Back to the narrative

Unlike today's Hindi, Tamil or Telugu cinema, Malayalam films are returning to the healthy, age-old practice of telling stories with conviction, says GAUTAMAN BHASKARAN.

THE BANE of Indian cinema today is its lack of story. Most of it whirs merrily along plotless, with little clue to theme or even direction. Often, it is a lot of colour and hype, or meaningless movement and frenzy, peppered liberally with violence.

Malayalam cinema is no exception. It relies on blood and gore, to visually enslave an audience and trap it in an emotional whirlpool.

But there now appears to be an essential difference between, let us say, the Hindi or Tamil or Telugu cinema and Malayalam films. These, at least the recent ones, seem to have made an effort to go back to the era of narrating a tale. Which, one would suppose, is the whole idea behind a feature movie.

But, that directors are still half-hearted in this endeavour becomes clear when an interesting idea developed into an equally gripping story, is sacrificed midway for sheer gimmicks that sometimes border on sadism.

C. V. Sudhi's ``Koodaram'' (The Tent), is for children, and begins on a promising note with a group of boys and girls befriending a dwarf-clown, but it soon turns messy when the director cannot make up his mind whether to treat the ``joker'' as a child or an adult. Ultimately, Sudhi takes the easy but unethical way out: he allows the man's height to determine his mental age!

Such flaws in the script do ever so often derail the narrative. A. K. Lohithadas' ``Joker'' is another case in point. Admittedly any film on the circus will immediately draw a comparison with the late Aravindan's classic ``Thampu'' (Tent), where the auteur tells a story by essentially focussing his camera on innumerable faces. The plot unfolds through a series of remarkable expressions.

Lohithadas has a good theme - the problems of a dying art - but the temptation to cater to popular taste leads him to a ringful of woe, complete with local ``dadas'' and wrestling bouts.

Then, there are any number of works on AIDS. Undoubtedly, a burning issue of the day, it is invariably handled insensitively and unimaginatively. C. Sasidharan Pillai pans on the life of a village girl (in his ``Kattu Vannu Vilichappol''/ When The Breeze Beckons), who elopes with a journalist and eventually falls a victim to newspaper misreporting. Pillai has the most unbelievable things to suggest: when his protagonist's lover/ husband reportedly commits suicide because he ``finds out''- as the daily writes - he has AIDS, the wife is led through a maze of misinformation (and harrowing experiences), which is highly unthinkable in a society like Kerala's where education and health have been getting top priority for a long time now.

Kamal's ``Madhuranobarakattu'' (Bitter Sweet Wind) is, again, a smooth take-off, a smoother cruise, but a rough landing. Outstanding frames capture a wind-swept hamlet, where a woman convict tries to pick up the threads of her broken life with her family, but a ruffian plays spoilsport - a totally unnecessary diversion that mars the linear developments, even some fine acting by Samyuktha Varma (as the lady in distress).

Shockingly, the fair sex is treated with disdain and contempt. Whether it is ``Thenkasipattanam'' (by Rafi McCartin) or ``Mazha'' (Lenin Rajendran), there are reels of violence (at times for fun!) against them, perpetuated to highlight a misplaced notion of macho-heroism. Here too the casualty is the story, which groans under the weight of such ``embellishments'' (pushing girls around, slapping them when they walk up to a man to declare their love, and the ridicule continues endlessly).

However, there have been a few pictures lately which opened with something novel to say, and did not deviate from this line. R. Sarath's ``Sayahnam'' (Twilight) - which won seven Kerala State awards in March, including the one for the best work - traces the life of a political thinker, whose writings on the futility of nuclear arms are respected in the highest echelons of power, till, of course, he does a volte face. Sarath, who also won the prize for Best Story, deals with the pressing contemporary issue in an amazingly compassionate and simple manner. His characterisations, of the postman, of the thinker's Man Friday, are so engrossing that they add up to make great cinematic moments.

M. T. Vasudevan Nair's ``Oru Cheru Punchiri'' (A Slender Smile) is an intimate portrayal of an old couple whose disappointments are reflected tastefully. Nair's canvas has no place for dramatic sentiments. Rather, he gives the two a quiet dignity, even while he suggests their inner turmoil. Nair bagged the honour for excellence in direction.

``Swayamvara Pandal'' (by Harikumar) tackles mental illness: when Priya's parents reject her love, the shock hits her, and Harikumar uses his ability to weave a yarn which runs through the entire gamut of human failings and feelings. Except for an unconvincing closing shot, ``Swayamvara Pandal'' has the ingredients of a popular movie which are also aesthetic.

M. P. Sukumaran Nair's ``Sayanam'' (Sleep) builds up a little thought - of giving sainthood to an anti-social element - into a fine piece of celluloid. There are stimulating deviations, most of which fit into Nair's structure.

Nair or Harikumar may not be exceptional directors, but they have used the age-old trick of saying a story, and saying it with a fair degree of conviction. This is where the secret lies, and, after all, the medium was essentially created in the closing years of the century to make descriptions move, and Malayalam cinema has begun to see this point of view, albeit in a distracted sort of way.

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Section  : Entertainment
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