A few days ago, I found myself bored at work (a perpetual occurrence these days), and my music was edging closer to 2017 Malayalam hits. That’s when Uyirin Nadhiye from Mayaanadhi started playing, and suddenly, I was on YouTube, frantically looking up videos of all the songs from the movie.
Consequently, I was also struck by the evolution of sexual imagery and the representation of intimacy, both casual and romantic, in Malayalam cinema. I am sure if I were to mention a movie from 2010 or so, most of us would immediately think of closed doors, rose petals on the marriage bed, a moonlit window and probably a glass of milk. Another category of sexual representation that is popular in pre-2015, South-Indian films is the casual slut-shamming, rape jokes and marital rape that is played off as comedy (think of Dileep’s so-called “family comedies” here).
What stands out as a bridge between these two sensibilities, the mature, nuanced expressions of the desire of the youth, adults and senior citizens and the older cliche visualisations of sex is a simple, recurring theme; one we often miss out on: the shift of focus on to cities.
Did it go over your head? Let’s delve in and go through it together; maybe the pattern will become more obvious (and maybe I can convince you to join the #moresexinmollywood cult).
Why is this shift so well accepted?
If you are one of those people who went and watched Mayaanadhi in theatres, looked forward to just watching the title song on the big screen and then came home and watched it again and again on your phone, away from the watchful eyes of your parents, don’t worry, you are not alone.
I am one of those people. So are most of the youth. I remember watching the song and thinking, “Woahhh, why is this so beautiful.”
Six years later, I am equipped to answer the question considerably well. Sure, the chemistry of the actors, the story they were trying to sell, the camera work and the soulful music all contribute to it. But the reason why so many of us were drawn to the song and its exploration of sex was the acknowledgement of desire.
It is believed that the artistic, cultural and literary productions of a community are heavily guided by culture. We, like most human beings, love pleasure and physical intimacy but refuse to talk about it. Sex is a hushed activity. It’s a word that can only be whispered, either under the blankets at night, something that warrants a walk of shame, an act, which in its finality needs to be about procreation and nothing else.
However, when the creators of Mayaanadhi decided to present its main characters as adults with sexual desires and chemistry they were fully ready to explore, the game changed, both for the filmmakers and the audience. The humanity of the characters, the highs and lows of young love, the simple, unfiltered presentation of this love, all of it made it a little easier for us to accept that sex and sexuality are very real and it is okay to experience them.
It also laid the groundwork for other artists to explore disparate forms of relationships without the guilty conscience of misleading the crowd.
It needs to be pointed out here, for the sake of fairness, Mayaanadhi received heavy backlash from a large section of the audience for whom ‘sex is not a promise’ is not an acceptable statement (again, cultural biases, anyone?)
Secondly, Mayaanadhi also pioneered what may be referred to as the ‘city cinema’.
Now, what is a city cinema, you ask?
It is a genre of film that primarily focuses on the realities of urban existence. As the youth of Kerala slowly started moving away from the villages and towns into the city, the definition of what was permissible and what was not also received a new dimension – unlimited freedom.
Consider the very mundane sequence of Mathan and Appu walking along the roads of Kochi; their body language heavily suggests physical attraction. They touch casually, they lean into each other and pull away, they are playful in their anger, and they often cross each other’s personal bubbles, knowingly or unknowingly. Now, take the same scene and place it in the midst of a small village on the outskirts of Kerala.
Would it even work? Can you conceive a situation where an unmarried couple (for that sake, a married one) is even holding hands (forget, the possibility of sex)? The prying eyes of the public are constantly upon them. Not that these prying eyes are absent in the city, but there is a certain anonymity that the cityscape offers.
Cities, especially today, are forced to be welcoming. With its increasing global population, cross-cultural interactions, the boom of online dating and actions governed by protests for gendering spaces as “safe” for all genders, all public spaces have become either hostile or free, and there is no in-between. In fact, we have started using words such as “unmarried couple friendly” or “queer affirmative” to refer to public city spaces. Ask any couple you know, and they’ll give you a list of places where public display of affection is openly accepted and where it is not.
Apparently, the sex is only happening in the cities. Why?
Before I delve into this sudden yet powerful movement of almost hedonistic and aesthetic representation of sexuality on the big screen in Mollywood, we need to step back and examine the role of cities.
Can cities be considered ‘third spaces’?
Identified by Ray Oldenburg, ‘third spaces’ are places where people spend time outside their home and work or their first and second spaces, respectively. Essentially, third spaces are spaces of liminality or in-betweenness, but for urban theorists and planners, these are quintessential in building relationships, exchanging ideas and simply connecting with each other. The closest and oldest examples of third spaces are churches, parks, recreation centres, gyms and restaurants.
One of the biggest features of ‘third spaces’ is the levelling out of social and cultural classes. These locations often give you a sense of invisibility that is caused by the public openness. In other words, all your actions are open to scrutiny, but because there is so much going on, third spaces also cause sensory overloads, so people are primarily focused on themselves and nothing else.
If you think about it, cities, in themselves on a greater scale, are third spaces. They are large, expansive, and full of people. Often incredibly busy, it contains businesses, entertainment options, stores and alleyways. Most people use cities to escape from, sustain or enable their private existences. Essentially, cities are spaces of sociality. You meet your friends here. You go out on dates with your significant others here. You are free to break a rule or two in the cities, and you will most likely get away with it simply because the other people who share the same space cannot be bothered.
Now, let’s dive a little deeper. Take the example of two cities, Bangalore and Kochi. Obviously, without a doubt, you will probably see a bigger population of publicly affectionate couples in the former.
Why is that?
The answer is simple. Bangalore as a city is a welcoming ‘third space’. Of course, but it is also filled with many smaller, micro ‘third spaces’. It’s not just that one popular club or bookstore, or fancy restaurant. There are so many of them scattered throughout the city. Wherever you go, you are most likely to see people like you.
Another idea we need to consider is the concept of ‘threshold’ as used in architecture. It identifies any space as a combination of three elements: how it looks, who is experiencing it, and if it is an ideal location for all kinds of people. Essentially, like the third space, the threshold space is also full of possibilities, and it is up to the people who occupy these spaces to create meaning out of it.
Now, the question stands: why did we drag all of these complicated concepts into the simple art of the representation of sex in Malayalam cinema?
Well, as I had mentioned earlier, the shift towards an urban-focused audience and protagonists also forced the creators and artists of Malayalam cinema to cater to the newly generated, modern, urban, young audience (the common dwellers of the said ‘third space’ or ‘threshold space’).
Sex, the City and Malayalam Cinema
Let me give you a few simple examples to show how Malayalam cinema has evolved with the inclusion of the city perspective. This is not to say that the city was not a concept in the films prior to 2015, but today, it has become more than just a concept. The city has begun to speak for itself; it has evolved into a protagonist, exerting its influence, bringing in
its so-called ‘modern, hedonistic’ aesthetics into whatever it has directly touched.
Moothon (2019), written and directed by Geetu Mohandas, is an excellent example of this slow infusion of the cityscape and culture into the lives of the characters. We are introduced to two versions of Akbar, one, a devil-may-care goon who is willing to go to any ends to make money and drown his sorrows in drugs and then a younger, naive version of himself. The two are miles apart, but the infusion of the city comes through the man Akbar falls in love with, Ammeer. A Bombay resident through and through, he brings in the charm and the danger of the city of dreams and, along with it, the sex and the romance, well-portrayed by Roshan Mathew and Nivin Pauly simply through their body language and eyes.
While Moothon takes the village and puts the city into it, Sara’S, the 2021 romance movie, is set right in the middle of the city. Sara’s parents are keen on her finding herself a boy. She is involved with multiple men, and sex is openly discussed and suggestive jokes are laid bare for the audience. While the film stood out for the agency it afforded its main character, one of the reasons it gained so much popularity was its discussions of sex and sexuality. Both Sara and her partner are open to the idea of premarital sex and testing out their compatibility with each other. Another example of the acculturation of the city’s values into its inhabitants is the controversial Neeraja (2023), which explores the strong sexual desires of a bereaved widow who is coming to terms with the death of her late husband while also trying to find satisfaction in another married man. All of these are issues that often concern a narrative that is placed right in the middle of the metropolis.
There are several more examples of how sexual desire and sex become a means to introduce complexity into characters and breathe life into them. We witness June, the protagonist of the film of the same name June (2019), explore her romantic desires for several men. Her first love, innocent and starry-eyed, is Noel, and it occurs in a small village. Her biggest concerns are devising ways to meet the boy she is infatuated with outside of her school. When she meets him again, she sees him in Mumbai, and their approach to their adult relationship takes on an entirely different tone, becoming more physical and intimate.
According to the sociologist and theorist David Harvey, spaces are not absolute. That is, spaces are just spaces. The people in them, the values they bring, the norms and mores people are expected to follow is what makes a space.
“…space is neither absolute, [nor] relative [n]or relational in itself, but it can become one or all simultaneously depending on the circumstances.”
So when new cities borrow values from already existing cities, the cultural products of these cities, like their cinema, art and writing, also mirror the same values. Coming back to the initial thought that started this complex series of arguments, Mayaanadhi did not just come out of nowhere. It indicates a sudden wave of social change that is taking place in Kerala and its city culture.
The next time you sit down to watch any movie, take a few seconds to think about it from a sociological point of view. Who is it made for, why was it narrated the way it was narrated, who are the protagonists, and how exactly do they fit into your life?
Go down to the comments section and tell us why you think we need #moresexinmollywood.
