You know how we’ve made important films that examine who people are allowed to marry in our complex, problematic world. One of them, the unforgettable Kadhal, is even referenced in Sasi’s new film, Nooru Sami (which, fascinatingly enough, features Kadhal’s director Balaji Sakthivel as an antagonist). And yet, in our cinema, sometimes we fail entirely to speak of how certain women are not allowed to marry at all. That’s where Nooru Sami feels so precious.

This sweet, sensitive film patiently observes the awkwardness and the horror of even considering widow remarriage in interior Tamil Nadu. It shows an entire ecosystem disgusted by the idea, men and women filled with so much caste venom that honour, to them, instantly bisects historical feelings of love. This film speaks necessarily of our society where collective discomfort is repeatedly allowed to trump individual agency, and how this can slowly kill a person from the inside. And that’s why my favourite portions of this film are where director Sasi turns his attention inward, into Selvi’s (Swasika) own conflicted mind. Yes, society won’t let her, but wait. Will she let herself?

I loved how sensitively the film observes Selvi. I welled up over and over again watching this woman torn between being a mother, a role that demands never-ending sacrifice, and a woman independent of this role within herself, whom she has completely forgotten about. A favourite moment from the beginning is when she considers remarriage but feels so much shame in the presence of her son. All those recurring mirror shots are important because for most of the film, Selvi confronts a reflection she can hardly recognise.

There are some lovely poetic flourishes. Towards the end, in a memorable shot, both sons wrap their arms around her in protection, reassuring her that she deserves happiness beyond them. Think about how beautifully this image relates to the beginning, where the same children escape their school bus and run into her arms. Then, she was the shelter. Now, they have become hers. It’s a simple image that captures how quickly a lifetime can pass.

And yet, Sasi is bravely trying to keep this unusual film in the mainstream (to mixed results). The aggression in some scenes seems a tad cinematic (a plate flung, a glass thrown, brothers actually fighting). Certain attempts at humour, especially those YouTube portions, sit uncomfortably. The voiceovers feel unnecessary. The abrupt tonal shifts, from comedy to shock to sentiment, do take you out of things sometimes. You’re not quite done processing a joke when suddenly, someone falls to their death.

But let’s remember this film for its special ideas. No mainstream film will place a forty-plus mother of two at its centre and ask us to invest in the tragedy of her unfulfilled desires. Even after Vijay Antony arrives, like sunlight breaking through an overcast sky, the film is careful not to lose sight of Selvi. It never becomes his story; he exists merely as an embellishment, a supportive man. And let’s also remember that no mainstream film would have its protagonist hold dialogues with a ceiling fan (you read it right). And Sasi does this not as a joke, but as a way of revealing just how crushingly lonely she has become within her own home.

Above all, I loved how the film subverts familiar ideas. Think of the premise. You’ve got two adult sons, and their 40-something mother. Her role in most films would be obvious: facilitate their futures, arrange their marriages, participate in jokes with their girlfriends. But Nooru Sami asks a different question. What if the sons decided to roleplay as their mother for a period? What if they cared about her, dreamt of her future? Where are you going to get the idea of children nudging a parent towards companionship? Where are you going to get the nuance of a son changing his mind about his mother not because of a dramatic incident, but because… he simply grew up.

I did occasionally wonder whether the elder son’s enthusiasm to get Selvi married becomes too forceful, almost as though he were removing Selvi’s own agency in deciding her future. But then again, perhaps the film is arguing that she has abandoned herself for so long that someone else has to remind her, no, almost blackmail her into seeing she deserves more. These are fascinatingly complex spaces.

But yes, I do think the film occasionally gets carried away with its mainstream grammar. The thriller-like opening doesn’t belong here at all. I get the idea behind interpreting the brothers’ argument as an actual fight, but I’m not sure it works well. The strength of this film is in its quiet moments, and in how deftly it navigates so many difficult areas, including the repressed sexuality of a middle-aged mother.

There’s a remarkable scene where Selvi notices a couple making out at her workplace. In most films, this would be a device to incite our moral outrage at this poor woman being subjected to such ‘vulgarity’. Instead, Sasi takes us somewhere far more interesting. Selvi walks away unsettled, heart racing, tormented by her own suppressed desires. This small moment contains an entire emotional universe.

Nooru Sami is full of moments like that. Moments of empathy. Moments of observation. Moments where the film dares to ask what happens to a woman after society has slowly but surely convinced her that her needs do not matter, and that it’s inherently evil to even think about them. And for that, Nooru Sami is among this year’s best for me.