Kerala is arguably the most politically conscious state in India. With a history of communist governance, high literacy rates, and aggressive land reforms, the politics of Kerala are messy, vibrant, and omnipresent. Malayalam cinema is the primary vehicle for this political discourse.
The Rise of the Middle Class: The "Golden Era" of Malayalam cinema (1980s–90s), helmed by directors like Padmarajan, Bharathan, and K. G. George, focused on the rise of the educated middle class. Films like Yavanika (1982) and Koodevide (1983) dissected the crumbling morality of the middle-class household. These were not black-and-white morality tales; they were grey studies of adultery, ambition, and decay.
The Leftist Lens: The legendary filmmaker John Abraham (known for Amma Ariyan) was a radical Marxist whose films were funded by farmers and laborers. While mainstream, directors like Adoor Gopalakrishnan (Elippathayam) used the rat and the feudal manor to discuss the death of the feudal class in Kerala. Even today, films like Aavasavyuham (2019), a mockumentary about a bureaucratic pandemic, or Jallikattu (2019), an allegory for primal hunger, are steeped in the specific political vocabulary of the state.
Caste and Reform: In the last decade, the "New Wave" has turned its lens inward to critique the upper-caste dominance that traditional savarna (upper caste) narratives ignored. Kala (2021), Biriyaani (2020), and the critically acclaimed Aarkkariyam (2021) have unflinchingly examined caste violence and patriarchal norms. The 2024 film Bramayugam, a black-and-white folk horror, used the legend of the Yakshi to critique caste-based slavery and feudal oppression, proving that genre cinema can be a potent tool for cultural criticism.
While Bollywood dreams of Swiss Alps, Malayalam cinema dreams of Gulf money. For fifty years, the "Gulf Dream"—working in the Middle East to build a mansion in Kottayam or Malappuram—has been the cornerstone of the Malayali middle class. mallu hot boob press top
Films like Kappela (2020) and Nayattu (2021) explore the desperation of this class. Nayattu follows three police officers on the run for a crime they didn’t commit. It is a thriller, but its horror lies in the realistic depiction of the Kerala police system and the caste biases that rot the civil apparatus. The protagonists are not heroes; they are victims of a system that values hierarchy over justice.
Even the celebrated Drishyam (2013), a global hit, is rooted in this middle-class anxiety. Georgekutty, a cable TV operator with a modest house and two daughters, uses the movies he has watched (another obsession of Kerala) to outsmart the state. It is a fantasy of the common Malayali man—the belief that intelligence, not wealth, is the ultimate power.
Kerala is a land of political high consciousness. It is a state where football and films are discussed with equal passion alongside Marxism, unions, and caste equity. Cinema has never shied away from this.
The 1970s and 80s, the golden era of directors like Adoor Gopalakrishnan and G. Aravindan, saw cinema as a tool to dissect the decaying feudal system. Adoor’s Elippathayam (Rat Trap) was a masterful allegory for the crumbling Nair tharavadu (ancestral home), capturing the anxiety of a class losing its relevance. Kerala is arguably the most politically conscious state
This legacy continues today, albeit in a more commercial format. Movies like Puzhu and The Great Indian Kitchen have sparked nationwide conversations by unflinchingly portraying the rot of casteism and patriarchal control within seemingly progressive households. The Great Indian Kitchen, in particular, struck a nerve by visualizing the invisible labor of women in a Kerala household, turning the mundane act of cleaning a floor into a powerful statement of repression. These films hold a mirror to Kerala’s "progressive" society, forcing it to confront the hypocrisies that linger beneath the high literacy rates.
Kerala is India’s most literate state, with a history of communist governance and fierce public debate. Unsurprisingly, Malayalam cinema is deeply political, though often in a quiet, domestic register. The late John Abraham’s avant-garde Amma Ariyan (1986) remains a landmark of radical cinema. However, it is the subtle politics of daily life that defines the industry.
Consider the iconic lunch scene in Sandhesam (1991), where a family argues over the correct posture of Karl Marx’s bust. It is a moment of absurdist comedy that perfectly captures Kerala’s obsession with ideological purity. More recently, The Great Indian Kitchen (2021) used the mundane acts of chopping vegetables, scrubbing floors, and waiting for menstruation to end to launch a scathing critique of patriarchal casteism. The film’s power lies in its hyper-specificity—it is a film about a Kerala tharavadu (ancestral home)—that became a universal feminist anthem. This ability to find the universal in the provincial is the hallmark of the industry.
Kerala is obsessed with food, and its cinema doesn’t shy away from it. But here, a meal is never just a meal. In the cult classic Sandhesam (1991), a character’s disdain for the local "Kappa" (tapioca) and "Meen Curry" (fish curry) in favor of "chapati" signifies a betrayal of one’s roots. The Rise of the Middle Class: The "Golden
More recently, Ayyappanum Koshiyum (2020) uses a bottle of alcohol as a tool of class warfare. The upper-caste, powerful cop (Koshi) mocks the lower-caste, proud ex-soldier (Ayyappan) for his drinking habits. The conflict escalates not through guns, but through humiliation over food and status. Similarly, The Great Indian Kitchen (2021) weaponizes the kitchen itself. The film’s long, unflinching shots of a woman kneading dough, cleaning fish, and scrubbing utensils expose the gendered drudgery hidden beneath Kerala’s matrilineal past and high literacy rates. It asked a radical question: If we are so educated, why is the kitchen still a cage?
Kerala’s unique geography is not just a backdrop but an active character in its cinema. In the 1980s and 90s, director Padmarajan ( Thinkalazhcha Nallatha Divasam , Namukku Parkkan Munthirithoppukal ) captured the humid, sensual mystery of the central Travancore region—the rubber plantations and riverine landscapes that fostered a specific kind of longing and repressed desire. In contrast, Adoor Gopalakrishnan’s films ( Elippathayam , Mukhamukham ) use the crumbling feudal nalukettu (traditional courtyard homes) as metaphors for the decay of the Nair aristocracy.
Even modern films continue this tradition. The 2023 survival thriller 2018: Everyone is a Hero is a masterclass in using the state’s monsoon-fed vulnerability to floods as the core of its narrative. The film’s tension doesn’t come from a villain, but from the land itself—a testament to how deeply environmental reality is woven into Kerala’s cultural storytelling.
Kerala’s high literacy and deep political consciousness (with powerful Communist and Congress traditions) provide endless material. Malayalam cinema is one of the few in the world that has consistently made films about union activism (Munnariyippu), land reforms (Kodiyettam), and caste atrocities.
The "new wave" or Puthu Tharangam (post-2010) has been particularly brutal in deconstructing the myth of "God’s Own Country." Films like Kammattipaadam expose the land mafia and the destruction of Dalit livelihoods in Kochi. The Great Indian Kitchen is a searing indictment of the patriarchal, caste-based ritual purity of the Nair tharavad kitchen. Nayattu follows three police officers on the run, exposing the brutal machinery of caste and power. These films are not just art; they are political documents.