Thampu [1978]

 Aravindan’s gently observational, lyrical and understated docufiction Thampu delicately straddled between fact and fiction. Alongside its form and aesthetics that were shaped by verité and fly-on-the-wall filmmaking, through portraitures deeply rooted in social realities, fragmentary structure, poetic visual language, and startling instances of breaking the fourth wall, it manifested that through its making too. Aravindan travelled to a coastal hamlet in Kerala with few former circus artistes; they set up tent, called the villagers to view performances, and shot the acts juxtaposed with the audience’s enthralled reactions; the villagers eventually got involved in the preparations of an upcoming festival, which therefore led to closure of this setup that merged avant-garde filmmaking with social experiment. Its spare three-point arc – viz. a traveling circus troupe arrives from somewhere to a nondescript village; temporarily sets up shop, provides performances to paying audience during evenings, while practicing during the days; and quietly departs for some other destination – was accompanied with fleeting insights into the group’s long history, current financial challenges, and growing weariness among its older crew members, and interspersed with the aforementioned local festivities and existential crisis of a young guy belonging to an upper class family who’s at odds with his father on account of his love for arts and music instead of worldly affairs. The cast comprised of non-professionals as well as few professional actors like Bharath Gopi as the troupe’s brusque manager who wields his power over this motley group of impoverished, marginalized, disenfranchised and nomadic performers. Shot in austere B/W by veteran cinematographer Shaji N. Karun, it wasn’t surprising that Aravindan displayed such profound empathy for his subjects considering that, like them, he too existed in the margins.

Director: G. Aravindan

Genre: Drama/Social Drama/Docu-fiction/Experimental Film

Language: Malayalam

Country: India

Amma Ariyan (Report to Mother) [1986]

 John Abraham didn’t just embody his trailblazing mentor Ritwik Ghatak – his cinematic dare, blazing left-wing politics, defiant anti-establishmentarianism, self-destructive alcoholism and tragically curtailed life – but perhaps even took these a step further. His iconoclastic final feature Amma Ariyan – he died a year later upon a terrible accident – vividly manifested his fierce radicalism in every aspect. Made under ‘Odessa Collective’ that he’d formed with dreams of making filmmaking a political act that’s untethered from consumerist restrictions, he financed it through street contributions, made it through a participative process, and screened it in traveling shows. If his production and distribution decisions were stunning acts of rebellion, his formal choices were even bolder. It was, on surface, a road movie as Purushan (Joy Mathew), upon stumbling upon a dead young guy in Waynad who’s committed suicide, first decides to determine his identity and thereafter inform the latter’s mother who resides in Cochin. This journey mirrored the collaborative filmmaking process as what starts off with only Purushan, kept expanding and ultimately transitioned into a people’s movement by the time the targeted destination arrives. The revelation of the dead guy’s shifting backstory – amateur table player, jazz drummer, diffident political activist and Naxalite revolutionary, depending on who you’re asking – was alternated with recounting of and medications on historical acts of police brutality, class struggle and popular resistance that Purushan encounters along their route and which he chronicles in letters to his mother. The film, consequently, was heavily experimental and self-reflexive on one hand, and powerfully suffused with documentary references and political commentaries on the other, thus ensuring that this complex, quietly personal and searingly political work operated well outside both narrative conventions and easy interpretations.

Director: John Abraham

Genre: Political Drama/Road Movie/Experimental Film

Language: Malayalam

Country: India

All We Imagine as Light [2024]

 Payal Kapadia’s training in filmmaking, her love for cinema (and slow cinema in particular), her feminist perspectives, and her bent towards political dissent are known. It wasn’t, therefore, surprising that her first fiction feature was inextricably shaped by these facets. All We Imagine as Light is equal parts slow, feminist and political cinema. Furthermore, its expressions of female friendships, solidarity and defiance – foregrounded on the teeming and chaotic metropolis of Mumbai that couldn’t give two hoots for them and countless others surviving similarly in its grubby margins – made this delicately weaved tapestry an evocative city symphony too, especially in its subversion of shallow cliches about the city’s supposedly embracing nature. Prabha (Kani Kusruti), a senior nurse at a hospital, and her young colleague Anu (Divya Prabha), share a small apartment with their cat. While the former is solemn and lonely, having been largely abandoned by her husband, the latter is ebullient and mischievous, but also confused, having secretly fallen in love with a Muslim boy (Hridhu Haroon), as interfaith relationships are a societal taboo. Additionally, their Malayali backgrounds have as much made them outsiders, as their gender, relationship woes/choices and economic hardships. Completing this troika is Parvaty (Chhaya Kadam), a widowed and middle-aged wage worker in the hospital, who’s being forcibly evicted by nefarious builders as she doesn’t possess the necessary papers. Their individual stories and evolving bonds – exquisitely brought to life by the three actors – reached an achingly resonant coda upon a trip that they take to an idyllic coastal village. The dreamlike narrative was frequently juxtaposed with immigrants’ voices, and was enriched by the film’s formal rigour, ravishing photography, lilting bluesy score, silences, absences and melancholy.

Director: Payal Kapadia

Genre: Drama/Urban Drama/Romantic Drama/Buddy Film

Language: Malayalam/Hindi/Marathi

Country: India

Kaathal (The Core) [2023]

 Jeo Baby, with Kaathal, took a diametric turn from his magnificent previous film The Great Indian Kitchen, while also complementing it in interesting ways. Though lacking in the latter’s crushing power – replacing that, instead, with a palette that was low-key and perhaps even too subdued at times – it too touched upon a crucial yet underrepresented topic through marital collapse. The title attained significance in how the director peeled the outward layers to reveal an intensely intimate and socially uncomfortable core. His biggest coup was roping in Mammootty, the veteran superstar of Malayalam film industry, in the role of a married man, who’s been socially conditioned to suppress and deny his homosexuality, finally coming out, and Jyothika as his wife trapped in such a marriage. Mathew, the middle-aged husband and respected member of the community where he resides – along with his wife Omana, their teenage daughter, and his aged father – is chosen by the Communist Party for a local election. His campaign, however, starts on an awkward note as Omana decides, in parallel, to file for divorce. While the political parties try to use this development to their advantage – the Left to demonstrate their progressive intentions and the opposition to spew regressive sentiments – the primary focus here was the couple’s journey through their divorce proceedings. Baby, preferring nuance over theatre, portrayed their separation in an understated manner, and therefore bereft of any dramatic flareups or malice between the couple; that, however, made things appear too downplayed in how everything was so peacefully tied up, considering the complex emotions and repercussions that were at stake. These, fortunately, were partially addressed by the affecting moment of reconciliation, elevated by Mammootty’s restrained performance.

Director: Jeo Baby

Genre: Drama/Marital Drama/Social Drama

Language: Malayalam

Country: India

Aattam (The Play) [2023]

 Aattam is based on the topic of sexual harassment at workplace. But, what made Anand Ekarshi’s assured debut feature an especially riveting and nuanced work, was in its manifestation of how this gets doubted, trivialized, and responded to in varying shades of offensiveness, insensitivity and expediency, through behavioural triggers that’re at times even subliminal in nature on account of normalized patriarchal tendencies.  That, in turn, can make even a seemingly safe and progressive workplace inherently problematic and fragile. And that’s not all. The director made the courageous decision to depict the proceedings through a multiplicity of male gazes, thus making it all the more visceral, and which he smartly filmed with elements of a locked room mystery and quasi-judicial thriller. The setting is an avant-garde theatre troupe, whose members pursue diverse professions – both white-collared and working class – and therefore belong to different economic classes, but bound by their love for the stage, even though it can’t sustain their livelihoods. However, it predominantly comprises of men, with Anjali (Zarin Shihab), who’s in a complicated relationship with a fellow actor (Vinay Forrt) in the midst of a messy divorce, being the only exception. Upon the successful staging of their latest play, they have a celebratory party where she gets molested by one of her colleagues. The men in the group assemble for an investigation into the accusation and alignment on how they should deal with the alleged perpetrator. The exchanges, however, take unpredictable turns with each new accusation, counter-accusation, rationale, revelation, and unanticipated extrinsic developments. The film ended on a brilliantly metatextual note where we finally witness the interpretation and representation of the proceedings thus far from the sole woman’s perspective.

Director: Anand Ekarshi

Genre: Drama/Chamber Drama/Mystery

Language: Malayalam

Country: India

Malayankunju [2022]

 Sajimon Prabhakar merged the sub-genre of disaster/survival movies – one that’s not very common in Indian cinema – with strong social commentary – on a topic that’s largely avoided in Indian cinema – in Malayankunju. An ambitious combination such as this meant that the film came with its set of remarkable highs as it worked excellently on certain fronts, alongside a few problematic and disappointing lows. It’s squarely centred on Anikkutan (Fahadh Faasil), a seemingly ordinary man who works as an electronics technician out of his home in the mountains, where he resides with his widowed mother. One, however, doesn’t need to scratch deep to see that he's filled with flaws, neuroses and demons. He’s difficult, troubled and rude; he carries unresolved baggage from the past which has led to an estranged relationship with his sister; and he’s filled with caste-based prejudices. Things, therefore, start slipping out of control when his neighbours – a couple belonging to the so-called lower caste – have a baby, whose cries disturb his sleep. Meanwhile there’re public service announcements of an impending natural disaster, which does strike in the form of devastating flood and landslides. Faasil gave a stunning turn as the edgy, taciturn and unlikeable character; the day-to-day activities and interactions preceding the disaster imbued the script with visceral undercurrents; and the disaster itself was crafted with immersive brilliance. That said, by linking Anikkutan’s casteist nature with his past – and thereby assigning a rationale to that – the director did a grave disserve to this noxious issue; further, while what transpires upon his being trapped by land collapse struck a strong emotional chord, the director conveniently provided a means for the cleansing of his toxicity through a heroic deed.

Director: Sajimon Prabhakar

Genre: Drama/Thriller/Psychological Drama/Social Drama/Disaster Movie

Language: Malayalam

Country: India

Jaya Jaya Jaya Jaya Hey [2022]

 Vipin Das’ darkly humorous film – its playful title, by ironically referencing to a line from the national anthem, highlighted how women are often limited as individuals by placing them on pedestals in terms of their social roles – covered a despicable and pervading societal evil through hilarious fantasy fulfilment, deadpan satire and gleeful hyperboles. On most occasions this was a firecracker work laced with rousing feminist stance and lashing depictions of normalized patriarchy, toxic behaviour and hypocrisy. However, its tricky narrative choices risked trivializing such a serious topic by diminishing a grim reality – marital abuse, denial of agency and voice to women, lack of economic independence that leaves housewives trapped and helpless – into amusing escapism. Consequently, it felt lacking in the kind of nuance, depth and scorching brilliance that The Great Indian Kitchen had manifested; and, by counting the number of slaps instead of articulating that even one slap is one too many – which Thappad categorically did – it also missed a beat. Nevertheless, it had sufficient chutzpah, wackiness and satiric ingenuity to make this a crackling watch despite its simplistic constituents and convenient sidestepping of certain inconvenient topics like abortion through deux ex machina. The eponymous Jaya (Darshana Rajendran) has always been at the mercy of the men surrounding her – her irascible father intent on making all decisions for her; her unctuous uncle (Sudheer Paravoor) who doles out intrusive advices under the guise of caring for her wellbeing; her college teacher (Aju Varghese) whose progressive homilies are a sham; and finally her patriarchal, misogynistic, heavily abusive and manipulative husband (Basil Joseph). The well-enacted film comprised of a number of standout set-pieces, including arguably the funniest karate kick in recent memory.

Director: Vipin Das

Genre: Black Comedy/Social Satire/Family Drama

Language: Malayalam

Country: India

Pada [2022]

 Pada is that enthralling “political thriller based on true events” where all the three components of the sub-genre worked brilliantly both independently and in relation to each other. Its politics – that of the ceaseless systemic oppression of tribal communities by the establishment – is profoundly persuasive, powerful, dissenting and progressive and, in an eloquent demonstration of authenticity, portrayed neither through the gaze of the privileged class nor that of the upper-caste; as a thriller it’s moody, gripping and dazzlingly crafted; and the incident was chronicled with the here-and-now precision and controlled urgency of narrative reportage. In 1996, four seemingly regular men, in an astonishing display of political consciousness, fearless bravado and radical revolutionary spirit, held the then Collector of the city of Palakkad hostage for several hours in solidarity with the harrowing plight of Adivasis in general, and, in particular, to have a recently passed legislative bill – that further diluted the miniscule land rights of this immensely marginalized indigenous community – revoked. They identified themselves as belonging to “Ayyankali Pada” or Ayyankali’s Army, in honour of the iconoclastic Dalit social reformer, and nearly achieved the impossible – through their fiery act of rebellion and resistance – of compelling the state to pay heed. Vinayakan and Kunchacko Boban were riveting as two of the faction members, with commendable turns also from Joju George and Dileesh Pothan (the terrific Joji’s director) as the two balance members, Prakash Raj as the level-headed Chief Secretary, Arjun Radhakrishnan as the sensible Collector and T.G. Ravi as a socialist-minded mediator, amidst a large cast that was mobilized to exhibit the state of frenzy. The pulsating background score and brooding visuals deftly complemented the film’s bleak premise and fatalist undercurrents.

Director: Kamal K.M.

Genre: Thriller/Political Thriller/Docufiction

Language: Malayalam

Country: Kerala

Joji [2021]

 Dileesh Pothan’s Joji was as much a macabre and darkly funny crime thriller, as it was a commentary on patriarchy and masculinity, the arrogance of power and affluence, and the lust for wealth and violence. Either way it was a wickedly delicious work set during the pandemic, and filled with acrid familial fault lines, feuds and outright dysfunctions bordering on the comically grotesque… unsurprisingly, the director cited Shakespeare’s Macbeth as an inspiration. Kuttapan, the muscular, disdainful and domineering patriarch of a closely-knit family – comprising of the physically imposing and short-tempered eldest son Jomon (Baburaj) who’s closest to his father; the whimpering middle son Jaison (Joji Mundakayam) who feels trapped under his father’s iron-grip; the youngest son Joji (Fahadh Faasil) who’s a college dropout and detests his father’s contemptuous attitude towards him; Jaison’s taciturn wife Bincy (Unnimaya Prasad) who inwardly riles at her position as a voiceless housewife; and Jomon’s teenage son – living amidst his lush and sprawling estate in Kerala. Hence, when he suffers a near-fatal stroke, each of his sons react differently – Jomon is devastated and becomes increasingly erratic to the point of insulting the local clergy; Jaison hopes to finally have financial freedom; but it’s the seemingly meek and loafing Joji who decides to take matters into his own hands… and, as he does so, he displays a terrific capacity for smouldering fury, unpredictable ferocity, and calculated violence – with neither patricide nor fratricide being beyond his reach – and Bincy becomes an unlikely ally. Faasil, with his captivating turn as the sociopathic antagonist, led a cast full of compelling performances, in this spare, bleak and minimalist work punctuated with ironies, wry humour and a sparingly used moody score.

Director: Dileesh Pothan

Genre: Crime Drama/Family Drama

Language: Malayalam

Country: India

The Great Indian Kitchen [2021]

 The most impish joke – and a darkly ironic one too – that Keralite filmmaker Jeo Baby pulled on unwitting viewers was cannily naming this film The Great Indian Kitchen. Furthermore, he began it by focusing, in all its gastronomical glory, the minutest culinary details of an Indian kitchen, with all its chopping, cutting, grinding, boiling, sautéing, frying, garnishing and whatnot – so much so that, those absorbing initial sections are bound to get an epicure excited. Before long, though, its incendiary themes started surfacing – viz. casual, inbred, entitled and toxic patriarchy, masculinity, misogyny, and the accompanying religious bigotry, which together define most of Indian middle-class – and the effect was undeniably lacerating, potentially more so on account of its commonplace nature and banality. The titular kitchen is part of the home of a conservative, well-to-do family that the protagonist (Nimisha Sajayan) – an educated woman and trained dancer – moves into post an arranged marriage with a school teacher (Suraj Venjaramoodu). Both husband and father-in-law appear to be mild-natured men; in fact, when the latter starts displaying his regressive traits, the seemingly tender but essentially slimy husband initially provides false comfort before starting to reveal his nasty sides too; and as she increasingly starts displaying quiet defiance by not letting go of her identity, thought-process and resolve, the more belligerent they become. Baby made striking use of repetitions, sparseness and progressive tonal buildups while meticulously underscoring the putrid drudgery that the wife gets sucked into amidst domestic and conjugal obligations. Terrific turns by Sajayan and Venjaramoodu made the sordid marital drama that much more provocative and incisive; and, by the time the movie’s climax approached, the director had emphatically transitioned into activisit filmmaking too.

 

 

 

 

 

Director: Jeo Baby

Genre: Drama/Marital Drama/Social Drama

Language: Malayalam

Country: India

Angamaly Diaries [2017]

 Lijo Jose Pellissery’s Angamaly Diaries is purportedly a crime drama and gangster film; however, what, perhaps, the director essentially intended it to be, is a grimy and darkly funny collage on the eponymous locality in the port city of Cochin in Kerala. In that sense – with its expansive timeline, colourful characters from the crime-ridden underbelly, and idiosyncratic evocations of sights, sounds, flavours and palettes – the inspiration, quite clearly, was Scorsese’s irresistible portrayal of Little Italy in his dizzying masterpiece Mean Streets, and perhaps also the magnetic world of Italian American mobsters in Goodfellas. However, though the constant streak of levity added a layer of irreverent fun to the proceedings, it – along with the rather avoidable romantic asides – were mood spoilers at times (especially because I was anticipating a grittier treatment). The latter Scorsese gem began with the iconic (cheeky) quote, “As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster”, and the same was true for the protagonist here, viz. Vincent Pepe (Antony Verghese). Right from an early age he’s fascinated by the area’s strongmen – who’d win football trophies through brute force, and were the local troubleshooters too – and forms a gang of his own with whom he enjoys raucous teenage years and grows into carefree men drawn to inter-faction rivalries, messy brawls, machismo and violence, while trying to get into the pork business. The region’s quintessential cuisine formed a gleeful running motif and driving force for protagonists; that, along with some of its stylized setpieces, and the wildly ambitious climactic sequence – a nearly 12 minute single take that begins with packed street festivities and ends in street violence – formed the film’s most arresting constituents.

 

 

 

 

 

Director: Lijo Jose Pellissery

Genre: Crime Comedy/Gangster Film/Action

Language: Malayalam

Country: India

S Durga [2017]

Sasidharan’s S Durga is drenched in bleak nihilism, psychedelia and angst – so much so, that it jolts you as much by its confrontational aesthetic choices, as by its lashing critique on reeking patriarchy, male gaze and casual "othering" on religious, ethnic or even linguistic grounds. The film faced enormous hostility from the right for being provocatively titled Sexy Durga initially, even to the point of its screening in IFFI being blocked where it was included in the competitive section. Like his blistering previous film Ozhivudivasathe Kali, this too opened with documentary realism – and an extended one at that – which disturbingly set the context; the violence and voyeurism in a religious celebration – ironically involving a goddess worshipped as a symbol of feminine power – formed a striking contrast to its main narrative where gender and religious violence are lurking at every corner. Set over the course of a single night – and an increasingly nightmarish one at that – it starts off with Durga (Rajshri Deshpande), a Hindu woman, and Kabeer (Kannan Nayar), her Muslim boyfriend, planning to elope, ostensibly on account of their interfaith relationship. Hoping to reach the railway station to catch a train to somewhere (anywhere), they’re given a lift by a couple of guys in a minivan on a deserted highway. However, as lecherous, bullying guys join them in the car, the ride becomes a trip through hell – though, in a pungently ironic note, they keep reiterating that their intent is to protect Durga from the wolves outside. The largely unscripted narrative and deceptively audacious long takes constantly reminded me of Sasidharan’s previous film, even if this was stylistically very different for being an incredibly visceral and nerve-wracking work.

Director: Sanal Kumar Sasidharan

Genre: Drama/Road Movie

Language: Malayalam

Country: India