If Lennon was resurrected and reunited with McCartney and the two of them managed to bring Harrison back from the dead, sacked Ringo, dragged Keith Moon's vomit encrusted corpse out of its grave, and got the Beatles going again to record a cover of Necromantical Screams by Celtic Frost, I wouldn't have been half as excited as I was by the concept of Sivaji. In the happy days I spent anticipating the film, I felt no collaboration - cinematic or otherwise - had as much boundary-pushing potential as Rejnikaunt and  Shankar. The last time I'd felt close to being this excited was when the dream team of B Subhash, Mithoon and Bappi decided to come together for the under-rated and eclectic Classic: Dance of Love.

Shankar has put forth some of the most agreeably insane and imaginative films in recent memory and Rejni without a doubt is the most OTT actor the world will ever see. Even a half-hearted performance by both of these, I told everyone who'd listen, with supreme hubris, would surpass an earnest honest-to-goodness act by anyone else.

I died a little, therefore, when I saw the sequence where Rejni makes his return from Yamarica. If there was anyone who could make a retarded habit like smoking look good it was Rejni with his seemingly limitless cigarette tricks. If I ever take up smoking, I vowed to myself, it would be only so I could pull off tricks in pale imitation of the Master. Except that in Sivaji they've transformed him into a gum chewing shill for Center Fresh. Shocking. I was overwhelmed by blind unreasoning rage and sorrow.