Then the cat—your screenplay—looks at your blueprint, yawns, and knocks the coffee mug off the table.
The great Tamil screenwriters—from K. Balachander to Mani Ratnam, from Crazy Mohan to Vetrimaaran—understood this. They did not build plots like brick walls. They built courtyards where the story could wander, nap in the sunlight, and occasionally scratch the furniture.
Pour a bowl of milk. Sit quietly. And wait. thiraikathai enum poonai
When you watch Nayakan , you are not watching a plot. You are watching a cat that grew into a panther. When you watch Soodhu Kavvum , you are watching a stray that refuses to be neutered. When you watch Super Deluxe , you are watching seven cats in one house, all ignoring each other until the climax. I have written screenplays that were obedient. They had perfect structure. They followed every rule in Syd Field’s book. They were dead on arrival.
Do you have a “cat screenplay” story? Share your writer’s war tales in the comments below. They did not build plots like brick walls
The same is true for a screenplay.
In Tamil cinema, the phrase “Thiraikathai enum poonai” (திரைக்கதை எனும் பூனை) has become a poetic axiom. It captures the writer’s struggle, the director’s frustration, and ultimately, the magic of a story that refuses to be caged. Rudyard Kipling once wrote, “The cat walks by himself, and all places are alike to him.” That is your first draft. Sit quietly
That gift, my friend, is cinema.