Aarkkariyam director Sanu John Varghese discusses how he conceived the film's story and its gender politics
Cinematographer Sanu John Varghese, despite hailing from Kerala, has only framed three films in Malayalam (Electra, Take-off, and Android Kunjappan). He has widened his repertoire in all languages (Jersey, Badhai Ho Badhai, David). In Vishwaroopam (his most-feted word) he stunningly captured the expansive canvass of Jordan, the conflict of war, and the beauty of storytelling. And almost 18 years later he made his directorial debut—Aarkkariyam, surprisingly in Malayalam. It’s a sublime uneventful drama (streaming on Amazon Prime) that unexpectedly drifts into a murder mystery headlined by Biju Menon, Parvathy Thiruvothu and Sharafudheen. More from the director.
Considering you have mostly worked in other language films as a cinematographer, why did you choose to make your first directorial venture in Malayalam?
Because the Malayalam audience is very receptive. I have worked in Hindi, Tamil, and Telugu and a narrative like this won’t convert into a film in any of these languages.
This looked like that perfect OTT film…
We initially conceived of it as an OTT release. At one point when the theatres were opening, Aashiq Abu (co-producer) saw the possibility of releasing it in theatres. Also somewhere in the film, if you look at it structurally, it’s built for the 70 mm—it takes a bit of time to establish the characters and then to come to a plot point that is riveting. It happens at the 40th minute or so and that’s a basic pull for a captive audience. Probably that also made us plug it as a theatrical release. But then eventually the film seems to be finding its audience in OTT. Also, the time is right. It’s more amenable with the pace in our life.
Where did you get the story?
I was trying to write from January after I finished Mallik. All of a sudden, it didn’t look like a film I could do with this COVID protocol and social distancing. So Santosh Kuruvilla (co-producer), who is my schoolmate, asked me to write a project. So I picked up an old storyline. I keep these sketchbooks that have sketches of stories somebody tells me. I found a storyline that was interesting, a thriller about a man who reveals this secret to his son-in-law and the son-in-law starts blackmailing him. That story ends when the old man puts another dead body in the same pit. I picked that up and married it to a Mumbai to Kerala travel with the paranoia of COVID in the backdrop. We (Sanu has co-written the story with Rajesh Ravi and Arun Janardhanan) travelled with the characters and the story changed into what it is right now.
Somehow the characters seem like you knew them personally…
Yes. As a first film, it is crucial to be dealing with stuff I know so that you also know how to deal with it. My father is a retired Maths teacher. Ittyavara is a lot of old people I know. There is my dad in him, my grandfather’s brother, teachers I knew, parents of friends. Roy deals with the kind of reality I deal with. He comes from my second generation of Malayalee friends in Mumbai—so he is someone I know. The person I don’t really know is Shirley. Of course, I know a lot of Christian Malayalee women—my mom, sister, a lot of women in my family. But somewhere there is my inability as a man to empathetically see from a woman’s point of view. Parvathy brought that to the film. So I gave her a lot of Malayalam novels in that milieu to take notes from its female characters.
Which are those?
Characters from Paul Zachariah, Thomas Pala, Ponkunnam Varkey, Muttathu Varkey. She is a woman who is empowered but also works around the patriarchy. She is smart enough to survive it well. In my family, my mom takes all the decisions but that wasn’t enough. Parvathy brought in the empathy.
Can you elaborate?
Parvathy helped shape Shirley into the character it is now. My wife helped style the character (the behaviour, detailing). Like this scene when they are at the basement before leaving for Kochi and she puts a flowerpot outside. It’s a very Mumbai habit which my wife does. She will perhaps come up with something which might seem trivial to us but is particularly important to her.
And Sharaf’s character design clearly has your personal touches. Especially the English usages?
Yes. It’s all within me. Take Shyju Kurup’s character—it’s similar to my friend Rajesh Krishnan (Loot case fame), a second-generation Malayalee from Payyannur who writes in Malayalam but is more comfortable speaking in Hindi (including the cuss words). It’s a bit from here and there.
The gender politics was spot on.
Within my family we don’t have gender roles. I will cook and she will teach the children. It’s crucial to portray that because it’s something I am living and that’s why it doesn’t stick out in the film. I don’t want to draw anybody’s attention to it. My life exists that way. My parents are patriarchal, and I have a different life experience and they frown at it. I traverse this reality constantly.
Still from Aarkkariyam. Image from Twitter
Biju Menon was quite an unusual casting.
Initially, I was planning to cast an actor close to Ittiyavara’s age and Roy to be played by Biju Menon. But the reality was making it difficult to get an older actor. Also, I think if you watch it again with the knowledge that Ittyavara has done what he has, the whole film actually looked like he schemed towards it. It’s there in plain sight in every scene. You can actually see his trickery everywhere. When he calls Roy to inform him, you see him looking inside the house. And then we cut to the scene where Roy and Shirley are having a conversation, Ittyavara comes a minute later. Perhaps it’s the possibility of doing a character in two ways that Biju found exciting. He holds it nicely.
What about Sharafudeen? Which was the role that helped you pick him?
I have seen him only in Premam. I had no idea about his body of work. When I met him, I found him to be a diligent guy, ready to walk the extra mile for a role.
How is your process with actors?
That’s the man-management side of the director. Being able to talk and get what you want. Everyone has their own convictions about doing things in a certain way. Besides, we wrote it in such a way that there was no room for ambiguity. They had an idea of the visual grammar. In spite of that, getting a singular vision was a task. The actors have done a lot for the characters. On a nuanced level, the father-daughter mannerisms are similar. He sits with his feet on the teapoy, so does she. Even their pout is the same.
Were there a lot of improvisations?
No, there was an 82-page script shot like an animation film and we had to finish it off in a time frame. We didn’t have the luxury to improvise a lot, it was a para-military kind of filmmaking.
But wasn’t there also a moral dilemma in here? (SPOILER ALERT)
The title is inspired from Paul Zachariah’s blog. When I called Paul Zachariah to ask permission to borrow the title, he wanted to read the script. And he suggested that it would be better if Ittyavara was killed in the end to give it a better cinematic drama. But my argument was that for somebody who is living in reality, memory loss is death. You get disconnected from the real world with death. So metaphorically, the film kills him. The easiest way out of it is to say that killing him was right. You make him so bad the audience says its ok to kill him. I didn’t want a bad Augustine at the end of the day. He should be grey. The biggest criminals are not fully black. Pitching it grey would be a cinema tricker.
Why did you opt for Reddy as a cinematographer?
We have worked together for many years. For Hasee To Fasee, we worked together. We work well together. After this film I am a nicer DOP, taught me a lot about how I should behave with DOPs.
Usually DoP turned directors tend to get carried away by the visual grammar of the film?
If you look at my body of work—it is all about story telling. In this film I was just trying to explore that side in me and leave the whole technicality of lighting, mood, ratio, and balance to someone else. Reddy is from Telangana, a place with dry flatter lands. They paint the houses lighter so that there is more light inside. This is a scenario that is very alien to him—rubber plantations, floors are red oxide, roof is darker. That’s the kind of interiors I have grown up with. Old larger, darker homes. And he has done visible and sane commercial cinema. I wanted the story to be told in that kind of a mood. He quickly got the dramatic possibilities of light in the milieu.
Why do you think there are so many talented cinematographers from Kerala?
I interact with a lot of older generation and I think their approach with light (bounced light, quality of light) is similar. It also comes from the geography. Kerala is a lot of foliage; a lot of the sky is cut off and sunlight feels a little harsher. They have grown up appreciating that kind of light, there is lot of variation as well—seaside, mid hills. There is a microcosm of a whole lot of life situations that exists here except for the deserts.
And you will continue doing cinematography?
I just finished a Telegu film now. I pick up stories that resonate with me and I will keep doing it. I am always looking to do something I have not done before visually. Stretch a line of thinking. Pretty selfish of me, eh?