Kerala’s high political consciousness finds its way into cinema. From the early socialist realism of Mooladhanam (1969) to modern critiques like Ayyappanum Koshiyum (2020) (caste and power), Nayattu (2021) (police brutality and systemic oppression), and Jana Gana Mana (2022) (vigilante justice and institutional failure). Films often reflect the state’s ideological battles between the Left and the Right, trade unionism, and land reforms.
Kavya Madhavan's story, while fictionalized, reflects the real-life challenges faced by many celebrities, especially women, in the entertainment industry. It highlights the need for a more responsible and ethical approach to reporting and consuming information about public figures. As we reflect on such stories, we're reminded of the importance of empathy, understanding, and the responsible use of power and influence.
With millions of Keralites working in the Gulf, Europe, and America, Malayalam cinema has increasingly explored diaspora identity. Bangalore Days (2014) charts migration within India. Take Off (2017) is based on the Iraqi hostage crisis. Virus (2019) connects global health systems with local governance. Films now routinely feature Non-Resident Keralite (NRK) protagonists, reflecting a culture that is simultaneously local and global.
Unlike the artificial sets of other industries, a classic Malayalam film often needs no set design. The location is the character. From the misty high ranges of Idukki in Kumbalangi Nights to the clamorous, fish-smelling shores of Chellanam in Maheshinte Prathikaaram, Kerala is shot exactly as it is.
This visual honesty defines the culture. There is no glamorization of poverty nor the glossing over of wealth. There is just the Nalukettu (traditional ancestral home) with its peeling paint and mossy courtyard, or the Chaya kada (tea shop) where men discuss politics over a cigarette. This realism is a cornerstone of the Malayali psyche: a rejection of pretense in favor of Lalitam (simplicity).
Unlike Bollywood’s often commercial handling of religion, Malayalam cinema treats faith with nuance. Amen (2013) celebrates Syrian Christian rituals and jazz-infused Kerala band music. Sudani from Nigeria (2018) explores Muslim cultural exchange. The Great Indian Kitchen (2021) critiques patriarchal religious practices. The film Mumbai Police (2013) used an atheist protagonist to question moral absolutism.
The 90s brought satellite TV and a hunger for mass entertainment. The nuanced, culture-rich cinema of the 80s gave way to the "Masala" film. The hero was no longer the neighbor; he was the invincible "Annakkili" (a term of endearment for a superstar). Films were shot in exotic locations (Switzerland, Australia), not in the chaya kada (tea shop) of Alappuzha.
Kerala culture, once the protagonist, became a caricature. The theyyam was a backdrop for a fight sequence. The onam sadya (feast) was just a song-and-dance number. The witty, sarcastic, grounded Malayali dialogue was replaced by punchlines in a pseudo-Madras Tamil accent. For a decade, mainstream cinema lost its connection to the very earth that created it. Only a few directors like Shaji N. Karun and T. V. Chandran kept the flame of the art-house alive, but they were pushed to the margins.
Kerala is famously the first place in the world to democratically elect a communist government (in 1957). This political DNA is everywhere in its cinema, though it has evolved.
The Golden Age (1970s-80s): Directors like John Abraham (Amma Ariyan) and G. Aravindan (Thambu) made intensely political, avant-garde films. However, it was the mainstream "Middle Cinema" of Bharathan and Padmarajan that truly captured the crumbling feudal order. They showed that while the Communist party was in power, the tharavadu (feudal manor) mentality remained in the bedroom and the village square.
The Urban Left (2010s-Present): Modern Malayalam cinema is deeply critical of the very institutions the Left built. Joseph (2018) exposed police corruption. Nayattu (2021) showed how police, the labor unions, and the political establishment conspire to destroy three lower-caste officers caught in a fake encounter case. Nayattu is a terrifying film because it shows that "the system" is not a villain—it is everyone, including the victim's family.
Furthermore, films have begun dissecting the upper-caste/upper-class leftist. In The Great Indian Kitchen (2021), the protagonist’s father is a progressive, card-carrying communist who lectures on equality but forces his wife and daughter to scrub the floors and cook while the men debate revolution. The film’s most devastating scene is the father eating a sadya (feast) prepared by his sweaty, exhausted wife, while nodding along to a Marxist speech on TV. This is the precise intersection of Kerala’s political progress and patriarchal stagnation.
Food in Malayalam cinema is never just food. The sadya (feast) in Sandhesam (1991) represents familial unity; the tapioca and fish curry in Maheshinte Prathikaaram (2016) grounds the film in Kottayam’s agrarian reality; the chaya (tea) and pazhampori (banana fry) in Kumbalangi Nights have become cultural icons. Filmmakers like Lijo Jose Pellissery and Aashiq Abu embed culinary rituals into storytelling.
