In Karthik Subbaraj's ‘Dorothy,’ Everyone Is a Symbol

Perhaps the best way to describe Karthik Subbaraj's style is to look at this line from Baradwaj Rangan's review of Jigarthanda: "He isn't just walking a tightrope—the tightrope is oiled, and he's riding a unicycle, and it's all happening over the Niagara Falls." What a line! It captures Subbaraj's instinct for taking wild swings in his films, regardless of how they turn out. You may love or hate Subbaraj, but you have to admire his willingness to go for broke. It's this very ambition that makes even a misfire like Retro somewhat interesting to think about. Still, it cannot be denied that some of the "padams" in his oeuvre become more fascinating to ponder than satisfying to experience as emotional roller-coasters. Subbaraj's lofty ambitions make you think so much about what he is attempting to do that, with Retro, the brain finally broke and the body began to demand sensual and emotional pleasures. In "Dorothy," however, through one of the most joyous kissing scenes of the year, Subbaraj provides some of those pleasures. What's more, his filmmaking itself keeps you sufficiently elated.

It's not that Subbaraj simply sets his story amidst toxic men and then retreats behind the camera. He takes us close to the toxicity, the violence, and the men-don't-cry mentality through volatile images that initially refuse to settle into any particular sentiment. Instead, they take us through heartbreak and aggression with a swiftness that mirrors the dominant worldview of the two lead characters, Karthi (Rishikanth) and Subbu (Sananth): it's futile to cry over women, and men should be macho and tough. So even when Karthi and Subbu weep, wail, or simply sit alone, sad and drunk, the film's tone remains energetic, alive, and unstable. Scenes that could have turned melodramatic or brought the movie to a standstill in another director's hands remain vigorously dynamic under Subbaraj's direction.

Above all, this dynamism gives a palpable force to the men's toxic attitudes. They abruptly start fighting with each other, proudly talk about caste, or become hormonally charged by watching kissing scenes in films and imagining themselves making out with women. Subbaraj makes these male hormones palpable through the very atmosphere of his images. What we feel is empty vanity and restlessness. That is, until "Dorothy" turns into a road movie in which Karthi must learn to accept Subbu's decision to live as a woman. Subbu, you see, wants to be a woman and begins living as one after the death of the titular character (Keerthy Suresh). The transformation is presented as an act of defiance—a giant fuck you to the patriarchal monsters. And so, the more Karthi warms up to Subbu, the more the film's tone, too, becomes uplifting and warm. Subbaraj treats this progressive impulse with tender approval, extending that same approval to the transgender characters around Subbu, all of whom (including Subbu herself) are portrayed as exceptionally kind and virtuous.

This one-sided portrayal of the transgender characters, though appreciable in a society that routinely demonizes them and looks down on them, can nonetheless feel shallow and one-note in a film with such pronounced art-house ambitions. The problem isn't that these characters are kind and virtuous, but that their virtue seems to precede their individuality. They become embodiments of the film's progressive politics rather than people whose contradictions and private struggles might complicate its argument. The broad strokes often feel preachy, even false. What ultimately prevents "Dorothy" from becoming an intense emotional experience is this gap between the complexity of its ambitions and the simplicity of its characterization: Subbaraj gives us symbols to interpret where he needs fully realized people to move us.

It's no accident that the names Karthi and Subbu bring to mind the filmmaker himself, Karthik Subbaraj. Is "Dorothy" a kind of personal confession in which the filmmaker imagines a journey from Karthi to Subbu? If so, does the title also refer to Subbaraj himself? The film never confirms this reading, but it is one of several possibilities its symbolism invites. Perhaps this is also why Subbaraj doesn't bother to explain how a young Subbu (Varun), who enjoys violence, grows up to become timid, or how a young Karthi (Thihaan), who is very timid, grows up to become violent. It's a clever conceit, one of the film's many unpredictable moves. Yet the cleverness is more admirable in theory than emotionally affecting in practice. The film's refusal to explain these transformations may be an attempt to escape the neat psychological explanations of mainstream cinema, but withholding motivation isn't the same as developing ambiguity. Sometimes, it simply leaves a character's inner life unexplored. This is an especially curious shortcoming in a movie that wants to deliver a giant fuck you to the "safeness" of mainstream productions.

The titular character is another major symbol in the movie. Her name means "God's gift," while the phrase "friend of Dorothy" has historically been used as a euphemism for gay men and is associated more broadly with LGBTQ+ culture. She descends from the heavens like a doll and changes Subbu's life. As a young kid, Subbu always wanted a woman in the family. Now he gets one, and immediately begins opening up to her about deeply intimate matters. Given that her name is Dorothy, you can be fairly certain that, upon learning Subbu's secret, she won't recoil in horror or regard him as an anomaly (Subbaraj isn't quite so unpredictable, it seems). Many women, too, can be complicit in patriarchal attitudes, enabling the conditions that allow patriarchal rituals and routines to flourish. Subbaraj, though, has a fairly simplistic view of society and its inhabitants. It's a crowd-pleasing view, reinforced by Ilaiyaraaja's music, which is often as loud and emotionally manipulative as the scores of mainstream films. The problem isn't that the music makes the film accessible; it's that it repeatedly tells us how to feel, sometimes in ways that undercut the more confrontational, open-ended experience the film's art-house ambitions seem to promise. Why doesn't Subbaraj give us more scenes between Subbu and Dhanam (Merlin), the only person besides Dorothy who knows her secret? It's a strange omission, considering what Dhanam knows and how she might have helped Subbu after Dorothy's death.

Still, despite its many flaws, if you emerge from "Dorothy" leaning towards a positive reception, it's because, when Subbaraj hits his marks, he leaves you stunned and excited. There is a terrific scene in which Subbu lashes out at and hits another trans woman out of self-hatred. And the plot twists, however unpredictable, aren't merely deployed for superficial shock value; they reinforce Subbaraj's larger argument. Dorothy's death, for instance, can be read as the death of kindness and open-mindedness in a close-minded, oppressive environment. The film invites so many interpretations because, at the end of the day, nearly every scene functions as a thesis. Some of the lines are so direct that they break the fourth wall to address the viewer, leaving the audience to supply the psychology, motives, and answers that the filmmaker leaves blank. The viewer is asked to be the screenwriter, and this becomes a favorite pastime of cinephiles who are perpetually tired of new theatrical releases. For them—and for others, too—"Dorothy" might, then, as well be a blessing from heaven.

Written by - Vikas Yadav
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Publisher at Midgard Times