When I reviewed Zindagi (1964) some time back, blog reader Maitreyee, in a comment, asked me if I had watched any of Vjyyanthimala’s Southern films. I admitted I had not, and that mostly because it’s so difficult to find subtitled versions of South Indian films. I did have one Tamil film, with subtitles, bookmarked, and when Maitreyee too mentioned it (as a comedy), I decided it was high time I watched Penn, (in Tamil, ‘Girl‘).

The film begins by introducing us to Rani (Vyjyanthimala), a firebrand who goes about singing songs of women’s emancipation, gender equality, and the crushing of patriarchy. Rani walks the talk too: for instance, when she comes across a woman being beaten by her husband, Rani (who is an enthusiastic equestrienne) gets her whip out and uses it on the man.

Rani’s dearest friend is the shy, retiring Kanmani (Anjali Devi), a motherless girl whose father, Ramanathan Pillai (?) is in a flap because he is not being able to get Kanmani married. Not through any fault of hers; it’s because his had been an intercaste marriage, Kanmani’s mother of a lower caste than his. The many fruitless attempts to find a match for Kanmani have left her father and Kanmani herself in despair. If only Sundaram were here, they moan: Sundaram being a cousin of Kanmani’s to whom her mother had promised Kanmani in marriage.

But Sundaram (?), a captain in Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose’s INA, is far away in Burma, working for the cause of Indian independence. Unknown to Kanmani, though, he is pining for her and longing for the day when he will be able to return to India and marry her. 

Meanwhile, back in Bangalore (where they live), Kanmani’s father has just dismissed a toothless old man who was aspiring to marry Kanmani. Rani, overhearing it all (she spends a good deal of time in Kanmani’s home) confronts the old would-be bridegroom on his way out and gives him what for.

Rani looks out for Kanmani. And it is Rani who is with Kanmani, driving down a country road one day when they are overtaken by a couple of young men: Raja (Gemini Ganesan) and Raghu (S Balachander). Raghu is a little like Rani: brash, bold, unafraid to speak his mind. He’s also quite a joker, and he is the one who eggs on Raja (who’s driving) to race Rani.

They end up parting ways after being ticked off by a traffic cop who chases them and catches up at a level crossing. A few days later, the two pairs meet again, though not for want of hoping and trying on the part of the men: Raja had fallen in love with Kanmani back then, at the level crossing, and has been ever since hoping to run into her again. Now he bumps into Kanmani, and with her, Rani. Raghu is with Raja, and encourages his friend in wooing Kanmani.

A series of coincidences now occurs. Egged on (and accompanied by) Raghu, Raja goes to Kanmani’s home to court her. Rani is currently away in Colombo, participating in some international university sports championships. She has been winning everything from the races to the swimming trophies, the discus throw to—it seems—the cycling event.

But Rani’s luck runs out; she falls from her bicycle and fractures her ankle. All of this is being broadcast on radio and Kanmani, faithful friend that she is, has been listening avidly.

Now, hearing of Rani’s mishap, Kanmani is so distressed, she goes rushing out of the room and topples down the stairs…

Just in time to be rescued by Raja. Raja and Raghu have just arrived, and since both of them are medical students, they take charge. Kanmani’s servant Balaji (?) is sent off to fetch ice; Raja sits Kanmani down and massages her ankle. Within moments, Kanmani isn’t just better, she’s also pretty much reciprocating Raja’s loving looks.

To cut a long story short, Raja and Kanmani are soon in love. Raja knows that his father, Sarangapani Pillai (?), a misogynist who spares no opportunity to deride women, will never accept Kanmani as a daughter-in-law. So Raja says nothing to his parents about this love of his, and instead approaches Kanmani and her father. All is bliss; Kanmani’s father is immensely relieved and grateful. Under his aegis, and without even a phone call to inform Raja’s parents, Raja and Kanmani are married.

Kanmani has been writing frequent letters to Rani, who is still recovering from her accident in Colombo. Rani’s mother (?) has always been disdainful of Kanmani, and has been tearing up all of Kanmani’s letters before they can get to Rani. So Rani has no idea that her dear friend has now got married.

… a fact that is also hidden from Sundaram, who has now returned to India, to much acclaim. He is going about, being feted, giving speeches on equality and on doing away with casteism. And when he is alone in his hotel room, Sundaram looks dreamily out of the window at the stars, thinking of Kanmani and looking forward to when he can be with her, can get married to her.

What happens when Sundaram discovers that Kanmani is now married? What happens when Raja’s parents realize that their son has got married behind their backs—and that too to a girl who is an outcaste?

I don’t recall watching any of AVM’s Tamil films, but I’ve watched my fair share of the films they made in Hindi, and that should have been warning enough. Meherbaan, Main Bhi Ladki Hoon, Bhabhi, Main Chup Rahoongi, Bhai-Bhai: a slew of melodramatic films about self-sacrificing females upholding all the virtues of the adarsh nari, the sati savitri. Penn, too, despite having started off cheerily enough, soon descended into a hot, weepy mess that got on my nerves.

What I liked about this film:

Vyjyanthimala as Rani. She’s sharp-witted, brave—and she dances so exquisitely. I realized midway through the film that the ‘girl’ of the film’s title is meant to be Anjali Devi’s character, not Vyjyanthimala’s, and that was a major irritant, because the feisty Rani appealed so much more to me than the milquetoast Kanmani. Rani, fortunately, does have a stellar scene at the end, but I do wish she could have shone bright all through the film and not been laid low by her broken ankle.

Also, a special shout-out for S Balachander, who is such a clown, and good-looking too. I do wish Raghu, like Rani, had a much larger, much meatier role in the film.

And, the music, composed by R Sudharsanam. There were several very good songs, but one which really stayed with me was the delightful Kalyanam kalyanam: so much fun and so peppy.

What I didn’t like (some spoilers follow):

The (very predictable, actually) melodrama the Kanmani-Raja relationship degenerates into, with Raja quick to jump to conclusions and suspect Kanmani of infidelity, while Kanmani ends up being all martyrish. Raja makes no attempt to find out from Kanmani what really happened, and simply goes ahead and does as his parents tell him to—get married to someone else. Besides the fact that bigamy is illegal, there is the fact that this says so much about Raja himself: so suspicious, so weak-willed, so ready to believe the worst of Kanmani. The entire episode also shows Kanmani up as a spineless weakling: after all that Raja’s done to her, all she can do is be grateful to him for taking her back as his wife? No self-respect at all?

Spoilers end.

But then, really, this is pretty much par for the course for many AVM films, so I guess I should have seen this coming.

Tom Daniels has Penn, a beautifully restored print with English subtitles included, up on YouTube, here.