TW: Mentions of sexual abuse
The film communities of Malayalam social media recently engaged in a heated discourse over how two popular ‘big brother’ characters, played by Kerala’s beloved superstar Mammootty, have aged over the decades. Krishnan in Rappakal (2005) and Raghavan Nair in Vatsalyam (1993)—once admired as icons of compassion and generosity—are now being critiqued for their meddlesome and patriarchal qualities. Modern interpretations view Krishnan as an overstepping, unsolicited presence who disregards boundaries. In the same vein, Raghavan Nair’s character is dubbed a patriarchal tyrant who expects unquestioning obedience from his family.
This ‘big brother’ trope has been a popular staple in mainstream Malayalam cinema for decades. Traditionally, this character archetype has been portrayed as a paragon of virtue, reliability, and strength—often to the point of being infallible.
In recent years, however, there has been a notable shift in how this plot device is presented on screen. With the emergence of the new wave in Malayalam cinema, not only are traditional patriarchal norms being challenged, but there are also more nuanced, realistic portrayals of such tropes.
But is there a rationale for these sudden critiques of characters from a bygone era, given the vastly different timelines and mindsets in which they lived? We examine.
Rappakal
Kamal’s family drama Rappakal unfolds against the backdrop of a sprawling Hindu tharavaadu (ancestral home) in north Kerala, centering around a guileless and loyal kaaryasthan (caretaker)—Krishnan played by Mammootty. Krishnan’s life orbits around the elderly matriarch (Sharada), whom he regards as his mother. Despite having been raised in that decadent old tharavaadu, there are enough instances to corroborate the theory that Krishnan never truly considered himself a family member. Even when he knew the matriarch viewed him as her own, Krishnan, for all his harmless meddling, respected his boundaries. That’s precisely why, years ago, when the matriarch’s daughter Malavika (Geetu Mohandas) confided her love to him, he discouraged her with the reminder that he was only a domestic help. Krishnan’s show of familiarity with the family stems from naivety rather than entitlement.
During the family reunion, when some of the family members are openly rude to him, Krishnan acknowledges his place, showing he is hurt but not entitled. Take that pivotal scene (the much-discussed scene on social media) where he lectures young family members about smoking and drinking, then switches off the lights, only to be slapped, highlighting his overbearing nature. A young man responds with an unwarranted slap, and neither Krishnan’s nor the man’s behaviour can be justified here. But while Krishnan humbly acknowledges his behaviour and position in the house, the young man remains remorseless.
Given the context, it is unrealistic to expect ‘politically correct’ behaviour from Krishnan who has limited life experience. On the contrary, the rest of the so-called ‘educated folks’ are the ones who display problematic behaviour, including the elderly uncle (Vijayaraghavan) who attempts to molest the domestic worker and the others who exhibit casteism, patriarchy, and condescension.
Watch this scene from Rappakal:
The narrative in itself is extremely one-dimensional when it comes to representing class, typecasting the poor as helpless and slavish, and the rich as entitled and evil. That was perhaps why it was so easier to empathize with Krishnan’s plight for a majority of the audience back then. Though Krishnan tends to play ‘big brother’ to those around him, his actions and behaviour are more relatable and genuine.
For Mammootty, this shift in characterisation is a welcome change, considering he has often been typecast (and celebrated) in more authoritative, patriarchal “valyettan” (big brother) characters.
Vatsalyam, Hitler, and Valyettan: Between realism and exposition
Though the protective big brothers have always been around, it was in the 90s, with the Cochin Haneefa-directed Vatsalyam, that Malayalam cinema truly witnessed the establishment of the now played-out trope.
Vatsalyam’s Raghavan Nair, who presided over an extended joint Nair tharavaadu, embodied the archetypal celluloid “Valyettan.” He was the benevolent figure who hid a soft heart behind a tough exterior, toiled day and night for his kith and kin and was looked upon with reverence by his family. He was sketched with such untainted compassion and generosity that it took years for a generation to realise how feudal, authoritarian, and patriarchal Ragavan Nair truly was.
The film’s sanitised portrayal of patriarchal values, coupled with Mammootty’s charismatic performance, contributed to the character’s enduring popularity. It must also be acknowledged that a majority of the 90s households in Kerala emulated such moral standards—which makes it all the more crucial to reexamine the cultural significance and problematic politics of such a popular film.
Today it is discomforting to sit through Vatsalyam, especially in how the narrative normalizes the blatant misogyny. The women are stripped of agency and voice, including Nair’s traditional, submissive wife who is often slapped for standing up on his behalf. When he discovers his younger sister’s love affair, not only is she beaten up, but she is also made to feel shameful and hastily married off to the first available suitor, accompanied by a hefty dowry. The woman betrothed to his brother is treated like a domestic worker in the house.
Raghavan Nair’s disregard for consent is also troubling, as he unilaterally decides on his brother’s bride without considering his brother’s feelings or autonomy. When the younger brother expresses that he has someone else in mind, Raghavan Nair unsurprisingly brands him as ungrateful.
Watch this scene from Vatsalyam:
Ironically, the only woman who has a mind of her own, his brother’s bride, is accused of disrupting the family’s “harmony.” In the end, Raghavan Nair remains a kind, selfless, “family” man who is undeserving of the challenges he faces. Talk about romanticising patriarchy and dismissing misogyny in one fell sweep!
Similarly, director Siddique’s Hitler (1996) headlines around an elder brother (Mammootty) who asserts an unhealthy level of control over his sisters' lives. As is typical, his chauvinistic control is brushed under the carpet of unconditional love and sacrifice. He doesn’t understand consent or boundaries and willfully imposes his opinions on them, including while choosing their suitors.
When an elderly professor confides to Madhavan Kutty that he forced physical intimacy upon one of his sisters, indirectly blaming her—a disturbing instance of victim blaming—for not protesting, the brother is distraught. He decides that marrying off his sister to the elderly professor is the only solution to rescue her from this “shame”.
Watch this scene from Hitler:
Valyettan (2000), directed by Shaji Kailas, is, meanwhile, a glorified display of feudalism and hyper-masculinity, with Mammootty’s Arackal Madhavanunny embodying an exaggerated version of the ‘big brother’ archetype, resorting to fist-fights and punch dialogues to assert his dominance. The film reinforces feudalistic values, portraying him as a protective figure who prioritises his brothers’ lives over his own. Madhavanunny’s decision to hide his marriage from his brothers due to concerns over their reaction raises red flags about the film’s portrayal of relationships and family dynamics. Even the prospect of taking a bride (Shobana) is shown to be an impulsive act of kindness on Madhavanunny’s part, implying that she needed a “protector” rather than an equal partner.
Valyettan was re-released in the theatres on November 29, 2024. Watch the trailer:
In Rajasenan’s Njangal Santhushtaranu (1999), Jayaram’s character repeatedly humiliates his wife for defying traditional homemaker expectations, while simultaneously conditioning his sisters to conform to submissive, domestic roles. While the wife is slandered for asserting her individuality and desiring quality time with her husband, the sisters are schooled to surrender their agency.
Watch this scene from Njangal Santhushtaranu:
Mohanlal (Ustad, Pavithram) and Suresh Gopi (Vazhunnor, Lelam) have also portrayed their share of elder brother characters, though their characters largely personified the archetype of caring, protective brothers, as opposed to the assertive, patriarchal figures of Raghavan Nair and Madhavanunny.
Subversion of traditional patriarchal norms
More recently, Malayalam films have been challenging the conventional depiction of the elder brother as infallible, righteous, reliable, and brave. At the core of Ratheena PT’s Puzhu (2022) is a complex character: a casteist bigot named Kuttan (Mammootty), who has shunned his sister for eloping with a Dalit man. The fact that Kuttan is played by the same megastar who had previously glorified the patriarchal elder brother makes this a redeeming effort. The “Valyettan traits” that were earlier normalised are cleverly questioned in the narrative, revealing the character’s true nature.
Watch the trailer for Puzhu:
Having said that, the biggest subversion of the big brother trope occurs in Kumbalangi Nights (2019), which features a flawed, irresponsible elder brother struggling to find his footing in a dysfunctional family. Saji Napoleon (Soubin Shahir) is as lost and undependable as his siblings, with the film normalising the sight of Saji being reprimanded by the younger brothers. In a crucial scene, Saji seeks his younger brother’s help to visit a therapist. After confiding in the therapist, he breaks down into tears, thereby disrupting the decade-old stereotype of the infallible ‘big brother’.
Interestingly, the same film also cleverly turns the trope on its head through Fahadh Faasil’s Shammi, who exercises control over the women in his family under the guise of a “caring brother.” In a telling scene, Shammi is called out by his sister-in-law (Anna Ben) for boasting about being born to a “single dad” unlike the Napoleon brothers, whom he claims have “multiple fathers.” This exchange serves as a satirical commentary on the toxic masculinity personified by celebrated alpha male heroes (written by filmmakers such as Ranjith and Renji Panicker) in Malayalam cinema.
In another laughable moment, Shammi proclaims that they are a “modern family” who grants ample freedom to their women—a scathing critique that unmasks the superficial progressiveness of patriarchal men.
Watch this scene from Kumbalangi Nights:
At the heart of Anjali Menon’s Koode lies Joshua (Prithviraj Sukumaran), a young man still carrying the unhealed wounds of abandonment and abuse. Left in the care of a predatory uncle, an emotionally scarred Joshua has become a recluse, struggling to communicate with his parents. What eventually sets Joshua on the path of healing is the hallucinatory presence of his deceased sister (Nazriya Nazim), who inspires him to conquer his inner demons and come out of his shell. Joshua’s journey is similar to Saji’s arc in many ways: both ultimately find solace and redemption through their siblings.
In Guruvayoor Ambalanadayil (2024), Prithviraj plays Anandan, who despite being the elder brother in the family, is treated with irreverence and is held responsible for his entitlement and toxicity. Although the narrative maintains a lighthearted tone, it effectively conveys the importance of accountability.
It’s encouraging to note this shift from glorification to critique, which promotes a more nuanced understanding of family dynamics and relationships.
Neelima Menon has worked in the newspaper industry for more than a decade. She has covered Hindi and Malayalam cinema for The New Indian Express and has worked briefly with Silverscreen.in. She now writes exclusively about Malayalam cinema, contributing to Fullpicture.in and thenewsminute.com. She is known for her detailed and insightful features on misogyny and the lack of representation of women in Malayalam cinema.
Views expressed are the author’s own.