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Journalism of Courage
6 min read
Kalyani Priyadarshan stars as the protagonist, Chandra, in Lokah. (Photo credit: YouTube/Dulquer Salmaan)Three days after the release of Lokah: Chapter 1 – Chandra, most theatres in Kerala were still packed, with boxes in BookMyShow turning orange if not already sold out. Notwithstanding the bad seats we procured, it was uplifting to see hundreds pouring into the large hall to watch a Malayalam film with a female superhero — India’s first.
The picture before me was a beautiful contrast to the one I saw ten years ago at the screening of a Malayalam movie, led by two women, both prominent actors. The corridors had been devoid of noisy teenagers, the indoors gloomy with a small scattering of middle-aged men and women. At the ticket counter, the agent was disparaging to the few who tottered in: “This film has no heroes, you know, only two heroines, are you sure you want a ticket?”
His question was less an act of misogyny than of observation. Films with ‘only heroines’ drew little crowd, he observed, and even women among the audience appeared to prefer stories led by men.
Today, Lokah has earned over Rs 250 crores at the box office worldwide, becoming Malayalam cinema’s second-highest-grossing film. From the bleak picture of a near-empty theatre years ago to the crowded shows for Lokah, what has drastically changed, besides film-watching culture, is the easy acceptance of women-led action.
A male superhero film in Malayalam was made as late as 2021, and Minnal Murali was warmly welcomed for his very local ways — his mask was a lungi wrapped around his face. But Lokah’s story of a saviour vampire branches out from local folklore to international prototypes. Kalyani Priyadarshan, an unlikely choice for the role, has trained to be quick on her feet, convincing in action and flight, while her attempts to draw less attention to herself fail. Tufts of crimson red hair sweeping an attractive face betray the obscurity Chandra, aka Neeli, seeks. Unaged for hundreds of years, she unknowingly draws young men more with her mystery than her charm, and Naslen, playing the male lead, flocks to her like a lamb to the slaughter.
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From their introductions to the crucial fight scenes, they defy the gender roles that conventional scripts had imposed on their audience for years. In one of their early encounters, it is Kalyani who swishes by like a firefly and pushes Naslen out of the way of a speeding truck, saving the ‘damoiseau’ in distress. In their exchanges after he knows her true identity, he is the meek and gulping partner to the tougher, unsmiling other. When Kalyani fights off the villains, Naslen watches helplessly from a corner, worried for her. All of these are very familiar tropes in movies, only we have been used to seeing them the other way around, with women always on the sidelines. Yet, for those who lapped Lokah up, there was nothing amiss about any of it. The writer duo — Dominic Arun and Santhy B — made sure of that.
Movies with female leads, movies defying gender roles have always been there, even if they were far and few in between. Three years ago, another Malayalam movie that went against the grain was Jaya Jaya Jaya Jaya Hey, in which a survivor of domestic abuse trains herself to fight back and beats the bullying partner to the ground more than once. The film did not have the technical brilliance of Lokah to make the stunts look believable, but they were not intended to work the same way. Jaya Hey’s approach was to look at a serious issue through a lens of humour. People cheered it the way they’d cheer a fantastical idea, not one that’s practical but one that gives them a high, nevertheless.
Serious approaches were made in biographies like Mary Kom and the rare thrillers like NH10 or Raazi where women took on the role of the avenger, nonchalant in their bloody encounters, unsympathetic in the face of violence. Our versions of Kill Bill.
These movies could not only shake the preconceived notions of womanhood but also make convincing portrayals. It did not come easy.
It took years of intelligent writing to prepare an audience for these norm-breaking roles and stories. There was a Vijaya Shanthi as early as the 1990s, kicking and sprawling and jabbing men on the screen. Later, there was Deepika Padukone wielding her guns in Pathaan and Singham Again. Alia Bhatt looked defiant with a hammer in her hand and a bulletproof vest in Jigra, her slenderness fading away in the firmness of her face and refusal to fall.
In the past, such action sequences involving women would have been viewed through a curtain of incredulity, drawing condescending applause that appeared to tolerate the “fun before the real game” began of men versus men. But that changed in the last decade, with the advent of a new generation of writers and filmmakers, willing to experiment, tell less-told stories in untested methods.
Alongside clever writing, actors toiled to make sure their portrayals looked authentic. Padukone trained in functional training and yoga for six days a week for her action sequences in Pathaan. Bhatt underwent intense basketball training for Jigra. Tapsee Pannu has spoken about learning Krav Maga, Aikido, and Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) for her roles in Baby and Naam Shabana. This realism gives weight to the characters, helping the actors draw audiences into the story without breaking the illusion.
In Lokah, Chandra is not a person you relate to, but allow yourself to be amazed by. And the crowds flocking to the theatre to watch her are proof that the sight of women leading action films no longer feels like an exception, but a possibility.
Cris is a feature writer based in Kerala and likes to think that what she writes about people and culture, and happenings around her, is full of wit, if not utterly grave.
