"ఇచ్చట పిండిమర మరియు రుబ్బింగ్ ఆడబడను", the color lettering, replete with a directional hand, on the white wall indicates. What it means is, apart from the milling of the grams into flour, the place has a wet grinder too! The genius, to make a continuous tense out of the Telugu verb "రుబ్బు" and make it sound as though those the two - "రుబ్బు" + ING - were made for each other even though they are from different linguistic denominations, like "మాయాబజార్", (or in movie parlance, like two ill-fated star-crossed lovers later reincarnated in different areas but eventually ended up in each other’s arms against unsurmountable odds) can only be borne out of a small town's creative mind! Or the idle brain who takes the pains to add a witty (and a wise) rejoinder, “…. In Andhra Bank” to the holy assurance “Jesus Saves” on the colorful walls of the Christian Prayer Room. Or how about the plethora of radical revolutionary fiery quotes (“అరచేతితో సూర్యుడిని అడ్డుకోలేరు”, “జాలాది ఐలయ్యది బూటకపు ఎన్ కౌంటరే”) that adorn what is left of the empty walls, bookended usually by “నేడే చూడండి మీ అభిమాన థియేటర్ లో” movie posters, which, if headlined by top heroes, are inevitably (half-)face painted with dry dung cakes (పిడకలు). The places pulsate at their own rhythms, not bothered by the urgency and the immediacy of life outside its cozy boundaries. People here usually hunt for reasons to socialize (అమ్మ! ఇప్పుడే friendకి notes ఇచ్చొస్తా!) in the absence of which laze around the hard benches of tea stalls and tiffin rooms discussing about the world affairs (ఏంట్రా! ట్రంప్ గాడు వస్తే అక్కడ మనవాళ్ళకి గట్టి దెబ్బే అంట గదరా!) over a properly fractioned cups of tea ("అయ్యరూ! ఒక 2/3 టీ కొట్టీంచు"). Time has of little consequence here, and privacy, no place whatsoever. Conversations are always aloud and lives are lived on the streets ("డబ్బులు జాగ్రత్త!! ముండ!"). The charms of life in small towns!
Janardhan Pasumarthi, the writer, stands first in line to receive the credit for “Middle class Melodies”. The story and the plotting aside, though clever in their own way, it is the dialogues, which are not of the written-kind, but are of the spoken-variety, that bring all the color to the proceedings (including the colorful language, suffused with everyday curse, abuse and profane colloquialisms) . The observations, small, delightful, peculiar and funny ("ఉసేయ్ అలా నైటీ వేసుకునే బయటికి వెళ్తావా?" cuts to the heroine rushing out in the same nightie but with a little towel as a top, for the token dignity), all plucked from real life and peppered throughout the length of the movie, remind of similar small town fares of Himanshu Sharma’s interior UP sited Hindi movies (Tanu weds Manu series, Ranjhanaa). Even though with an undercurrent of middle class values, the writer refrains from any kind of philosophizing (or even romanticizing) the middleclass mindset (a la Trivikram, who never misses an opportunity talking about the “middle class”), which further lends credibility to the proceedings, as rarely in real life, one gets on the soap box sermonizing about what it means to be struggling in everyday life.
Chaitanya Garikipati, Divya Sripada, Goparaju Ramana, Prem Sagar, Surabhi Prabhavathi, and a multitude of wonderful actors, all of them need to be taken in name and spoken in praise for the wonderful way they bring to flesh the words on the page. Years ago, Kamal Hasan, when casting for “Virumandi”, made sure he picked all the principal actors from stage who could get right, not just the acting part, but the dialect of the place the movie was set in. And it appears as though similar thought process went through casting this one. Chaitanya stands head above shoulders over the equally tall standing cast, and his typical Guntur intonation of the most beloved placeholder in the entire Telugu language - "నీ యమ్మ!" – is alone worth the price of the admission (uhhmm… subscription). Even the non-native heroine nearly pulls off the dialect part, while making up for the rest with her greatly expressive eyes. Which brings to Anand Devarakonda… Suffice to say, acting aside, both the Devarakonda brothers appear to have graduated from the same diction school (and with eyes closed, one can effortlessly pass off as the other), tethering the language pretty loosely, siding with expression at the cost of enunciation, and generally doing away with the niceties of the language. In the company of other stellar performances, Anand’s accent sticks out like a sore thumb.
Bring a fine script and assemble a great cast, and the task, counter-intuitively, becomes a daunting one for the director to restrain himself at every turn from reaching beyond the grasp and Vinod Ananthoju comes up all trumps in that aspect! Such an assured and confident debut, balancing all the beautifully moving parts and bringing them together in a virtuoso flourish, Vinod needs to add his name to the (unending) list of “Special Thanks” credits at the beginning of the movie, for doing himself the favor of staying within the boundaries of the written page. He certainly needs to thank his editor who has done such a fine job of reeling it in when necessary and letting it go when necessary (The assembling of the registration office scene, building up to the “picchidi” frame is marvelous). Sweekar Agasti’s music (coupled with the quite funny lyrics, particularly the “Guntur” song and the even more hilarious “Sandhya” number), Vikram’s background and Sunny’s beautiful camerawork, “Middle class Melodies” grooves in its grounded-ness, lilts with its earthiness, and sweeps away with its simplicity. Three cheers!
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