Cannes Classics 2022

After spending a few days at an event as prestigious and mystical as the Cannes Film Festival, one begins to wonder what it’s all about. Is it the massive theaters, the celebrities in their tuxedos and dresses, the big flashy signs and tents, the promotional BMWs lining the streets? Is it about the films, both new and old that come every year for recognition and distribution? My most cynical eye tells me that Cannes is really just a polished, glorified market for films, a debaucherous display of wealth and prestige in the midst of a continent in crisis. Then I come across a film like G. Aravindan’s Thamp, and a flicker of hope burns in my chest. From a director I hadn’t heard of, coming from a region of India I was ignorant about, Thamp stands as one of the few films fulfilling the promise of Cannes: to discover and celebrate diverse cultures and creativity by watching original, inspiring films. Thamp is not like many movies I’ve seen, from India or anywhere else: it follows no traditional narrative structure, its style is honest but inscrutable, and it barely keeps up with the dozens of characters in its cast. Despite and because of what sets Thamp apart, it manages to be completely satisfying all on its own terms. 

Thamp is a sumptuous feast for the eyes, a peaceful and meditative tale of the ephemerality of the circus and the thin veil of the performers within it. I would say it’s shot in a documentary style, if only Aravindan’s compositions weren’t so damn cinematic. He composes his shots carefully, but not so carefully as to give the impression that anything is staged. Aravindan’s reality is wholly his own creation, a conversation between the spectacle of performance and the humility of nature that feels as real as anything I’ve seen on screen.

The circus performances in the film are captured almost in their entirety, Aravindan cleverly cutting between the people on stage and the audience to give the scenes a “live” feel. These moments are about the dynamic movement and sound happening on-stage, definitely, but Aravindan is also interested in giving the film audience a distinct sense of place. We see many audience members’ reactions, ranging from total boredom to rapt attention, laughs and eye-rolls and applause bubbling with the energy of a real crowd. These circus scenes come alive with both the skill of the performers and the energy of the people watching them. Both are characters in Aravindan’s film, and both contribute to the kinetic energy of the circus.

Some of the most powerful scenes in Thamp don’t take place under a circus tent at all, though, but rather under the open sky and over the beautiful, sprawling landscapes of Kerala. Logistics discussions grow a little long in the tooth, but when Aravindan takes the conversation outside, the film takes a huge breath inward. Part of the joy of Thamp is getting to see people both in their quietest moments and in their loudest, on stage and off. This can be incredibly sobering, too, the direct-to-camera testimonials from the performers casting a pall over the joy of the music and the laughter. One clown describes his many performances as “dying” over and over, another simply expresses that she’s been doing it for decades, and she’s tired. Again, Aravindan wants us to have the full context of the scene: the wind blowing through the grass outside the tent, the pounding drums inside, the big performances and audience reactions and chilling truth of the performers.

The beautiful and the terrible are combined with the genius of Aravindan in Thamp, culminating in a film that’s as emotionally affecting as it is thought-provoking. The end of the film seems to signify the weight of what we’ve just seen: just as in the beginning of the film, the performers and the contractors pile into their truck and drive on. As in all the great brief encounter films, what we experience in Thamp is both significant and insignificant, brief in our minds but long in our hearts. The lights come up on the film, the audience shuffles out. Just two hours have passed on-screen, but a lifetime cannot contain the memories of Thamp.