A few days ago, Malayalam actor-writer-director Sreenivasan made some scathing remarks against actor Mohanlal, leaving a bad taste in the mouths of several Malayalam film enthusiasts. Every media outlet took up the issue, dissecting Sreenivasan’s statements and holding extensive discussions on what could possibly have gone wrong between them. Even his own son, actor and director Dhyan Sreenivasan, openly expressed his displeasure with his father’s comments. “He should have never said that,” Dhyan had said, questioning why Sreenivasan continued to act with Mohanlal even after “discovering that he was a hypocrite”.
But those who have followed the Sreenivasan-Mohanlal filmography would have registered that this rift began around 2012, when Sreenivasan wrote a lazy and distasteful sequel to their much-loved 2005 collaboration Udayananu Tharam, called Padmasree Bharath Dr. Saroj Kumar. The film contained jibes directed at both Malayalam superstars, but clearly Sreenivasan showered some unhealthy dosage on Mohanlal, ironically the actor with whom he has had some of the most iconic collaborations on screen — the most memorable being the Dasan-Vijayan combination in Nadodikattu. Mohanlal, understandably, never partnered with Sreenivasan in any capacity post the release of Padmasree Bharath Dr. Saroj Kumar, though their sons (Vineeth Sreenivasan and Pranav Mohanlal) did unite to come up with a superhit romantic comedy, Hridayam, just last year.
Udayananu Tharam, written by Sreenivasan, marked the directorial debut of Rosshan Andrrews, and pivots around the functioning of the film industry. The film has Mohanlal as Udayabhanu, an assistant director who has been struggling to make his first film, while Sreenivasan as Rajappan is a wannabe actor who thwarts junior artist roles thinking he is fated for bigger glories. It’s when Rajappan worms his way into Udayan’s house and steals his screenplay, that the narrative cleaves the murky workings and changing power equations of the film industry.
Rajappan has left his wife and children to try out his luck in films. Some acting trophies he has won in school have bolstered his confidence. He looks at a poster of Rajinikanth and decides that if he can do it, so can he. Though he hardly evokes our pity as he is portrayed as this deviously ambitious person who walks over others to get his way, it is also true that the world has always judged him on the basis of his looks alone. Sure, Udayan has a reason to distrust him, but his taunts are still very offensive. From telling him he is untalented to mocking his looks and being openly derisive to him at every given opportunity, Udayan is no great friend either. But Sreenivasan uses black and white strokes to paint the dual characters, making Udayan a martyr and Rajappan a scumbag.
Udayananu Tharam throws light on the fickleness of fame in the industry. The same Rajappan who was deemed an outcast is turned into an overnight star, and Udayan who would rather clobber him with a road roller is forced to collaborate with him for his first film. With fame comes reluctant forgiveness, and so Udayan mutely puts up with his tantrums and mediocrity on the sets. Sreenivasan, meanwhile, is unrepentant when it comes to caricaturing Rajappan, who is now ‘superstar’ Saroj Kumar. The characterisation is a parody strung together by inflated starry behaviours of our two superstars. From their obsession with cooling glasses to food export and insistence on positioning themselves in larger-than-life narratives, it doesn’t take a connoisseur of Malayalam cinema to register that Sreenivasan has put Mammootty and Mohanlal in the dock.
As a writer, Sreenivasan instead reserves all his empathy towards the filmmaker and the producer — be it by empathising with the frustrations of Udayan, who is wrestling with a cantankerous superstar and his own marital issues to make his first film, or by showing the daily struggles of an affable producer (Mukesh) ready to bend backward to release the film without glitches.
Evidently, Rajappan’s cronies are also parodied. There is an acting guru called Pachalam Bhasi (Jagathy Sreekumar), who teaches navarasams (the nine emotions) to Rajappan and later becomes his manager cum publicist. Rajappan, who realises his limitations as an actor as well as the unpredictable nature of fame, uses every underhand method to sustain himself in showbiz. So he hires fans to boo his rival’s films in theatres, flaunts his wealth, and finds shortcuts to make money.
Another crucial narrative is between Udayan and Madhumathi (Meena), who marries him when she is at the height of her career. While Udayan always kept his feelings for her under check, Madhumathi, who is financially exploited by her family, is more vocal about her love towards Udayan. It is also clear that he never intended to marry her in the first place, as cinema was always paramount in his scheme of things. You can witness his frustrations at being put in a situation where he isn’t free to think of cinema and is forced to focus on his family. But when Madhumathi suggests returning to acting, his male ego gets dented, and he thinks it somehow colours him in a bad light. The scenes involving them are economical, so though Madhu’s sudden walkout doesn’t quite land, it gives her some agency.
In Udayananu Tharam, however, Sreenivasan the writer never crosses the proverbial line when it comes to satire. Towards the end, you can witness Udayan the filmmaker bringing Saroj Kumar, the superstar, to his knees. The message is loud and clear — the director is the star.
But Sreenivasan goes ballistic in the sequel, Padmasree Bharat Dr. Saroj Kumar, an outrageous below-the-belt parody where he plucks Saroj Kumar from the original and caricatures him to pitiable heights. This time, the narrative focuses on his journey after he attains stardom. He lives in a huge mansion with a young wife (Mamta Mohandas) who openly mocks him, and has an entourage of yes men. The scene that has his lackey excitedly giving him the false news that his film is a hit is reportedly a nod to the superstars.
If Udayananu Tharam offers a panoramic view of the film industry, the sequel seems ill-intentioned. Here, the focus is on the superstar’s pettiness and deviousness to retain his stardom. The writer’s jeering is reserved for both stars, with Saroj Kumar calling himself a ‘megastar’ and whining about stunt scenes. He buys the title of Colonel (because he feels he has earned it after playing an army man in a few films), and there are embarrassing scenes that have him failing the fitness test and ruthlessly being body shamed (about the uniform not suiting his figure!).
Saroj Kumar is shown to endorse every silly brand and tells the director that there should be a stunt scene that has fire coming out of a rock when he kicks it. He gives money to sabotage his contemporaries’ careers. He insists on having frightfully young heroines from Bollywood acting alongside him, and is reluctant to collaborate with young filmmakers. When Saroj Kumar says that he has a manager who used to be a fan and now takes care of everything including his makeup, you know whom it is directed at.
The film also references veteran Malayalam writer and orator Sukumar Azhikode’s criticism of Mohanlal. At a press conference, a scribe is shown declaring that by acting in films helmed by his yes-men, Saroj Kumar is destroying Malayalam cinema. In another instance, the actor is shown to be getting his house raided, and the officials find that he has hidden elephant trunks inside the walls.
While spoofing isn’t necessarily a bad thing, what’s unpardonable about Padmasree Bharat Dr. Saroj Kumar is its undignified treatment of the superstars. Apart from being horribly scripted, each gag in the film seems to be a direct enactment of Sreenivasan’s nascent ideas, with not even the director (Sajin Raaghavan in his directorial debut) seeming to have dared to challenge his judgment. Saroj Kumar is sketched as a talentless, obnoxious superstar who will beg, borrow, or steal to retain his stardom — which cannot be said of Mohanlal or Mammootty, who were primarily talented actors before attaining stardom. They have literally worked their way to the top. Stardom came to them organically, and like every star, they would have probably played games to sustain their position. Sreenivasan, however, literally reduces them to Saroj Kumars.
There is also no subtlety in the film’s barbs — it is all very in-your-face and, therefore, ends up leaving a bad aftertaste in your mouth. While Udayananu Tharam successfully milked the movie’s premise, the sequel is only interested in feeding on the writer’s personal vendetta against stars. This becomes more clear when the film ends on the note that Malayalam cinema should be rescued from the hands of such annihilators.
Sreenivasan has over 50 screenplays to his credit. This includes political satires (Sandesham), family dramedies (Thalayanamanthram, Mithunam, Chinthavishtayaya Shyamala), meta films (Azhakiya Ravanan), social satires (English Medium), black comedies (Vadakkunokkiyanthram), socio-political satires (Varavelpu, Vellanakalude Nadu), and several other fascinating stories. Each time, he has craftily explored the country’s socio-political climate by coating the script in various shades of humour. They have been consumed heartily and continue to be celebrated as excellent meme materials besides being superb revisits. It is a pity that the same Sreenivasan came up with a narrative like that of Padmasree Bharat Dr. Saroj Kumar. That was surely his darkest hour as a writer.
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.
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