Filmfare’s Editor-in-Chief Jitesh Pillaai reflects on the haunting cinematic world of KG George, a filmmaker who explored loneliness, human fragility, violence, and the aching complexities of the mind through classics like Yavanika, Adaminte Variyellu, Irakal, and Lekhayude Maranam Oru Flashback.
In Jitesh Pillaai’s words:
There comes a time in our lives when we grieve and cry. Not for the one who has gone away but for the moment that has passed. For what could have been. It’s for that unspeakable ache in our hearts. KG George’s films had that quality. He would reach out to strange places in our being. And our souls would ache.
When a mentally tired Suhasini starts hallucinating and needs medical help in Adaminte Variyellu (1983), we feel that ache. When Srividya consumes those night pills for the last time, never to wake up in Adaminte…you feel that ache.
For the lingering pain she felt when she was alive. Her husband didn’t get her; her paramours didn’t get her, and neither did her children. It’s that ache that characterises all of KG George. A particularly poignant moment that haunts us is when Srividya’s daughter comes of age, and she is attended to by the maid. Adaminte leaves us with a terrible ache and a mirror of the times we inhabit — we are ultimately lonely despite the frenetic activity of people around our lives.
The same ache returns in Mattoral (1988). Seema’s staid hausfrau isn’t looking for sexual excitement. She was looking for an escape from the dreary existence of being Karmanaa Janardhan’s wife. An escape from the humdrum of her existence. So, she decides to elope with a lowly electrician, bringing into sharp focus the unspoken class wars that exist within our minds. The ache in the heart returns.
Jalaja wasn’t looking for a torrid affair with Venu Nagavalli in Yavanika, but she was looking for an escape from the dreary drama troupe and a beast of her husband, Ayyapan (expertly played by Bharat Gopi). The whodunit set amidst a drama troupe was perhaps KG George’s most complete work, superior to the much-feted Swapnadanam (1976).
The human psyche affected and informed all of KG George’s work, first seen in Swapnadanam. On repeated watching, you discern that the film is amateurish in parts, with a godawful hero portraying the unhinged hero. But the movie made a few pertinent points, especially about mental imbalance in a society where uncomfortable questions tend to be brushed under the carpet.
You sense the same dysfunctionality of an Adaminte Variyellu in his Irakal (1985). Irakal probed psychological violence through the psychotic son of a very rich man. The fault lines of a seemingly happy family are laid bare also through the amoral Annie, again superbly played by Srividya. Rather than settle down to a placid existence with her husband, she would rather have a torrid fling with the caretaker and set off a chain of events. You see so many shades of Irakal in the recently released Joji.
Malayalam movies had found a new voice in KG George. Eschewing the melodrama of the ’60s and ’70s, George zoomed in on human frailties caused by a vulnerable mind and amorality. Lekhayude Maranam Oru Flashback (1983), with its cinema vérité technique, was a sardonic comment on what lay behind the glamour and gloss of showbiz.
The actress Nalini is a metaphor for both a crumbling mind and the compromises made to attain stardom. It’s interesting that George, despite the biting nature of his subject, is never judgmental and allows us, the viewers, to draw our own conclusions.
It’s cutting-edge cinema. George’s world is filled with angst and violence. It offers no easy solutions. We are meant to stew in our own juice. Yet the marvellous insights and greys he adds to his version of the spectre called life are unique, as is his artistry. George is never peachy or didactic. You are allowed to make what you will of it. But he seems to suggest, without sermonising, that personal choices come with a price to pay. You see that amply in Kolangal (1981) and Ee Kanni Koodi (1990).
Why KG George was never able to parlay his career to greater heights post the 90s is one of those unexplained showbiz mysteries. The human mind, which always fascinated the director, had probably begun to play tricks. Another generation of slapstick comedies had arrived. George’s mind was far too refined to succumb to the low-brow humour that was the order of the day. Perhaps he had like his mind outgrown the movies. The all too familiar ache returns. Hope the angels will keep you well, George sir.
Here I would like to draw attention to Yavanika again, which, while being a murder mystery of sorts, also gives us a glimpse into the crisscross of emotions running within a crumbling drama repertory company. The skeletons lay exposed one by one. Yavanika, like Lekhayude… was one of Malayalam cinema’s greatest milestones.
Amid all his many discussed films, two films of KG George never got the recognition they deserved — Kolangal (1981) and Ee Kanni Koodi (1990). Kolangal was perhaps one of the few bucolic settings with the rural life not just adding to the ambience but almost as an integral character. Kolangal couldn’t have been placed in a city with its ensemble cast of Rajam Nair, Thilakan, Nedumudi Venu, Menaka, and Venu Nagavalli. Life is bleak, there is no perfect solution and like all George films, the ending is almost like a cul-de-sac. An extraordinary performance by Rajam Nair, with all its rawness and abusive language, Kolangal stays with you long after the credits have rolled. A young Menaka is a delight to watch, as is Nedumudi Venu’s meanness. And Thilakan is as always, masterly.
Ee Kanni Koodi is a whodunit, though not in the vein of Yavanika; you are still guessing who killed the prostitute. George’s writing is so skilled that his empathy makes you root for the prime suspects, that they are more sinned against than sinning. Again, an ensemble cast comprising Thilakan, Sai Kumar, Sukumari and a host of new faces. Like in Yavanika, George explores the human predicament. He tells us remorselessly that there is no salvation. There are no happy endings.
Also Read: Editor’s Take: The Mother of All Melodies, A Month Without Asha Bhosle
By
