Varsha Bharath’s ‘Bad Girl’ is a delightful coming-of-age story. The film portrays the life of its main character, Ramya, a restless, confused, and rebellious young woman who gradually comes to terms with herself and learns to navigate the world around her. The film’s most remarkable and appealing aspect is its brutal honesty in attempting to examine and understand Ramya’s journey as a young adult.
Ramya is a young Brahmin woman who lives in a Brahminical middle-class world and encounters obstacles particular to Brahmin women. Her troubles are relatively privileged in light of her privileged background, as they mostly include dealing with her controlling, moralistic family, inflexible school authority, and unreliable male validation. But that’s all fine. Because the film is true to its premise and subject, it has a universal appeal. Anyone who grew up through uncertain teenage years, lived a reckless 20s, and began to find themselves in their 30s will find a strong connection with the film.
It’s tempting to compare this film to a female version of Autograph (2004) or Premam (2015). However, that may not be entirely accurate. ‘Bad Girl’ isn’t about Ramya or her various boyfriends. Neither is it about Ramya or her family. Or even her female friends. Instead, it’s focused on Ramya and her conversations with herself. That’s why the film feels like a collection of diary entries or personal blog postings. And it has a strong autobiographical quality. This is also why the majority of the other characters feel one-dimensional. We solely get to see them from Ramya’s perspective. And only learn as much about them as she is willing to share in her diary entries. Except for her mother’s character, who is given a more detailed representation.
The film’s narrative style seamlessly integrates with the protagonist’s journey. As a result, the characters in the film appear and disappear in accordance with Ramya’s own experiences. This creates a distinct tone for the film’s narration. As she advances from her restless teens to the relatively stable early 30s, we see her gaining confidence in herself, which is effectively reflected in the editing and cinematography choices.
Because of the film’s candid examination of its subject, the majority of the sequences feel naturally poignant. For example, Ramya struggles to maintain a healthy connection with her domineering Brahminical grandmother. However, after the grandmother’s death, the film makes no political statements regarding her politics. Instead, it sees her death as an emotional event. For grief, it doesn’t matter whether one’s politics were Brahminical or progressive.
However, there were also brief occasions in which the film attempted to placate the liberal audience with necessary checkboxes. A transwoman appears at random to deliver a punchline about healing, a boyfriend turns out to be Muslim and his name ‘Irfan’ is uttered far too many times, there is an inter-caste marriage in the family, and in the final scene, as a partying punch line, Ramya gives up her seat on the bus to a working-class Bahujan woman.
These liberal political punchlines, no matter how subtle they were, didn’t feel right in the film. Ramya is neither politically aware nor particularly compassionate. She is as self-centred as one can be. Despite her own fair complexion, she does not hesitate to label another fair-skinned woman ‘elite maida maavu’ (elite maida flour). Even when she can overcome her want for male validation, she is only able to have a bond with her cats. The film even acknowledges her self-centeredness when a pregnant friend jokes about Ramya’s inability to recall her due date.
So when the film attempts to make political statements, it feels out of place. Several people on social media have pointed out that Ramya’s cheating boyfriend is named Arjun. It may refer to Arjun Reddy’s (2017) protagonist. Amusingly, Ramya’s perfect friend Selvi resembled Arjun Reddy’s model friend Shiva. Saranya Ravichandran, as Selvi, gets to play the unconditionally supportive and always dependable friend in this film.
However, unlike her idealised female friends, the mother’s portrayal in the film feels quite authentic. Ramya also begins to comprehend her own mother as she gains a deeper understanding of herself over time. Even if the moment of closure with the mother was less nuanced than it was with the grandmother, it nevertheless appeals to the Tamil public’s ‘mother sentiment’.
Whatever the imperfections are, they are minor and do not detract from the emotional sincerity of the film. And it is a remarkable achievement that the film portrays a personal story from a Brahmin household in a broadly appealing manner. Amit Trivedi’s music gives the film tremendous propulsion and energy as it moves through Ramya’s journey. It also helps that Anjali Sivaraman as Ramya and Shanthi Priya as the mother give outstanding performances. However, the sloppy dubbing occasionally reminds us that Vasha Bharath really comes from Vetrimaaran’s school of filmmaking.
