Anuj Chakrapani
By Anuj Chakrapani
There is a scene in Mari Selvaraj’s latest film Bison where its protagonist, Bison Kaalamaadan (a fine Dhruv Vikram), attempts to make sense of the turmoil engulfing his life. His journey towards representing his state — and eventually his country — in the sport Kabaddi has been defined by a cruel arithmetic: one step forward, ten steps back. When he turns to his father seeking an explanation for the injustice he endures, the older man struggles for words. Set in the 1990s, the story situates Bison within a community long denied opportunity and access. He cannot comprehend the structural weight pressing down on him, nor can he quietly accept it. To call Bison an underdog story would be a gross understatement. It is, more accurately, the story of a relentless fight for parity. There are Bisons everywhere. Though set in the ’90s, the film’s truths feel unsettlingly contemporary.
Mari Selvaraj’s sports drama traces Bison’s late teens and twenties with a deep sense of lived-in authenticity. Social justice is hardly unfamiliar terrain for the filmmaker. Since the critically acclaimed Pariyerum Perumal — recently remade in Hindi as Dhadak 2 — he has consistently interrogated caste hierarchies and systemic inequities. From its opening frames, Bison immerses us in its milieu, grounding its politics in texture and detail. A striking early scene, in which Bison steals food from his classmates’ lunch bags and, when punished, refuses to stop running laps around the track, offers an intimate glimpse into the hunger — literal and aspirational — that drives him. The fragility of caste equations is rendered with alarming immediacy in a bus sequence that erupts into violence over a goat meant for a sacred offering. The ensuing clash in the fields unfolds with a rawness that makes many VFX-laden action spectacles seem curiously artificial.
The film is elevated by its performances. Pasupathy is exceptional as Bison’s father, so organically inhabited that it is difficult to imagine another actor in the role. In a particularly moving scene, when he enters a trance seeking divine grace for his son, Pasupathy brings both vulnerability and gravitas to the moment. Rajisha Vijayan, as Bison’s sister Raaji, emerges as another pillar of strength. Mari Selvaraj not only stages social conflict with conviction but also crafts tender, deeply affecting familial bonds. Indeed, these relationships are so beautifully etched that the comparatively underdeveloped romance between Bison and Raani (Anupama Parameswaran) feels uneven. The age difference between the two — with Raani being older — introduces an additional layer of tension, yet this subplot appears to dilute the film’s central thrust rather than deepen it. Whether due to limited screen time or a lack of convincing chemistry, their relationship remains the least fulfilling strand of the narrative.
The film also devotes considerable “reel estate” to Kandasamy (Lal) and Pandiaraja (Ameer), formidable figures at the heart of the caste conflict. Both are instrumental in shaping Bison’s trajectory, and Mari Selvaraj charts their power struggle with elaborate detail. The build-up to their confrontations is gripping, and the action sequences are mounted with scale and intensity. Ameer’s appearance and performance evoke memories of his towering presence in Vada Chennai. Yet one occasionally wonders whether the narrative attention accorded to these power players shifts focus away from Bison’s intimate struggle.
For a film that articulates so many potent ideas, a few characters verge on caricature. The portrayal of the Indian team coach during the Asian Games sequence, for instance, feels conspicuously one-dimensional. While the North–South divide may be rooted in lived realities, depicting a coach who withholds even basic acknowledgment of a gold medal win registers as heavy-handed, undermining the nuance the film otherwise strives to maintain.
Despite these missteps, Bison remains an ambitious and often stirring work. It does not merely chronicle a sportsman’s ascent; it interrogates the structures that determine who gets to rise at all. Though uneven in parts, it achieves much of what it sets out to do — and leaves behind questions that linger beyond the final whistle.
Anuj Chakrapani loves music and cinema among all art forms. He believes their beauty lies in their interpretation, and that the parts is more than the sum. Contact: anuj.chakrapani@gmail.com.
