There are interesting things happening in Mandaadi. Like the grace with which the protagonist, Kaali (Soori), and his former girlfriend, Angel (Mahima Nambiar), have moved on with their lives. Like the wonderfully easy relationship Kaali is able to have with her husband, Singaram (Ravindra Vijay), with no hint of any masculine insecurity from either man. Like how Angel’s son, Maari, gets disgusted when he learns about his mother’s former relationship with his present trainer, Kaali, but quickly learns to overcome this prejudice. In fact, it’s rather telling that this youngster seems more conservative about his mother’s past than the actual adults involved.

So, yes, these are all interesting dramatic things going on, but Mandaadi doesn’t seem too impressed by any of them to sit with them for too long. Its heart seems to lie in scale (“look at this grand top shot of all these racing sailboats”, “look at these huge crowds” ), it’s more interested in heroism (“see how Kaali is barely hurt despite oars getting smashed on his head”, “see his chiselled body as he angrily rips his jersey off”), and it’s certainly interested in being loud (incessant score, constant dialogue, information always being handed to us through laboured dialogue). There’s a strange lack of trust in what fishermen must encounter at sea all the time: silence.

I’m feeling almost bad about saying that I wasn’t really emotionally engaged by Mandaadi. Because there are things of value in this film. Soori’s as-always earnest performance, for instance, complete with those fierce stares, and that natural sense of vulnerability that somehow always comes through with his characters. The portions at sea seem so painstakingly done. Everyone’s dripping wet, and it must have been a real nightmare for everyone involved. I quite liked Mahima Nambiar (as Angel), and Suhas (as Sattapuli) too, although that gruff dubbed voice for him seemed to be trying a bit too hard. Effort screams at you as you’re watching Mandaadi. But as we’ve learned over the years with many films, visible effort isn’t quite the same thing as felt emotion.

And I wondered why I wasn’t feeling it for Mandaadi. Perhaps the structure is a bit too obvious? You see friends turned foes, and when a big flashback comes at you after the interval with a ‘guru’ figure (Sathyaraj as Muni), you know who’s going to do what to whom. And exactly that happens. Intentions keep getting telegraphed well in advance because the film adheres to familiar tropes. Someone deposits money, there’s a quick shot of it, and you already know it’s gonna be stolen shortly. A man is shown to be paralysed, and you already know there’s only one guy who could have caused it. And of course, it’s him.

The film, meanwhile, tries extra-hard to milk moments. For instance, the death of Muni (Sathyaraj). But what I thought was special comes just before this big death: a tender, lovely moment when a drunk Kaali blurts out to Muni that he’s in love with his daughter, with the latter responding coolly, casually to this information. There’s no shock, no unhappiness. It’s just a sweet exchange between two sweet men. Mandaadi could have used more of this, the belief that a moment doesn’t need to be desperately sold in order for it to work.

Instead, like a boat with wind in its sails, the film races past these tender moments. Also a problem, I think, is how individual shots are barely allowed to breathe. The film seems cut to create a feeling of urgency (you know how it is with such cinema), and even quite early in the first half, I remember a sense of fatigue setting in. There’s a montage song just before a practice race, and the way it’s edited, I found myself wishing they’d let me soak in a few shots for a few more seconds at least. Visual of Kaali leading a group of youngsters. Cut. Visual of some training on. Cut. Visual of someone watching. Cut. And on and on. Sometimes, too much coverage is an issue in these films. So anxious are such films about losing our attention that they don’t allow us to properly give it our attention in the first place.

Look, the setting is detailed, and I particularly liked all the finer intricacies of sailboat racing (even though a lot of it went flying past me). There’s lots going on here: wind movement and masts and ropes and you get the idea. And I liked that there’s real intent to make all of this not just flavour but an inherent part of the plot and the action choreography as well. A rope that’s secretly cut almost results in the death of Kaali’s team members. The way the sea churns seems to tell Kaali a lot about how to approach sailing. Even an eagle flying in the sky becomes information about how to survive. Wind direction matters. Water matters. Ropes matter. Nature isn’t just prettiness here; it’s language. And I liked that Mandaadi eagerly tries to teach us about it.

Yes, there’s all of this in this film, but… Amid all the noise and urgency and hero-elevation attempts, I kept searching for some internal life, some soul I could latch on to. I thought there was some promise in a friendship going awry on account of a father getting paralysed by accident. And given that Kaali is gentle enough to seek forgiveness from Angel by falling at her feet, conflicted enough not to actively look to kill Sattapuli (Suhas) for revenge, I wondered why we never truly get to see what he feels about having inflicted lifelong paralysis on a man simply because the latter tried to manhandle his boss. What does living with something like that do to a man like Kaali? Does he feel guilt? Has he rationalised it? Does he struggle to look at this man? I’m not asking for a monologue; just for the writing to show curiosity about it.

Mandaadi is curious about sailboats, about racing, about what happened to these people, but not always curious enough about what all of these happenings do to them. Angel and Kaali have moved on. Maari overcomes his prejudice. Kaali, out of guilt, changes his mind about seeking revenge. These people are constantly changing shape, finding new ways of live with what’s happened. It feels like beneath this attempt at a spectacle film, there’s a more fascinating emotional film. Perhaps if it weren’t so preoccupied with scale, sound levels and hero-elevation objectives, some of it might have come through better. This is a film that speaks of air and how crucial it is for survival in the sea. It’s strange then that its storytelling could have used so much more of it.