Sreeni effect
How do you react to Sreenivasan, the versatile Malayalam film artiste? Don’t you invariably laugh with him at your own follies? That is the ‘Sreeni Effect.’ It makes you understand yourself better, writes Rajeev Nair
Sreenivasanism: Some golden rules
1. You don’t have to travel in a private bus to understand life better.
2. Every moment in life, think of yourself as less than adequate. The moment you feel you have ‘arrived,’ there ends your story.
3. A good work of art stems only from a good human being.
4. Be a slave to cinema; not to a filmmaker.
Suddenly, not without reason, Sreenivasan is in demand.
“I haven’t done a film for months, and see how busy I am,” the versatile Malayalam film artiste says, seated in a hotel room in Dubai.
In less than one hour, he has ‘undergone’ three interviews, the fourth trauma about to begin, in addition to discussing ‘serious cinema issues’ with the organisers of the International Malayalam Film Festival, who had roped in the actor-script-writer-director from his current base in India, Chennai.
Time is beyond Sreeni, as with every one, of course. But with Sreeni, you won’t know it ticking by. One question, and Sreenivasan will have all the answers. He would go on and on; his remarks caustic, witty, humorous, sharp, biting, punchy.
And beware, you won’t even know when a question hits back at you, the boomerang magnified by a tricky Sreeni touch.
Haven’t you see this man in action if at all you have missed all that straight-from-life comedy in his films? His television show in a Malayalam channel is so popular and guess what, this man is extemporising! Taking on everything under the sun, he included.
That is the magic of Sreeni. He makes you feel introspective. As an individual. As a part of the society. As one in the larger humanity. You strip yourself of your hypocrisy and laugh at yourself.
“I don’t criticise anyone nor do I condemn. What I try to do is provoke people to think,” he says.
There is a feel-goodness to the man’s works. Which is the feel-goodness of the man. Because Sreeni believes that a “good work of art can come only from a good human being.”
Sreenivasan had fired a volley at the inaugural ceremony of the film festival. He was in an introspective mood: “Have my ideas, my cinema, have they become old?” he voiced.
He later said such introspection is essential to survive as a filmmaker. “The moment you feel you are good, you are finished. I think it is a question every one must ask oneself. That is the only way to rejuvenate oneself. Stay doubtful. Always. That is one step in the process of being up-to-date.”
This pillar of meaningful Malayalam cinema entered its portals through PA Backar’s Manimuzhakkam. Not the ‘very mainstream’ cinema, if you may call it. Acting over the years in more than 125 films, ghost-story writing many others (including, if a rumour is to be believed, Priyadarshan’s Poochaykkoru Mookkuthi, which is now back in circulation as the Hindi Hungama), scripting some momentous movies, directing landmark productions, and bagging a clutch of awards, this man makes humour his creative tool.
A sharp one, that.
He lashes as he laughs. He whips as he weeps.
This man is Malayalam cinema’s rarity.
He has been churning out stories from his own life. “We write a lot, we write out a lot of bad stuff, and then will come a gleaming product,” he says. “You should empty out the bad writing through constant endeavour. Only then will the best come out.”
To be a good writer, he says, “one must have the ability to understand another person’s mind, experiences, issues and reasoning in all its depth. That is a quality one must have not only as a writer but as an individual. First be a good man to be a good artist. The worse I am as a human being, the more worthless my films would be.”
Sreenivasan says some of his ‘rather good’ films have come in breaks. “During the gap, I was just doing the job of writing. If the right thought does not come in the right time, you cannot have a good work.”
Sreenivasan has been called the ‘intellectual’ in mainstream cinema. He disagrees. “Intellectuals are born once in a century. Aristotle, Plato, Galileo — these are the intellectuals, who bulldozed down existing fallacies and societal blunders. I don’t fit anywhere near the genre.”
Nor does he agree to the art-commercial face-off in cinema. “I can only say for myself. I believe in two kinds of cinema: One, I like. The other, I don’t. I liked Adoor Gopalakrishnan’s Elippathayam, I saw that a number of times but that doesn’t mean I have enjoyed every film of Adoor’s. I really don’t know what an ‘intellectual’ or art film is.”
Sreenivasan says you should not be a slave to anyone’s name. “I am ready to be a slave of cinema not to a filmmaker. The moment you are awed by the name and fame of a filmmaker, your thoughts cease functioning.”
Malayalam cinema, now, does not offer choices, says Sreeni. “If you ask why there are no choices, why good cinema is not being made, again, I can only answer for myself.”
And his answer, Sreeni says frankly, “is a matter of my ability.”
He debunks the theory that good cinema does not happen because of the declining appreciation levels of the audience. “You can’t say so. At the height of Malayalam cinema’s glory, the industry had produced such films as Ladies Hostel, College Girl, Ayalathe Sundari, Themmadi Velappan, and so on. They were all super-hits. Can you say that audience appreciation level has stooped even further?”
Those days, he says, “more of better films used to be made; now, their number has come down.”
Nor does Sreenivasan agree that a greater influence of Hindi and Tamil films is the reason for the current bane. “Just because Hindi and Tamil films do well because of songs and dances, how can you make a film with an emphasis on songs?” he asks. “These are misconceptions. It should be changed.”
Sreenivasan says today’s films have become ‘cinecry,’ one that blends ‘cinema’ and ‘mimicry.’ “If that is what the people want, why don’t we play along seems to be the prevailing mood,” he says.
As for the so-called ‘art’ filmmakers, Sreenivasan says they refuse to be contemporary. “How many of these filmmakers have dealt with contemporary issues? I liked Elippathayam because of its intense characterisation but I wouldn’t call the film contemporary. These filmmakers talk about life 50 years back, 100 years back, call it period cinema. Has anyone among them handled a subject that affects today’s society, today’s realities? I have no respect for anyone who doesn’t do so. These people want to appease the governments, they want awards. Contemporary reality won’t fetch them laurels.”
“But I think we must feel regretful only if good cinema is being made amidst this din and they don’t fare well. We haven’t been making good cinema, so where is the scope to condemn?”
Sreenivasan is currently scripting a film for Mohanlal. But no, it is not one that will recreate the ‘yesteryear Mohanlal.’ “The very usage, ‘yesteryear Mohanlal’ is wrong,” he says. “Let Mohanlal surge ahead. Why do you want to drag him into his past? It’s not Mohanlal, Dileep or Mammootty that needs image building. It’s cinema that needs reinvention. I don’t think cinema is a tool to create stardom for a few individuals. It has many other purposes.”
But Sreenivasan is confident and optimistic. He sees a new beginning. A new breed of films will evolve, he foresees. “Today’s trashy cinema will serve as their manure for growth.”
