BHOOMIMALAYALAM – A Budge Forward

TV Chandran talks to C S Venkiteswaran

about his filmBHOOMIMALAYALAM

All the films of TV Chandran explore and map the plight of female life in Keralam. Films like Alicinte Anveshanangal, Mangamma, Susanna, Padam Onnu Oru Vilapam, etc look at malayalee women and their lives during the last decades in Keralam. In his latest film, Bhoomimalayalam – literally, Malayalee perception of the world – Chandran weaves together the lives of several women whose lives are struggles for existence and survival, if not, expression and exuberance to excavate the world we inhabit. Bhoomimalayalam received John Abraham award for the Best film this year.

How did this film first occur to you? Was it an image, an incident, a person or a thought?

This film was actually in my mind for a long time. In a way it springs from my film ‘Kathavaseshan’ in which I wanted to use the song of a Pakistani singer. It went like this: “At night, when alone, why are women scared?” (Rath mein andhere mein, ladkiyam kyon darthi hei?). Due to copyright issues, I couldn’t use that song in that film. Instead I gave these lines to Gouhar Raza and created songs for that film. It is from this song that this film sprang, this image of the fear of women when alone. In that way, this film is a continuation of Kathavaseshan in many ways. So, when you say that my film is ‘female-oriented’ it doesn’t make sense, since there are many common elements recurring, and certain moments and characters finding their place in all my narratives..

The issues dealt with and the structure of the film is not something that I ‘thought up’ or developed through research. There are several things happening simultaneously in my mind. For instance, in the film though there are references to many real incidents, none of them are shown in the film. They do not appear as such in the film, but the film is ‘about’ those incidents. More than the incident itself, what becomes important is those who are affected by it. They stand within it and it triggers nightmares in them. Maybe that boy didn’t get drowned like this or that brother was not exactly beaten to death in front of his mother. Maybe these things happened in a different way. And that girl is actually dreaming about a suicide that never happens. The past events in Thillankeri are actually recollected by the daughter who was not even born then. So these incidents are in the background and what the film explores is the aftermath, the effects and affects.

All your films have looked at the plight of women, but Bhoomimalayalam is structurally different from the earlier attempts. Can you elaborate on that?

I think it is a transformation from one to many. In earlier films, I placed one single individual at the centre of the narrative. In this film there are several women. This film weaves together the experiences of seven different young women from different walks, times and parts of Kerala. All of them share something between them - fear – something that pervades their lives. And they all have nightmares.

What I am trying to do is to map the consciousness of a region through the lives, experience, dreams and anxieties of these women. In this narrative, the conscious and the unconscious mesh together. That was what I was trying to explore

I have also tried to map it in time and space; you have incidents and places of 1948 and then the present; likewise you can also find the narrative stretching geographically across Keralam. It is also a rumination upon our present ‘state’ – a stocktaking of sorts through time. This, I think is a shift from my earlier films.

In a way it is history, history as nightmare..

But each woman experiences, understands and faces them differently. In the film you find that one girl accepts the murder and then the death of two men in her lives, another one escapes a rape attempt, yet another one survives a divorce, while one girl is pregnant and alone, she is helpless. Finally one girl triumphs and makes a leap, out and away, from this nightmare. This is how the film is structured. And I don’t end the film on the girl who wins. Instead it ends with the other girl who is witness to it, who for me represents all the others. Maybe they all desired that triumph, like her, the winner. So again, more than the incident itself, it is the look and experience triggered by it that the film follows..

Where does this film find a place in your oeuvre?

I consider the words of Mani Kaul, who was the Jury chairman for the John Abraham Awards about the film a great recognition. He said we are nobody to judge a film. So what one can do is to see whether a film is able to move the medium of cinema a bit forward. Judgment is all about this and not comparing one with another and placing one against and above the other.

I found those words of Mani Kaul very important and inspiring. For I believe that through each and every film, what I am trying to do is to move an inch forward from where we are, to make a budge..

Producer of a Film Era in Malayalam

SHOBHANA PARAMESWARAN NAIR

“Our cinema should not be like what it is now. The characters should speak like the way we speak and eat the way we eat. And they should wear the same clothes as we do” said Shobhana Parameswaran Nair in an interview about how they made Neelakuyil (1955). Along with other pioneers of the time like Ramu Kariat, P Bhaskaran, A Vincent and KS Sethumadhavan, Vayalar and Devarajan, TK Pareekutty, Sathyan and Kumari, he was one of those persons who was instrumental in giving Malayalam cinema a body and soul of its own.

The departure of Shobhana Parameswaran Nair marks the end of an era in Malayalam cinema, one that was marked by camaraderie and cooperation, one in which a fledgling industry was freeing itself from its several dependencies, and finding its own form and voice. But for a producer and visionary like Parameswaran Nair, Malayalam cinema would have been poorer by several towering legends.

In Cinemayude Kalpadukal, M R Rajan’s 3-hour long documentary on Shobhana Parameswaran Nair, the latter reminisces that it was after watching B N Reddy’s film Devata (1941), that he fell in love with the medium. Devata was a landmark film in the history of south Indian cinema that attempted to break away from the loud theatricality of the times and to find an ‘indigenous’ idiom. The period in which Shobhana Parameswaran Nair entered film production (early 60’s) was also one when Malayalam cinema was breaking away from the claustrophobic studio sets and melodramatic modes to rediscover itself in local soil and idioms. The period witnessed a spate of films that were realistic in approach and progressive in their concerns.

Shobhana Parameswaran Nair, a still photographer by profession, represents that fraternity that ushered in radical change in Malayalam cinema, and it included actors and actresses, scenarists and lyricists, producers, technicians and musicians. He associated with some of the best works of the period like Neelakuyil, Bhargavinilayam and Rarichan Enna Pouran before becoming a producer. Though he produced only a handful of films – the most significant of them between 1963 and 1978 – he represents the spirit of his times in various ways. Through these films he led the way to virtually transplant Malayalam cinema to Kerala, both physically and thematically. It was not just the discovery of locations like the surroundings of Bharathapuzha, but was also through symbiotically linking cinema with our literary, imaging and musical traditions. Suddenly, our cinema began to vibe with our longings and belongings.

An ardent reader, he was close to many creative writers of the period like Vaikom Muhamed Basheer, M T Vasudevan Nair etc with whom he had lifelong association. It was he who persuaded the latter to write film script – Murappennu in 1965 which was his first, and then Nagarame Nandi in 1967, thus virtually inaugurating a new age in Malayalam cinema. The film scripts of established writers like MT and Uroob, firmly placed cinema in contemporary space, time and culture. In their commitment to realism and reality, they rediscovered and literally re-located Malayalam cinema in local spaces, communities and locales. For instance, Bharathapuzha and its surroundings, and Valluvanadan slang which became the norm in Malayalam cinema in the decades to come, were identified and celebrated first by MT Vasudevan Nair scripts; regional slang, milieu and ways of life, folk music and rustic comedy thus became part of cinema. If till then, Malayalam cinema industry as well as its themes and even storylines and musical scores were drawn from Tamil and Hindi, this period saw a new self-awareness and consciousness about one’s own tradition and surroundings. And Parameswaran Nair was in the forefront of that transition, catalyzing and facilitating it.

His films are landmarks of Malayalam film industry and they map the emotional and thematic concerns of the period. For each film, Shobhana Parameswaran Nair chose different writers and directors. For his debut film Ninamaninja Kalpadukal he chose a novel by Parapurath. It was directed by N N Pisharoty and won Silver medal at the national level. If his next two films were written by MT Vasudevan Nair, he chose the story of Perumbadavan Sreedharan for Abhayam, which was a film about a female writer, and was directed by Ramu Kariat. For this film, he used a bunch of original poems by legendary writers like Vallathol, Changampuzha, Sugathakumari, G Sankara Kurup etc. His next film Kallichellamma was based on a G Vivekanandan novel and was directed by P Bhaskaran, and Ammuvinte Attinkutty, children’s film by Ramu Kariat was based on a story by DK Pottekat. Apart from their deep sense of milieu and emotional intensity, his films will also be remembered for unforgettable songs of haunting quality and charm.

What makes Parameswaran Nair different from other producers – even of that period – was his ability to play the role of a catalyst to the whole process of filmmaking. For him filmmaking was not just about finance and profits, because his capital was not money but passion, and he wanted to make films that were really contemporary and timeless. As a producer, his involvement and commitment was total in all departments of the art. Whether it be the identification of the story, choice of actors (artists like Madhu, Jyotilakshmi etc played their first major roles in his films), scenarists, lyricists or directors (Ninamaninja Kalpadukal was N N Pisharoty’s debut film), Parameswaran Nair followed his own tastes and hunches, most of which proved to be trendsetters later. And it was a period when filmmaking was a celebration of friendship and creativity. It was this quality that endeared ‘Paramu Annan’ to filmmakers and films lovers of his generation and of the future.

- The Achani of ‘Art’ Cinema

K Ravindran Nair

K Ravindran Nair, fondly called ‘Achani Ravi’ or ‘General Pictures Ravi’ could be described as a single-man army who sustained the ‘art film’ movement in Malayalam. From the late 70-s to the mid-90’s, he produced some of the most significant films that won national and international acclaim and put Malayalam cinema on the world map. The most important films of the two great auteurs of that period – Aravindan and Adoor Gopalakrishnan – came out under the banner of General Pictures.

What brought Ravindran Nair, a cashew producer and exporter, into cinema was his lifelong passion for literature and arts. A successful businessman, he was able to hit the right combinations from the beginning. His first film ‘Anveshichu Kandethiyilla’ (1967) based on a novel by Parapurathu and directed by P Bhaskaran was an instant hit. It told the story of a woman fighting against all odds to make a life of her own. It was a passionate story that raised troubling questions about the role of women in our society. He followed it up with two more films by P Bhaskaran in 1968 (Lakshaprabhu and Kattukurangu) which were also successful. His next film Achani (The Axle) directed by A Vincent was a big box office hit and` eventually became his first name. From then on he was known as “Achani Ravi”. Achani was about a self-sacrificing elder brother who toiled all his life for others in the family. The theme definitely touched some raw nerve in the Malayalee psyche and had several ‘remakes’ in Malayalam cinema in the coming decades. And it marked a turning point in the career of Ravi also.

From the beginning Ravi was committed to the quality of films that he produced, which was evident in his choice of themes and directors. He never considered cinema as a means for money-making alone. In cinema, he sought expression for his ‘non-commercial’ dreams. And he entered cinema when well established producers and production houses dominated the scene. So, from the beginning his aim was to carve a niche for himself, not just through instant and local commercial successes, but through quality and experimentation, and in creating brand equity of his own.

During the next one and a half decades, he produced films that broke all norms and transformed the very idea of cinema in Malayalam. Before him, no other producer would have given such free rein to his directors, and that too, with absolutely no pressures to conform with any norms – commercial, aesthetic or formal. And his was not an intervention that was half-hearted or half-baked. He consistently produced films, year after year. Aravindan’s most memorable films like Kanchanaseetha (1977), Thampu (1978) Kummatti (1979) Esthapan (1979) and Pokkuveyil (1981) were produced by General Pictures. Kanchanaseetha, one of the most poetic films in Malayalam, was a freakishly free adaptation of a CN Sreekantan Nair play; it had no stars; nor did it even have a ‘proper’ storyline or follow any narrative conventions. Likewise, Pokkuveyil was a film that used a young poet and his poetry to weave a tragic narrative of the creative and political hallucinations of the time. It still remains one of the most haunting films of the period. Interestingly, for this film, music was recorded first (Hariprasad Chaurasia in flute and Rajeev Tharanath in Sarod, both elaborating upon Rag Shubha Pantuvarali), and then visuals were rendered to suit those musical scores

In the following years, Ravi went on to produce a series of films with Adoor Gopalakrishnan: Elipathayam (1981) Mukhamukham (1984), Anantharam (1987) and Vidheyan (1993). These films, like Aravindan’s, are some of the best cinematic works of Indian cinema. The first two films look at men caught within the traps that systems raise around them. While Elipathayam excavated the claustrophobic world of a man caught within a decadent feudal system, Mukhamukham is one of the most introspective of films on the degeneration of communist movement in Keralam. Anantharam, most enigmatic of love stories on celluloid, dwelt upon the splintering inner world of a man yearning for love. Vidheyan, the last film produced by Ravi, is an adaptation of a Zachariah novelette, an intense portrayal of a sado-masochist relationship between a ruthless master and his ‘self-less’ slave. In 1982, Ravi also produced Manju (1982) directed by MT Vasudevan Nair based upon his own novel.

It was because of visionaries like Ravi that the tradition of ‘parallel’ cinema still survives in Malayalam cinema. It did not die out like it did in other languages with the retreat of state agencies. What makes Ravi different is his vision and commitment. According to him, “I did not make ‘experimental’ cinema. I only made good cinema.” He was a producer that any filmmaker would dream of. He dared to make films that he believed in and would outlive their times. And for that, he put full faith on his directors, and they made works that gave a sense of pride and identity to Malayalam cinema. Those films are sure to inspire generations of cineastes. This year’s J C Daniel Award is a fitting recognition of his contributions to the spirit of good cinema.

RAAMANAM – ON ADAPTATION AND REVELATIONS

MP Sukumaran Nair talks about his new film Raamanam

Raamanam is an adaptation of ‘Smarakasilakal’ the celebrated novel by
Punathil Kunhabdulla. What were the challenges in making a film out of
a much-read novel that was written decades ago?

It was a daunting task and there were difficulties at different
levels. The novel is actually set in the 1940’s as can be guessed from
its reference to the Onchiyam incident. When you take up such a story,
one cannot mechanically reproduce it today. After Babri Masjid
demolition, one cannot conceive of the Muslim society in Keralam or a
character like Thangal in such a manner. Maybe one can take such
liberties in literature, but in a visual medium like cinema, it’d look
totally apolitical and retrogressive today..

What about the narrative style followed by Punathil?

Punathil has his own style that is very readable. But though he is
descriptive in a sensual way and very articulate about sensual
aspects, he does not give us many visual clues. Moreover, I had to
visualize a milieu with which I was not very acquainted.His
descriptions about life in the Thangal family indicate a big joint
family, but character-wise, it looks like a small family. Thangal’s
relationship with Neeli itself is very ambiguous. All this made the
task of fixing the visual coordinates arduous. But Punathil’s novel is
rich with stories about people, places, incidents etc. I have drawn
this aspect into the film.

still from Raamanam

You’ve placed your narrative in the period between 1970 and 1990’s.
How and why did you’ re-historicize’ the narrative?

The novel is apparently set in the 1940’s when independence struggle
was raging all over. But the only indication of this is the mention
about Onchiyam incident. Historically, I begin the narrative of the
film in the 1970’s when a split occurs within the Muslim League with
one faction moving closer to the left. You can see that Thangal
belongs to the pro-left faction, and so, the film traverses that
historical trajectory followed by two other historical moments: the
Emergency and Babri Masjid demolition. That is how I structured the
narrative time of the film.

Thangal is more of a libertine in the novel and his sexual escapades
are numerous and dominant…

One cannot possibly portray him like that now. If I do so, it will
distort the very image of the community and can lead to dangerous
readings in the present context. For instance, a scholar who had done
research on the novel told me that the violent death he meets with in
the end was in a way a punishment to his actions in life. But my
attitude to this character was different; I didn’t want to portray him
like that, especially now. Despite everything, he has a certain kind
of eccentricity in him, which prompts him to give refuge to Neeli,
adopt her son as his own, educate him and his daughter, and teach the
latter an art like Nangiarkoothu etc. He is not a normal person in
that sense. All this places him in a very different manner in the film
narrative.

But there is a strong thread of goodness running through the novel.
For instance the personal care he takes for someone like Eramullan,
the horse, Neeli etc. It is something that defies any kind of
stereotyping. I took that element too from the novel.

In all your early films, you have worked with other contexts and
communities. How was your encounter with this milieu?

During the shooting of the film, I had the opportunity to mingle with
many people there, both men and women. I met a lot of old women who
were active in the communist party and had taken part in street
processions etc. But in the present, I felt that there is a certain
sense of insecurity running deep within the community. I don’t know
whether it is fear or anger or suspicion. This was evident in the way
local people interacted with us. Majority of them earnestly wanted to
help us in the shooting by finding locations etc but were reluctant to
do so; they seemed to be afraid of something. I felt very sad about
it, because it is not at all a healthy. It indicates the positions
into which we’ve driven a progressive community like the Muslims in
Malabar. Evidently, the Babri Masjid demolition has affected the
community in a very profound manner. So, I think its inclusion in the
film was also justified by my experience during shooting. I never
thought its repercussions were so deep..

This is also being telecast as a television serial, isn’t it?

Yes, but I shot the film and teleserial in different formats and with
two different camera setups. The serial dwells much more upon details,
subplots and other characters in the novel. But a film can’t afford
it.

A Film and A Time

Njatadi – The Film and its Time

Films follow curious lives. While some films are remembered for their
memorable story, character or acting, certain films stand apart for
their radical otherness and refusing to play to the dominant tunes of
the time. The latter kind are rediscovered as moments in history. The
case of ‘Njatadi’, debut film by Gopi made in 1979, is one such story.

Gopi, director of Njatadi at the sets

Literally ‘njatadi’ means the bed of seedlings in a paddy field; it is
the site where fresh seedlings are weeded, sorted and kept for
planting. Thought njatadi itself does not result in any yield, the
tender plants in it provide the future harvest. In that sense,
‘Njatadi’ the film could be seen as a metaphor of sorts. Most of those
who were part of this venture went on to make significant
contributions in cinema and other fields: Gopi, its director, actors
like Murali, K R Mohanan (now Chairman of Kerala Chalachitra Academy)
and Aliyar, cinematographer Vipin Mohan, etc. It featured several
other first-time actors like veteran journalist V R Korappath,
Kalamandalam Girija, MK Gopalakrishnan etc. It was also entirely shot
and processed in Keralam.

Paradoxically, the film was screened only twice and its print still
untraceable. For a film like that, which was seen only by a few, there
is every chance of it being relegated to the oblivion. But in the case
of Njatadi it was not so. On September 24th , after 30 years, the
group of youngsters who made that film possible got together to
refresh their memories.
They paid homage to the stalwarts who departed during this long
interregnum: director Gopi, Murali, Korapath, producer-organiser Dr KN
Sreenivasan etc.. In that sense, Njatadi is more than just a film.
Though the film in its physical form is irretrievable, the spirit
behind it survives.

A Still from Njatadi

To mark the occasion, a book and a video documentary on the film was
also released. The book – Njatadi Smaranakal - edited by K Bhaskaran
contains personal memoirs of those who took part in the making of the
film. Apart from such reminiscences, the 20-minutes video documentary,
pieces together the narrative of the film through poignant stills from
it. The book and the documentary, unique in their mission, are earnest
attempts at recapturing a lost film, and in the process, memories,
incidents and experiences that such an experiment involved in the late
70’s. What transpires through these personal flashbacks, are the sheer
joy of doing something new, the exhilaration of collective, selfless
action and also its attendant frustrations.

As one of the main organizers and the scenarist of the film, TK
Kochunarayanan recalls the period: “All over the world, 1970’s mark
radical changes in political thinking. Naturally it had its resonance
in India and Keralam too. There were fresh sprouts of an ideology that
was committed to providing the villages a new life and vigour. In
Keralam, it had the resonances of a rural wake up song and was the
indigenous version of an ideology that inspired the youth and rattled
the old. Caught in its tune and rhythm were some young minds, who were
ready to take up that arduous journey to achieve lasting peace.”
According to him, this was the background that made ‘Njatadi’
possible.

Any act of remembering is also an act of defiance against forgetting.
By keeping memories alive, we make vital links not only with the past,
but also to the future. Such remembrance is sure to inspire the
njatadis in the present too.

Another Great Actress Leaves the Stage

ADOOR BHAVANI

C S Venkiteswaran

Acting in cinema is not like any other vocation. Appearance in films and the ‘recognition’ that invariably follows transports the actor/actress into a magical world where nothing else matters. It holds a fatal attraction despite umpteen disappointments, ups and downs all along - in the form of one’s role being editing out, films bombing at the box office or never getting released, and almost invariably, bounced cheques that never get realized or even regretted. But the lure of the tinsel world is such that once there, one is doomed for life. In the case of artists who survive by doing ‘side roles’ this can be an especially frustrating experience. For even while one floats over the tinsel froth and tides, there persists a certain emptiness within, a lurking feeling that one hasn’t been able to play a fulfilling and challenging role that is equal to one’s talent and experience. Many an artist fades out and dies with this feeling, neither making it big personally or financially.

The demise of Adoor Bhavani augurs such sad thoughts in one’s mind. She had been a very impressive presence in Malayalam cinema for at least five decades (1953-2003). Yet she never got a real break like some of her colleagues, like for instance, Premji in Piravi, Adoor Bhasi in Cheriyachante Kroorakrithyangal, Bahadoor, though very late in his life, in Thilakkam, Oduvil in Oru Cherupunchiri etc. She had to remain at the margins throughout her carrer like many other stalwarts of her generation: S P Pillai, Paravur Bharathan, Alummoodan, Kuthiravattom Pappu, Meena, Philomena etc. Yet they all firmly etched themselves into our memory through small roles yet striking performances.

Adoor Bhavani virtually stumbled into films with Sariyo Thetto in 1953. From the beginning, she had a style of her own, for she was neither a conventional ‘beauty’ nor was she known for her dancing skills. But her persona had a rustic charm and vitality that immediately vibed with the audience, an unassuming style that was intimate and neighbourly. As she could effortlessly transform herself into the character, her very presence added a certain rootedness to the ambience of the narrative. In that sense, she was a ‘milieu actress’; all her impressive performances were of characters belonging to a definite milieu, for eg. as a fisherfolk woman Chakki in Chemmeen, the self-effacingly loyal Nair sister to her brother in Koottukudumbam, the friendly Muslim neighbour in Kadalpalam, Chellamma’s guaradian-neighbour and fellow street vendor ‘Valliakkan’ in Kallichellamma or the proud but caring mother-in-law in Kodiyettam

No wonder her gradual sidelining within Malayalam film narrative coincided with the retreat of such milieu-based narratives, and its withdrawal into male-dominant, upper caste/middle class homes, where aged people and women were mere appendages. If actresses like Kaviyoor Ponnamma and Sukumari graduated to motherly roles and those like Meena and Philomena tried their hands at comedies, Adoor Bhavani persisted with small but serious roles. Though she was often typecast, she was able to handle all such roles with equal charm and ease. Like many of her contemporaries, for whom acting was never just a career, her last days too were spent in loneliness and penury: another instance of our utter disregard for art.

Adoor Bhavani was one of the last representatives of a generation of actors who came to cinema from theatre; their acting style drew its energy from stage experience. With the varied and direct encounters they thus had with spectators all over Kerala, they could make their presence felt in film too without resorting to any kind of antics or exaggeration, even in very small roles and brief appearances. They easily became part of the narrative milieu and merged perfectly with its ambience. Sadly, Adoor Bhavani was one such actress, of whose talents Malayalam cinema could only capture a few glimpses.

Master of the Realm of the Senses

P Padmarajan - Master of Realm of the Senses

C S Venkiteswaran

I am my beloved’s, and his desire is for me

Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the fields, and lodge in the villages;

Let us go out early to the vineyards, and see whether the vines have budded,

Whether the grape blossoms have opened and the pomegranates are in bloom.

There I will give you my love”

- Song of Solomon, VII:10-12

It is unbelievable that two decades have passed since Padmarajan left us! It may be because of the fact that he and the enchanting words and images he created never lost their charm and are still close to our heart.

Though his life was short, Padmarajan (1945-1991) was very prolific as a writer and filmmaker. He was one of the youngest authors to receive Kerala Sahitya Academy Award for his very first novelNakshathrangale Kaval at the age of 27. He went on to publish around 17 books of fiction, wrote as many highly successful scripts for filmmakers like Bharathan, KG George, IV Sasi and Mohan, and directed 18 films during the brief period between 1979 (Peruvazhiyambalam) and 1991 (Njan Gandharvan), apart from editing many of his own films! And even when he was busy making films, he continued to write till the end.

In literature, he belonged to a generation of writers who were in many ways the midnight’s children: born into a period of great hope they matured into a bleak era of utter loss of belief. Devoid of the baggage of ideologies or legacies, they vociferously quarreled with everything, though they were not sure about their dreams. In their works was a virtual and ‘literal’ explosion of sensuality. Padmarajan’s works of fiction like Nanmakalude Sooryan, Shavavahangalum Thedi, Manjukalam notta Kuthira, Prathimayum Rajakumariyum, Pukakkannada, Syphilisinte Nadakkavu andRithubhedhangalude Paarithoshikam belong to that tradition and charged with existential angst and carnal yearnings. Even the very titles suggest an earthy otherworldliness about them.

In the mid-70’s, Padmarajan started writing film scripts, and established enduring partnerships with directors like Bharathan, Mohan, and IV Sasi, whose films ushered in a new sensuality in Malayalam cinema. Even after becoming a director himself, he didn’t stop writing for others. Starting in 1975 with Prayanam for Bharathan, Padmarajan went on to write scripts for other directors till the end: his last script was Eee Thanutha Veluppankalathu in 1990 for Joshi. And all his screenplays invariably dealt with his favourite themes: desire, passion, memory, love, sex and violence.

He was basically a storyteller par excellence. Though apparently, his stories and films teem with ‘ordinary’ men and women, and very ‘local’ cityscapes and villages, these people and places are charged with a raw and explosive kind of passion and desire; they lie dormant within them and is aroused at the slightest instance: it can be the arrival from outside of a man or woman, an unexpected turn of events or an accident. At the centre of all his films is this sudden intrusion of the ‘real’ that leads to the eruption of tempestuous passions lying behind the placid surface of these lands and mindscapes.

His first film Peruvazhiambalam (1979), one of the finest films in Malayalam, is an incisive examination of how violence or totalitarianism works in our society that dealt with disturbing questions relating to masculinity and how people adore and dread it at the same time. Very few people resist it directly; some exile themselves in space, while others do the same in time, hoping for better times. It is the meek who are forced to resist and rebel, but once the act of violence is perpetrated, the mantle of ‘heroism’ is thrust upon them too, which is nothing but another invitation to domination.

In Oridaththoru phayalvaan (1981), which won an award at Asian Film Festival, it is the arrival of a wrestler that creates ripples in the village, and sets passions in motion. His towering body is an alien object that triggers desire, admiration, jealousy and also avarice. In the end, the village spits him out, and regains its calm, but in the process, several hearts have been wounded and minds set aflame. Both Kallan Pavithran (1981) and Arappattakettiya Gramathil (1986) are voyages into another world. While Pavithran, a smalltime thief is accidentally transported into a world of wealth and luxury, in the latter, the casual sexual escapade of the group of youth all of a sudden turns into a nightmare of sorts. Transgressive love is a recurring theme in Padmarajan. Both in Prayanamand Rathinirvedam (both directed Bharathan) love breaks the barriers of age and caste. In Thoovanathumpikal (1987) and Desadanakili Karayarilla (1986) Padmarajan explores the polymorphous dimension of desire, always placing the female at the centre of the narrative. In Thoovanathumpikal, one of the most romantic of Padmarajan films, it is Clara who enters the hero’s life like a rain and exits it as easily to break away and seek freedom. Similarly, Desadanakili Karayarilla deals with two school girls who elope from school to seek their own freedom – social and sexual. Though the normative, heterosexual regime catches up with both the eloping duo and Jayakrishnan in Thoovanathumpikal, the taste of freedom and difference is destined to mark their future lives.Namukkuparkkan Munthirithoppukal (1986) revisits the theme of sexuality in both its forms – that of inhuman lust and romantic love, weaving the evocative Songs of Solomon into its narrative.Innale (1990) deals with the ultimate male fantasy: that of the sudden gift of a dream girl sans memories; without a past, she can take any form that love wills.

In Padmarajan’s narratives, male and female sexualities, though fatally attracted towards each other, follow different trajectories, often to tragic effect. While male sexuality easily tends towards violence and aggressive possession, female sexuality is almost always enigmatic and mysterious, breaking out into freedom and exuberance. Characters like Clara or Shali, Sophia or Savitri, Chakkara or Gouri portray the wide spectrum of female desires that can never be pigeon-holed or cast into the moulds of male desire. They rebel and provoke, yearn and splurge, never afraid of taking control of their lives and destinies. It is men who come in the way, coercing them into violence, like in Novemberinte Nashtam (1982) and Koodevide (1983), or force them to run away to freedom like in Nombarathipoovu (1987) and Parannu parannu parannu (1984). More than relationships themselves, what Padmarajan films deal with is the havoc that these fatal attractions wreak upon the person. And it is female desire that stretches the narratives into a triangle, as they almost invariably break out of their prisons (Prayanam, Arappattakettiya Gramathil, Namukkuparkkan Munthirithoppukal, Thoovanathumpikal, Oridathoru Phayalvan). Aparan, Thinkalazhcha Nalla Divasam, Season and Moonam Pakkam are films that stand apart in his oeuvre; these films focus on death, loneliness, longing, old age, revenge and the fascinating theme of the double.

kochin haneefa

Adieu, Kochin Haneefa

C S Venkiteswaran

The departure of Kochin Haneefa is like the sudden and unexpected exit of a character in the middle of a play. He was at his prime and in the middle of so many things. As a noted actor, director, scenarist and producer, he was very active both in Malayalam and Tamil for more than three decades. In his own words, “I played several roles in life: actor, writer, scenarist, director and politician. But I loved acting above all. I appear before you, changing through time and your tastes. And, upon seeing me, if your mind is aroused and whispers ‘Kochin Haneefa’, my life is fulfilled.” He was also one of those rare artists from Kerala who made a mark in the South Indian film industry.

Salim Ahmed Ghoush alias Kochin Haneefa was many things at the same time. Though he was one of the first products of Kalabhavan to enter films, his acting was not defined by ‘mimicry’ style. He entered films playing villain roles, but ended up as a comedian. And even when he shifted to comedy in Malayalam, he was an acclaimed villain in Tamil films. Till the end, he went on producing, writing and directing, not comedies, but films dealing with serious issues, social and familial.

Even as a college student, Haneefa had made his mark as an actor, and like many others he too was lured by cinema and went to Madras to pursue his dreams. He yearned to be an actor and did manage to get some minor roles, but he was more successful in script writing, something he literally stumbled upon. His acting debut was in Azhimukham in 1972 as a boatman, followed by a handful of films in the 70’s. He couldn’t find a niche for himself in that period and had to be satisfied with supportive roles. The first break came for him when he became a script writer of Aval oru Devalayam, which starred major actors. He went on to write Irumpazhikal (a remake of Sholay), Raju Rahim, Adimachangala etc. followed by commercial successes like Kadathanadan Ambadi, Lal Americayil, Inakkili and Puthiya Karukkal. Meanwhile he continued to appear in villain roles. The second turning point in his career was Kireedom (Siby Malayil, 1989) in which he played the role of a village ruffian, who is a coward. This role that combined the villain and comedian, in a way encapsulates his career till then and also of his future fame. One can never forget the hilarious characters in films like Punjabi House, Narendran Makan Jayakantan Vaka, CID Moosa, Meesa Madhavan, Thilakkam, Mannar Mathai Speaking, Harikrishnans, Friends, Suthradaran, Ee Parkkum Thalika, Sundarapurushan, Kunjikoonan, Swapnakkoodu, Pulivalkalyanam, CI Mahadevan 5’ 4”, Chathikatha Chanthu and Udayananu Tharam.. He was a noted actor in Tamil also, with films like Annyan, Pattayan, Mahanadi, and most recently Vettaikaran. In Mahanadi he plays a crafty villain who traumatizes the life of the hero (Kamal Haasan). He was at ease with both the film worlds and loved to switch roles, languages and styles. Like many actors of his kind, who constitute the magic of cinema but are not rewarded by recognitions, Haneefa too had to satisfy with public adulation rather than official recognition. The only state award that came his way was as Second Best Actor for his performance in Soothradharan in 2001.

His directorial ventures in Malayalam include Bheesmacharya (1994), Valtsalyam (1993), Veena Meettiya Vilangukal (1990), Aankiliyude Tharattu (1987) Oru Sindoora Pottinte Ormaykku (1987),Moonnu Masangalkku Munpu (1986) and Oru Sandesam Koodi (1985). Most of these films did well at the box office and dealt with social and emotional issues.

Though his acting career spanned more than three decades from Azhimukhan (1972) to Bodyguard (2010), and he made notable contributions in various fields, what made him a popular figure were his comic roles. In comedy, he was able to create a style of his own. His acting was situational rather than something that emerged from himself through mere idiosyncrasies or dialogues. It had more to do with the dynamics between his body and the context in which it found itself. For instance, like many of his contemporaries and competitors, his comic identity is not fixed onto or one arising out of his regional slang or mannerisms. It was his body as a whole that was at the centre: one that stands out, never accommodated by the ‘normal’/normative system that envelops it. Haneefa character is always a ‘misfit’ and the comedy arises out the mismatch between body and mind, appearance and reality, words and deeds, status and ability. For instance, in several films, he plays the role of a police officer, but he is invariably a coward, a stooge or corrupt to the core. In Kaliveedu, he is a psychiatrist, who hypnotizes people, but in the end he himself falls prey to a smarter woman, who becomes his wife. In Oravadhikalathu, he is a physical trainer, but has to send letters addressed to himself to prove his worth. In Swapnakoodu, though he is a distant relative of the hapless family that includes two beautiful girls, in the end we find him trying to sell them off in the flesh market. In films like Punjabi House, Pulivalkalyanam, Narendran makan Jayakantan vaka etc, he plays hilarious roles where humour arises out of a body that is out of place, one that can’t neither flaunt nor hide itself from public gaze. In film after film, he celebrated this state of being that is always caught between the rhetoric heroism on the one side, and the sheer necessity to survive on the other. Like any comedian, his roles stand apart and above the narrative, never seeking closures and finales but always bursting forth with mirth and laughter in the present. These comic characters had no axe to grind or point to prove, they were neither nostalgic about the past nor worried about future goals, but always lived here and now to light up our lives in unexpected and uncanny ways.

One of his most striking his qualities was that he knew his role really well; small or big, central or marginal, he always played it to the hilt and with total commitment. Most importantly, never in his life, art or career was he parochial or partisan in any way, the reason why he was dear to all. The Malayalam film industry will surely miss him very badly, especially in times like these when any sense of camaraderie is sorely lacking.

Departure of a Master

C Raghavan - A Translator par excellence

C S Venkiteswaran

C Raghavan, one of the finest multilingual translators from Keralam, died on 20^th February 2010 at Kasargod. He was 79. Raghavan ‘Master’, as he was fondly called, was a very lively presence in the cultural scene of Tulunad, and was an integral part of all the progressive social and literary movements in the region during the last several decades. His contributions as a teacher, writer, historian and translator have inspired and shaped a generation of literary enthusiasts, writers and students.

A true polyglot, he was at ease with several languages. He was an expert in Tulu, Kannada and Malayalam languages and was very well at ease with Tamil and English. Raghavan Master was one of those rare translators who could translate from and into more than one source and target languages. He translated a number of notable literary works from and into Malayalam and Kannada, and has ‘literally’ been an ambassador between the two languages.

Throughout his life he lived in Kasargod or Tulunad, as he would describe it, which is a virtual confluence or melting pot of cultures- Tulu, Kannada, Malayalam, Konkani and English. In more than one way he was the son of Tulunad, and his magnum opus is about it. His book ‘Tulu Language, Society, Culture’, is an encyclopedic work and the result of decades of research - a unique one of its kind that delves into the diversities and confluences that define Tulu culture.

Soon after graduation, he got a government job in Madras as a clerk in Southern Railways. But, to the shock of his family and well wishers, he decided to return to Kasargod to take up the job of a school teacher. He was indeed answering a call. For, since then there was no looking back for him. A committed educationalist, he went on to hold several important positions in Education department, and received the award for Best Teacher. He was also active in Bharat Scouts, teachers’ training programmes and curriculum development.

It was the translation of the Kannada novel Chirasmarana by Niranjana, based on the lives of the communist revolutionaries and martyrs of Kayyur, that brought Raghavan into the limelight. According to Niranjana, when Chirasmarana was originally published in Kannada, it did not receive the attention it deserved but it was the Malayalam translation that gave it a new lease of life. In the coming decades Raghavan translated several celebrated works from Kannada like Bharatipura, Divyam, and Avasthe by UR Anantamurthy, Chidambara Rahasyam by Poornachandra Tejaswi, Kulothe Chinkaramma by Chandrasekhara Kambar Baduku by Geeta Nagabhushan (which received Sahitya Akademi Award for translation), and other noted works of masters like Masti and Bendre. Another master work of his is the translation of the Kannada epic Pampa Ramayanam.

Raghavan Master was also instrumental in bringing several authors into limelight. For instance, the novels of Sara Abubacker, a writer living in Kerala and writing in Kannada, became popular through his translations. Similar was the case with writers like Boluvar Muhammedkunji and Fakir Muhammed Katpadi. He also introduced to Malayalee readers the poetry, plays and writings of another polyglot and scholar of his region, Manjeswaram Govinda Pai.

Some of the major works he translated from Malayalam to Kannada include O Chandu Menon’s Indulekha, which received Kendra Sahitya Akademi award in 1998, Kesavadev’s Odayil Ninnu, MT Vasudevan Nair’s celebrated novel Randamoozham, Sukumar Azhikode’s philosophical treatise Tatvamasi and a selection of poems by Ayyappa Panicker. He also wrote the biographies of Malayalam writers like Thakazhi Sivasankara Pillai and Vaikom Muhammed Basheer in Kannada.

For him, translation was not a technical or literary affair. While introducing the best of works in one culture to another, it should also engage them in a cultural dialogue with each other. Taking up this cultural mission, Raghavan Master always selected works that dealt with the oppressed and the marginalized sections in these societies. According to him, translation was not just ‘bhashantara’ (language to language) but was also ‘bhavantara’ (emotion to emotion) and a tool for fostering deeper understanding and fresh synergy between cultures. And what distinguishes his translations is such complex and sensitive understanding of culture.

C Raghavan was one of the last among a generation of great translators in Malayalam that includes stalwarts like Nalappatt Narayana Menon, Ani Thayyil, P Madhavan Pillai, MN Sathyarthi and Ravivarma, for whom translation was a mission. While the entire Tulunad mourns his demise, the writers and readers in Kannada and Malayalam will deeply miss his warm, gentle and stimulating presence.

A Master Narrator

K S SETHUMADHAVAN – Master Narrator

C S Venkiteswaran

This year’s JC Daniel Award for lifetime achievement in cinema goes to K S Sethumadhavan, the veteran director whose contributions were foundational to the evolution of the language of Malayalam cinema. None could be more deserving and coincidentally, this year also marks the 50^th anniversary of his entry into Malayalam cinema; his first film Malayalam, Jnanasundari was made in 1961.

Born in 1931 in Palakkad, K S Sethumadhavan took to the world of films like fish to water. And his lineage runs back to the beginnings of Malayalam cinema: he began his career in films under TR Sundaram of Modern Studios who produced the first Malayalam talkie, Balan. After a brief apprenticeship under K Ramanathan, he made his debut with a Sinhalese film, Veeravijaya, which became a commercial success. It earned him the reputation of being a responsible director and before long, he moved to Malayalam. From his very first film in Malayalam till the end, it was a long and fascinating engagement with literature. He was virtually a ‘writer’s director’ and almost all the major writers of the period like Muttathu Varkey, Kesavadev, MT Vasudevan Nair, Thakazhy, Malayattoor Ramakrishnan, Pamman, KT Muhammed, Thoppil Bhasi, Vettoor Raman Nair and Parapurathu feature in his oeuvre that spans more than four decades.

K S Sethumadhavan was a prolific filmmaker and in the first two decades of his career, he made more than 50 films. There were times when he used to make five to six films in a year. What made him different from the rest was that amidst this steady flow of work, he managed to produce some of the finest works in Malayalam cinema at regular intervals. His early films were all social melodramas like Kannum Karalum (1962, which introduced Kamal Hasan to cinema), Suseela, Nithyakanyaka (1963), Omanakuttan, Manavatti, and Anna (1964). The year 1965 marks a turning point in his life with two landmark films Odayil Ninnu, and Daham Odayil Ninnu was the screen adaptation of a celebrated novel by Kesavadev which dealt with the life and struggles of a rickshaw puller. It was a commercial success and also received critical acclaim for its raw energy and the acting performance of Sathyan in the lead role. Daham, set in a hospital, was about a murderer, who gradually wakes up to the feelings of love and compassion. A few films later, Sethumadhavan made another Sathyan-starrer, Yakshi (1968), based on a psychological thriller by Malayattoor Ramakrishnan, which inaugurated the genre in Malayalam cinema. It was about a college lecturer, who is disfigured during a scientific experiment, and whose erotic life is even more deeply scarred by it. Other significant films to follow were Kadalpalam, Adimakal, Vazhve Mayam, and Mindapennu. In 1970 he made six films, among which Aranazhikaneram, which was based on a novel by Parappurathu stands out as one of the finest works of the period. Following the novel closely, the film adopts Biblical themes and captures the moral rot within a middle class Christian family. The narrative is about the last days in the life of Kunjanechan, who, as his life ebbs away, becomes a helpless witness to the various deadly sins his offsprings succumb to. Anubhavangal Palichakal (1971) based on a novel by Thakazhi, is yet another landmark film that starred Sethumadhavan’s favourtie actor, Sathyan (he met with while doing this film). A rare and reflective film about communist movement in Kerala, it is a disturbing and emotional look at the question of belief and faith - in two crucial institutions – the communist party and the family. Both institutions seem to push the individual into deep conflicts, demanding huge sacrifices to sustain them, and the institution and morals of the party is conflated with that of the family. formally, like in Aranazhikaneram, here also one finds the prevalence of night shots; as if the characters occupy a twilight, liminal world, caught up in its web and groping to find a way out.

Some of the significant films in the next years include Panitheeratha Veedu, Kanyakumari, and Chattakkari. Oppol (1980) based on a story by MT Vasudevan Nair, which received several awards at the state and national level, returns to the theme of Oedipal conflict. It is an emotionally intense story about an illegitimate boy, his unwed mother, and her new husband, who is a soldier. The rustic charm of the performance of Balan K Nair won great appreciation and Sethumadhavan once again proved his mettle in bringing out the best in his actors with the help of a tightly-knit story. By the 1980’s, the film scene had undergone radical changes both in terms of thematic concerns as well as in technical and stylistic vocabularies. Between 1981 and 1990 he made only few films and some of which were in Hindi. But in 1991 he made a come back with Marupakkam which won National Award for Best Film. Based on a story by Indra Parthasarathy, it is a chilling film about marriage and scholarship. It is about an aged traditional vedic scholar, at the fag end of his life, being haunted by the memory of his teenage love. She is finally brought to him by his estranged son, and the film ends with the vacant and devastated stare in the face of his lifelong companion and wife in the face of that final rendezvous.

Always working from within the hub of commercial film industry, Sethumadhavan has made films belonging to different genres and also languages – apart from Malayalam, Tamil, Telugu, Hindi and Oriya! As for official accolades, he has won the Kerala State Film Award for Best Director 4 times: Vazhve Mayam (1970), Karakanakkadal (1971), Pani Theeratha Veedu (1972) and Oppol (1980). In 1973, he won the Nargis Dutt Award for Best Feature Film on National Integration for Achanum Bappayum and in 1966, his Telugu film Sthree won the National Film Award for Best Feature Film in Telugu.

Sethumadhavan belongs to a period when Malayalam cinema was trying to find a narrative idiom and language of its own. Sethumadhavan firmly anchored it by weaving intense film narratives by symbiotically linking it with literature, and drawing out impressive performances from his actors. When one looks back, it seems that one of the recurring motifs in Sethumadhavan’s oeuvre is the crisis of the patriarch or the male hero, which sometimes assumes Oedipal character. In many of his films, the masculine centre of the narrative is under severe crisis. Many of his male heroes are loners who are disfigured or impotent, nurse compulsive doubts about the fidelity of their wives, or fight futile battles. In Odayil ninnu, for Pappu the rickshaw puller, life is a constant slide to helplessness and self denial, in Kadalpalam the blind patriarch who stays upstairs and rules over his sons, finally finds himself powerless, and Aranazhikaneram is about the final days of another father figure, whose moral world is collapsing around him. If in Oppol, it is a virtual Oedipal battle between the illegitimate son and the new husband of his mother, in films like Yakshi, Anubhavangal Palichakal, Punarjanmam, and Vazhve Mayam one can sense a strong undercurrent of castration complex.

We often dub Sethumadhavan as a ‘literary’ filmmaker. When one looks back, one can find that the film narratives of this auteur par excellence are animated by certain deep ambivalences about a period that on the surface, seemed to be driven by political idealism and a sense of mission in life and polity. These celluloid portrayals of the deep conflicts of masculinity and male agency marks him off as the cartographer of malayalee male psyche of a particular period in our social and political history. As far as cinema was concerned, it was also a period that was prior to the advent of super stars and macho, one dimensional heroes.

Auteur par excellence

G Aravindan (1935 – 1991) – Auteur par excellence

C S Venkiteswaran




Aravindan films invite us to return to them time and again for their haunting visual quality and open-ended narratives; they constantly transgress all kinds of boundaries – that of the cinematic medium, form, aesthetics and sensibility. Their symbiotic links with music, painting and spirituality - Aravindan was passionate about all these - animate them with a sort of meditative energy.

If one closely looks at his oeuvre that spanned one and a half decades (1974 – 1990), one can see at least three Aravindans. The creator of Uttharayanam, his first film, was an extension of the cartoonist of the celebrated ‘Cheriya Manushyarum Valiya Lokavum’ (Little People, Big World) which he did for Mathrubhumi Weekly in the 1960’s. Working with various contrasts - black and white, past and present, idealism and degeneration, memories and experience – this film portrayed the disillusioned youth of the 70’s – an outsider and a rebel who is caught between the past of idealism and the degeneration of the present, a present where power has overcome ‘movement’ – in the external/political as well as internal/spiritual realms. The film ends up with the protagonist setting on fire his mask and disappearing into the forest (wilderness?). It is definitely a gesture of transcendence, an attempt to go beyond the stultifying polemics that life, and sometimes art, gets trapped in. Thampu, one of the most lyrical of Aravindan films, is about the arrival of a circus troupe in a sleepy village, and the ripples it creates there. It is all about the here and now, the transient thrills and excitements that arise out of the interface between the little worlds inside and outside the circus tent. It brings into subtle contrast the incessant journeys of the circus troupe as against the idiotic rootedness of the village, the evanescent ‘society’ that a troupe is vis a vis the permanent ‘showmen’ going through their motions at the village, andthe yearning for the beyond as against the exigencies of the mundane. It is a break from this stagnation that the local youth makes as he joins the troupe when they leave his village.

The second Aravindan explored the ‘beyond’ in film. In Kanchanaseetha, Kummatti, Esthappan and Pokkuveyil one finds Aravindan at the peak of his imaginative abilities. Thematically diverse, all of them are intensely poetic and painterly overtures into the beyond, always stretching the cinematic medium and its aesthetic possibilities. Kanchanaseetha is a contemplative film that strips the timeless story of Ramayana to its bare essentials. Based on C N Sreekantan Nair play, it sets the epic narrative amidst the Ramachenchu tribe of Andhra Pradesh, who considers themselves as descendants of lord Rama. Here the godly Rama is a simple tribal chieftain in the midst of his all-too human desires, conflicts, follies and sorrows. The ethical conflicts of the masculine Rama, embodiment of the Law, runs parallel to that of Sita, embodied in nature and the feminine principle whose justice finds no place in his kingdom. Kummatty is an exploration into the imaginary world of childhood fantasy. One of the most charming of children’s films, Kummatty is about a village bogeyman who inadvertently forgets to transform a local boy back into a human being after turning him into a dog. For the dog-boy, it leads him to a rediscovery of life. His next film Esthappan is about the stuff legends are made of, about how we, transcend the everydayness of our lives by weaving tales out of memories, dreams and imagination. It is about Esthappan, who turns into a mythical figure in the minds of the local Christian fisher folk, and weaves into itself local myths and legends, folk play and songs. Pokkuveyil is a haunting film that rises to the level of music, a jugalbandi of images and sound where the visuals, in long, meditative shots, try to transform themselves into a sort of accompaniment to the haunting Subhapantuvarali in the background (Hariprasad Chaurasia on flute and Rajeev Tharanath on Sarod).



In the third Aravindan one witnesses a growing concern with the linear narrative. In Chidambaram, Oridathu and Vastuhara one finds him grappling with narratives about people in the throes of history, socio-economic changes and also basic instincts. Chidambaram is a wrenching portrayal of a man and a woman who commit adultery and the traumatic events it triggers in their lives and of those around. The original sin or act of breach of trust has fatal consequences: it destroys people’s lives, and throws the man and the woman into an abyss of guilt and into an endless pursuit for redemption. Chidambaram dramatises the eternal conflict between basic human instincts and the institutions of belief, morals and ethics that envelop us. Oridathu is about the arrival of electricity in a village and is imbued with a deep sense of apprehension about the idea of ‘progress’. The narrative strings together little anecdotes and incidents triggered by the arrival of this alien technology, and culminates in a cataclysmic vision. In the final sequence, we see a human-like figure afloat in the sky, having lost all connections with the earth and humanity. Vastuhara, his last film, is about the human yet inexorable forces of history and the havoc it wreaks on human lives and relationships. Based on C V Sreeraman’s story, the narrative is set between two traumatic dispossessions in Indian history - the exodus of people from East to West Bengal following partition of the country in 1947, and the 1971 exodus from Bangladesh to West Bengal following the war and the formation of Bangladesh. It is also a rare film on partition and refugee-hood made from a Malayalee perspective, and it weaves the subtext of malayalee diaspora into its ‘national’ narrative.



Being himself a painter, singer and theatre person, it is not a coincidence that films of Aravindan, in one way or other, draw upon and work with other art forms like classical and folk performance art forms and music, drawing, painting and dance etc. In in Pokkuveyil Aravindan explored synergy of cinema with music, in Esthappan with chavittunatakam and folk songs, in Kummatty with folk art and storytelling, in Kanchanasita with epic literature and theatre, in Uttarayanam and Oridathu with cartooning. In Marattam this synergy reaches a crescendo: kathakali, folk music and dance, mixing with fiction and reality. Here, fluid camera movements combine with the body movements of performers to create a rare cinematic experience. Based on the work of noted Malayalam playwright Kavalam Narayana Pannikar, Marattam deals with the various dimensions involved in the process of performance and spectating, where the actor identifies and plays out a role, and the audience ‘falls’ for the character through the medium of the performer. Various folk-music forms of Kerala like Thampuran Pattu, Pulluvan Pattu and Ayappan Pattu etc are used to accompany the various narratives threads within the story.

Aravindan’s films follow an minimalist aesthetics, where ‘excess’ and exuberance is created within the mind of the spectator, like when contemplating a painting or feeling the laya of music. Each Aravindan film is like a raga-vistara of a particular mood, sensation or emotion – if it is wonderment in Kummati and Esthapan, it is guilt in Chidambaram, disillusionment in Utharayanam and Pokkuveyil and movement against stasis in Oridathu and Thampu. With regard to their spatial dynamics, Aravindan’s images try to capture or evoke reflectiveness and also demand it from the viewer, always inviting participation to unfold their intensity.

Filmography:

Uttarayanam -(Throne of Capricorn) 1974
Kanchana Seeta - (The golden substitute) 1977
Thampu –- (The Circus Tent) 1978
Kummatty - (The Bogeyman) 1979
Estheppan – (Stephen) 1979
Pokkuveyil - (Twilight) 1981
Chidambaram – (Chidambaram) 1985
Oridathu - (At a Place) 1986
Marattam - (Interchange) 1988
Vasthuhara - (The Dispossessed) 1990