The Chitramela Film Quiz, conducted by Rajesh Mohanan at the Malabar Christian College, organised by Quiz Kerala Pictures, in association with the Quiz Society of India ended up being one of  the biggest and the most popular quiz shows ever  based on Malayalam cinema history, going by the buzz in the social media circles.

As promised, here is the complete set of questions, from the prelims and the Finals Questionnaire that the Quiz Master himself has graciously shared with the blog. As with all other Malayalam Film Quizzes posted here, the ground rules remain the same :

1. Keep the patron saint of search, Google OUT of this effort.

2. Complete answer sets would be those for who atleast post their attempts at answering either of these in the Comments section. That is being fair, don’t you think so ?

The Prelims Questionnaire of the Chitramela Film Quiz.

The Chitramela Film Quiz Finals Questionnaire.

Have a great weekend.

The Frontage of the Sharngakkavu Temple (Chamakkavu)

Here is one more reason to wax eloquent on one of my favorite movies, Kakkothikkavile Appooppan Thaadikal (1988). On a recent visit to Kerala, yours truly had the good fortune of making an unscheduled stop at Chamakkavu, the “Kakkothikkavu” that we  are so familiar with, from the movie, where the Sacred grove becomes the central eco-system  in which the characters enact their life’s roles with a delightful ending to the proceedings. It is an ecological miracle that the sacred grove, though reasonably denuded, still retains its canopy and structure –  as it was with a sinking feeling that I read through a series of posters stuck on the local bus station that I alighted, exhorting the local community to come together to prevent decimating another Kaavu in the locality to make way for a vast building complex. The photographs come courtesy of two dear friends – talented and successful photographers Anoop and Santhosh, who also know the place like the back of their camera-wielding hands.

The Sharngakkavu Temple (Chamakkavu) complex

The expansive “courtyard” of the temple, with the Kaavu in the background. One could almost mistake it for the neighboring lush treeline till you reach the entrance flagstones leading inside. Its as if you are entering inky green darkness.

The Sharngakkavu Temple (Chamakkavu) with the Kavu in the background

From across the Achenkovil river, the structure looks diminutive, but I guess its mostly because of the  ”looming” presence of the canopy behind.

The Towering Canopy that envelops the Sharngakkavu

Standing at the entrance of the temple, looking at the grove, enveloped by the towering expanse overhead, a part of  your mind shares apprehensions on how long before all this would disappear – maybe not the temple, but the sacred grove behind, yielding place to a Community Centre or the new Panchayath Administrative Block.

The pathway to the Sacred grove at the Sharngakkavu-Temple (Chamakkavu) complex

To any child, the Kaavu is mythical, enticing, deep dark and mysterious, and somehow becomes the perfect place to escape from the strictured regimens the “outside world” demands,  a theme running through Murli’s life in Kakkothikkavile Appooppan Thadikal (1988). If director Kamal immortalised it on screen, no one could have put it as eloquently as Soni Somarajan did  in his “Curse of the Serpent “,

The whole kaavu spanned a large part of the compound and it almost leaned into a huge pond topped with green scum, occasionally broken by the little stones sent skimming over it by the children in the neighbourhood. It was difficult to see the other side through the grove; the foliage was so thick with vines, creepers, gnarled branches and the thick green leaves. It was dark when you walked inside and it bore no resemblance, in form or climate, to the world you had just left behind. It was creeping cool – you almost felt the goose-bumps come on and the first instinct was always one of fear as if you were being watched. Here and there, through little nooks in the foliage, the sunlight would find its way through in little beams that scythed its way into the dense vegetation and lit it up in a strange shade of foggy green. The grove’s floor was thick, with years of accumulated humus, dry leaves, parakeet droppings, minuscule rotting flowers, forsaken form-less idols and red manjadi seeds. The grove must have seen days of glory but nobody knew why it had become so abandoned and ignored.

I am sure this is exactly what even Murli and his band of young friends felt in their hearts too !

The iconic flagstone “stairway”that lead to Kakkothikkavu

The iconic flagstone stairwell is now flanked on both sides by the home-grown barbed-wire fence, though it wasn’t fenced two decades back. Thankfully the eeriness hasn’t been walled. It flows and swirls around, unfettered.

Kakkothikavu-revisited, twenty five years on

Director Kamal mentioned in an interview that the location of a sacred grove that perfectly suited the screenplay that they had in their hands was given to them by none other than MT Vasudevan Nair and once they visited the place, they couldn’t agree more. Twenty five years on, if you are one of those who still hold that simple, sweet film close to your hearts, you would see that the spirit of the grove has somehow found a way of keeping a step ahead of the urban cancer called “Development”.

The pathway into the heart of the Kaavu at Sharngakkavu Temple (Chamakkavu)

A dirt pathway that runs perpendicular to the flagstone stairwell, deep into the Sacred Grove ends in a short clearing and nothing more. I strained hard to look around for the remnants of the mud wall partitions that formed the “gypsy camp” inside the place but the Grove, I guess, has a way of fiercely recouping its own – vines, undergrowth, dankness et al.

The green canopy inside the Kakothikavu

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we started our own Malayalam Film Trails ? Revisiting locations of the classics we hold close to our hearts, and reliving the moments of those celluloid characters lives in a place that transformed magical inside the darkness of the cinemas, but yet so real.

As real as the ripples of the waters of Achenkovil river, in this case.

{ Narayan is back with another quiz, on the fictional movie titles that had been a part of the story-line of some of the movies we have watched. Give Google a rest and see how many of these you can identify correctly. }

This time around, I warmly welcome you through a journey across my collection of Malayalam movie DVDs. Unlike my enviable collection of celluloid books, my collection of movies is smaller – and I can boast only of those movies which were mostly released in the last 6 or 7 years. Still I believe it would be of interest to the cinephiles.

Let me take you through the classics in my collection, you know of the vein created by Bharathan- Padmarajan- K.G. George et al. The pride of my collection is Oru Veshyayude Katha¹ directed by Suresh Babu. The movie won for its heroine Lekha the coveted Urvashi award. But it seems that she had a mild altercation with superstar Prem Sagar for acting in this movie. Lekha and Prem Sagar were a hit pair and he had accused Lekha of shifting camp and working in an art movie. Anyway after that Lekha was often found in the company of Suresh Babu. Her suicide with a couple of months of her getting the Urvashi award shocked the tinsel town. But this movie is superb to say the least. Around the same year Pappu² (aka Manoharan) also got the best actor in the Filmfare Awards. But unfortunately my copy of that movie is missing. Other classic movies I have with me are Dhanushkodi³ and Ullarakal both directed by Siddharthan. Siddharthan was a versatile genius and his mysterious death- some say it was suicide, some say it was murder, but anyway it seems that his son Adi Siddharthan is hell-bent on finding the truth about the death of his father.

I am a huge fan of our Superstar triumvirate- you know Ajaychandran-Ashok Raj and Saroj Kumar. Of the movies of Ashok Raj I have with me Pakshikal Parakkatte⁴ and Gujarat. Pakshikal Parakatte is a wonderful movie, and it was during the course of the movie being shot at Melukavu that Ashok Raj reunited with his long lost friend, barber Balan. It was after acting in Gujarat that Ashok Raj faced some death threats and his security was tightened. Ajaychandran burst into Malayalam film industry as a villain and slowly and steadily became a superstar. His first movie was Kazhinja Manjukalam⁵ in which he was a villain- while the lead was portrayed by Shekhar and Malavika. Shekhar slowly faded out from the industry while Malavika later became Ajay’s wife – in a short lived marriage. Rudhiram (in which Ajay portrays a police officer), Kaalam, Orma, Chembakapookkal etc. are some of the movie of this superstar which I have with me. It seems young director Akbar Ahammed (who directed the super hit Brothers) is planning to do a movie about the tumultuous life of Ajay and Malavika and the present day whereabouts of Malavika. I don’t know how Saroj Kumar became a superstar or how he won a National Award for best actor. It was director Udaybhanu’s Annu Peytha Mazhayil ⁶ which catapulted Saroj into fame- and the credit goes to the director more than the actor. Saroj’s acting in Doshayum Chammanthiyum⁷, Kadal Kaakkakal, Vekkeda Vedi and Hill Station is without mincing words boring to the core. I also got with me two of ace director Adithyan’s super hit movies- Fighter⁸, starring the obnoxious self-styled superstar Premanand and Hero featuring debutant- stuntman turned actor Tarzan Antony. Both are action movies and not exactly my cup of tea. Like Premanand another obnoxious self-styled superstar is Ravi Prakash. He had in fact even tried to financially wipe-out producer Jose – who had given him the first break in movies like Nerkkuner⁹ and Cowboys. But Jose ultimately prevailed and cast his cameraman Sajan in the movie Madangiyethumbol and the same proved to be a super hit. Our Jose is now a happy man. Like Jose, Madhavankutty of Mullasserry also took a huge risk pledging everything for the sake of his movie Oru Swapnathinte Katha¹⁰. Thankfully the movie proved to be a hit in the box office.

Enough of superstar movies. Let me take you through other movies in my collection. Dosha Raghavan¹¹ which catapulted its star into near super star status and Cinema Company ¹²- the movie which starred young actor Rajeev which again was a super hit adorns my library. Asurappada along with New Face ¹³, Sappidum Selvan¹⁴, Boat Jetty, Munthani Kadavathu along with Naattu Manga Naattu Manga¹⁵, Maharajan¹⁶, Kannadi ¹⁷, Achanorumma ¹⁸and some old movies Kunnathur Kotta¹⁹ and Vellaripravinte Changathi²⁰ are the pride of my collection. Kunnathur Kotta was a huge hit- but the lead actress who had to act in a controversial bath scene was found dead in mysterious circumstances soon after. Vellaripravinte Changathi languished in the cans for more than thirty years. Ultimately the director Augustine Joseph’s son Manikunju took the initiative and got released the movie a couple of years back. The movie starred new faces Mukkom Shahjahan and Mary Varghese who portrayed lovers belonging to different castes. It seems that after the shooting of the movie both of them tried to elope. Had the movie been released, it would really have changed the life of all associated with it. Achchanorumma is a pucca tearjerker while the short film Kannadi directed by Hari might not be to everyone’s taste. I remember reading this folktale in the Children’s magazine Tinkle in the Eighties. But still, I enjoyed these movies. Maharajan starred a newcomer, he faded out of the scene- but is more remembered for the war of egos he had with superstar Jairaj.

Earlier I had mentioned that action movies are not my cup of tea. But I like the slapstick action comedies and my favourite actor in this realm is Ashok Chakravarthy. I got with me Cowboy Venu²¹, Coolie Mani, Gilla III, Bhumi III, Rowdy Rajan etc. and Ashok Chakravarthy’s impersonation of Amitabh Bachchan, Hrithik Roshan and Akshay Kumar make for hilarious viewing.

I have also managed to salvage three old video cassettes that were left rotting behind the rack. Have to convert them to DVDs. The first one is a movie starring Prem Nazir²². It was during the shooting of this movie that he had been kidnapped by a group of unemployed youngsters. Another movie – again the title of which evades me is one which starred actress Sneha²³. She was kidnapped by one Jeevan during the shoot of the movie, but later the producer cast him in the main role opposite Sneha. The IV Sasi thriller starring Soman²⁴ (I think it was shot in Bharani studios) was a huge hit- though the shooting was disrupted by a man named Vijayan. Anyway a trivia, this Vijayan later became a CID with Tamilnadu Police Department. Another thriller I have with me is a Mammootty movie directed by Priyadarshan²⁵ wherein he acts as a police officer. Thyagarajan also acted in this movie. It was during the time of this movie that Mammootty helped three youngsters who were accused of murder in a train and but for Mammootty’s intervention, the three would have languished in jail. Will have to clean the videotapes and find out the titles. And I also found a copy of the Malayalam dubbed movie Namma Ooru Shinkari²⁶ starring Khushboo. A bunch of youngsters had gone to meet Khushboo after seeing this movie and one of them called Dileep ultimately became the hero in a subsequent Khushboo movie.

PS : I also got with me a couple of A-rated movies which blazed our screen- starring the dream girl Nisha including Hi Malini²⁷, Miss Thushara and her debut outing Puthuvasantham (with actor Najeeb),and no I won’t give you the copy of these DVDs.

But, you can get all these movies from Chandy’s Videos.²⁸

Related :  The Magic of those Fictional Reads from Malayalam’s Celluloid book shelves.

[ Co-authored by Darshana Sreedhar and Vinu Abraham, this originally appeared in the Sarai Reader No 9: Projections. Darshana Sreedhar is a PhD scholar at the School of Arts and Aesthetics, Jawaharlal Nehru University. Her work focuses on the history of Malayalam cinema. Vinu Abraham, journalist, novelist and scenarist, is better known for his novel  Nashtanayika, the fictionlised biography of PK Rosy, which formed the basis for Kamal's Celluloid (2013 ). ]

I have always been interested in this theme of survival, the meaning of which is not to be added on to living and dying. It is originary: life is living on, life is survival [la vie est survie]. To survive in the usual sense of the term means to continue to live, but also to live after death.

-  Jacques Derrida, “Learning to Live Finally”, p. 26

In his last interview to Le Monde, given two months before his death in 2004 and later published as “Learning to Live Finally”, Derrida ruminates on survival, which for him straddles two nodes. One entails a vivacious desire to explore life in all its fullness, unscathed by an imminent death looming large. The other is the possibility of a life after death, experienced like a silhouette, awaiting its turn to be recalled to the present. This ‘return’ is facilitated not only by the desire to re-live the past, but also to pepper the present with a melancholic nostalgia, something which could trigger past memories back to the present. The spectral presence of what was earlier a dim memory becomes the constitutive feature of the present, upsetting the easy progression of time by proposing that time is simultaneously haunted by past and future. This spectral nature of the past haunts Malayalam cinema as well and, over the last five years, has prompted the production of four films that employ a similar thematic to look nostalgically back at the lost lives and narratives of the silver screen. This trend becomes instrumental in re-projecting and bringing to the limelight moments relegated to the trashcan of history by pumping new energy into the process of memorialising. This return of the ‘revenants’ of Malayalam cinema has a disquieting quality to it as it is driven by an obsessive and repetitive momentum.

The cluster of films we examine here are Vellaripravinthe Changathi ( The Friend of the White Dove, Akku Akbar, 2011 ), Naayika (The Heroine, Jayaraj, 2011), Thirakatha (The Script, Ranjith, 2008) and Celluloid (Kamal, 2013). All four films take on a ‘retro’ mode right from the pre-production phase, interspersing fact and fiction with memory and loss. We approach this cluster of films from two perspectives. The first examines how the ‘disappeared’ figures and forgotten events of Malayalam cinema are brought back to the realm of visibility by being part of film narratives and publicity posters. Alongside this, we focus on the role of the ‘creative film historian’ employed by these films in their retro-journey into the past of Malayalam cinema; this figure, we reckon, can mediate “discursive stratifications and ephemeral formations” (Miller, n.d.) to produce new discourses.

Narrative Exorcism: Recalling the Spectres of the Past.

To be haunted by a ghost is to remember what one has never lived in the present, to remember what in essence, has never had the form of presence. Film is ‘phantomachia’… the future belongs to ghosts.

- Derrida, Stiegler et al. (2002)

The use of retrospective orbits to answer the call to remembrance given by the spectres of the past is a prominent device used in all these films. In Thirakatha, we see Akbar, a film director, in search of Malavika, an actress of yesteryears, whose disappearance from both onscreen and off-screen life was a sensational story in the 1980s. On the other hand, Naayika takes on the narrative of Aleena, a documentary filmmaker, to trace the sudden disappearance of Grace, who ruled the silver screen in the 1960s and 70s. In both these films, there seems to be a constant interplay between pre-production publicity, which clearly and vocally assigns a referent to the storyline, and post-release controversy, undergirding the filmmaker’s reluctance to subscribe to the earlier positions. In most cases, the imaginary referent becomes the ghost figure haunting the lives of not just one, but many, both onscreen and off-screen, thereby flattening all attempts to identify the real source behind the story.

Thirakatha ( 2008 )

For instance, Thirakatha, publicised widely as a tribute to the late actress Sreevidya, became in a short time an “unpleasant controversy” and gave rise to much speculation and misgiving. Ranjith, the film’s director, writer and co-producer, had to convene a press conference in Kozhikode to clarify that the film was not a real story fictionalised, but was intended in homage to many actresses of times gone by who vanished from the vellithira (limelight) as they found themselves caught in the interstices of a hero-centric production industry. On a closer look at Thirakatha’s pre-production phase, however, we have a different narrative altogether. More than the ‘tribute’ Ranjith claims his film to be, there were allegations of his tarnishing the memory of Sreevidya, whose life was marked by a series of tragic happenings. From the publicity posters showing Priyamani (the film’s lead actress) alongside Sreevidya, with the text, “For the heavenly beauty, who has loved cinema and left us midway”, to the strategic use of an opening slide before the credits to foreground Sreevidya as the film’s inspiration, there were instances mobilised in the narrative to connect the ‘real’ and ‘reel’ lives.

{ Publicity poster for Thirakatha showing Sreevidhya on the left and Priyamani on the right. The text above the main title loosely translates as “For the heavenly beauty, who has loved cinema and left us midway”  }

The tumultuous butshort-lived romance between Sreevidya and co-actor Kamal Hasan became the cornerstone for weaving the narrative into a ‘pastiche’, liberally borrowing from the gossip columns familiarto film viewers. The inter-textual references to film texts were such that it brought a vibrant community of online bloggers to open up the interpretative possibilities which the film offered when read alongside the off-screen references. In the words of a blogger who uses ‘Vids’ as his/her user name, the viewing experience of Thirakatha was tantamount to a guess game, putting the viewers on toe, right from the first shot. Events, sequences, people whom we have seen or known appear in a glimpse, vanishing from the frame within seconds, so fast that even an avid film buff finds it impossible to draw the connections. This can be seen, for instance, in the use of Mohanlal’s mannerisms in the character played by Anoop Menon, and in the naming of his debut film as Kazhinja Manjukalattu [The Last Winter], which closely resembles the title of Mohanlal’s debut film, Manjil Virinja Pookal [Flowers that Blossomed in the Mist] – all part of the popular memory associated with the 80s.

Mohanlal debuts in Manjil Virinja Pookal (1980)

Another webpage exploring similar questions was Old Malayalam Cinema, where the respondents stressed through the comments thread the need to memorialise ‘forgotten’ moments, conjoining it to the dominant narratives. What actually triggered the ‘controversy’ was Ranjith’s revealing that he had first conceived the film’s plot after a visit Kamal Hasan paid Sreevidya during her battle with terminal breast cancer. Ranjith was quoted as saying, “When Srividya was ill, she wasn’t willing to meet anyone from the film industry. The first thought of Thirakkatha came to me when I heard of her one-hour meeting with Kamal” (ibid.). This instance from real life seeped into the film narrative as well. A statement from Ranjith, who is believed to have had access to Sreevidya’s personal documents, on her influence on the film was taken as a tacit admission to his role as a ‘retriever of lost narratives’ and of the film as the culmination of such an endeavour. Ranjith even appears in the film as Aby Kuruvila, an associate director whose old letters and diary entries become the lead for Akbar to trace Malavika’s life. But more than Aby, who appears in just five scenes, it seems more likely that Ranjith is taking on the persona of Akbar, the successful director in search of a convincing script, as a last ditch effort to give the spirit its due.

Naayika (2011)

The next film under consideration, Naayika, takes the retro-journey to a new level. Starring Sarada, one of Malayalam cinema’s nityaharita naayikas (evergreen heroines), and promoting the film as her return to the screen after a career break, Naayika is projected in its pre-production publicity as a tribute to silver screen actresses of yore. This is seen not only in the interviews given by Jayaraj and Deedi Damodaran, the film’s director and scriptwriter respectively, but also in the opening credits, which feature photographs of movie heroines from the 1960s onwards, accompanied by an evocative soundtrack from films of that era. Ms. Damodaran was quoted as saying that “none of the reel women [of today] seem to have anything to do with real women… Naayika will be a woman of flesh and blood, not the novel woman who inhabits our films”, while Jayaraj said, “The efforts have been to bring back the memories of those old times in the minds of the viewers”. In a way, it seems as if there lurks behind such statements a desire to delve into the past of Malayalam cinema in search of a ‘real’ person who will vouch for the imagination associated with the female lead. But here too, off-screen and onscreen lives coalesce as past, memory and nostalgia are mobilised as markers to revisit times gone by. The most prominent instance worth mentioning is the incorporation in the narrative of the events leading to the suicide of the 1970s actress, Vijayashree. In the course of filming her last production, Ponnapuram Kotta (Kunchacko, 1973), there was a sequence captured that showed Vijayashree’s dress falling off, partially revealing her bare body. The subsequent appearance of this scene in the film appalled her and is widely believed to have been the prime reason for her suicide.

The trailer of Naayika ( 2011 )

What Naayika gets at, through scattered references throughout, is to hint at the real life figures allegedly behind Vijayashree’s tragic end. There were even rumours that the film’s director, Kunchacko, had had a role in her death, with the film going so far as to suggest that he murdered her. Avoiding any direct reference to Kunchacko, the film instead brings forgotten narratives back to the limelight by recreating Vijayashree’s wardrobe malfunction with a cast selected for its physical resemblance to the real people involved. In the film, the character of Stephen, the producer of a movie named Kunnathoor Kotta (a word play on Vijayashree’s ill-fated last film), is played by an actor who resembles Navodaya Appachan, a film producer and brother of Kunchacko. While Appachan’s Navodaya Studio features as Greenland Studio in the narrative, the most crucial part of the narrative is constructed by mobilising another event from the recent past – Appachan’s receiving the J.C. Daniel Award, the lifetime achievement felicitation instituted by the Government of Kerala for outstanding contribution to Malayalam cinema.
{ Publicity poster for Naayika with Padmapriya and Jayaram in the foreground. Padmapriya plays the role of a young Sharada in the film while a picture of Sharada in the present, looms large in the background. The visual style of the poster emulates the ‘look’ and ‘feel’ of the 1960s.}

If in real life Navodaya Appachan was the recipient of the award in 2010, the film narrative in a knee-jerk response shows Stephen being arrested from the venue of the award ceremony when his role in the death of Vani (Vijayashree’s filmic equivalent) is brought to light. If in real life the perpetrators of Vijayashree’s death went scot-free, redemption is made possible in the film narrative by deflecting the loss into Stephen’s being made to reckon with the gruesome murder he was responsible for. The broader framework within which Naayika places itself is, in a way, a continuation of the quest for the lost heroine inaugurated by Thirakatha, thus making the revisiting of the past a running thread. We see the ‘lost figure’ conjured up as if she is guided into the present moment and has let herself be led in the process of retrieving forgotten stories.

Celluloid (2013)

The same quest for the ‘lost heroine’ links the earlier two films with Celluloid, a biopic on J.C. Daniel, director of the first Malayalam film, Vigathakumaran (The Lost Boy, 1930). Celluloid brings before us the lost narrative of Vigathakumaran and also the forgotten life of its lead actress, P.K. Rosy. Turning away from the mythology-related themes on which early cinema in other parts of the country thrived, Vigathakumaran was rooted in social reality. For
{Publicity still from Celluloid. The picture on the placard on the left shows the poster of the original film in front of a set made to look like the entrance of the old Capitol Cinema. The poster has the title of the film in Malayalam and the English translation along with the name of the director in Malayalam. In the foreground, actor Prithiviraj as J.C. Daniel.}

Daniel, who had donned the role of producer, director, script writer, editor and lead actor for the film, it was a crucial venture, a do-or-die situation, one that could either win him accolades or sink him into oblivion. Sadly, it was the latter that transpired. The Thiruvananthapuram audience that thronged the Capitol Theatre on 23 October 1930, the day of the film’s opening, had been drawn by the publicity posters that claimed to have, for the first time, a woman on screen. The mostly orthodox Hindu audience, however, was outraged at the sight of Rosy – in real life, a Dalit Christian convert – in the role of the film’s female protagonist, a Nair. The film was instantly mired in controversy, triggering off a series of disruptions that affected the professional and personal lives of all involved. Daniel had to single-handedly bear the film’s financial losses, leaving him in utter penury; later, his application for a government pension for indigent artists was rejected point blank. The post-Independence linguistic reorganisation of states had its part to play here: the black-and-white rules of bureaucracy could not accommodate someone born in what was now deemed Tamil Nadu as a ‘Keralite’, notwithstanding the fact that he had spent more than 50 years of his life in the part of the country now called Kerala. For Rosy, too, Vigathakumaran changed the trajectory of her life to a point of no return. Disowned by her community and under the double ostracism of caste and gender, she fled her hometown, Thiruvananthapuram, to take refuge in a remote part of Nagercoil in present-day Tamil Nadu, where she remained under the alias ‘Rajamma’ until she died. Inadvertently, the film’s title, Vigatakumaran (The Lost Boy), became thus an evocative marker for a string of losses – Daniel’s financial loss, the loss of Rosy’s narrative in public memory and the subsequent ‘loss’ also of the film’s print. If the depiction of the hero (Daniel) kissing a flower in Rosy’s hair was what started the uproar, Vigathakumaran strangely inherited the same fate as its protagonist. The pelted stones that destroyed the Capitol’s screen were not just a rupture but a catalyst that initiated debates as to what would constitute a Malayalam film and who would qualify as a Malayali.

Director Kamal on Celluloid’s conception.

The pre-production phase of this film had its genesis in its director, Kamal’s, futile efforts to find the lost print and negative of Vigathakumaran, and to track down someone who had seen the film. With the films discussed here so far, we have referents upon which the storyline can constantly draw; Rosy’s story, however, is marked by a complicated absence of any such. How would one trace the life of Rosy when she lived in anonymity after her debut, not leaving any traces, even in photographs? These questions drive the narrative of Celluloid and were the core engine of its pre-production machinery as well. The film’s script, in fact, is based on Vinu Abraham’s 2008 novel, Nashtanaayika, a speculative, fictional account of what might have happened to Rosy – but speculation is all that remains. Indeed, her story, and those of J.C. Daniel and Vigathakumaran, would otherwise have been consigned to oblivion but for the determined efforts of Chelangatt Gopalakrishnan, a film historian specialising in early cinema, who crusaded to bring to notice the government’s apathy and mindless inaction towards Daniel’s plea and the orchestrated silence around what was the first Malayalam film.

After decades of effort, a nod of acknowledgement for Vigathakumaran finally came, with the Kerala state government attempting amends by instituting the previously mentioned lifetime achievement award in Daniel’s name in 1992.

The Trailer of Celluloid(2013)

It is between the ‘losses’ of these two figures of Malayalam film history that another important figure emerges – that of the ‘creative film historian’. In fact, this appears as a recurrent trope in all four films here discussed, not just Celluloid, wherein the use of the ‘film within- a-film’ format and the figure of the ‘film historian’ together reassemble the film medium to trigger dormant memories. If, as Derrida says, “the future belongs to ghosts”, then the past possesses the present. These films are indeed instances of historical exorcism through narrative, and the creative film historian appears, in our analysis, as the medium via which this act of chronological transcendence manifests.

Tracking ‘Lost Narratives’: The Creative Film Historian as Exorcist.

Chelangatt Gopalakrishnan

In these films, the figure of the creative film historian becomes proactive in unearthing lost threads once thought ‘irretrievable’. With a deft handling of past and present, and a selective deployment of strands from both, even to the point of speculatively working his way out, the ‘creative film historian’ acts as a facilitator to salvage and re-project the lost fragmentary archives to the present. By flaking off the ‘dead skin’ of the past, he penetrates to the flesh of an earlier temporality and reinstates the impulse to retrieve the connection between two moments separated in time. Individual recollections here evoke forgotten moments which then get re crafted into cultural scripts or templates. Here film as a medium itself acts as a ‘time machine’, retrieving fragments from the past to build an alternative archive. Such an archive can withstand the demands of ‘factual’ appropriateness and logical coherence and bring to light the contradictory impulses it contains. This template of ‘loss’ (lost narratives, figures, objects) and ‘search’ (for the long tradition of Malayalam cinema) seems to be a strong influence, governing both the diegetic and extra-diegetic worlds of these films. It seems as if these films push for the need to place Malayalam cinema as an ‘organic entity’ which has ‘matured’ long enough to be nostalgic about its own past. Just like a clock that suddenly begins to tick after months of hanging silent on the wall, the past comes gushing in, validating a “persistence of a present past” (Derrida and Stiegler 1996) as the historian retrieves the lost data from the contingencies of life.

Celluloid does not limit its concerns to J.C. Daniel and Rosy, but uses their story as a peg to trace the trajectory of Malayalam cinema to the early 2000s. Chelangatt Gopalakrishnan’s quest for the lost history of Vigathakumaran becomes the backdrop for the narrative to explore the journey Malayalam cinema underwent from the 1930s onwards. It was Gopalakrishnan who was instrumental in Vigathakumaran being recognised as the first Malayalam film, an argument he advanced in his biography of Daniel, J.C. Danielinthe Jeevithakatha (The life story of J.C. Daniel). His claims were at first heavily contested; Balan (1938), the first Malayalam talkie, was previously held to be the originary point for Malayalam film history, as per the dominant accounts on cinema. The appearance of Chelangatt Gopalakrishnan as a fictive character in Celluloid is an instance carefully calibrated to accommodate the seepage of present into past. While Malayalam cinema is projected to be reckoning with such an influx in productive ways, the production of Celluloid is shown as an instance which carries the spirit of such an endeavour. Another instance of such a move is presented towards the end of the film when we see simulated shots of the documentary filmmaker R. Gopalakrishnan (in real life, the maker of an award-winning film on the life of J.C. Daniel) being facilitated in the presence of past and present directors and producers. Both R. Gopalakrishnan and the ensemble audience are played by their real-life personas. In our analysis, this ensemble is created in order to illustrate how far Malayalam cinema has moved from Daniel’s disrupted exhibition at the Capitol theatre.

Sreenivasan as Chelangattu Gopalakrishnan in Celluloid (2013)

In the film, Chelangatt Gopalakrishnan becomes the ‘creative historian’ invested with the task of conjuring apparitions from the past to enter the present. Unlike the fictionalising of the narrative seen in Naayika and Thirakatha, the use of the referent figure in Celluloid is distinct. This is primarily because Chelangatt’s association with the ‘lost film’ (Vigathakumaran) in real life was a fairly well-known fact, and the narrative mobilises this to move beyond the fictionalising of real events, on which the other two films rely heavily. Even as this becomes striking, it somewhere blunts the radical potential wielded by the figure of the creative historian, who here is forcefully asked to become an alibi for ‘authenticity’ and ‘facticity’. Promoted as Kamal’s offering to Malayalam cinema in his silver jubilee year as a film director, it successfully withstands the temptations of being clubbed into a period film, all the while doubling up as a peep-hole to take a glance at the present moment.

Vellaripravinthe Changathi (2011)

Vellaripravinthe Changathi, the last film that we focus on, brings to light the 1960s film era through the lost reel of a fictional unreleased film (also the title of the film) retrieved by, the ‘creative historian’ Manikunju from the isolated quarters of the Chennai-based Gemini Lab, which houses old film reels that are yet to be destroyed. It is telling that this quarter of the Lab is informally referred to as the pretalayam or ‘ghost house’.

The Trailer of Vellaripravinthe Changathi ( 2011 )

Therefore, in discovering the lost film reel, what is recovered is not just ‘celluloid’. Rather, alongside it, the muffled voices and unrealised dreams of those who were part of the production of the film are also exorcised from the deep caverns of amnesia and anonymity. As Manikunju watches the unreleased film (made by his father, Augustine Joseph) in the preview theatre, one among the many reels in the ghost house waiting to be re-called back to life, he embarks on a journey to find the film’s lead cast who enacted the roles of Ravi and Sulekha, lovers doomed to separation.

As in the other three films, real life incidents become part of the film narrative here as well. Ravi’s broad daylight murder of Sulekha, a sensational case which took place in Calicut in the 1970s, is woven into the narrative of the film-within-the-film quite dexterously. The shot of Ravi holding Sulekha’s lifeless body and weeping helplessly is an image mobilised to conjoin the past with the present moments. There is a redemptive potential inherent in the discovery of the lost reel as the final shot of the film shows Shajahan and Mary Varghese (in the lost film, the actors who play Ravi and Sulekha, enacted in real life by Dileep and Kavya Madhavan) brought together after years of separation. Here the present is mobilised into the narrative as an uninvited guest whose entry is so stark that it cannot be missed. The contemporary moment becomes the ghost that watches us, someone by whom we feel ourselves being observed or surveyed.

{Publicity poster for Vellapravinthe Changathi with actor Indrajit, seen in the background handling film reel. Indrajit plays the role of Manikunju in the film – the character that retrieves the fictitious lost film of the title.}

Aleena’s unfinished project on the ‘lost heroines’ of Malayalam cinema in Naayika is a trace which haunts our writing as well. This project is intended as a creative exercise to look at what happens when the present slips into a historical past. Does it also bring one to revisit the crystallised memory, where remnants of what has been forcefully weeded away could return? Memory seems to be in a state of permanent evolution. Even while it is unconscious of its successive deformation and is vulnerable to manipulations and appropriations, it is also susceptible to being long dormant and periodically revived. It thus nourishes recollections that may be out of focus or telescopic, global or detached, particular or symbolic. Maybe the search for the lost heroine, nashtanaayika, is caught somewhere in between.

Notes.

1 See “Ranjith Finally Confesses the Truth”, in One India Entertainment, 9 September 2008. Available
at: http://entertainment.oneindia.in/malayalam/news/2008/thirakkatha-ranjith-controversy-190908.html  (last accessed 16 November 2012).
2 See “Thirakatha: Some Questions” (2008). Available at: http://srijithv.com/blog/thirakkatha
3 See http://oldmalayalamcinema.wordpress.com/
4 See Saraswathy Nagarajan, “Writing Change”, The Hindu, 17 December 2010. Available at: http://
www.thehindu.com/arts/cinema/article958726.ece  . Also, “Urvasi
Sarada is Back as Naayika”, Rediff Movies, 28 June 2011. Available at: http://www.rediff.com/movies/report/urvashi-sarada-is-back-as-nayika/20110628.htm
5 Bindu Menon’s work on Rosy’s life also looks back at the disappeared heroine and is one of the few
attempts at retrieving the lost narrative of Rosy. “Chronicles of a Disappearance: P.K. Rosy and
Contemporary Malayalam Cinema”. Paper presented at ASA conference held at JNU in 2012. http://
www.nomadit.co.uk/asa/asa2012/panels.php5?PanelID=1203 

References.

• Abraham, Vinu. Nashtanaayika (Current Books, Thrissur, 2008).
• Derrida, Jacques. “Learning to Live Finally”. Available at: http://www.studiovisit.net/SV.Derrida.pdf
(last accessed 12 December 2012).
• ———————————-. Spectres of Marx, (trans.) Peggy Kamuf (Routledge, 1994, New York), p. 118.
• Derrida, Jacques and Bernard Stiegler. Echographies of Television: Filmed Interviews, (trans.)
Jennifer Bajorek (Polity Press, 2002, Cambridge).
• Miller, Nchamah. “Hauntology and History in Jacques Derrida’s Spectres of Marx”. Availalbe at: http://
http://www.nodo50.org/cubasigloXXI/taller/miller_100304.pdf  .
• Nora, Pierre. “Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Mémoire”. Available at: http://www.
history.ucsb.edu/faculty/marcuse/classes/201/articles/89NoraLieuxIntroRepresentations.pdf

{ Sen Joseph shares the synopsis of his upcoming e-book, “The Pioneer” on JC Daniel, alongwith a general introduction and overview of the perspectives and historical annotations being discussed in the book. The final distribution format of the book is yet to be finalized. Also, please note that the views expressed here in the synopsis are those of the author alone, and do not necessarily reflect the opinions or views of the general content nature of this blog, per se. }

‘The Pioneer’ is a literary work on J.C.Daniel – about his art, cinema, culture and the man. The inspiration for the same was the seven State award-winning feature film called, ‘Celluloid’, made by renowned  film director, Kamaludeen (Kamal), which was  released on February 15^th 2013. It includes a critical evaluation of the Malayali psyche, with an analysis of the pioneers and masters in global, Hindi, Tamil and Malayalam cinema.

Man is a social animal, nay, a being created by god with a special status of just a step lower to him. Man is the best creation of God, the most intelligent of all the other creations, with vision and courage to discover, invent and innovate. Historically man evolved through ages of struggle, from the jungle life to the modern civilization. Science has supported this finding and the long march through the dust and smoke of ages set ground for settled social life of the animal called ‘social animal’. Art is a bye-product of this complicated process .It is the fore-runner of culture and civilization. Art can be defined as the depiction of man. It is the sense of beauty historically evolved that gave rise to art.

Cinema is the most powerful art form ever surfaced in history. J.C.Daniel was at last acknowledged by the government of Kerala as the ‘Father of Malayalam Cinema’. His pioneering feat of late 1920s was officially recognized only in 1992. Cinema emerged only in the last decade of 19^th century and it reached Indian shores in the starting years of 20^th century. The silent movies were followed by the talkies in the third decade of 20^th century,’ Jazz Singer’, the first talkie in the entire world (feature film)was released in 1927. Indian talkie followed in 1931 and the Malayalam talkie in 1938.

The work in  ten chapters include :

(1)  Celluloid, celluloid and celluloid

(2)  Cinema ‘kid’ to cinema ‘youth’

(3)  Vigatha Kumaran to Dental surgeon

(4)  P.U.Chinappa, Agastheeswaram, Harris

(5)  Chelangattu Gopalakrishnan

(6)  Lumiere Brothers to JC Daniel

(7)  Caste-ridden mental framework of Kerala

(8)  Masters and pioneers in Malayalam, Tamil and Hindi cinema

(9)  Art, Culture and man in Kerala

(10)  Cinema to Dilemma

The ten chapters, chronologically and to an extent philosophically, carry out treatment of the subject matter. Cinema itself is in a transition. It evolved in 1888, got revolutionised in 1895, with the entry of ‘Cinematograph’. Celluloid is in usage for the past 125 years, which has been the source of projection technology taking audience from silent movies to the talkies. Digital projection has come up slowly replacing celluloid, innovated in the making of ‘Avatar’ in 2009. It has been widely reported that this most modern technology of ‘digital projection’ is going to put an end to the conventional film reels, cinema halls etc. Cinema will be ‘dilemma’by the third decade of 21^st century starting up with the change in Hollywood in 2013 end and Europe in 2014 last. Digital method will be replacing the film reels with an electronic copy contained on a storage device, a high capacity hard drive and server. Movies will be telecasted to selected multiplex locations. May the human touch be retained inspite of the influx of all the hi-tech.

The book is meant to create historical insight and an intellectual stamina to create the future. Art, culture and man are inseparably binded together ultimately man, a better man is the goal of all art.

Bibliography

(1)  Cinema – Kalayum Jeevithavum by Thottam Rajasekharan

(2)  A survey of Kerala History by Prof: A. Sreedhara Menon

(3)  Malayala Cinemayile Vanavarum  Veenavarum by Chelangattu Gopalakrishnan

(4)  Nashta Nayika by Vinu Abraham

(5)  J.C Danielinte Jeevitha Katha by Chelangattu Gopalakrishnan

(6)  Script of the movie,”Celluloid” by Kamal

(7)  Textbook of World History, Part-2, Pre-degree Course of Kerala university, published in 1991.

(8)  Wikipedia notes on a variety of cinema related topics.

Projected Release 

It is hoped to have the book released in e-book format by the end of May, 2013.

Pix Credit & Rights : The Hindu

{ This is a guest post by Harikrishnan Nair, as an addendum to Susie’s tribute to PB Srinivas’ songs, as he felt he had to place on record his favorites amongst them some which might have not have been got the due recognition it deserved. “A silent lover of this blog”, he mailed this across as a slightly extended response to Susie’s post, but I felt it needed a place of its own in here. – cinematters }

* All track excerpts courtesy Malayalasangeetham.info.

Yatrakkaara from Ayisha (1964)

Music : RK Sekhar
Lyrics : Vayalar

Heard/rendered in the background during a train journey, which also forms the moment where Bashir(Prem Nazir) meets Ayisha (Sasirekha) who is married to Aboobacker Sahib (Sathyan).

Mannavanayaalum from Sathyabhama (1963)

Music : V Dakshinamoorthy
Lyrics :Abhayadev

Again, rendered in the background, as Lord Krishna (Prem Nazir) is leaving from Dwaraka to prove his innocence after the death of Prasenajith. Beautifully sung by P B S, it perfectly matches the mood of the situation, in tone and tenor.

Chandanakkinnam from Vidhi Thanna Vilakku (1962)

Music : V Dakshinamoorthy
Lyrics: P Bhaskaran

A romantic song picturised on Sasi (Sathyan) and Bhavani (Raagini), Vidhi Thanna Vilakku (1962) also one more comedy number beautifully sung by PBS, “Karakku company” picturised on SP Pillai and Bahadoor.

 Brucelee kunjallayo  from Raju Rahim (1978)

Music : MK Arjunan
Lyrics:  RK Damodaran

Picturised on  Raju - Rahim ( Prem Nazir and KP Ummer ) and Bahadoor, this song, according to me was the the last song sung by PBS for Malayalam movies. Please correct me if I am wrong.

Devayani, Devayani from Aparadhini (1968)

Music :  MB Sreenivasan
Lyrics: P Bhaskaran

One of those very common instances from old Malayalam films which have theatre acts incorporated for the sake of a song. Here, Sathyan as  Rajagopalan dreams himself to be  Kacha in the Kacha-Devayani play that he is watching.

 Kanninaal kaanmathellam from Krishna Kuchela (1961)

Music :  K Raghavan
Lyrics: P Bhaskaran

A song in praise of Lord Krishna and his boundless generosity and blessings, picturised on Kuchela’s ( TS Muthaiah) family.

 Udavaale padavale from Unniyarcha (1961)

Music :  K Raghavan
Lyrics: P Bhaskaran

This song, along with Poringal Jayamallo, another song are missing from the current VCD’s of Unniyarcha (1961) available in the market. As I recall, Udavaale Padavale plays in the background as Unniyarcha watches her son and Aaromal Chekavar’s son practising their weaponry and combat skills, in order to exact her revenge on Chanthu. The scene also clearly captures the inner turmoil of Unniyarcha  at the same time. There is a concluding version of this song which starts off with Jayabheri Uyarattey, which is heard as the two young warriors celebrate after having slain Chanthu.

Enthinu neeyiniyum  from Christmas Rathri (1961)

Amrutam pakarnna Rathri from Vidhi ( 1968)

Vidhi (1968 ) was the Malayalam-dubbed version of Taqdeer (1967) had in place of its classic Jab Jab Bahar aaye, our own Amrutam Pakarunna Rathri in three versions. The final version has PB Srinivas, S Janaki and Dr KJ Yesudas rendering the song in all its emotional fullness.

The Malayalam – dubbed version had S Janaki singing for Farida Jalal, P B Srinivas lends his voice to the young actor while Dr KJ Yesudas’  part is reserved for Bharat Bhushan.

If S Janaki and PB Srrinivas brings on the joi-de-vivre of love in their vocals, its longing, separation and pain that is echoed in Dr KJ yesudas’ voice. PB Srinivas’ vocals are heavenly in this version.

Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to find even the audio version of the song anywhere. Here is the Hindi version which will give you an idea of the emotional depth of the scene.

The Honor Roll.

When : June 2, 2013, from 12.00 noon.

Where : Malabar Christian College

Titled “Chitramela“, and conceived by Rajesh Mohanan (an familiar face in these parts, if I could say that), the quiz promises to be equally exciting in terms of content and presentation, and needless to say, a veritable treasure house of information.

If you are at Kozhikode on June 2nd, here is an event you do not want to miss.

The Publicity Poster of Chitramela 2013.

Kamal Haasan and Rita Bhaduri in Kanyakumari (1974)

KS Sethumadhavan’s Kanyakumari (1974) had 2 songs in Malayalam written by Vayalar, set to music by MB Sreenivasan. There is an English song credited for its lyrics and music to MB Srinivasan but I strongly contest that and feel a collaborator on the lyrics have been left out. There are two instrumental pieces, catering to two disparate forms of dance as it were, a Shiv Parvati Lasya piece, and a music montage of Jayan’s memories of his Bohemian life, of a life-time of drugs, sex and rock-n-roll.

IMPORTANT. 

All content of the videos belong to the original copyright holder T-Series, and has been posted here only for informational purposes.  I deeply respect any claim of  copyright violations and will gladly abide by the existing rules for  corrective action.

Jayan’s Bohemia – Musical Interlude.

KS Sethumadhavan takes the help of MB Sreenivasan in putting together his drug-crazed years, along with the wine, the music and the women, and of course the money that flowed, based on MT’s pointers that he mentions in the screenplay too, and it come out this way. Even taken as a composite piece, I really felt a tad disoriented at the abrupt “drop” in between for a solo tone which again settles back into the rhythm piece laid out.Captures brilliantly the “spirit” of the times, so to speak.

Chandrapalunku.

Singers : KJ Yesudas and S Janaki.

Arguably, the movie is known for this song and made more famous by this song. Vayalar neatly lays out the imagery of Kanyakumari and through it the desire and sheer love the young couple in love have for each other. This song enjoyed endless replay in its times on radio and more than KJ Yesudas, its S Janaki’s voice that literally washes over you like a wave.

Aayiram Kannulla.

Singers : KJ Yesudas, P Leela, LR Eeswari and Chorus.

For the life of me , I just cannot understand why KS Sethumadhavan turned the camera indoors for an obvious song setting such as this, whilst the entire movie is set outdoors ! The ritual “offering-dance” in the local temple courtyard on the eve of their favorite deity’s festival, its Shankaran who performs along with the rest of the dancers with gay abandon as lady love Parvati, brimming with pride and a bit amused, watches the dance performance.

Question: Could anyone identify the main lead dancer ( female) ?

The Siva-Parvathy Laasya ensemble.

KS Sethumadhavan shouldn’t have made Rita Bhaduri do this. It is excruciatingly painful ( atleast, for me ) to watch Parvati go through the motions of expressing her love for her celestial beloved this way. Parvati pales in comparison at Shiva’s fluid, effortless and graceful moves ( atleast for movie standards, that is) and I really wish this had been expressed in another way, rather than this “obvious” one.

Here is one from 1969 for some perspective.

I’m in Love with Love.

Lyrics : MB Sreenivasan – MT Vasudevan Nair (?)
Singer : Usha Uthup (nee Iyer )

The movie titlecards credit MB Sreenivasan for the lyrics of this “Chillum-chillum” song but MT Vasudevan Nair’s screenplay already has the first four verses written down as the refrain of the song that Jayan listens to, from the courtyard. Which makes me wonder why the author himself was not given credit as co-collaborator on lyrics of the song ! It could mean MT Vasudevan Nair’s debut only (?) song lyrics for a Malayalam movie is a 4 -line verse in English . ( Thanks Susie )

Question : Can someone positively identify the lead “singer”?

Do write in, about your “Chandrapalunku” times.

Related : Classic Picks | KS Sethumadhavan | Kanyakumari (1974)

Related : Weird dialects, a mystic mascot and melody time-travels.

After watching Kanyakumari (1974) by the KS Sethumadhavan – MT Vasudevan Nair duo, there are places your eyebrows go, at times in puzzlement, at times in amusement and at times with sheer curiosity. These are what I felt had to be put down in a separate, yet related note. Who knows, you would find more, once you have watched the movie, or recall it from the times you watched it four decades back.

The Valluvanadan dialect in Kanyakumari.

The last thing you would expect is finding the entire cast of a narrative based in Kanyakumari speaking in the typical Valluvanadan dialect – I mean you wouldn’t expect “പണിക്ക് പൂവാണ്ട് കള്ളി രാശിത്തരം കാട്ടി ഇരിക്ക്യാ, ല്ലേ ?” from a young girl born and brought up on the Kanyakumari coastline, if you ask me. I mean, the entire “literary content that weaves the fabric of the movie” is Valluvanadan, which has nothing to do with the coastal town.

A really marked deviation in casting.

The casting of Kamal Haasan, whose character Shankaran is described as “പതിനെട്ടു പത്തൊൻപത് വയസ്സ് പ്രായം വരുന്ന ശങ്കരൻ. കയ്യിൽ കല്ലുളിയും ചുറ്റികയും ഉള്ള സഞ്ചി.മുറിക്കയ്യൻ ഷർട്ട്‌, മുണ്ട്. കറുത്ത് കോമളനായ ആ ചെറുപ്പക്കാരന്റെ ശരീരം അധ്വാനം കൊണ്ട് ധാർഡ്ദ്യo വന്നതാണ്.” in the Screenplay almost makes you chuckle looking at Kamal Haasan in the movie. Then again, it must have been factored in by the duo, for all you know for reasons of its own.

A new character-duo that adds ummm.. nothing special.

The Hussy and her partner Pimp in Kanyakumar (1974)

KS Sethumadhavan introduces this hustler and her husband (?) pimp into the narrative, which,  frankly ( atleast for me) does not add anything to the flow of the narrative. The “why” of it is still beyond me.

A Song before its time.

There is an instance of  Parvati humming Kadali Chenkadali from Ramu Karyat‘s Nellu (1974) in one of her jaunts around the beach, which is amusing since Nellu was released on 23rd August 1974, whereas Kanyakumari was released on 26 July 1974 Maybe, just maybe, Parvati so liked the song that she got lucky enough to listen  in an early audio release of the movie and managed to buy an LP from Kanyakumari.

Kadali from Nellu (1974)

The Urban Myth of Kanyakumari’s Mayamma

If you were around in the 70′s and early 80′s in Kanyakumari, or in southern Kerala, it would have been very difficult to not have heard of this “phenomenon” named Mayamma who wandered about half-naked on the beach-fronts of Kanyakumari, with her sagely toothless smile and a faithful pack of stray-dogs that tagged along wherever she went.  I was surprised to find a website on her, which waxed eloquent on her “divinity”.

No one knows when Mayamma first appeared on the sea shore. She walked on the hot sand, unaware of the heat or hunger. She was often seen swimming in the ocean or sitting on slippery rocks among the waves. Devotees who flocked to see her would wait for hours till she returned laughing from the sea. On land she was always surrounded by a pack of adoring dogs. She fed them whatever scraps of food she found, and with the same joyful look in her eyes, fed people too. Amma would collect cigarette butts, wet sea-weed and soaking plantain stems that littered the beach and miraculously set them ablaze into a crackling fire at night. Amma never claimed to be anything special. But everyone who came to her was enveloped by the mysterious waves of kindness and compassion which flowed from her gaze.

KS Sethumadhavan even worked her into the narrative !

Would love to learn more about this phenomenon and if your memories serve you right, do write in.

Do you remember the time ?

Kaleidoscopes from the Kanyakumari beach curio shops

Do you remember yours?

Related : Classic Picks | KS Sethumadhavan | Kanyakumari (1974)

Related : The Songs of Kanyakumari (1974)

Credit : MSI

Kanyakumari (1974), directed by KS Sethumadhavan based on MT Vasudevan Nair’s screenplay also had a unique pairing onscreen that was never repeated ever – Kamal Haasan with Rita Bhaduri   ( NOT to be confused with the younger sister of Jaya Bhaduri), that too in a Malayalam film production! It was her second movie in her career having graduated from the Pune Film Institute in 1973. Zarina Wahab, her batch-mate, however decided to stick with Malayalam films along with her work in Hindi, and even started off paired opposite, guess whom – Kamal Haasan in Malayalam, in Madanolsavam (1978).

This was also Kamal Haasan’s first film in Malayalam in a leading (?) role, after his debut in Kannum Karalum (1961), which again was by KS Sethumadhavan. Kanyakumari (1974) portrays a brief increment in time, centred around the three focii – Kanyakaumari and its enduring myths, the main Rest House of the tourist destination and the vistors to the coastal town who stay there, the squalid tenement of the leading protagonist, Parvati and the events that bind them, riding on sheer chances and coincidences. In a way, as I see it, Kanyakumari is an interesting study of helplessness, sexual and spiritual – of the leading members of the cast pitted against unbridled virility without any morality, and the how destiny addresses each in its own celestial logic.

For a short, tight and almost mystical narrative, I could find only two aspects of the movie, shall I say, incredulous – the dialect used through out the movie and the choice in casting of the main male protagonist . More about this here. The very fact that the legendary duo chose to accommodate / over-ride these two aspects still puzzles me.

The Rest House that forms the hub of the movie – Kanyakumari (1974)

The movie begins with a group of local tourists been taken around the Kanyakumari temple, as KS Sethumadhavan almost makes the introduction to a promo reel for the temple. Prominent in the crowd is a young couple, newly married ( a very, very young Jagathy Sreekumar) with all the trappings of any honey mooning lovebirds – the excessive public display of affection, the gadgets ( Jagathy flaunts a TLR camera around his neck) and an overzealousness to please and rib each other. Other than being the “face of this group” – in the bus journey and at the Kanyakumari shore , their personal life do not form part of the main narrative of the movie. Nameless, they depart soon. At the temple, the guide emphatically gestures as he narrates the story, a well-worn tale he knows backwards and inside out. Of how the Devi Parashakthi, smitten by Lord Shiva does penance to win him over, and the gods so moved by her devotion convinces the Lord who becomes a willing groom for the wedding that was to happen at midnight. Lord Siva enroute to the wedding venue is fooled into believing he was late, and that morning had broken, by Lord Indra, who takes the form of a rooster and coos within his earshot. A dejected Lord Siva returns. The enraged bride dumps the wedding feast into the sea, pulls down the festive buntings and decide to stay in penance for ever at Kanyakumari. As the crowd collectively nods, a tiny voice quips, tugging her mother’s saree, “ Ma, but I remember grandpa saying  it was Narada and NOT Lord Indra who came as the rooster.”  She is promptly asked to shut up.

Should it be a coincidence that the setting is Kanyakumari and our lead protagonists are named Shankaran ( Kamal Haasan ) and Parvati ( Rita Bhaduri ) ! The bus, along with a Swami ( KG Menon )  who almost misses it, reaches Kanyakumari who, like one who knows the place like the palm of his hand, where he is accosted by the chirpy, bubbly Parvati, who sells trinkets but decides otherwise not to pitch her wares seeing his attire. Swami walks into the Rest House, where he is shown the room by the loud-mouthed, loose-jawed steward Bhaskaran ( Alummoodan), a constant chatter-box. In the foyer is a hassled Seth ( Shankaradi in an absolutely delightful role ), screaming and cussing in flawless, chaste Hindi and switching to Malayalam seamlessly on a business deal gone sour, as his young wife fidgets and attempts to pacify him, as her husband’s expletives fly around with abandon. In his room, Swami catches the eye of Jayan staring listlessly at the ocean, across the other wing of the building. Jayan ( Prem Navas ) is the spoiled-rich brat of a millionaire businessman, so soaked in alcohol and drugs that doctors have warned him that the next sundowner might be his last, and he is been here since a week for rehabilitation, all by himself.

The Swami has his own share of secrets – Kanyakumari-(1974)

KS Sethumadhavan also takes us on a tour of the Vivekananda Rock, along with a boatload of tourists, amongst whom is also a very, very young Mallika Sukumaran taking photographs of her family/loved ones. Swamy meets Jayan on a stroll on the beach, the latter starting off a conversation like he has just picked off from where he left the last time they met. Jayan pours his heart out to the ascetic, fearful about his mind that seems to be keeping an arm’s distance from him. Rudderless, he keeps trying to find meaning about himself. Down the beach is Parvati, done for the day, waiting for Shankaran, the only bright spot in her drab life in a hovel with her drunkard, wayward uncle ( N Govindankutty in a menacing, yet restrained role ) and her blind grandmother, the latter offering a semblance of perceived security in her life. Shankaran is a stone-cutter and a budding sculptor who has now found regular work off-shore in a quarry. The embankment is their regular meeting place.

Frederic, the swimmer has an eye on Pravati – Kanyakumari (1974)

It’s here that we are introduced to another inmate, on his way back from his daily swim in the sea, Frederic ( Murali “Jesus” Das ), who is all testosterone with the mental constitution of a hyena. His life is very linear – good food, alcohol, his swims and his conquests, with absolutely no moral compunctions nor afterthought. He has an eye on Parvati and is biding his time.

As the night grows at the Rest House, the hippies in the adjoining room, partake in the sacrament of the chillum. As the  song wafts onto the beach and to Jayan, staring listlessly at the night surf, keeps repeating her words, “I’m in love, with love”. The Rest house has another couple checking in the late hours – an elderly, bitter, infirm Somasundaram ( Veeran ), the owner of Ambika mills and his demure, timid wife Rajani ( Mani Mala ), who is less than half his age. The foyer resonates with his screaming at the staff not having honored his special request of a room on the ground floor, and the loud drug-fuelled orgy that’s coming from the adjoining wing, enough to rattle his nerves. Jayan, walking in from the beach, sees Rajani and is stunned. He just cannot seem to recall her exact identity as he frantically tries to search through the hundreds of faces through his hall of memories enveloped in a haze of drugs and alcohol but he knows this face held a special meaning to him sometime ago. And the associated emotions of the time comes rushing, overwhelming him, but he still cannot figure out, even as Somasundaram curses this young man’s stare and they walk to their room.

Somasundaram and Rajini in Kanyakumari (1974)

The Rest House’s lone restaurant is almost full and as the two elderly couples make themselves comfortable around the huge dinner table , they are joined by Frederic who orders a drink, and switches on his charm on Seth’s wife, who has by then fallen, hook line and sinker for his sheer physical magnetism. At times, the moth dive-bombs into the flame with the full realization of what lies at the end of the journey, and she expects no less an outcome, on whatever level it is. The sexual vibes are not lost on the fellow diners ( except for the Seth that is ) who leave after a hurried meal. The Swami, meanwhile, back in his room, finds his the small suitcase that holds his belongings has been someone else’s, now filled with children’s dresses and feminine wear. Bemused, and a bit disappointed, he goes ahead and goes on draping each article of dressing on and around the bed. An unknown family comes alive around him, the children’s rhymes, a harried mother’s reprimands and he sighs, for a moment thinking of the things that might have been. Meanwhile in the corridor, a pair of dainty feet stealthily moves in a purposeful  hurry from the Seth’s room to Frederic’s room with her partner’s loud snore escorting her safely.

A perturbed Jayan, on whom this new face has grown into an obsession has by now made the corridor that gives a safe and unobstructed view of Somasundaram’s room his new haunt. He just has to get to the bottom of it, and that face stays like the maddening itch that persists in that unreachable part of your back.

Parvati’s uncle has an eye on her too – Kanyakumari (1974)

In another part of the coastal town, domestic bliss is the farthest from his mind, as the garrulous and drunk Veerappan starts his hideous flirting and terrorizing of Parvati and her invalid and blind grandmother. He makes it clear in no uncertain terms that before the next year is through, Parvati would be his wife, come what may. A terrified and disgusted Parvati can only cringe.

Parvati is surprised and happy to find Swami in front of her hut next morning and is even more surprised as he reels out the local landmarks around this part of Kanyakumari, some of which even she isn’t aware. But what surprises her most is that swami even knows her grandmother’s maiden name, Karuthamma. She is amazed, surely he has divine powers ! On his stroll back to the beach, in front of the driveway to the Rest house, he is accosted by a very emotional Jayan who emphatically tells him that he has come to the final conclusion, after being up all night, recollecting that he and the lady with Somasundaram are acquaintances but from when, he doesn’t know. And its at that moment the couple appear, enroute to the nearby temple. Jayan takes leave, says he too needs a temple visit. The Swami smiles empathetically.

Swami amazes Parvati with his knowledge of her locality – Kanyakumari (1974)

At the temple, Jayan follows the couple at a safe distance, even to the curio stalls dotted around the temple, and soon comes in direct eye-contact with an already cursing Somasundaram, who finds the quality of the curios disgusting and their sales techniques loathsome. Seeing Jayan inside the shop and  stalking his wife is the last straw as he explodes, insulting him. Jayan is unfazed. He just cannot recognize the face but will keep trying.

Swami is at the beach, almost waiting  with a purpose, and it is not long before Shankaran returns after his day’s work.  It doesn’t take long for him to form a bond with the young stone-cutter who melts at the very name of his beloved from this venerable sage. The Swami’s part inquiry, part-conversation indicates more of a guardian’s “due diligence” as he weighs the best options to secure his ward’s future. The benevolence seems almost cloyingly sweet. As he takes leave, he blesses him with almost paternal love.

And it is with amusement that he watches the Seth and his wife, engrossed in their seemingly personal world, though in reality, she is intently engrossed in watching Frederic taking his daily swim and drinking it all in with her hungry eyes. The Seth, is blissfully unaware. As they leave Kanyakumari the next day, the deeply religious Seth falls at the feet of  Swami whom he meets at the driveway, the wife following suit, as he discloses the real purpose of his visit which is in fact a pilgrimage to be blessed with a heir to their personal fortune. It’s been close to three decades of pilgrimages now. Oblivious to the Swami, Destiny had, this time around invoked the good graces of a “god” on earth itself, a secret known only to Seth’s wife, probably forever.

Jayan, meanwhile has reached a decision of serious consequences as he realises that in this intense quest of pursuing this face from his past, he has also fallen deeply in love with her, without even having said a word. Gathering his courage, he mentions this to Swami, revealing his course of action of gatecrashing into Somasundaram’s room and telling his acquaintance that he is deeply in love with her. Swami offers all his moral support. At a different part of the beach, osession has taken a more sinister and lustful form in the form of Frederic who again tries to hit on Parvati, inviting her to his room, so that he can buy off all her bead-necklaces and pay her well. As she wriggles out this , she is accosted by Veeran who has come in search of her for his booze-money.

Frederic seizes opportunities by their necks – Kanyakumari (1974)

Frederic wastes no time in realising an opportunity that Destiny has brought around, befriends Veeran, takes him to his room, plies him with country liquor and asks him to get the “girl” that night to his room, even paying him. It isn’t long before Veeran passes out at the Rest House premises on his way out. Jayan, who almost gate-crashes into Somasundaram’s room in the guise of borrowing a Railways Time Table,  introducing himself and declaring his love for his acquaintance is visibly shattered when she is introduced as Mrs. Somasundaram. His destruction is complete. Swami, on a night stroll finds Jayan drunk and incoherent, but happy of having ultimately recognised her in the confrontation. She was his childhood sweet-heart whom he had lost touch as they moved to another place.

Jayan is helped to his room by Swami and on the stairwell is met by Rajini, who seem to have recognised him the moment they met at the foyer for the first time. Resigned to the ways of the world, he apologises for having dragged into this bizarre situation of his making. It’s a beautiful moment as both wistfully hope for a moment of how it might had been and drag themselves violently to the present and its depressing reality. Jayan is at peace now. He has atleast found an answer to one of his own questions. That, he feels, makes him a little less helpless than he had been.

In the stairwell, as Swami escorts her to her room, they find themselves in the presence of Somasundaram, in all his acerbic, bitter, cussing glory. But this time its Rajini, for the first time in their marital “arrangement ”cuts him down to size, for all the berating and the barbed arrowheads that he had stuck into her heart, every single day. Somasundaram, suddenly feeling lower than the pock-marked mosaic floor, literally crawls away.

In the early hours next morning, Parvati is on her way up to the beach, after bidding Shankaran goodbye, Frederic is lying in wait for her. The beach head is deserted, as far her eyes can see both ways, and Frederic knows his moment has arrived and he is not going to let go off it, come what may. Swami, who knows where to find Parvati at this time of the day, has the purposeful walk of an estranged parent atlast about to meet his daughter, with a memorable gift for her wedding that he sees not far away in the future, to a boy he approves. To know what happens next, you need to watch the movie

So, is there a legal copy available that I can buy online?

The VCD of the movie is available and you can buy it here.

Related : Weird dialects, a mystic mascot and melody time-travels.

Related : The Songs of Kanyakumari (1974)