The Hindu Business Line : Of superstars & superstardom ...

Recently, at a family gathering one realised that every relative drooled over Mohanlal. My 74-year-old aunt, Girija, has turned a devotee of Mohanlal. But at some point of time, film critics will have to compare Amitabh with Mohanlal, and that will be like placing Sachin against Dravid.

SPRING is back and the mornings open to the calls of the koyals. Like a Hindustani alap, the call starts on a low note rising to a speedy (dhrut) shrill note and often the bird vocalises with single long notes repeated over time. In the afternoons or late evenings they remind one of the famous line of W. Somerset Maugham in the short story The Rain: Desire is sad. Then the roosting house sparrows on trees start up with jingles, followed by the beeps of magpie robins and the sharp tones from the warblers.

Morning walks are not a chore and one's blood pressure is normal at check-ups with the doctor. "You are perfectly okay," the lady doctor informed.

Waiting for one's turn at the dispensary, one went through old copies of Reader's Digest and was rather amused reading an interview of 44-year-old Mohanlal (Mohanlal Viswanathan Nair) by Mohan Sivanand in a July 2004 issue. "In Kerala, it's considered a faux pas to call Mohanlal Viswanathan Nair a star. He's a Superstar," goes the intro. Seemingly, the fellow takes everything lightly and admits as much: "I don't take myself too seriously. The other day, I was at a script-reading session for a new film. I liked it, but my co-producers did not. A lot of investment is at stake. But I did not drive myself crazy thinking about all the possible problems. I just accepted their point of view and felt better." At another place the Superstar admits: "I'm blessed with an inexplicable energy. This energy takes over when I act."

He, along with Yesudas, can be termed as the two famous Malayalis of modern times. Sometime last year, one saw Mohanlal live in a programme, arranged by Malayala Manorama, enacting a few scenes from Malayalam literary classics. My good friend Krishna gave me two passes, and Rama got excited watching her hero perform on the stage. Krishna and his wife, Rani, are film buffs, particularly Mohanlal's, and enjoy everything from a drink to a damsel.

Recently, at a family gathering one realised the strength of the Mohanlal fan club; every relative drooled over Mohanlal. My 74-year-old aunt, Girija, has turned a devotee of Mohanlal. "Mohanlal films TV le wanda wida mattein (I never miss a Mohanlal film on TV)," she told me with a lit-up face in Tamil. My aunt has made an easy switch from Sivaji to Mohanlal, being born and brought up in Kottarakara. In the event it was a bit awkward to read a four-page interview of Tilakan, in an issue of Mathrubhumi Aschapathippu (Mathrubhumi weekly), charging that community and caste still have a say in the Malayalam film industry. Any reader can guess that Tilakan is upset with the star power hierarchy though he does not name the stars. For this writer Tilakan is ahead of Mohanlal as an actor, with Perinthachhan being his best. In the last few years an extra-large version of Mohanlal has become a routine, formula player with little effort at coming up with a strong show before the cameras (the lone exception being Vanaprastham in 1999).

In recent times, the Kerala film industry seems to have lost its individuality; its directors have run out of entertaining plots, which is not the case with Hindi films having come up with Black and Page 3. One was not keen on visiting the theatre to watch Amitabh Bachchan and Rani Mukherjee in Black though the reviews were good. It is Sanjay Leela Bhansali's best.

The full theatre had its fill, with some in the crowd promising to see the film a second time. For many it was Amitabh at his best as an Alzheimer patient though most still find it hard to choose between the Great Man and the physically challenged Rani. A tightly edited film sans songs and dance, Black should pick up a few of the prestigious Filmfare awards this year (one is not bothered about Oscars). At some point of time, film critics will have to compare Amitabh with Mohanlal, and that will be like placing Sachin against Dravid.

Being a journalist, Page 3 is a familiar subject. In an entertaining style, the film pans the put-up jobs of celebrities (now styled Page 3 personalities), with Konkona Sen Sharma impressive. As a Page 3 reporter she is not loud, having picked up the basics of acting from Aparna Sen. Her coin-sized eyes say more and do better than dialogues.

Indian journalism is in a bit of confusion, if not a crisis, with the media (newspapers and TV channels) tending to palm off rather cheap gossip as news. News is being redefined on the premise that there is a public demand, which again is debatable. Most, if not all, of Page 3 is factual, with owners of newspapers (rather than editors) deciding on the news to be served to the public.

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