SP Harish Madhav in Garudan is in his late 50s. A dedicated and honest police officer, he finds himself facing the biggest crisis of his life soon after retirement. His swan song didn’t exactly land the way he thought. Not only did the culprit who served prison time prove his innocence in court, but the case also severely dents Harish’s immaculate track record. The unexpected setback turns him into a paranoid, sleep-deprived emotional wreck, a man desperately fighting for his reputation. Garudan is perhaps actor Suresh Gopi’s nth outing as a policeman since his anointment as a superstar. And for some imperceptible reason, it’s difficult to differentiate the actor from the cop anymore. More so if you have seen his interviews and other public appearances of late as a BJP leader.
The actor has always been vocal about his obsession with donning the khaki on screen. He has often said that he feels possessed whenever he slips into the role of a police officer, who is invariably honest and righteous. There is this uneasy glorification that happens whenever he plays a cop. Those fiery one-liners (“once a cop, always a cop”, “I am a bloody cop”) are either on-the-spot improvisations or customised add-ons to suit his previous celluloid cop images. The familiarity with his real self is noticeable when he plays the part of the family man as well — a stern patriarch. Suresh Gopi’s interviews often hint that his real-life persona is no different.
It’s impossible to sketch Suresh Gopi’s four-decade-long career graph without detailing his police characters. For an actor who debuted as a prospective groom in Sathyan Anthikad’s TP Balagopalan MA (1986), it took him roughly 100 odd films in various supporting and villain roles to eventually clinch his breakthrough. The “angry young cop” in the Renji Panicker scripted Shaji Kailas film Ekalavyan (1993) was his big ticket to fame.
But he had to wait another year to usher in his most celebrated police character in Malayalam cinema — Bharath Chandran IPS in Commissioner, a character that instantly propelled him to stardom, offering him a seat next to Mammootty and Mohanlal. Bharath can be called a follow-up to the first angry young cop in Malayalam cinema — Mammootty’s Inspector Balram in Aavanazhi (1986) — a sincere, hot-headed, profanity-spitting young officer constantly at odds with the system. He waged relentless battles against corrupt bureaucrats and the government for standing in his way.
In the 90s, when political thrillers packed a punch headlined by such fiery alpha male protagonists, Suresh Gopi’s policemen thrived at the box office. And over the years, his characters in khaki faithfully followed the arrogant-honest-angry template — ASP Ravi Prasad (The City,), RD Nayanar IPS (Janathipathyam), Easo Panicker (CrimeFile), Muhammad Sarkar (FIR), CI Chandrachoodan (SatyamevaJayate), DySP Ashok Nariman (Nariman), Chandrasekaran IPS (The Tiger), Sharafudeen Tharamasi (Nadiya Kollappetta Rathri), Antony Punnekkadan (Twenty-Twenty), Joseph Vadakkan (ChristianBrothers) to CI Abraham Mathew Mathan (Pappan) and Harish Madhav (Garudan). Maybe one can blame the writing, but it is also true that the actor failed to bring any fresh nuances to any of these diverse characters. So in theory, they were all Bharath Chandran in different names and milieus.
Villainy to soft romantic roles
Though Suresh Gopi seemed to take whatever came his way in the early phase of his career, there were a few roles that stood out even then — the unscrupulous son of a minister in Irupatham Noottandu (1987), the social activist in Bhoomiyile Rajakkanmar (1987), the antagonist in Vazhiyorakkazhchakal (1987), the brave young journalist in New Delhi (1987), a CBI trainee in Oru CBI Diary Kurippu (1988), or the whacky Sub-Inspector Minnal Prathapan in Manu Uncle (1988). As his career progressed (10-12 films a year), he was able to work with popular writers and filmmakers.
Towards the late 80s, Mammootty and Mohanlal were steadily building their empire, gaining unprecedented momentum at the box office and also experimenting with their craft, being lucky enough to collaborate with some of the finest writers and directors in the industry. This was widely termed the golden period in Malayalam cinema. Correspondingly, Suresh Gopi continued to be part of multi-starrers, juggling villainy and assorted character roles with ease.
If one were to pick some of his best roles, then it should start with that cameo in Padmarajan’s Innale (1989). Though the narrative revolves around Jayaram and Shobana, the most devastating moment in the film is created by Suresh Gopi’s Narendran who appears only for a few minutes. As Narendran sits waiting for his wife’s arrival clutching their wedding photos, his mind travels to the good times they had. But when she walks in and hands over the coffee, without any sign of recognition on her face, you can also hear his heart break into a million pieces. That’s how poignantly the actor absorbs the turmoil of a spouse who is struggling to process the reality of his wife’s memory loss. You can also read his mind — should I show these photos and take her with me, or should I let fate take its course? He does the latter. And walks away, with the film.
In Ente Sooryaputhrikku (1991), it is very easy to warm up to the unassuming and gentle Dr Srinivasan who brings tranquillity to Maya’s tumultuous life.
It can be daunting to be in the same frame as Mammootty in an emotionally charged scene, especially when he is known to create remarkable moments of pathos with a light fracture of his voice or gaze. But Suresh Gopi beautifully complements the superstar in that iconic scene in Pappayude Swantham Appoos (1992), as he breaks the news of a son’s illness to his father. When Mammootty throws that teary-eyed rejoinder at Dr Gopan, the latter’s guilt seems tangible.
Sure, Shobana and Mohanlal towered over the other actors in Manichithrathazhu (1993), but one is inclined to believe that Nakulan’s casting was a masterstroke. Suresh Gopi pulls off a whole rollercoaster of emotions without batting an eyelid — the denial, realisation, revelation, acceptance, and retribution all subtly portrayed by the actor.
In the penultimate scene in Kaliyattam (1997), when a petrified Thamara embraces Kannan, he momentarily goes weak even in the middle of his blind rage. In that split second, a multitude of emotions flit across the actor’s face, as he is torn between his love for Thamara and his own perverse jealousy. It’s a brilliant scene, when you witness the actor absorbing the furious derangement of Kannan.
Ironically, the actor has always shone when his characters displayed vulnerabilities. In fact, his comeback after a five-year sabbatical in Anoop Sathyan’s Varane Avashyamundu (2020), in which he played a retired army man can be counted as one of his finest. Major Unnikrishnan is a bachelor, shy around women, listens to romantic melodies, and can occasionally display aggression when need be. There is an endearing naivety about him as he talks about his mother or seems incapable of reassuring a sobbing woman.
A similarly underrated character is Dennis in Summer in Bethlehem (1998). He has craved security, love, and companionship all his life, but when the woman he loves asks him to pretend to be her fiancée, he complies. There are no masculine assertions here, just a gentle, compassionate soul who holds others over himself. The genteel bit rests easily on the actor.
Yet every time he flexes his alpha masculinity, it seems to have an adoring audience. Lelam’s Chackochi (1997) and Vazhunnor’s Kuttappayi (1999) are essentially the same men who hail from different families. Both are patriarchal, arrogant, and misogynistic. They have a similar parochial attitude towards the women they love. Even Pathram’s Nandagopal (1999) shares similar traits. And the actor isn’t able to delineate these characters beyond a surface level.
In the last two decades, the actor’s filmography has been replete with mediocre fare (Malayalam cinema was also on the cusp of a new wave). He hasn’t shown the consistency or fortitude of his superstar peers, also often taking long breaks. His stint in television of course brought him a lot of mileage.
While Suresh Gopi might insist that he is more of a social worker and less of a politician, his last few movie releases hint that maybe he should prudently divert all his energies and synergies on to the big screen.
Meet the man off-screen
If over the years Mammootty and Mohanlal have studiously and wisely kept their private life away from the media glare, insisting on talking only about their craft, Suresh Gopi has bared his soul to the media. He has been angry, emotional, foolish, and nasty when he wanted, providing easy fodder for clickbait media. But he has also been refreshingly vocal about his shortcomings as an actor as well: “My son doesn’t need to shoulder the burden of expectations like a Dulquer or Pranav because I am not in the same league as Mammootty or Mohanlal as an actor. So he has the liberty to flex his craft.”
Ever since he joined politics, Suresh Gopi seems to be eager to put himself more out there, to cultivate a link between himself and the public. In interviews, unlike his peers, he has been very vocal about his personal life. Not even a single interview passes by without a mention of his deceased infant daughter. At every mention, he tears up and maintains that he has never really recovered from that loss. He speaks candidly about his role as a father and husband, many times to the point of oversharing.
Recently a case was registered against him by a female journalist for touching her inappropriately. Looking at the video of the incident, what’s bothersome is his body language. He was visibly infantilising her, the smirk and the hand that was casually laid on her shoulder was an act of dismissal. Even his apology was worded in such a manner that it was clear he was apologising only because she felt bad, not because he thought he did anything wrong.
That was proved two days later when he was cornered by another female journalist regarding the same incident. In a social media post, she recounts that it was when the actor jeeringly asked a male journalist if he could place his hand over his shoulders that she questioned him. He got riled up when she asked him why he was justifying himself. “Don’t you dare show off!” he nearly growled at her. And if that wasn’t enough, he said he wouldn’t continue if she was around. Clearly the actor was positive that the gathering, consisting largely of male journos, would align with his bossiness.
That the actor is unable to understand boundaries and consent was obvious when he touched a woman’s baby bump by way of blessing the baby while campaigning for the 2019 general election.
When he joined the BJP, he started displaying traits that align with the party’s regressive ideology. When he said he felt “envious of Brahmins and wanted to be reborn as a Thanthri in his next birth to see Lord Ayyappa’s shrine at close quarters,” it exposed his upper caste bias and deliberate insensitivity towards the caste prejudices in the society. A video released during one Vishu season showed him in the back seat of his car as a few young women herded by local BJP leaders stood in a queue, taking turns to touch his feet and collect a one-rupee coin from him. There was something objectionably feudal about that image, and the actor seemed blissfully unaware of the indignity of the gesture.
This writer recalls a telephonic conversation with the actor in 2011 when he spoke about his cop characters and police officers with reverence. For the actor, they weren’t just characters on celluloid, he took all those righteous, honest officers to heart. And these cops were also loud, misogynistic and showy. During an interview with TV journalist Nikesh Kumar the actor nearly transitions into Bharath Chandran for a whole 5 minutes. He loses his cool when Nikesh counters the actor’s claims about the failings of the ruling party. One is inclined to feel that perhaps he hasn’t been able to delineate the real from the reel after a point. That was evident in his interactions with the female journalist.
Last we heard, an entourage of supporters went to the police station when Suresh Gopi was summoned by the Kozhikode police to take his statement on the journalist's complaint. Wonder how Bharath Chandran would have reacted to such a situation — all guns blazing, most likely.
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.