Out of the Box
Having started out as the boy next door, actor Vikrant Massey is now more than just a goody two-shoes
Believe it or not, but Vikrant Massey spilled the word “feminazi” during this conversation. It probably comes from a place of frustration around what is being said about his recent film, Haseen Dillruba. Vinil Mathew’s film, starring Massey, Taapsee Pannu and Harshvardhan Rane, saw some criticism for the way it handled its ‘pulpy’ climax. Some opined the film (inadvertently) ‘endorsed’ the characters’ violent ways. Massey shares his two cents on some of the criticism coming his way: “I think it’s the sign of an empty society that people engage [in discourse] like this. But I also understand a lot of these people are unaware, or they have completely skipped the part where we have gone out of our way to say it’s a pulp fiction world. I think most of them understand ‘pulp fiction’ only when it’s in a Quentin Tarantino film,” says Massey whose second release this month, 14 Phere, premiered on Zee5 on July 23.
Making his debut on TV in shows like Dharam Veer (2008) and Balika Vadhu (2008-2016), Massey has slowly but surely built his reputation as a multi-faceted actor. Making an assured debut in Vikram Motwane’s Lootera (2013), Massey had his breakout moment as the lead in Konkona Sen Sharma’s A Death in the Gunj (2016). Though helped by ravenous OTT platforms wanting to fill their content factories, it’s a testament to Massey’s undeniable talent and hard work that he has gone from the ‘hero’s best friend’ to a ‘leading man’ in just a few years.
Starting out as a dutiful ‘good boy’ on screen, Massey has made a conscious effort to bring some ‘edge’ to his recent roles. “Initially, it helped me in a lot of ways. People even said it made me unique, but it does become redundant. I believe I’m far from unidimensional, so I would like to tap into as many characters as possible,” says Massey. Case in point, his role as Rishabh in Haseen Dillruba, who could very well be a small-town jilted lover mascot. Despite mixed reviews, most critics maintained that Massey was the best suited for his part.
Massey has a disarming sincerity that helps him shine even in some inane projects. But having carved a niche for himself as a solid ‘actor’, graduating to an A-list ‘star’ might well be a whole new deal. Massey says, “My strategy is simple: I’m an actor and I wish to be a part of varied films. I wouldn’t want to change anything about my career because I’m not delusional. Creating a character out of thin air is a matter of chance. If you resonate, you resonate.” ■
Over one rainy week in July, two heavyweights lock horns in a ring. The 2021 version of ‘Rumble in the Jungle’ features an Amazonian showdown between two pugilists from opposite ends of the Indian sports-movie spectrum. Both of them idolise the great Muhammad Ali. In the red corner is Toofaan, a July 16 release, rooted in the squalor of modern-day Mumbai’s Dongri: a Hindi-language drama helmed by Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra, starring Farhan Akhtar as a Muslim brawlerturned-boxer. Toofaan veers from simple to simplistic. The film is more of a reaction to cinema than life, hitting all the old-school Bollywood notes: underdog orphan, interfaith romance, public downfall, private redemption. The result is a safe, template-driven potboiler—coached by predecessors like Mary Kom (2014), Apne (2007) and Boxer (1984). Muhammad Ali’s shadow looms large but only in a physical sense—the protagonist is inspired by his technique, his skills. Even the cultural nuances—Islamophobia, matchfixing—are appropriated in service of a broader Bible. In short, Toofaan is the kind of film where humans only play a role in boxing narratives.
In the blue corner is Sarpatta Parambarai, a July 22 release, rooted in the clan rivalries of 1970s’ Northern Madras: a Tamil-language drama helmed by Pa Ranjith and starring Arya as a Dalit port worker-turned-fighter. It’s not so much Muhammad Ali’s inimitable craft as his sociopolitical legacy that influences the frames of Sarpatta Parambarai. The film understands that the sport itself is a primal medium of protest—against poverty, caste oppression, an autocratic regime (it’s set in the Emergency years). It’s the kind of movie that hinges on boxing playing a role in the human narrative.
This is evident in how the almighty climax—a bout in which protagonist Kabilan (i.e., “capable”) represents the diminished Sarpatta clan against the unbeaten champion of the Idiyappa clan—almost happens midway through the film, only to be interrupted by elements beyond the sport. In a way, this first half is its own beast. It wears the robes of a tropey boxing drama, before culminating in a riot that suggests
Indian sport is rarely about performing on the field. In the guise of a personal redemption tale, the second half paints a frenzied portrait of a boxing culture that survives despite—and not because of— the vagaries of human pride. The filmmaking manages to create an energy that at once celebrates the region’s passion for a sport while also lamenting its slow demise. There is never any doubt that the ring, and what it stands for, is a speck of escapism in a sea of reality.
Sarpatta Parambarai follows in the footsteps of a spiritual predecessor, Anurag Kashyap’s
Mukkabaaz (2017). Both films reveal a country that refuses to let boxing—as well as its practitioners—transcend the individualism of glory. The stakes of an actual match are defined by the dayto-day challenges of caste, cow vigilantism, nationalism and religious bigotry. This, in turn, is why the fight scenes of such films look more authentic. It’s not so much about the way they’re shot and edited, or even the actual moves of the fighters. It’s more about the geocultural intensity leading up to the fight.
For too long, the Indian sports film has isolated the concept of heroism. The sport sacrifices its identity at the altar of the generic underdog grit. But the narrative density of films like Mukkabaaz and now Sarpatta Parambarai signals a necessary reclamation of legacy—and a reminder that heroism on the fringes isn’t about being the best. Kabilan may be the greatest boxer in North Madras, but chances are he will wake up next morning a better person: a better husband, son, protégé and friend. It isn’t about winning so much as winning the day. A boxing movie may never feel new again, but Sarpatta Parambarai is old, new, slow, fast, big and small all at once. There is no title at stake, but this victor holds the power to change the game. ■
—Rahul Desai