At the mortar, block, and glass
And check out the reflections in my eyes
See they always used to be there
Even when this was all was grass
And I sang and danced about a high-rise
And you were laughing at my helmet hat
Laughing at my torch
Go ahead you can laugh all you want
But I got my philosophy.
--Ben Folds Five, “Philosophy”
To put it mildly, Vela Yilla Pattahari (aka VIP) was not the film I was expecting. Judging from the trailer and snippets of reviews I’d seen floating around touting what a box office hit it had been, I assumed VIP was a straightforward masala film. Actually, it’s not. ACTUALLY, it’s the angriest angry young man film I’ve seen in a long, long time. And the angry young man has some seriously legitimate grievances with society. VIP isn’t just a commercial entertainer--though it is entertaining--it’s an uppercut delivered squarely to the jaw of the pampered Wake Up Sids, a flying kick to the chest of the incompetent star son. And who better to deliver the killing blow than Dhanush.