Reviving an old play that was a byword for humour in its time is fraught with risks. It could fall flat. There is the risk of actors being imitative. Or they could be constrained, fearing an unfavourable comparison with actors in the earlier version. But then, nothing ventured, nothing gained, and UAA was bold enough to risk reviving Chitralaya Gopu’s ‘Kaasedaan Kadavulada’, which was hugely successful both on stage and on screen in the seventies. To its credit, UAA pulled it off. It just goes to show that good production, focused direction, tweaking the script a bit, and good acting, can make a familiar script seem like a new production.
Y.Gee. Mahendra, as the fake godman, was in his element. His swagger, his quaking in the presence of the commissioner of police, the fluent outflow of arrant nonsense passing off as religious chants were all delectable. But why wasn’t Appasami’s arrack bottle properly concealed underneath the godman’s beard?
Brinda’s pompous strut, the frequent pushing up of her spectacles, Yuvasri’s gushing smiles, and Ram’s goofy expressions were reminiscent respectively of Manorama, Lakshmi, and Muthuraman in the film, but seemed more like tributes to those actors, than attempts at imitation.
Penny pinching Lakshmi Varahan and her subservient husband are introduced to the audience cleverly.
The curtain is partially lifted, and we watch Lakshmi Varahan domineering over her meek husband, even as Appasami and his two friends watch from one side of the stage.
While a lengthy conversation among the three friends would have been boring, this method had the merit of dramatic clarity.
Jokes and political references were contemporary, thanks to Chitralaya Sriram rewriting portions of the original script.
Swami Sukrananda, we are told, is so reclusive, that his images don’t show up even in a Google search.
Miffed at snooty references to his profession, Appasami says, “Don’t underestimate a tea seller. Remember it is a tea seller who is being honoured all over the globe today.”
There were political digs aplenty. Suppini declares that he has made a profession out of his atheism. Swami Sukrananda says that just because 100 units of power are given gratis by the government, it doesn’t mean his halo will glow all the time.
The sets were unfussy, but adequate. The Suppini segment slowed down the tempo, and didn’t quite fit in. But overall there were no major hiccoughs, and the play worked like magic.
