Beyond the vast scale and complex characters, Vetrimaran’s Viduthalai Part 2 is an ideological journey through the ages. Tamil News

Viduthlai part started with an extraordinary one taking sequence. The camera movement was broad but deliberate, starting from a modest perspective: a car entering the perimeter of an accident scene. But this perspective grew, expanded, and evolved, drawing audiences deeper into its orbit. Vetrimaaran Drowned us in the heart of disaster. Only much later does the camera pan away, widening to a bird’s-eye view, revealing the true magnitude of the devastation. A tragedy bares its full, painful scope. Equally disturbing, but exhilarating, was a moment later in the first half: two cops climbing endlessly, their ascent framed against the limitless forest. The camera relentlessly pulled back—pulling back, and back, and back—until the men disappeared entirely. Confined to mere spots, they were swallowed up by the overwhelming grandeur of the wilderness, dwarfed by its infinite, indifferent majesty.

While the world marveled at the former (and rightfully so), it was the latter that really stood out to me. It was the one thing that carried the entire film. Kumaresan (Suri) was among the two policemen who trekked in the forest. A rookie policeman recently posted to protect these forests against rebel forces known as Makkal Padai. The film depicts Kumaresan’s coming-of-age journey, transforming him from a timid, inexperienced officer, who can barely hold a weapon, to a determined figure who can wield a gun in pursuit of a notorious terrorist. It was also a severe test of his idealism. Having grown up idolizing the police force, he came to face its harsh realities and moral compromises. So, at that moment, Kumaresan was confronted not only by the steep and dense jungle he was entrusted to protect, but also by the daunting, unforgiving nature of his duty.

now With its sequel, Vethrimaran not only deepens Suri’s moral dilemma but shifts the focus towards Perumal (Vijay Sethupathi), the leader of the rebel army. In the first film, Perumal was a legendary presence, rarely seen but constantly spoken of. His aura was huge, almost all the characters were fixated on him. Now, the sequel reveals the man behind the myth, the revolutionary behind the terrorist. As the vantage point expands, so does the narrative ambition. Its scale grows exponentially, the characters become more layered, and the political commentary becomes more urgent and nuanced. While the first film covered the story in a matter of days, Vidhuthlai Part 2 has caught up with time. While the opening chapter explores the egos and conflicts of low-ranking cops, the aftermath leads to the larger moral struggles of the larger-than-life leaders. If the first film penetrates Vetrimaran’s mind, the second dives deep into his heart.

But beyond its sprawling scale, intertwining timelines and gray characters, the soul of the film lies in the parallel coming-of-age journeys of two people – Perumal and Kumarasan. It depicts how Perumal, a once honest teacher (Vathiyar) turned rebellious. His transformation spans decades, from the late 1950s to the late 1980s, as he moves from conflict to conflict, each battle increasing in scale, each choice carrying greater stakes, and each metamorphosis leaving a lasting impression. Throughout his journey, we meet many characters — some ephemeral, some enduring — each shaping Perumal as a revolutionary who will lead the fiercest rebellion against the establishment.

Some moments are intensely violent, like in a haunting bit where Perumal is brutally beaten, only to be woken up by rain. A kind of baptism, as if nature itself breathed new life into him. It seems almost poetic that he devotes the rest of his life to the service of what revived him. Other moments are quietly tender. As the Makkal Padai use cinema as both a weapon and a messenger, their ideals carry across terrains and generations. In a particularly touching moment, in front of the theater screen, Perumal shares a quiet meal with his wife (Manju Warrier). A movie had to be made. Because revolutions are born in the glow of its light, and love is rediscovered amidst its shadows.

Watch Viduthlai Part 2 trailer:

What is fascinating is how Perumal’s journey is one of continuous evolution. People who learn and don’t know at every step. He listens to almost everyone’s advice, admits his mistakes without hesitation, and adapts with remarkable speed. So at a crucial juncture, he confronts the uncomfortable realization that his own spectral presence has eclipsed his lived ideology. The cause he made now binds him to the forest, its leader, threatening to reduce the collective struggle to the story of one man. In this moment, he realizes that it was never meant to be about him. It can’t be about her. What follows is a thrilling moment of the film, which changes the central thesis of the film. It says that the story of the true era was not about people, but about ideas. Like truth itself, this ideology is not static: it is fluid, evolving as it encounters the brutal realities of resistance, power, and lived experience. It bends, reshapes and grows, embodying the malleable nature of revolution.

Despite the macro moments of the film, Vetrimaran never loses his grip on the heart of the story – Kumaresan. The story began with him, and it is destined to end with him. Six hours of storytelling marked by heavy exposition, uneven editing, poor dubbing, and ambitious filmmaking, all lead to a singular point of realization for Kumaresan. Fittingly, the story turns to the forest again. But this time, the trek is very steep and very dangerous. Nature itself becomes the unifying force, binding everyone – hero and villain, rebel and enforcer, Perumal and Kumaresan. And as Kumaresan navigates this treacherous path, he is faced with the heavy questions that violence and politics have overlooked: What is it all for? Whom does it mean to serve? Whose life is worth saving, and whose is worth taking? The film also turns the lens inward, making the audience realize their own misjudgment in believing that Kumarasan’s arc is complete in the first part. Yes, he changed. But every change has its own contradictions. Picking up a gun was a metamorphosis of sorts. Now he must face a deeper question: Can he really fire it? For true change lies not in what we learn but in what we don’t know.

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