion in cinema, but reducing a family to caricatures that actively encourage self-destructive behaviours is neither relatable nor progressive. Even in households with more liberal attitudes, such extreme portrayals feel disconnected from any semblance of reality.
The second half explores IVF, suddenly digressing from its so-called progressive subjects. Nithya’s IVF baby meeting Jayam Ravi creates another awkward subplot where his ex-lover—who broke up with him over his disinterest in having children—becomes jealous. This outdated and unnecessary conflict highlights the story’s lack of understanding of contemporary issues. Ms Kiruthiga, it’s 2020. Society has evolved, and people have become more civilised. Don’t recycle an outdated topic from the 90s. No educated woman today becomes jealous of a child receiving attention.
The so-called heroine sneaking in to have hilsa fish prepared by the hero’s father (Lal) was another cringeworthy moment. Portraying a Brahmin woman raised vegetarian as suddenly relishing fish and hating dosas made at home is stereotypical, forced, and, frankly, racist. This shallow attempt at ‘progressive’ storytelling feels reductive, especially considering the director and the team have consistently propagated anti-Brahmin ideologies on and off screen.
The film’s central love story raises more eyebrows. A register marriage between the heroine and her ex-lover, played by John Kokken, happens despite parental approval. What message does this convey? Is the director suggesting that love marriages should only be legitimised through rebellion and clandestine decisions, even when families are supportive? This portrayal undermines the idea of mutual respect in relationships and family bonds, which are crucial even in progressive narratives.
Adding to this patchwork of questionable choices is Jayam Ravi’s character, who breaks up with his girlfriend because he doesn’t want children—arguably one of the few rational and fair moments in the film. However, his LGBTQIA+ friend Vinay complicates matters further. Vinay, who is romantically inclined towards men, expresses a desire to have his own biological child. While the LGBTQIA+ community’s rights and desires are important topics, this depiction seems tone-deaf and disconnected from the realities of modern queer parenting. Even in progressive societies, same-sex couples tend to adopt or opt out of parenting altogether, recognising the societal and logistical challenges involved. Suggesting that a single gay man can dismiss the value of a mother’s role based on a flimsy analogy—because a friend lost his mother early—is reductive and undermines the complexities of queer parenting.
What makes this depiction worse is its insensitivity to broader issues. In certain contexts, like the US, recent controversies involving child exploitation have raised questions about the vulnerabilities of unconventional parenting setups. While these concerns shouldn’t generalise or stigmatise, the film’s naïve handling of the topic adds nothing meaningful to the conversation.
Kaadhalikka Neramillai might have aimed to present a bold, progressive narrative, but its execution seems confused, inconsistent, and out of touch. Progressiveness isn’t about glorifying rebellion or rejecting tradition for its own sake—it’s about finding balance, respecting context, and evolving in ways that genuinely enrich relationships and society. Sadly, this film misses that mark by a wide margin.
Sruti is a University student whose work has been featured in student newspapers and lifestyle magazines.
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