Amid the allegations of abuse, harassment and misogyny exposing the dark side of showbiz, UAE residents weigh in on the battle between Kerala's progressive cinema and industry hypocrisy
In the compelling 2023 Malayalam courtroom drama Neru, a visually impaired artist endures sexual assault at the hands of a powerful man. The film follows her and her family’s harrowing fight for justice, supported by a dedicated, but downbeat lawyer. They confront victim shaming, threats, media sensationalism, and hostile witnesses, yet justice prevails, thanks to the survivor’s relentless legal battle. Through many scenes and dialogues, the film makes its stance clear: survivors must be believed, consent is paramount and “No means No.”
However, revisiting the film now is unsettling, particularly since the potent monologues are delivered by megastar Mohanlal and actor Siddique, whose real-life actions have come under scrutiny following the #MeToo storm in the Kerala film industry, or Mollywood.
The disparity between the art and the conduct of artists never felt this stark.
To provide context: The Hema Committee report, released recently after being submitted in 2019, emerged from a 2017 case where a prominent actress was assaulted, allegedly at the behest of superstar Dileep. In response, a group of determined female stars formed the Women in Cinema Collective (WCC), forcing the state government to establish a committee to address women’s issues in the industry. Although significant portions of the report have been redacted, the disclosures — chronicling rampant sexual abuse, exploitation and dire working conditions — have rocked Kerala’s society, politics and art, sparking profound questions and intense debates.
The repercussions have indeed been swift and sweeping. Yet, while it’s tempting to view the situation solely as a Malayali #MeToo movement, the Pandora’s box unpacked by the report has many layers that call for a nuanced unpeeling beyond the screaming headlines. The controversy lays bare the deep hypocrisies and deficiencies within Kerala’s society and its art while simultaneously spotlighting the evolution of a more aware and empowered community.
One glaring realisation is that Kerala’s professed matriarchal values have always hidden its entrenched patriarchy. Despite its progressive reputation and high literacy levels, Mollywood mirrors the problematic working conditions found in other regions. Ranjini Haridas, an outspoken actress, emcee, model and YouTuber, recalls attending auditions in hotel rooms as a teenager and feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “The approach was too casual,” she says. “Throughout my career, I was judged for my candour.”
Ranjini Haridas (left) with Meera Nandan
Haridas, who has been vocal about the controversy through her YouTube channel, also criticises the disproportionate focus on sexual harassment while neglecting other issues highlighted by the report —payment disparity, poor working conditions and the marginalisation of junior artists and technicians. “It’s upsetting to see the voyeuristic focus on sexual harassment while ignoring broader systemic problems,” she adds.
UAE-based social activist Riji Joy shares this sentiment, noting the report’s shortcomings in addressing the ineffectiveness of sexual harassment laws and their enforcement. “The International Labour Organisation (ILO) also mandates strict workplace practices, but clearly, no steps have been taken,” Joy observes.
Riji Joy
Amid the societal and industry failings, the scandal has also spotlighted another aspect: the duality of a sector producing exceptional art while concealing a grim reality.
Consider Aattam, a film that won the Grand Jury Award at the Indian Film Festival of Los Angeles in 2023 and was named Best Film at the 70th National Film Awards last month. The plot explores sexual harassment in spaces considered safe for women and men’s response to such charges.
The paradox is not lost on critics who see it as art emerging from a place of dishonesty. On the other hand, there are cinephiles who argue that however problematic the situation might seem, important films like Aattam represent an industry striving to reform.
There can be no argument that Malayalam films, especially post Covid, have set new benchmarks for excellence. In a country that produces over 2,000 films across regions and languages, Kerala is rightly cheered for being the flagbearer of realistic, path breaking movies.
However, it has taken a while to reach this level. The cinema of the 80s, 90s and 2000s, while producing many gems, also had films that were deeply problematic and chauvinistic. The significant change happened over the last few years, with a new young generation of filmmakers pushing boundaries and winning admirers internationally with their bold socio-political themes, brave execution and progressive perspectives.
Srini Kotamarthy, the Dubai-based administrator of the popular Facebook page Cinema Adda, lauds the efforts to raise uncomfortable questions. “The fact that such a committee was set up and actors are fighting shows the progressive nature of their cinema and society. They are willing to introspect the rot in the system. In Telugu or Bollywood, it’s not even identified, let alone addressed.”
Srini Kotamarthy
Incidentally, some of the most acclaimed Malayalam films in the last five years (when this report was being prepared) have embraced deeply feminist themes. Movies like The Great Indian Kitchen, Kumbalangi Nights and the recent Ullozhukku have placed women at the forefront, challenging outdated mindsets.
This, according to popular actor, radio and TV host Mithun, reflects the changing values of a society unafraid of arguments and dissent. The case of the 2016 Mammootty hit Kasaba, in this context, is interesting. A film that was called out for its awful misogyny, fans back then massively trolled women who questioned Mammootty’s character. But they pushed back. Mithun believes these debates, which predated Hollywood’s #MeToo movement set the tone for the change being witnessed today. “There has been a paradigm shift over the last few years. Frankly, we have all grown up on the incorrect jokes and inappropriate dialogues in movies. It’s only now that we are more aware of what’s acceptable and what’s not,” he says.
RJ Mithun
And that brings forth the third layer to the entire controversy — the media and society’s response. Mithun insists the debates and conversations about agency, consent, women’s safety, etc. have increased greatly post #MeToo. Citing the examples of the sets he has worked on, he says, “Earlier on the comedy show I was hosting, people would comment on skin colour and women to get laughs. It’s no longer the case now. The script writers and directors have become very cautious, I experience these changes myself.”
The ongoing narrative and the government response to the report too reflect this shift. Despite redactions and valid questions about the report’s timing, the exposure has toppled many once-unassailable figures — a development unthinkable a decade earlier.
WCC members including leading actors like Parvathy Thiruvottu, Rima Kallingal and Revathy, who faced immense trolling five years ago, have been fearless in speaking out even as their male counterparts maintain a studied silence. Parvathy has openly discussed being sidelined from projects and facing personal and professional setbacks but now the media narrative largely supports survivors.
“It’s the first time that a women’s group has caused such a big shakeup among the fraternity,” says Haridas. “I don’t think there will be a terrible impact on the industry, though a few big guns’ reputations have definitely tarnished. As a fierce feminist, I feel the people who have been exposed should be shunned if the charges are proven. At least these measures may prompt powerful men to think twice before harassing anyone.”
Unfortunately, the recent developments and the struggle to bring them to light do not inspire much confidence. With numerous allegations, counter-allegations and often scant evidence, there’s concern that this might become a mere flash in the pan, akin to Bollywood’s #MeToo movement. There are fears that accusations without solid proof could distract from the core issues and the guilty may never really face the consequences.
Joy voices the pertinent question: What next? “How are the women going to be healed and integrated back into the industry? Most of the accusations have been brought by women who are not big celebrities. Can they win back the chances they may have lost? Will there be internal committees set up? Will women be empowered and encouraged to approach them with issues?”
WCC members have repeatedly said the movement was not meant to tarnish the industry though there is a fear the artform itself might take a hit. Haridas disagrees. “Cinema will survive. A good film is a good film which is why we saw movies like Manjumel Boys and Aattam do so well. The slate of forward thinking films won’t stop.” What is crucial, she asserts, is to keep the momentum going. “Right now, women do feel vindicated. The best way to solve a problem is to react to it, the noise should not die out.”
The next few months are going to be critical. How Kerala navigates the aftermath will shape its cinematic future. Kotamarthy believes that the art will ultimately redeem Malayalam cinema. “I don’t think the new generation of filmmakers will stop making the films they want. If Malayalam cinema is to move past this, it must continue to produce the progressive art it is known for,” he says.
To give a movie analogy, in 2021’s much-acclaimed The Great Indian Kitchen, the protagonist, an exasperated wife, douses her oppressive husband and father-in-law with murky kitchen sink water, before walking away from them. This powerful act of clearing away the muck and toxicity might well be the metaphor for the ongoing transformation in the Malayalam film industry.
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