“A screenplay is a cat.”
But if you have ever tried to tame a cat—or write a film—you will understand the metaphor perfectly.
At first glance, that statement sounds absurd. A screenplay is structure, discipline, and blueprints. A cat is chaos, independence, and fur. thiraikathai enum poonai
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.
Your screenplay is not a machine. It is a cat. It will come to you when it is ready. And when it does, it will bring a dead bird in its mouth—a strange, messy, beautiful gift that only it could catch. “A screenplay is a cat
Do you have a “cat screenplay” story? Share your writer’s war tales in the comments below.
The same is true for a screenplay.
That is thiraikathai enum poonai . So the next time you struggle with a scene—when the dialogue feels wooden, the conflict forced, the emotion false—stop wrestling.
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. A cat is chaos, independence, and fur
Then the cat—your screenplay—looks at your blueprint, yawns, and knocks the coffee mug off the table.
That gift, my friend, is cinema.