When Mani Ratnam and Kamal Haasan announced Thug Life last year, their first collaboration in almost four decades, it caused a ripple of excitement among fans. The last time the director-actor duo came together, they gave us Nayakan (1987), a film that redefined the gangster genre in Indian cinema.
Inspired by the life of Matunga don Varadarajan Mudaliar, Nayakan follows Velu Naicker, a Tamil migrant who rises from a helpless boy betrayed by the system to a feared and revered underworld figure in Bombay’s Dharavi. But unlike the flamboyant gangsters of pop cinema, Velu was deeply human. He was a man of contradictions — violent yet empathetic, feared yet grounded.
Mani Ratnam didn’t just paint Velu as a don; he made us see him as a father, a husband, a protector, a man grappling with moral ambiguity. The intimacy of a mosquito net around a sleeping child, the guilt-laden care for Ajit (Tinnu Anand), the rejection of hierarchical cruelty in a hospital — these domestic moments rooted Nayakan in a world that was palpably real.
It was this humanisation of the gangster that later echoed in films like Satya or Gangs of Wasseypur.
The film’s emotional core would not have come to fore without Kamal Haasan’s masterclass in acting. What makes his portrayal of Velu Naicker so enduring is the astonishing range he brings to a character who ages nearly four decades on screen. From a hot-headed youth avenging his father’s death to a weary old man grappling with the consequences of violence, he makes Velu his own.
There’s a scene where Velu comforts Ajit, a mentally-challenged boy whose father he had killed. Haasan conveys the guilt, affection and quiet responsibility Velu feels in a single glance. His ability to underplay grief, be it after the death of his son or the estrangement of his daughter, makes those scenes devastating without ever veering into melodrama.
Mani Ratnam, on his part, walked the razor's edge between commercial and artistic cinema. With Ilaiyaraaja’s unforgettable score elevating the mood, Nayakan balanced stylised sequences with gritty reality. It is essentially a rise-and-fall gangster story, yet Ratnam refused to follow conventional tropes. Instead of glorifying violence or indulging in high-pitched drama, he opts for a nuanced, character-driven narrative.
Working with legendary cinematographer P.C. Sreeram, he transforms the cramped bylanes of Dharavi into a canvas of shadow and light. Interiors are often dimly lit, creating an atmosphere of moral ambiguity. He lets silence do the talking and moments breathe, and never rushes an emotional beat.