Kaliyattam (1997)

1997

Directed by: Jayaraj

Music: Kaithapram

Lyrics: Kaithapram

Starring: Suresh Gopi, Manju Warrier, Lal, 

Biju Menon, Narendra Prasad, Bindu Panicker

Shakespeare has been adapted - multiple times - for the theatre and the big screen. In Hindi, long before Gulzar adapted the bard's The Comedy of Errors, it had been adapted as Do Dooni Chaar. Then, Gulzar's protege, Vishal Bhardwaj, took on the bard's tragedies, adapting Macbeth (Maqbool) and Othello (Omkara) and is now in the process of completing a trilogy of Shakepearean tragedies with his adaptation of Hamlet (Haider). But nearly a decade before Bhardwaj shot, and released, Omkara, Malayalam film-maker Jayaraj loosely adapted the bard's tale about a man's jealousy destroying his own life. Instead of the hinterlands of north India, Jayaraj would set his tale of love and hate against the backdrop of the folk art, and artistes. 

The paniyan (Lal, in his debut performance) has just appeared at the shrine, evoking laughter from the assembled spectators when a man comes to whisper in his ear - Thamara, the landlord's daughter, has eloped with Perumalayan, the theechamundi (fire dancer) of the realm. Paniyan has to go with him to inform her father. 

 

All along the way, the man, the son of a neighbouring landlord, excoriates Paniyan for not realising that Thamara and Perumalayan were in love. He, Unni, had longed for her, but her father had never been in favour of his proposal. Paniyan has his own axe to grind - supposedly Perumalayan's friend, he covets the position of the theechamundi, and hates Perumalayan for making Kanthan, another theyyam artiste, his assistant, despite many people recommending Paniyan's name for the post. 

 

Paniyan and Unni reach Thamara's house where they wake her father, the thampuran by throwing stones at a rookery on the roof. The thampuran (Narandra Prasad) not very happy at being so rudely awakened, or at seeing who woke him up, is very angry at the aspersions cast on his daughter. But the two mischief-makers prevail. When he finally suspects there is some truth in their news and hastens to check on his daughter, Paniyan hastens back to the shrine, after asking Unni to bring the thampuran and his men to the shrine. He will await them there, though he will have to pretend to stand staunchly by Perumalayan's side. But, don't worry, he tells Unni; he will betray Perumalayan at the first opportunity.

 

At the shrine, Perumalayan (Suresh Gopi) is getting ready for the theyyam. The thampuran and his men arrive there seething with anger. As one of the men steps forward to accost Perumalayan, the thampuran holds him back. Perumalayan is God at present, he says. Let him remove the mask and step out of costume, and we will deal with him then. But when the performance is over, Perumalayan calmly confronts his father-in-law. He may not have the family connections or the lineage that Thamara boasts of, but can anyone say that he is not worthy of her? The father, provoked by his calmness, can barely control his anger, but the temple priest advises him to calm down. The naduvazhi is present here - why not take the matter to him? 

Upon questioning, Perumalayan frankly admits that he had married Thamara that night. But he did not kidnap her as her father accuses; they love each other. The thampuran is sure that his daughter was bewitched into the relationship. How could she, naive and gently brought up as she was, fall in love with someone so horrifying to look at?

Perumalayan pleads with the naduvazhi to ask Thamara herself. If, after he hears her story, the naduvazhi decides that Perumalayan is at fault, he is willing to accept any punishment the ruler deems fit. But when Thamara arrives, and begs her father's pardon for marrying Perumalayan against his wishes, the grief-stricken father is forced to accept the truth and bless the couple. As they turn to leave though, he cries out in grief - 'Perumalaya, she betrayed her father. Be careful, she might betray you as well.'

 

The father may be bereft, but Unni is furious at the turn of events. Paniyan advocates patience. He promises Unni that Thamara will not stay with Perumalayan for long. For the moment though, Thamara and Perumalayan are blissfully happy. Paniyan brings his wife, Cheerma (Bindu Panicker), to visit the newly wedded couple. The kindly woman soon becomes Thamara's confidante.

 

Unni is still furious. Why is Paniyan inviting him to Thamara's wedding feast? Paniyan advises discretion; it is all a ploy to cause a rift between Perumalayan and Kanthan; if they can get Thamara to fall for Kanthan who is younger, better looking, and has a voice that will charm the heavens, the rift will never heal. Unni doesn't understand - how is getting Thamara to fall for Kanthan going to help him get Thamara for himself? Paniyan promises that he will get Kanthan drunk; all he has to do, Paniyan tells Unni, is to come up to them in the dark, and provoke Kanthan somehow. Paniyan's schemes are too complicated for Unni to comprehend. But, as always, he falls in line with them.

 

As Paniyan, Kanthan and the others make preparations for the feast, Perumalayan gives his Thamara an heirloom silk. It is his only remaining inheritance, and it is dearer to him than anything else. She should keep it safe, because it holds his life and his honour. Thamara is touched. She promises to guard it with her life.

Outside, the wedding celebrations begin, full of song and merriment, Perumalayan and Thamara adjourn into their hut. Just then, a disguised Unni, according to plan, provokes Kanthan to a fight. In the heat of the moment, Kanthan beats up their Guru who tries to stop him from killing Unni, just as Perumalayan is brought out of his hut by the noise.

Kanthan is not so drunk that he doesn't realise that he has been set up. Unfortunately, Perumalayan, who has not witnessed the lead up to the fight, is not interested in listening to his excuses. Kanthan's pleas of innocence fall on deaf ears, and Perumalayan, angry and upset that his friend was so drunk that he was disrespectful to his Guru, takes a decision that will have far-reaching consequences.  

 

Kanthan will not be a part of the theyyam in the land any more. Kanthan breaks down. If he is disbarred from performing, how will he live? This is the chance Paniyan was waiting for. Consoling Kanthan, he advices him to seek Thamara's help. Perumalayan will surely listen to her? 

 

Later, Paniyan meets up with a badly-shaken Unni, and cleverly manipulates him into continuing with the next part of his scheme.

Kanthan, meanwhile, has taken Paniyan's advice to heart. Meeting Thamara and Cheerma the next day, he tells them the whole, and pleads with Thamara to persuade Perumalayan to revoke his decision. Thamara promises to intercede on his behalf. She is sure it is all a misunderstanding, and that it will soon blow over. 

 

Perumalayan and Paniyan are just coming up the hill when Kanthan sees them - scared of inciting Perumalayan's anger again, he quickly leaves the place. Paniyan is not one to let this chance go: he plants the first seed of suspicion. But he is intelligent enough not to expand on his remark, instead, allowing the thought to fester.

Thamara, true to her promise, brings up the subject of Kanthan's exclusion from the theyyam. She reminds her husband that it was Kanthan who had helped them when they first began meeting, and it was he who helped her get over her first (bad) impression of her husband. Perumalayan promises to think it over.  

The next morning, Perumalayan and Paniyan leave to take part in a theyyam far away; on the way, Paniyan cleverly continues to plant his pinpricks. His statements are innocuous on the face of it, but he phrases them in such a way that Perumalayan almost forces him to relate his 'suspicions'. So the poison spreads. And poor Perumalayan, wavering between trust and disbelief, asks, no, demands proof. One part of Paniyan's plan has been accomplished, but he strikes one final blow. 'Do you remember what her father said when she eloped with you?' he asks Perumalayan. 

 

A broken man, Perumalayan's insecurities come to the fore. Paniyan continues to whisper his 'advice'. He only has suspicions. Perhaps he is mistaken. But what if he is not? No, no, he is sure Thamara is chaste and faithful. But perhaps Perumalayan shouldn't take Kanthan back into the fold. Perhaps he should wait and see if Thamara continues to persuade him to revoke his decision. On and on and on... each 'advice' is another blow to Perumalayan's fragile emotional state.

When they return, it is more than Perumalayan can bear to even call his wife to him; but her innocence and simplicity remind him of her love, and bring him a semblance of comfort and solace. But Paniyan is busy fomenting more trouble. He begs his wife to steal the heirloom silk for him; it will be the end of all their troubles, he says. He knows exactly how to persuade his wife too - he plays on her longing for a child. That silk, he claims, will bring them such good fortune, that they will have a child. He, Paniyan, will rise to become the theechamundi. All their dreams will come true. After all, it is the possession of that piece of silk that is responsible for all of Perumalayan's good fortune.

Poor Cheerma. Her longing for a child runs so deep that she pushes aside the distaste she feels at what she is being asked to do. At the first opportunity, she steals the silk. Much to Paniyan's delight.

 

While Perumalayan is being chased by his own demons, Kanthan has sought refuge in drink, making it that much easier for Paniyan to drape the stolen silk over him. Meanwhile, Thamara has discovered its loss. She is also grieving her husband's behaviour towards her, and is scared for his well-being. Tradition has it that if a fire dancer's mind is not pure, and free of all negative emotions, the embers will burn him alive. On his part, Perumalayan has just been offered a Perumkaliyattam (a theyyam that takes place once in ten or more years). Still wavering between believing in his wife's guilt and trusting in her innocence, he prays fervently that Paniyan will not be able to provide the proof of his wife's guilt before the Perumkaliyattam  takes place.

The next morning, they travel to the shrine; Paniyan and Cheerma are already there. As Perumalayan waits for the evening to fall, Paniyan gives him 'proof' - Thamara and Kanthan are talking and laughing with each other in the distance. That evening, as Perumalayan questions Thamara about the silk, she tries to divert him by importuning him to revoke his decision about Kanthan. Her requests only serve to inflame Perumalayan. His mood and behaviour hurts a bewildered Thamara, who is still feeling guilty about the loss of the silk. There is much grieving on both sides. The night passes, but brings no relief to their tortured souls. Especially not when Paniyan is around to pour oil on the flames.

 

Things get progressively worse the next evening, as Paniyan provides Perumalayan with further proof of Thamara's 'infidelity', by manipulating a conversation with Kanthan. Perumalayan has a decision to make. In the evening, Perumalayan visits Thamara, and promises her that he will come to her after the night's performance. He asks her to send Cheerma home. Thamara, though puzzled and not very happy at being alone, is happy that her husband seems to have gotten over his anger; she sends Cheerma away and waits for her beloved husband to come home. 

 

Readers of Shakespeare know what comes next. When Perumalayan finally learns the truth, it is too late for Thamara. But it's not too late to punish Paniyan, or for his own redemption. 

 

Kaliyattam was more than just an 'adaptation' of Othello. Under Jayaraj's able direction, the story took on a life of its own, one that makes us take a fresh look at the age-old tragedy playing out in front of us. The film was anchored in the mystical, ritualistic Theyyam, one of the oldest indigenous art forms of North Kerala. 

Tracing its roots back many centuries, Theyyam is usually performed between the months of Thulam (mid-October) and Medam (mid-May). There are about 450 known forms of Theyyam, each with its own costumes, make-up and style of performance. A corruption of the word, Deivam (God), theyyam artistes, when they perform, are considered to be representing the deity. Villagers seek their blessings as living Gods, who alleviate the problems of their devotees. According to Jayaraj, using theyyam as the background allowed him to better explore the schism in Perumalayan's character. The film is moored in the strong performances from the actors playing the three main characters - Othello, Desdemona, and Iago. 

Suresh Gopi's Kannan Perumalayan (Othello) is an ugly man. Dark and pockmarked (he is the only survivor of a smallpox epidemic that killed his entire family), overweight and uncouth, he has nothing to recommend him except his immense talent as a theyyam artiste. (He holds the eminent position of the theechamundi. ) Yet, it is this man for whom the demure, lovely Thamara defies her father. His own insecurities about her beauty and her higher social status damn him long before he remembers his father-in-law's curse: as she has done unto me, so will she one day do unto you. 

He is indeed the perfect victim. When Paniyan decides to brew his mischief, his words fall into receptive ears indeed. Perumalayan believes Paniyan because deep down he believes it himself - that Thamara could not possibly love him as he is. Besides, this is also tied to his art - tradition has it that a theechamundi can remain safe from the embers only as long as his mind is pure, and his wife is chaste.

This is easily Suresh Gopi's career best as he moves from a celebrated artiste, sure of himself and his art, to a man so utterly lost in love and incredulous that someone like Thamara would love him in return, to a man whose own physical insecurities make him fall for the intrigues of his 'friend', and to doubt his innocent wife, to the mental torture he undergoes when he realises that his wife is unfaithful (and his father-in-law's seemingly prophetic words ring in his ear), to that final betrayal of her love, only to realise that she is after all, innocent.  

Othello is not an easy character to play. To play a man torn apart by his own insecurities, and so beset by jealousy that he kills the woman he loves most, and yet be able to retain some of the audience sympathy is a fine line to walk. Plus, he has to compete with Shakespeare's most consummate villain. But Suresh Gopi delivered a rock solid performance, with no overt histrionics, winning a well-deserved National Award for Best Actor in the process.

Manju Warrier, one of Malayalam films' best actresses, played her Desdemona with such conviction, that she underlined the character's helplessness and grief. Manju is an actress, who, in her short career, brought a natural grace back to the screen. Each of her characters, small or big, left an indelible mark behind. The film may or may not have been forgettable, but one never forgot Manju. So it was with Thamara. Desdemona has but a small part to play; that Manju's Thamara remains with you long after the film is done is testimony to the actress' skill.  Her love for her Kannan that shines in her eyes, her quiet defiance of her beloved father to stand by her man, her hurt bewilderment when her husband treats her with disdain, the grief she feels when she eventually realises that he's begun to hate her, to the final scene of her death - it is hard not to grieve with her, for her. In an interview many years later, Jayaraj confessed that he could not imagine any other actress in that role.

But the film belonged to Lal as Iago. His Paniyan was pure evil. This was Lal's debut performance and he played his part well. He was malevolence personified.  

Paniyan, like Iago, has nothing to gain from his machinations but revenge. He is the master puppeteer, creating situations, and in the case of Kannan Perumalayan, actually deciding for him what to say and do. Lal was loathsome, and halfway through the film, even knowing how it will all play out, we are willing for him to die. He is cold, calculating, and completely without remorse, or indeed, even a conscience.

The review would be remiss in not mentioning the late Prof. Narendra Prasad, as Thamara's father, Thampuran. He is the doting father, then the obdurate one, and last, he is the grieving father who nevertheless is willing to lose his daughter than lose face in the community. Narendra Prasad played the part with more than usual restraint, and it was a powerful portrayal indeed. Smaller parts, Cassio (Kanthan), Emilia (Cheerma), etc., were likewise, perfectly cast.  Bindu Panicker, in fact, is amazing in the final scene where she discovers that her husband is responsible for the tragedy.

How can I not mention the music? Kaithapram (credited with both lyrics and music) borrowed heavily from Theyyam for a couple of the songs, in keeping with the film's setting. His compositions were very unobtrusive, the lyrics almost story-like, complementing the mood of the film, and is refreshingly, in the background. Each and every song in this film came just when it should, and the lyrics either explained or pulled the narrative forward.

Jayaraj imbued the Shakespearean tragedy with local flavour and the Shakespearean tale of love and hate that was underlined by race became, in Jayaraj's hands, a love story torn apart by caste and class, jealousy and insecurity. By keeping to the spirit of the original, but adding his own sensibilities, he turned the film from a mere 'adaptation' to an almost-original work. It is not a film one can watch too many times; the mood the director creates is too intense for a viewer to be too comfortable with it. But yes, do watch it once, to see how a tale set in Venice (and Cyprus) comes alive in the verdant climes and folk art of Kerala. 

Keys:
Thampuran: an honorific; also a Kshatriya sub-caste
Naduvazhi: ruler (literally, nadu - land, Vazhi - ruler)
Paniyan: a comic character in Theyyam who appears before the main artiste, in order to ward off evil, and to ensure that no harm comes to the theechamundi.
Theechamundi: a fire dancer