Categorised as one of the best psychological thrillers ever made in India, I don’t need to explain the critical acclaim that Manichitrathazhu has garnered Malayali out there. Whether you grew up in Kerala or outside Kerala, everybody knows about this movie – because it is a little bit of an urban legend.
We have seen it time and again, we have seen the original and the remakes in Tamil, Telugu, Hindi, Kannada and Bengali so far.
Of course, credit is due where it is deserved. Manichitrathazhu puts out some of the best, most competitive performances Malayalam cinema has ever witnessed, may it be Shobana’s expressive eyes following us into our nightmares or Dr. Sunny’s unconventional treatment practices, which has us roaring with laughter or the side characters, all of whom steal the screen.
For the uninitiated, the story revolves around Nakulan and Ganga, a couple who move back home, for a bit, from Kolkata. Inspired by the rich legends and tales that Ganga hears in Nakulan’s ancestral home, she begins to explore the closed-off parts of the mansion, uncovering its many secrets and getting way more than what she signed up for. Before you delve into this article, I highly recommend either re-watching this masterpiece or at least brushing up your memory.
Even as a kid watching this film, one of my favourite parts of Manichitrathazhu was the friendship between Nakulan and his psychiatrist bestie, Dr. Sunny. There was something so lovely and warm about the freedom they had with each other. Now, as a scholar of Queer Theory, I cannot help but notice, how frivolous and carefree Malayalam cinema is about presenting us with male friendships.
It’s safe to assert that the visibility of queer characters in Malayalam cinema has increased in the past few decades with films like Mumbai Police, Moothon, Njan Marykutty etc. But it is equally possible to suggest that in this ever-evolving landscape of queer narratives, there has also been a nullification of lesbian experiences and narratives.
This article stemmed from a conversation I had with my partner about why most of our cultural paranormal figures are women. That got me thinking – what if I looked at Manichitrathazhu from the perspective of the ‘female gaze’, a method of reading, despite its prevalence, is rather rare and not necessarily practised (other than in Literature classrooms)?
Also read: Why Are Ghosts in Malayalam Horror Movies ‘Wronged Women’?
So, what is the ‘female gaze’?
The term ‘female gaze’ is commonly associated with feminist literary theory. It explores different ways in which visual media can be used to depict female perspectives on the world. The idea is as simple as that. It originated as a response to Laura Mulvey’s concept of the ‘male gaze’, which argues that women are typically objectified and sexualised in visual media because the male audience is positioned as the active viewers and consumers of the same.
Item songs are the most straightforward examples of the male gaze in cinema. With its prime focus on the woman and her body, these songs are placed amidst the narrative without any particular reason other than being a ‘turn-on’ for men.
Consider the item song ‘Vijana Surabhi’ from Bachelor Party, something about it seems different yeah?
That is because it is an often quoted example of the female gaze, where the visual pleasure is not focused on using a woman’s body to give pleasure to men but to communicate a message.
Now, the female gaze goes beyond simply ‘reversing’ the male gaze and objectifying men, it is about presenting the subject on the screen with agency, as a being with thoughts, tact and feelings.
Manichitrathazhu, despite being a movie about several women, is a heavily patriarchal narrative that has been filmed entirely from the lens of the male gaze. I have split this analysis into two parts. One, to demonstrate elements of shameless, subtle patriarchy that are easy to ignore, and two, to offer a counter reading of the film through the female gaze.
So strap in, let’s give this a shot!
Why exactly do I think Manichitrathazhu is a patriarchal narrative?
There are so many small, not-so-subtle aspects of this story that are instances of structural violence against women. However, the eerie, horror presentation of them justifies the violence.
#1 Nagavalli is a symbol of “restrained” feminity.
Let’s address the elephant in the room. While it is easy to argue that the plot is centred around Nakulan and Ganga, the real heroine of this horror story is the subject of the horror itself – Nagavalli. She is a dancer from Tamil Nadu, who was brought to perform in the court of one of the rulers of Madampalli. She is incredibly gifted in her art, has a life of her own, falls in love with another dancer, Ramanathan, and is murdered for her transgression.
Let’s break down the character of Nagavalli from the small glimpses of the supposed ghost that terrorises the ancestral home.
Historically, dancing is associated with two opposing dynamics – the sacred and the profane. Women who are musically and artistically gifted are seen as the conduits to the divine. All of the talk about Nagavalli in the film establishes her as a goddess of her art. Unbothered, outspoken and creative, she stands in as a wonderful representation of femininity.
The fact that Ganga is assumed to be possessed by Nagavalli, and not any of the male characters in the film has to count for something. As one of the characters in the film claims, Ganga felt a deep sense of empathy for the wronged woman, someone who was murdered for the unsatisfied desire of a man, the karnavar who wanted her for himself. By empathising with the karnavar (saving Nakulan, from the revenge-hungry, Nagavalli-possessed, Ganga), the filmmakers establish the female ghost as ‘immoral’. Let me reiterate, Nagavalli was wronged, so why was she restrained, locked, and banished?
Also Read: Internalised Misogyny- Society’s Uncured Pandemic
Considering the trend of revenge plot narratives that are common in South Indian cinema, how many times do women get to execute their revenge on the men who wronged them (without the help of a “saviour” male character)?
#2 Madampalli Tharavadu stands as the metaphor for restriction.
In Kerala’s historical and sociological landscape, the symbol of one’s tharavadu, or ancestral home represents a patriarchal institution. It is a location of exchange that marks the differences between an unmarried and married woman.
We are presented with three versions of Ganga in the movie: a younger Ganga who grew up with her grandmother, an adult version who is married to Nakulan and one, who is believed to be possessed by the ghost roaming around the tharavadu because of her mental illness (read, empathy).
In the first and the third cases, Ganga is intimately associated with women. In the loving embrace of her grandmother, she learns of folklore about different supernatural beings, all of which fascinated her. The same sense of wonder and empathy strikes her again when she hears about Nagavalli. Surprisingly, it is the women of the tharavadu, during one of their informal discussions, that tell her the story. However, unlike her grandmother’s stories of wonder, this is a cautionary story of what happens to women who cross the lines that have been drawn for them.
Ganga, the otherwise practical wife of an even more practical Nakulan, is dead set on writing off the story of Nagavalli in the presence of the men in the house. But alone, she is slowly transforming into this wronged dancer, whose trauma of wanting to live a life of her own, she recognises and empathises with.
The archetype of lonesome, closed-off mansions with tragic ghosts haunting them has always been a subject of several horror narratives. Madampali tharavadu is one such setting except for one aspect: it is not a desolate household. Most of it is accessible to its inhabitants, save for the infamous thekini, where religious symbols separate and protect the ghost of Nagavalli from the other living beings in the house. The name of the movie, Manichitrathazhu, which translates to ‘The Ornate Lock’ is also a symbol of restriction, the separation between delusion and reality.
There are two things to note here: when Ganga is told the story of Nagavalli, she is also told that the male members of the house had the room in the thekini bound and shut off. Secondly, Ganga goes against the advice of the patriarch of the house to break the lock and enter the room,
In her act of immediate disobedience, she becomes a conduit for the spirit to carry out her vengeance and also alert the inhabitants of their ignorance. We must ask ourselves, is Nagavalli really the material of delusion or the actual (ignored) reality of most assertive women who transgress the lines drawn by society?
Also Read: Things Women Hear Constantly in A Keralite Household
Shirley Jackson, the author of The Haunting of Hill House, manages to capture the sentiment perfectly when she says, “…Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.”
This is true for Nagavalli too. Shut off and ripped away from her youth, blamed and murdered for her art and desire and locked away by the ancestors of the very court who wronged her, Nagavalli walked in the thekini alone.
Until, Ganga, another transgressive, assertive woman released her.
#3 The role of the mental illness that is imposed on Ganga.
We are all familiar with the use of plot devices, a key element of narratology that moves the narrative forward. In Manichitrathazhu, Ganga’s multiple personality disorder is an excellent example of a convenient plot device that allows the filmmakers to end the film in a socially acceptable manner.
From the beginning of the story, we are told to fear Nagavalli, because she is a vengeful ghost who wants to exact revenge on the men of the household. This is established within the first few seconds of the movie by building up a reputation for the household before we even see it on screen. There are a few sequences of some of the minor characters who are terrified of the very mention of the Madampali tharavadu and it sets the tone for what is to come.
As the audience, we are manipulated into rooting for Ganga and the other household members who are terrorised by Nagavalli. We have no choice but to brand her as evil and selfish. But if we were to explain why she is a vengeful ghost, we run short of logical answers.
Imagine yourself among the audience of Manichitrathazhu when it was first released and the narrative actually celebrated Nagavalli. What if the resolution of the film was the vengeful spirit getting her revenge and killing everyone she set out to kill and finally taking ownership of the Madampali tharavadu as a reward?
That would be a story worth watching (also, much ahead of its time), but alas, it is not the socially acceptable narrative.
Our visual and written media are obsessed with the dichotomy between good and evil. We love stories where evil is defeated and good triumphs, as it should be. But the decision of what must be regarded as good or evil is already decided for us by the creators of these media. Nagavalli is not inherently evil. The story tells us she is evil, so we accept that she is evil and must be defeated.
The easiest, most socially acceptable way to resolve the complex conflict of the film is to introduce a mental illness. It satisfies the two quintessential audience types in Kerala: the scientifically inclined and the religiously inclined. The combination of Mohanlal’s, Dr Sunny and Thilakan’s Brahmadathan Namboothiripad treatment plan is a visualisation of the satisfaction of this dichotomy.
But if you were to think about the resolution of Manichitrathazhu, imposing a mental illness on the two main female characters who go against the norms of the patriarchal regime is incredibly funny and immature.
Sreedevi, the unmarried daughter of the patriarch, is first accused of being possessed by Nagavalli and mentally ill and then Ganga, the progressive, well-read, practical wife of Nakulan becomes the second target.
The message is very clear. If you step out of line, you will be branded mentally ill. The illness, and the act of curing Ganga and returning her to Nakulan “as his own”, is essentially the act of stripping her of her unhinged, unrestrained femininity, and making her fall in line with the patriarchal standards.
This becomes even more clear when you see the visual distinction between the docile, innocent Ganga who arrives at the tharavadu and the Ganga who Nagavalli possesses. The second one has sharper, more defiant expressions and she challenges anyone who stands in her way. Her untamed, loose hair, bright, unhinged make-up and the sharp, overindulgent use of red offer a distinct contrast to Ganga who is mostly dressed in soft colours, no make-up and oiled, well-kempt hair.
Ganga, when possessed by Nagavalli seems hysterical in comparison. I think it is necessary to call attention to the etymology of the word ‘hysteria’ here (since the film takes the liberty of introducing a nonsense mental illness into its narrative).
Originating from the Greek word, hystera or ‘of the womb’, hysteria is historically associated with female madness. If you were to look at the presentation of Sreedevi and Ganga when they are believed to be possessed, they are nothing short of hysterical. The act of returning to normal essentially involves moving away from hysterical behaviour to more socially acceptable demeanours.
Also Read: The Successful Woman Archetype- Feminism’s Loophole
Finally, one more thing needs to be briefly touched upon about the resolution of Nagavalli’s story. In crafting an acceptable, safe narrative for the audience, where good triumphs over evil, the film also manages to wrong Nagavalli a second time. Her revenge plot is interrupted by a different set of men (who are cosplaying the ones who had initially wronged her). She is lured into a religious sacrificial ceremony by the man standing in for her dead boyfriend. She is mocked, betrayed and manipulated and then “magically” set free yet again.
Queering Manichitrathazhu: A ‘Female Gaze’ Based Counter Analysis
As I had briefly touched upon earlier, Malayalam cinema loves celebrating its male friendships and relationships. I mean, we have progressed as far as even attempting to represent queer male relationships on the big screen. I am sure, we are probably going towards female relationships too, but oh well, we’ll have to wait and see.
When you shift the lens of patriarchy towards a more female-centric perspective on a movie that is primarily about its women, Manichitrathazhu becomes a celebration of several queer female relationships.
You might be thinking, why exactly am I doing this? There is no one singular answer to this. Film, literature and art, all of these are open to interpretation and this is one such attempt at an interpretation.
I’ll start with the bond between the different women in Manichitrathazhu. We have a host of women who carry this movie on their shoulders, who have essentially also sacrificed themselves as plot devices to bring out the brilliance of the male characters. There is Sridevi, a stand-in, self-sacrificial figure, Ganga, the possessed woman, Alli, the young, impressionable youth who takes on the role of the friend and Bhasura, the maternal aunt who is the reservoir of all stories and myths.
Know what’s special here? Ganga is a new girl who is thrown into the midst of the tight-knit unit of the other women of the tharavadu and she is immediately accepted as one of their own. Alli becomes her best friend, showing her around the house, indulging in her whims and supporting her side-quests. Sridevi is ready to take the fall and be labelled ‘insane’ to protect her sister-in-law’s reputation. Bhasura takes on the figure of the matriarch, and she is the source of what is essentially referred to as ‘kitchen-counter conversations’, a space that is only reserved for women.
All of this for an outsider. Yet, does Manichitrathazhu do any justice to these female friendships and relationships?
Nope.
Instead, it is fully ready to shift its focus to the long-standing friendship between Nakulan and Dr.Sunny.
Popularised by the Urban Dictionary, ‘womance’ or ‘shemance’ is a counter term for ‘bromance’. It refers to a very close, non-sexual relationship between women.
While we all know of and celebrate the iconic bromance between Nakulan and Dr Sunny, the solidarity, love, selflessness and inherent recognition of the womance between the women mentioned are ignored or othered (to say the least).
Also Read: How Malayalam Popular Culture Views Female Friendships
When looking at Manichitrathazhu through the ‘female gaze’, I can assert without doubt, that the male characters will have to take the backstage. This is not one of those ‘men are bad’ misandrist rants, rather, the male characters don’t have any position in the story other than being plot devices. Nakulan is needed for Ganga to associate with Nagavalli. Dr. Sunny is the conduit for the resolution of the film and Thampi, the patriarch, paves the way for Ganga to open the forbidden door. I am just flipping the narrative and doing what was done to the women in the actual story.
From this perspective, Manichitrathazhu is the story of the women in them, particularly of the relationship between Nagavalli and Ganga. I think it is also possible to read the nature of the relationship between the two as queer.
One, Ganga feels the most like herself when she is transgressive. Her spirit shines through in her moments of disobedience, such as opening the door to the thekini, forging a copy of the keys that are otherwise inaccessible to her, tending to Nagavalli’s ornaments and dance costumes and cleaning a space that is possessed by a ‘supposedly’ evil ghost.
A lover of stories and novels, Ganga is not only falling in love with the legend that might be haunting the house but the woman who was wronged as well. As a newcomer, she finds solace in the dancer (who was also once an outsider). Essentially, she finds the supernatural both comforting and exciting, and Nagavalli (assuming her ghost exists) does not do anything to harm her host. The two seemed to co-exist, peacefully and happily.
Had the movie been made in a more progressive, different time, it is possible to imagine that the unintentional queer baiting could have been a story of homosexual romantic love.
I also want to take this moment to highlight how all of the female relationships in the movie are understood and comprehended through a process of othering (it’s never given centre stage). This is probably the biggest example of a subtle, subliminal male gaze that is forced on the audience.
For every female relationship that is formed in the movie, there is a narrative resolution that re-establishes the patriarchal control. For example, when Alli gets duplicate keys made for the thekini, both Ganga and Alli are caught, reprimanded and new arrangements are made to re-seal the thekini. When Sridevi and Ganga go to the temple with Nakulan, instead of highlighting the emotional maturity of the women involved, the incident becomes an opportunity to psychoanalyse them. When Ganga is possessed by Nagavalli, again, the brief focus on the two is interrupted by multiple men.
Take any female-female interaction in the film and there will be a patriarchal resolution to it.
As innocent movie-goers, these things do not catch our attention. But if you were to take a few moments to sit with them, the inherent messaging becomes glaringly obvious. Even as I write this critique of the film, I would like to reiterate, that Manichitrathazhu remains one of my favourite films from the Malayalam film industry and will continue to do so.
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That said, the film had more scope as a queer love story between a mortal and a ghost and that, is missed opportunity, right there!
