On November 7, 1928, JC Daniel achieved a lifelong dream — the premier exhibition of his Vigathakumaran , the first feature film in Malayalam. The screening, at Capitol Theatre in Thiruvananthapuram, was attended by a large crowd. Daniel’s elation, however, was short-lived as, a few minutes into the film, the audience turned into a mob that pelted stones at the screen. The trigger for their ire was the on-screen appearance of PK Rosy, who was playing the female lead Sarojini. It was unacceptable in those times for a woman to act in films and the fact that Rosy was a Dalit fanned the frenzy of the upper-caste audience. Rosy was later abused and attacked, and her home — a mere hut in Thiruvananthapuram — was burned down. Fearing for her life, the young actor fled to Tamil Nadu.

Malayalam cinema has come a long way in the last 89 years, but it is yet to be rid of the other-isation of women on screen.

Following the recent abduction and assault of a young actor, many of her colleagues in the Malayalam film industry rallied to her support and condemned sexual violence against women. But any self-aware commentary that alluded to the role the film industry may have in perpetuating male chauvinism and sexism was notably absent. Commenters on social media called this out under the Facebook statements posted by many actors. Film director Sanalkumar Sasidharan’s statement attacked the hypocrisy of mainstream Malayali actors: “99% of our movies are celebrations of heroism. All our love stories, family dramas and even campus stories uphold the flagship of patriarchy. Most of them carry anti-women ideology in them. It is nonsense to expect a truthful stand in support of (the survivor) from the film industry. Can these heroes stay away from the hero worshiping (sic) movies from now onwards?”

Actor Prithviraj followed suit. Apologising for his roles in films that glorified misogyny, Prithviraj pledged to not act in such films again. His statement was widely appreciated in social media for two reasons. One, because he was the only ‘star’ to have publicly acknowledged the widespread misogyny in Malayalam films. And two, because his post made a nuanced distinction between films that depict misogyny and those that seek to profit by glorifying the same. However, it wasn’t just appreciation — Prithviraj’s statement generated debate on whether or not films are culpable in reinforcing anti-women attitudes in society and what filmmakers and actors should or should not do about it.

Not woman enough

Malayalam cinema’s expectations of its female characters were rigid from the start. Those expectations were refashioned through the years by societal changes, but one factor remained constant: only those who excelled within the gender role assigned to them were considered ‘good’.

But the ’90s gave rise to a new brand of misogyny, coinciding with the influx of money into the industry and the rise of ‘superstar’ films. Such films banked on the box-office appeal of the superstar, thereby reducing the woman in the story to a prop for the hero to prove his masculinity — by rescuing her when she is in distress and putting her down when she gets uppity, both of which invariably resulted in her falling for him.

Neither Mohanlal nor Mammootty, the primary benefactors of this trend, have shown the willingness to acknowledge the misogyny in their films, much less address it.

The other male actors who rose to prominence in this era are similarly culpable for their silence, but I’d be remiss if I don’t give Jayaram a special mention for the delightful song ‘ Aanalla pennalla adipoli vesham/ Pennayal kaanile perinu naanam ’ (Look at her attire! Not a man, nor a woman. A lady must’ve some sense of shame!) from the misogynist classic Njangal Santhushtaranu . Sure, the directors and writers and other stakeholders are equally to blame for these atrocities, but actors cannot absolve themselves of their responsibility by claiming they were “following orders”. It is not a defence that has aged well. Actors, especially the Malayali superstars of the ’90s and the Noughties, were not powerless vehicles for their characters by any stretch of imagination.

What came first

An argument often made against active efforts to curb on-screen misogyny is that cinema (and other art) mirrors social realities — if the society is inherently misogynistic, how can the cinema it inspires be different? This view overlooks the value judgement a film makes of the actions of its characters. It’s not true of all films, but the type in question — the mass entertainers — certainly do. More than just portraying the behaviour of a character, a film also tells the audience what to think or make of them; sometimes subtly, often not. What does one make of a scene in which the protagonist, filled to the curled tips of his moustache with noble qualities, makes a casual quip about domestic violence or rape, and is not called out by the character at the receiving end? Even worse, with the help of a lilting background score, such a remark is passed off as a romantic gesture? It conveys the sense that making such comments is not just normal but positively heroic.

We must also remember that cinema is not just a mirror, it’s also part of a feedback loop. In the current context this means that the medium reinforces and perpetuates pervasive sexist notions. It’s disingenuous to argue that cinema exists in a vacuum where a viewer doesn’t take home what is said or shown. Powerful filmmaking has an indelible impact on the viewers’ thinking and social interaction, especially on those at an impressionable age. This is exactly why artistes have a social responsibility to not endorse or perpetuate abhorrent treatment of any section of the society — be it dalits, women or transgenders.

Many who claim to be repulsed by displays of sexism also often view an active effort towards curbing misogyny in films as an attack on artistic freedom and an attempt to censor, which, in their opinion, may make the stories less realistic. The words ‘political correctness’ also seem to get bandied about a lot in these discussions. It is an ironic argument, considering that our films are often censored to such an extent to make them politically correct — both by the makers and the censor board — that they barely resemble daily life. Commonplace cusswords are considered unsuitable for ‘family’ viewing lest they corrupt young minds, but casual mistreatment of women for the sake of establishing the hero’s masculinity or for eliciting laughs is legit. No one who is asking for a conversation on the subject is asking to ‘censor’ misogynistic scenes from films. The aim is to have an ongoing conversation about its presence on screen, which was absent until now, and make it ‘uncool’, so to speak.

Fingers foul

From conversations with friends and strangers, I get the feeling that a lot of the pushback from the audience comes from a misplaced sense of being personally attacked when films you love get called out for sexism. We evolve as we get more information and change our opinions on issues. On the other hand, while it is important to acknowledge the misogynistic history of our cinema, deconstructing old blockbusters and pointing fingers at the artistes who worked in them is also counterproductive. We have seen this happen in a spat between screenwriter Deedi Damodaran and producer-director Renjith, accusing each other’s scripts of being more anti-women. Such blame games serve no purpose in holding people accountable; it only makes a productive discussion degenerate into mudslinging.

It’s too soon to speculate whether Prithviraj will live up to the promise he made, but the acknowledgement of the problem in emphatic terms goes a long way towards raising awareness and bringing it under control. More writers, directors and actors need to lend their support to combating on-screen misogyny. It is quite likely that progress will be slow, given that there are viewers who feed on such films. But dialogue and awareness campaigns may help us reach a point where the stigma of catering to such an audience will outweigh handsome box-office returns.

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