The Joy of Watching Jailer 2

 "Old is gold", the saying goes, and it cannot be truer for a generation and some thriving on frequent doses of nostalgia. Actually, 'nostalgia' might be a bit of a blanket statement, for the "old" actually surpasses generational boundaries. Don't believe me? Ilaiyaraaja composed a wholesome album called Dorothy just this year (2026), and he is 83. Eighty-three. In the last 12 months, he has done five-hour-long live concerts - standing on the stage throughout the duration - apart from penning symphonies and performing them live. He appeared in the music video of Muthumani, a trippy techno banger from Dorothy. At 30, I cannot bear extreme lights in a pub or a concert hall. The man is 83. Did I mention he still sings perfectly well?

Singeetham Srinivasa Rao, a legendary director of his own league, directed a full-length movie (Sing Geetham) earlier this year. He was 95. Ninety-five. The legend passed earlier this month (October 2026).

Then, there is Thalaivar. Who is that, you ask me? I say, 'One Sun, One Moon, and One...' You are probably already hearing that trademark Thalaivar laugh, almost as a suffix to a word. He is 75. And the age shows. There are wrinkles. The skin has lost its glow. The eyes are displaying signs of the typical, minor squint that comes with old age. The pace of the walk has slowed a bit. He does not fight like he used to: mouth opening and closing in rhythm with the choreography of the stunts. Dance was never his forte, anyway. And he and the makers probably realised that. So, there is not even an effort to make him walk from one end of the screen to another in an 'item number' - and there are two of them - unlike Kaavaalaa.

But what he still does with sheer perfection - as he has always done - is own his screen presence. How many seventy-five-year-olds can overcome their deficiencies with the basic acts of looking, being, walking, and smiling? And when he calls, an army of actors assemble even for tokenistic appearances. Quite literally. This is unfathomable power. And with that great power comes great responsibility. Of having to be eccentric and narcissistic - Superstar fans expect Superstar to be the Superstar, after all - in terms of individual image-building, while still giving others their power moments. Having to own slow-motion scenes and gunfire while still giving others options to do the same.

Let's take a pause, though. What made Thalaivar 'THALAIVAR'? Such a dumb question. Almost rhetorical in nature. C'mon - the walk, the smile, the smoke, the fights, SPB's vocal backing, yada yada. Of course, all of these are true, and as the saying goes, legends are not born but made. A confluence of factors plays a part in the careful crafting of a phenomenon. But there is always a point - or a few canonical events - that creates the proverbial hockey-stick growth of sorts. Three points, in Thalaivar's case. Annamalai. Baasha. Arunachalam. Other than Thalaivar, what/who is the Highest Common Factor across all these three iconic movies? The director? No. Suresh Krissna directed two of those three movies. The cinematography, production, and editing were all handled by different people. The music? Oh, yes. The music for all these phenomenal movies was composed by none other than Deva. Unfortunately, Deva is no more. He passed on 17th October 2026, the very same day I had a chance to watch Jailer 2. Who would have guessed watching the unmatchable Superstar name-card, accompanied by that evergreen theme music, would become such an emotional roller-coaster? The theatre erupted - and this was not the trademark Kamala or Kasi or Rohini cinema halls, and we were not watching in Tamil Nadu by any chance; this was Cinecitta Nuremberg - and Deva would have been letting out his typical laugh, seeing it happen yet another time.

Speaking of the "Old is gold" legends, Deva was doing live concerts as well in his 70s. In fact, he had a line-up of live-in-concert events scheduled when he passed. Thaenisai Thendral and Thalaivar share almost the same age as well. Would I be generous enough to elevate someone of my age to stardom at work? I don't think so. Artists are a breed, for sure; they manage to transcend some innately crass human tendencies.

I can't help but go to a few Toy Stories 5 quotes to compare the indescribable electricity of Thalaivar, especially in the age of "Oh, the theatres are dying", "The OTTs are everywhere", "What happens to the communal act of gathering together at one common place to watch something/someone larger-than-life?" I can imagine Deva in Jessie's shoes stating, "Bonnie Thalaivar is growing up, and we don't get to decide when and where that happens. All that matters is that we were there at the right time to help her him along." I am thinking of Thalaivar breaking the fourth wall and stating what Woody says: "Toys OTTs are for play comfort, but tech... a theatre is for everything." OR Thalaivar being Buzz Lightyear and going, "Our mission on this planet is to make a child happy the audience erupt in frenzy."

Think of what all makes fans go ga-ga. Thalaivar's introduction. He holds back an adolescent - not a goon, not the villain, not even any adult - with the handle of an umbrella. Picture this for a moment. A 75-year-old grandpa trying to collar an 18-something. Would you, swear to God, laugh? You would, for any other grandpa. That is what differentiates a personality from a phenomenon. Of course, there is the slow-mo. There is the wind gushing through the hair. There is the angled shot of showing the umbrella itself. But a hundred people are not flying. Nobody is landing punches or kicks. Just an oldie holding a young man back. This is a hero confronting and gracefully accepting the inevitable idea of ageing, yet managing to hold the swagger of a star.

Speaking of swagger, how can we not talk about the tea kadai scene? There is a beautiful demonstration of "With great power comes great responsibility". No, I am n ot talking about Thalaivar now. This is about Anirudh. Obviously, he is the omnipresent composer of the current generation. Needless to say, he has grabbed all the tips and tricks to make music work across the emotional spectrum (Sadly, he uses AI slop or Super Subbu/Vishnu Edavan slop for lyrics, does not employ too many singers in his soundtracks, and has probably created a kinda-sorta cartel, but these are rants for another day). When his music drops, people tune in and listen. And he uses a beautiful classical aalaap to elevate the scene. It could have been the same trumpet-y Alappara sound. It could have been electric guitars riffing through the roof. But no - there is the vocals. I kept wondering - thanks to my limited classical music knowledge - whether it branched from the raaga Darbari or Kaanada or Saramati. Not the point, though. A Thalaivar elevation scene sans any of the staple musical elements of a Thalaivar elevation scene was a treat to watch.

We also need to talk about Anirudh. Naturally, he understands the party and dance culture better than anybody else does. The Jailer 2 audio launch function was called 'Jailer 2 Rave', after all. There are different kinds of parties, though. Want to shout in stadiums and concert halls at the mere hint of a musical instrument? You have One Name. Fancying a hookah trip with some slow beats? There is One Sun, One Moon. Wondering what a corporate party or a pub with a Tamil flavour would look like? In comes Vera Maari. A house party? Here you go with Puttappu Gang. Not to forget the quirky usage of the ARR composition Yaakkai Thiri, the gold standard for a party, in what only Nelson can muster as a scene.

Sticking with that tea shop scene, there is gore. A lot of it. I almost cringed at the way I cringed at Animal in one part of the scene involving a pregnant lady. However, the concluding portion of that scene is a visual treat (and I feel almost sadistic when I write it that way). Nelson and his cinematographers have their own ways of lighting a gun-fire sequence; this happened in Beast (Manoj Paramahamsa is the cinematographer there) during that shield-shoot scene in the mall. The lighting of that scene, in tandem with bullets being fired, was so elegant it almost made the forgettable scene semi-memorable. It goes several notches above. The camera almost behaves like a timid young child closing his/her eyes while witnessing a fight, but the lights of the fire reflecting on the wall make it an interesting visual scene. The camera-behaving-like-a-timid-young-child process happens when Thalaivar is getting beaten as well. Particularly in that scene, the camera was Rithvik (the grandson) and Rithvik was the camera. Both the camera and the child do not want to witness a dear person being punched in the face.

People complain a lot about the violence, and justifiably so. We should not condone it at all. But I cannot help but talk about yet another act of violence - the decapitation scene. Yes, it is gory, to start with. However, the stylistic choice of where the head gets deposited is interesting. It almost blends into a statue, like a mannequin. And while the snipers still exist in key moments in the sequel as well, the idea of counter-snipers and the insider-outsider gun-shooting scene were also interesting twists on the same foundational idea.

However, the greatest battles are not the actual fights and the killing. The restraint amidst trauma and guilt is the greatest fight Thalaivar is facing. And in that fight, he is the hero and the villain. When he crumbles down after being punched repeatedly, one could almost see not just the physical fall but also the devastation of the inner conscience crashing. I mean, he was lighting a diya in remembrance of Arjun, his own son whom he killed. In any other universe, this must have become a sequel to Anjaan (where Raju bhai goes in search of himself, masquerading as a non-existent brother, Krishna). But Thalaivar makes this trauma, the sadness, the emotional toll believable and realistic. In fact, for most parts of the movie, there is a stoic, deadpan-ness to Thalaivar's eyes that conveys the trauma unmissably.

When there is trauma and helplessness, though, there is mostly always an antidote. And the antidote in Jailer 2 is the superb Netru Ponavai, almost acting like a spiritual sequel in its own right to Rathamaareyi from the first part, both having been penned by Vignesh Shivan (who I always feel is a far superior lyricist than a director). Shankar Mahadevan replaces Vishal Mishra in Netru Ponavai, and boy-oh-boy, what a whiff of pleasant air it was to not hear Anirudh's voice yet another time! Oh, that made me also check Shankar Mahadevan's and Hariharan's Wikipedia pages. They are 59 and 71, respectively. As has been made clear, "Old is gold".

I can keep talking about aspects that have mostly been talked about a lot elsewhere as well. For starters, Namo Narayana becomes the second iconic "Moorthi Anna" after M S Bhaskar in Dheiva Thirumagal. His role deserves its own essay, breakdown, and more. There is also the clear extension of the character Namo Narayana himself played in Naadodigal.

But at the end of the day, it is all Thalaivar. In case there is Jailer 3 - which I hope there is, for bravehearts are hoping to release Indian 3 - there are explorations of the backstory, hopefully.

So, yes. He did a lot of stupid things. He preached toxic masculinity through his earlier movies. He probably spoiled a whole generation and some, with that oasis of a promise about the political entry. However, these oldies are currently going through their pookie phase. This is true for Maestro. This is true for Thalaivar.

And Rajinikanth will always and forever be the one and only Superstar.

My solidarity with DMK has a lot to do with Harris Jayaraj; let me explain!

 A friend and I were having a chat about elections, the verdict, the debacle DMK suffered, and more; of course, we were going back and forth on the missed opportunity, the complacency demonstrated by some ministers, the arrogance shown by a few more of them, and how all of these perceptively made it seem like no good work had been done. More importantly, we were also discussing how we should have been more vocal and articulate about the fact that he and I are direct and/or indirect beneficiaries of the social and economic development championed by DMK (and also by AIADMK). Somewhere during this rabbit-hole of a conversation, he asked me a question that caught me off guard: "Have you ever felt guilty previously about not having stood with someone or something that meant much to you?" Without a second thought came my response - "Yes, Harris Jayaraj".

And, I meant it sincerely and remorsefully.

The music cassettes that used to play in our home when I was in kindergarten and early primary schooling were, of course, always albums of A R Rahman, who, without a doubt, has been and will be a legend in his own right. In fact, it is because of ARR's stature - and not despite - Harris' arrival with the absolute banger of an album in Minnale became so much more impactful. While hegemony is not the most appropriate word in this context, it appeared that someone with the soundscape of ARR but with a more pristine mixing, mastering, and engineering technique had arrived to challenge the dominance of the legend. And, I say this as a lifelong Tamil film music listener with the fullest awareness of the existence of Ilaiyaraaja (the bigger legend who continues to be a force to be reckoned with to date), Yuvan Shankar Raja, S A Rajkumar, Deva, Vidhyasagar, and many more talented composers who carved their own fame within the industry.

My initial interest in playing the keyboard blossomed after listening to Harris Jayaraj's songs. Not ARR, whose songs were a daily staple in our home. Not Ilaiyaraaja, whose songs were omnipresent in salons, buses, tailor shops, laundry shops, and mechanic shops. In fact, the first ever tune I played was the prelude of Nenjukkul Peidhidum from Vaaranam Aayiram. I still remember the keyboard settings in the Yamaha PSR E-313 I still own. You've got to set the rhythm to 'Guitar Pop' (#13 on the list of pre-programmed rhythms). You choose A major as the scale. Set tempo somewhere around 85, perhaps. And, play.

I did not know anything about the nuances of music back then - nor now (but at least I have shown iterative improvements) - but was able to feel the bass boost when Krish sings after the first charanam, "Mudhal Mudhalaaga Mudhal Mudhalaaga..." in Unnaale Unnaale. I could feel the beat drop in Manjal Veyil (Vettaiyaadu Vilaiyaadu). Of course, O Mama (Minnale) remained such a festival of instruments and vocals, and remains so. When the evergreen O Supernova dropped in sync with the Ayan title card, I remember literally going bonkers, in awe of the genius of the track. The guitar opening of Adiye Kolludhey was rousing, but the choice of genre for Uyirin Uyire blew my mind. Saamy Theme Music became a phenomenon in itself. And, Vaseegara (or Zara Zara in Hindi), for some reason, reminds me of the coolness of the monsoon season and the aroma of the soil; NOT a song with the lyric, 'Mazhai' / 'Baarish', but Vaseegara.

And yet, the constant refrain from relatives in a particularly Carnatic music-inclined family was, "This is just Church music." I learned to ignore those dismissive remarks and not pay heed to them, for fear of being tagged someone who did not appreciate puritanical tastes in music. My classmates in school kept trolling Harris as the guy who repeats his tunes; I never went on the offensive for the hesitation of being trolled. In fact, at some point, identifying myself as a Harris fan in public became an aspect that I did not want to display.

Then came the orchestrated trolling en masse on social media. Stand-up comics started making skits and scripts out of Harris. When Alexander Babu did Jesus, Harris, and TamChris, I laughed along as an audience. When YouTube comments and Facebook discussions started name-tagging Harris as 'copycat', I went silent. On the one hand, my personal cowardice weighed me down. On the other hand, I always imagined that real success would speak louder than trolls.

But, no. Harris started going out of market. And, it started looking like a schemed conspiracy. Those who stood in stages and talked rubbish about Harris never critiqued Anirudh or other erstwhile new-age composers for similar reasons. When director Jeeva passed in the midst of the Dhaam Dhoom shoot, Harris lost a long-standing partner. I was crestfallen when Gautam Menon decided to part ways with Harris and instead work with ARR, and then with Ilaiyaraaja, for his movies; this is the person who introduced Harris as a composer in Kollywood with Minnale. When the Vinnai Thaandi Varuvaayaa album became a blockbuster (of course, the ARR touch!), I felt so annoyed while secretly admiring the album. When K V Anand also passed, it felt like the rightful people who would have provided Harris an opportunity for a stunner of a comeback had all departed or moved on.

Harris Jayaraj defined my early and late teens. And, by no means is that an understatement. This was despite G V Prakash's early albums, including Veyil and Madharasapattinam. And definitely, this was despite a then little-known Anirudh arriving in the Kollywood music space with 3. Every composer's songs are in my playlist - no doubt - but my go-to is always Harris and his music. When he composed for Legend after what could easily be seen as a forced hiatus of sorts, I was the happiest to see glimpses of the man back. Mosalo Mosalu remained on loop for months on end, and it still happens to be one of the tracks to turn to. However, the Dhruva Natchathiram delays all but pulled the curtains on my last hopes of Harris becoming part of the Kollywood mainstream again.

For what Harris gave me - peace when I felt lonely; confidence when I felt I could never play keyboard; a sense of identity (that I had Harris' music to associate myself with), even if it remained secret - I will forever carry the guilt that I never stood for him nor did I fight tooth-and-nail with the narrative that created an illusion. I never spoke back to my relatives, "So, what if this is Church music? Music is music, and this is the most pleasant to hear." I never countered, "So, what if his tunes are a bit repetitive? There is magic in creating distinctions within similarities!" when my friends went about attacking his musical choices.

And hence, when I watch Reels of @imonishvlogs and @inba_personal decoding the layering in Harris' songs or the minutest details in his instrumentation and engineering these days, I am filled with a time that once was. Every time Harris goes with his army of singers for a live concert, there is an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia. Yes, this composer had his limitations and flaws, and his repertoire was definitely not as flamboyant as the new-age musicians. But none of these was reason enough to sideline him for years at a stretch. I am acutely aware that my - and that of other hard-core fans like me to whom Harris meant and means so much - silence had a significant role to play in making a phenomenon that is supposed to be 'current' and 'present' into something of a 'yesteryear' spectacle.

This is a regret I am not willing to experience once more. And so, despite the shortcomings of DMK (corruption charges, family politics, occasional arrogance) and possibly a Harris-ish repertoire (repeated refrains about philosophy and forefathers), I will be vocal in standing with the party. Even if fighting this fight means I am not toeing the line of my relatives and neighbours. Even if, just like GVM went away from Harris to partner with ARR, the alliance parties went to different camps for greener pastures.

This time, I am not stepping back. And, I know what I am doing.