I V Sasi

He believed is mass movements and mass movies.

Often one felt that the sole purpose of Sasi making movies was to provide employment to industry actors. Particularly in the 80s, if it was an I V Sasi movie, then the who’s who of Malayalam cinema was bound to have a bit role in it.

Sub plots & sub plots & sub plots & sub plots & sub plots & sub plots, a raunchy club dance, some semi-porn scenes, more than a couple of fights (often among the masses), a childish “smuggling” sequence, marked his movies, especially those made with T Damodaran.

Yet, suddenly out of the blue he came out with some absolutely brilliant stuff. Uyarangalil, Aalkoottathil Thaniye, Devasuram, Ina, Itha Ivide Vare, Avalude Raavukal and Mrigaya can be remembered in this context.

Characterisation, scripting, acting, dialogues – you name it and Sasi excelled in these fields once in a while.

Fazil

Somehow, I can only equate Fazil with cheap sentimentality. He saw success in pulling the heart’s threads. Particularly that of women and children…

…till he made Manichitrathazhu.

The rest is forgiven.

Best: Manichitrathazhu, Ente Mammattikutti Ammaykku, Nokketthe Dooratthu Kannumnattu…

Worst: Manivathoorile Ayiram…, Pappayude Swantham…, Aniyathipraavu and several others…

Sreenivasan

“Pokkamillaymeyaanu Ente Pokkam”

I think this underlines the basic characteristic of Sreenivasan movies. He almost perfectly fits into the Australian national archetype of ‘laconic understatement’.

But somehow, one feels this understatement actually springs out of a few complexes deep within Sreenivasan rather than from any position of strength.

I think when one makes a self-denigrating statement once, it may deemed ‘cool’, as it probably comes from the person’s confidence in himself. When it is repeated time and again, it shows a serious lack of self respect somewhere deep down.

Of course I may be wrong.

A friend of mine observed that among the various probable complexes Sreenivasan possibly suffers from, the biggest is “mother complex”.

I would hazard a guess that Sreenivasan has had trouble with his own mother, either due to her absence or presence.

I realised, after talking to my friend, that in almost all his movies, the mother character (the protagonist’s that is) is actually either weak (both, as a weakly etched character or/and as a diffident one), negative or simply absent. And here, I am not just talking about Sreenivasan the director. I also include his scripts.

Sandesham is an exception and there are probably a few more that I can’t think of right now.

Padmarajan

Padmarajan often ventured where no one else dared to. He brought out linkages between various aspects of the human nature, which one either didn’t realise or refused to acknowledge. At least, I felt he was suggestive about it, if not totally open.

He traversed the human mind like no other director. Almost in a Hitchcockian fashion. Remember the rope hanging on the wall, the twisted coconut tree,

In several ways he shared traits with Satyan Anthikkad and Venu Nagavalli, while also demonstrating strong differences.

Like Satyan Anthikkad, he often dealt with social mores, taboos and beliefs. But while Satyan gave each of the mores, taboos and beliefs a place to exist without being too critical or effusive about it, Padmarajan ensured his alternate viewpoint was clear and solidly embedded in the viewers’ mind.

Like Satyan, Padmarajan’s movies were about ordinary men and women. But while Satyan’s plots discussed the ordinary—as in related to everyday lives—Padmarajan explored the extraordinary in our mundane lives.

Padmarajan, like Venu Nagavally, depended a lot on tragedy and pathos to rip open the conditioned facades of human beings.

But where he differed was that the culmination of his movie itself ratcheted up confusion and agony in us, unlike in Nagavally flicks where the tragic turn of events was ‘turning point’ in many people’s lives.

Like Nagavally, Padmarajan too depended on dialogues that best mirrored the common man’s conversations. But the similarity ends there. Because, while Nagavally’s characters, besides delivering intense lines, also indulged in banter (without any meaning or profundity whatsoever, like you and I), each dialogue of Padmarajan’s characters carried a certain depth.

But what put Padmarajan in a different league is that perhaps he was the only director whose characters used urban and contemporary language, bereft of literary trappings.

All in all, the best. Period.

Best: Moonnampakkam, Thovaanathumbikal, Namukku Paarkaan…, Innale and others

Worst: Parannu Parannu Parannu, Season

Bharathan

I remember a friend remarking: “While watching a Bharathan movie, one gets the smell of Kerala’s soil made wet by the first monsoon rains.”

Defining imagery, I must say.

Kerala’s culture, traditions and linguistic nuances ran in Bharathan’s blood. He panned the social diversity of the state like no one else, and with unmatchable intensity. The focus never got diluted. It was almost like, through his storytelling, Bharathan attempted social documentaries of various micro-communities.

Be it the fisherfolk in Amaram and Chamayam, the moosaris in Venkalam, the malayora vibhagakkar in Thazhvaaram or Churam—he tried to detail their lives in all their glorious intricacies.

He had a thing for symbolism. And he made use of traditional symbols that were exclusive to the communities he documented. Be it the process of idol-making in Venkalam or the ocean’s cathartic role in Amaram or the train tracks in Paalangal.

In his attempt at exquisite detailing and aesthetic highlighting, I felt, Bharathan often left the storyline, or at least its treatment, in the realm of mediocrity. Exceptions being Amaram and Thazvaaram, where he beautifully struck a balance between the micro and macro.

Of course he had his share of non-community based stories too. But not many of them really impressed me.

In fact, according to me some of Bharathan’s finest creations are the ones where he concentrated more on the script and storyline rather than the garnishing. Maalootty, Oru Minnaminunginte, Keli etc.

An all-rounder of sorts, Bharathan often overreached himself. His attempt to infuse an “aesthetic” element into everything he did often spelt his undoing, particularly in his later films like Patheyam, Devaragam and some earlier ones like Vaishali.

I think he didn’t know his limitations, both creative and technical. As a result, he often came across as highly pretentious—a trait (pretentiousness or pseudo-aestheticism or in simple terms “artsy-fartsy”) he generously bequeathed to two of his most important protégés Jayaraj and Kamal.

Particularly, when it came to sexuality and sexual themes, while many would call him bold, I think he was more of an exhibitionist. His portrayal of sex, as compared to many other directors, to me seemed attempts to titillate the movie watcher rather than explore it.

Venu Nagavalli

Venu Nagavally survives on sheer nostalgia. For his own days of youth, when Castro and Marx were his gods. In the process, he tingles our memories too.

He loved to portray the camaraderie among friends and neighbours (and no one could beat him at that). Be it Swagatham, Ayitham, Sukhamo Devi, Kalippattam, Sarvakalashala or Hey Auto, the youthful banter and interactions of the main characters was the high point of the movies.

Nagavally was the typical “thinking moviemaker” of Kerala of the 1980s. Yet, he also was intellectually honest, I feel. This was manifest in one scene in Sarvakalashala.

The otherwise chirpy and affable “Chakkara”—the character played by Manianpilla Raju—one fine day turns serious, complete with a jubba, oiled hair, a sidebag and a morose look.

When asked what the problem was, he says, he wants to be serious in life. “Oru Venu Nagavally mood!” he says. Seldom has any moviemaker made fun of himself.

No single character took centre stage entirely in Nagavally movies. They all played their parts. But they were mostly only complementing the plot itself.

But wait. I was wrong. There were central characters: Destiny and Death.

Nagavalli’s movies were the visual manifestation of that good old saying: “Man proposes, God/fate/destiny disposes”.

He charmed us with his witty dialogues (which he lent to other moviemakers too, like Priyadarshan) that were more or less a replay of the common Malayalee’s day-to-day conversations. After he had lulled us into complacency, he would unleash the tormenting twists and turns in the plot, that left a lump in our collective throat.

Be it the sudden death in an accident of the character played by Ashokan in Swagatham or the passing away of Mohan Lal’s character in Sukhamo Devi, leaving behind so many incomplete tasks and changing almost everybody’s destiny overnight, or shooting of “siddhan”, the eccentric traveler-poet played by Nedumudi in Sarvakalashala.

Death was often the harbinger of catastrophic change in Nagavally movies.

Think of the ambulance carrying Sunny’s body passing by the gate of Urvashi/Ganesh’s home in Sukhamo Devi. It still gives me goose bumps when I think of that scene.

Or consider this: Actor Sunny, Lal’s elder brother in Sukhamo Devi, reaches home on hearing of his brother’s death. After exchanging compulsive pleasantries with Lal’s buddies, with a shivering voice, he asks: “Enikku oru cigarette tharumo arenkilum?” And then his trembling hands stop him from lighting it.

Unmatched… till this day.

Best: Sukhamo Devi, Sarvakalashala, Lal Salaam

Worst: Raktasakshikal Zindabad, Hey Auto! (relatively)

Sathyan Anthikkad

They say even non-human elements of his movies took on an importance of their own.

The belching bovine in Nadodikkattu, the absconding cow in Ponmutta Idunna Tharaavu (How can one forget Oduvil’s heartfelt cry “Pashooo, Pashooo!!”?), the 10-pavan maala in the same movie, the omnipresent bus in Varavelpu, house owner Gopalakrishna Panicker’s umbrella in Sanmanassullavarkku Samaadhaanam… They all added depth to the central characters, which no dialogue, no expression could have.

One thing can be said very safely about Satyan Anthikkaad. He didn’t take himself or his view too seriously. Watching his movies, one got the feel that there is space in this world – at least in Kerala – for all kinds of people and views. None of them was more important than the other.

The wry humour (often dark), the lighthearted nature and smooth flow of the plot made him, according to me, the true heir to the Hrishikesh Mukherjee school of movie making. In fact, while Hrishida often got preachy, Satyan Anthikkad mostly kept off that track.

As is evident Satyan Anthikkad’s primary background was rural Kerala. Each of his character was representative of a traditional stereotype.

Somehow one gets a feeling that deep down, he doesn’t think much of urbanization. He perhaps associates urbanization with most negative qualities and the village with innocence (Blessy too belongs to that school of thought, I feel).

Sometimes Satyan Anthikkad strayed. Towards larger than life themes like revenge and ‘higher philosophies’. Like it happened with Pingami and Rasathanthram.

Needless to say, he failed miserably.

Our man should stick to the simplicity and innocence he values so much. We need him to remind us of the child within us.

Best: Ponmutta Idunna Tharaavu, Sanmanassullavarrku Samadhanam, T P Balagoplan MA, Nadodikkattu and many others

Worst: Pingami, Rasathanthram and few others

The Fading Creators

A bird's eye view of the main traits of some of the top directors of the 1980s & 90s mainstream or popular Malayalam cinema.

The following was written on whim and of course may be prejudiced. So others are welcome to correct me or add to it. Most observations are in the past tense, assuming that the best of Malayalam cinema is over and done with.

Priyadarshan

For long, I have suspected this man of thriving in the 1980s by playing the only genuine counter-pole to the otherwise somber and pathos-filled movie makers of that era. His slapstick comedies were in stark contrast to the dark, morose themes of most good mainstream movies in the 1980s and early 90s.

Of course, today we all know this man copied—left, right and centre. Yet there was something about him.

He was a master craftsman, with a keen eye for stunning visuals—especially in song picturisation--and a good ear for music. His creativity was suspect though, thanks to his out and out copy-paste jobs.

‘Confusion of identities’ was a staple diet of his flicks.

He had an uncanny knack of getting spontaneous performances from his actors. (The delivery of that time-less cracker: “In this house of my wife and daughter, you will not see any minute of the today.... get out house... Erangippodaaa!” will be etched in gold in the annals of Malayalam comedy)

Seldom did he venture out of this genre of comedy. Of course many of his climaxes—like in Chitram and Kilukkam--were counterpoints to the comic build-up he had in his movies.

For all the rib-tickling moments he provided us, Priyan will also be remembered for his strong casteist tendencies, which very often was palpable in the many innocuous one liners he subtly and not-so-subtly inserted in his movies.

Taken as individual films, these dialogues only come out as a representation of everyday conversations most Malayalees have. But when taken in a continuum, the larger picture emerges—that of Priyan’s obvious higher caste bias.

The strongest such comment was seen in the movie Aryan, where the protagonist says: “Innu aithavum theendalum keezhjaathikkarante manassilaanu.”

Best: Mithunam, Kilukkam (despite being a copy), Chitram, Vellaanakalude Naadu

Worst: Some of his comedies of the 1980s, Kaakakuyil, Kilichunda Maampazham, Vettam, Advaitham.