From one-dimensional characters to superficial depictions, newsrooms in Malayalam films have always been flawed

Nevertheless, it is undeniable that the portrayal of newsrooms and journalists in films, particularly in Malayalam cinema, has played a crucial role in fostering deep-rooted animosity and repulsion towards the news media. As a result, this has influenced the general public’s perception that news organisations, as a whole, are merely involved in disseminating false information for the sake of gaining Television Rating Points (TRP) or web traffic. Although there is some truth to this viewpoint, it is ignorant to make broad generalisations or depict these entities in terms of zeroes and ones, which has been the film industry’s practice for decades. The same can be observed in the case of politicians, prostitutes, lawyers, liquor vendors, and others.

To put it succinctly, mainstream Malayalam cinema has been actively striving, and to some extent has succeeded, in promoting a narrative that suggests “the entire system is a mockery, devoid of hope, and adopting an apolitical stance is the only means to approach matters objectively.” However, this self-righteous attitude displayed by individuals in the film industry contradicts their lack of involvement when important matters require their attention. Nonetheless, it has caused considerable damage to those working in the fields mentioned, as people still dismiss their significance by referencing certain movie titles and scenes. For example, Sathyan Anthikad’s 1991 film Sandesham, and its endorsement of apoliticism, is still invoked to assert that “all political parties are identical.” This sentiment bears a resemblance to a recent comment by popular YouTuber Ranveer Allahbadia, popularly known as Beerbiceps, who remarked, “Hitler was an evil man, but who isn’t?”

With the release of the Malayalam film Live, helmed by National Award-winning director VK Prakash and featuring notable actors such as Mamta Mohandas, Soubin Shahir, Shine Tom Chacko, and Priya Prakash Varrier, the spotlight is back on the media, as indicated by its trailer. It is now worth exploring how the Malayalam industry has depicted journalists over the years. Let’s begin by acknowledging that journalism is not the most desirable profession, newsrooms are often not hotspots for revolutionary changes, and numerous media organisations are manipulative instruments in the hands of those in positions of power.

Why so one-dimensional?

Finding a journalist character with a compelling character arc in Malayalam cinema is a near-impossible task, let alone characters with nuanced shades. Typically, these characters are portrayed as either exceptionally courageous, righteous, and renowned, or as utterly cowardly, corrupt, and infamous. There seems to be no middle ground.

Take, for example, the film Pathram (1999) directed by Joshiy, written by Renji Panicker, and featuring Murali, Manju Warrier, and Suresh Gopi. It is considered one of the notable newsroom dramas in Malayalam cinema. The story revolves around Shekaran (Murali), a former Naxalite who once led guerrilla warfare in the Wayanad forests, drawing comparisons to Che Guevara. He now serves as the owner and chief editor of the principled newspaper Jagratha. The film also features Shekaran’s daughter, Devika Shekhar (Manju Warrier), a fearless and capable second-in-command of the newspaper, as well as Nandagopal (Suresh Gopi), a senior journalist who has relocated from Delhi to join one of Kerala’s prominent newspapers.

While the three journalists in focus are depicted as virtuous individuals with no hint of moral ambiguity, their counterparts, such as Pattathil Outhakkutty (Jagannatha Varma), the chief editor of Kerala Reshmi newspaper where Nandagopal works, Kuruvithadam Babychan (Janardhanan), a senior editor at Kerala Reshmi, and Aravindan (James), a corrupt employee at Jagratha, are portrayed as purely evil characters. While the use of such narrative techniques for dramatic impact is understandable, the complete absence of characters with shades of grey is perplexing. These films, narratives, and one-dimensional characters contribute to the perception that one must go to great lengths to be deemed a “journalist,” and failing to meet those criteria renders them unworthy of the title.

A similar pattern can be observed in the majority of films written by Renji Panicker, including Ekalavyan (1993), Commissioner (1994), The King (1995), The King & the Commissioner (2012), all directed by Shaji Kailas, and Praja (2001, Dir. Joshiy). What adds to the frustration is that Renji Panicker himself had a background in journalism before transitioning to the film industry.

Furthermore, another recurring theme employed by Malayalam filmmakers is the romanticisation of virtuous journalists. While this technique may be intended to emphasise journalistic ethics, it places the burden of reforming a corrupt and dysfunctional system solely on the shoulders of journalists. While it is true that journalists play a crucial role in upholding democracy, the notion that the decline of the media industry is solely attributed to individual journalists losing their motivation for change is simplistic. Filmmakers should also consider that journalists, like any other professionals, are employees striving to meet their livelihood needs.

A prime example of this can be found in the film The King & the Commissioner (2012) directed by Shaji Kailas. In a particular scene, Thevallipparambil Joseph Alex IAS (played by Mammootty), the Director of the Special Cell, Ministry of Internal Security, delivers a two-minute speech to a journalist who is evidently annoying. In his speech, Joseph Alex lists out the functioning of journalists and the importance of media ethics, and while the points made are valid, the contrived nature of the monologue hampers its effectiveness. It appears that Malayalam screenwriters can’t critique journalists without portraying them as entirely despicable characters.

Though Malayalam cinema has featured some powerful female journalist characters such as Devika Shekhar, played by Manju Warrier, in Pathram, Suhara Ahmed, played by Gopika, in The Tiger (2005, Dir. Shaji Kailas), Maya, played by Kavya Madhavan, in Athisayan (2007, Dir. Vinayan), Sasikala Varghese, played by Urvashi, in Nirakkoottu (1985, Dir. Joshiy), and Noora, played by Aparna Balamurali, in 2018 – Everyone is a Hero (2023, Dir. Jude Anthany Joseph), these characters soon get overshadowed by the male protagonists, thus rendering there mere existence worthless.

Unquestionably, the topic of inclusivity is glaringly absent in the portrayal of newsrooms within Malayalam cinema, much like the film industry’s willingness to address real-time or artistic representations of caste and caste-based discrimination.

It’s important to clarify that this observation does not imply that real-life newsrooms are inherently inclusive. In fact, the 2019 edition of Oxfam India-Newslaundry’s report titled ‘Who tells our stories matters: Representation of Marginalised Caste Groups in Indian Media’ revealed that approximately 90 per cent of leadership positions in print, TV, and digital media are occupied by individuals from general caste groups, with no representation from Scheduled Caste (SC) or Scheduled Tribe (ST) communities heading mainstream media outlets. This underlines the pressing need for media organisations to take immediate action and implement measures to ensure inclusivity and diversity.

However, considering the influential role of cinema in shaping discussions and opinions, the representation of lowered castes in fictional stories could serve as a catalyst for constructive conversations and contribute to broader social change. By including diverse perspectives within the realm of fiction, Malayalam cinema has the potential to foster meaningful dialogue and propel movements towards a more inclusive society.

Research? Nah!

Malayalam filmmakers often shy away from tackling scripts that require extensive research. This is evident from the abundance of family dramas that have been produced over the years. Filmmakers continued in this vein until it was brought to their attention that viewers were starting to scrutinise and criticise these family dramas for their lack of awareness about real family dynamics. Even when attempting procedural movies, Malayalam filmmakers often fall short due to a lack of thorough research.

In Dijo Jose Antony’s 2022 legal thriller film Jana Gana Mana, there is a scene in the first act that exemplifies this issue. The chief editor of an English channel summons one of his reporters, who specialises in sports coverage, and instructs him to cover an incident involving the alleged rape and immolation of a woman near a highway. When the reporter mentions that he has already been assigned to cover the IPL playoffs, the chief editor insists that the news is significant and needs to be featured during prime time. He assures the reporter that he will ask the head of the sports team to assign the IPL coverage to someone else.

This particular scene is riddled with inaccuracies that could have been avoided if the creators had conducted some basic research. Firstly, each reporter typically has their own specialised area of coverage, known as their beat. It is highly unlikely that a sports reporter would be asked to cover a crime news story unless the incident occurred in a remote area where the sports reporter happened to be the only journalist present while other crime reporters were occupied with major events. Even in such cases, the sports reporter would usually provide only input while a dedicated crime reporter would be assigned to file the final report. Given the significance of the incident portrayed in the scene, it is puzzling why any crime reporter would miss the opportunity to cover such important news.

Secondly, in television and radio broadcasting, prime time refers to the period when the largest number of viewers or listeners tune in. Media organisations typically reserve this time for exclusive reports and panel discussions. It is highly unlikely that any media outlet would delay broadcasting a breaking crime story until prime time, as by that time, other news channels would have already covered it extensively. However, in case what Team Jana Gana Mana meant by saying “broadcasting the news during prime time” was to give it a more comprehensive coverage, the same wasn’t conveying enough and hence sounded inane.

Additionally, it is important to note that the Chief Editor, also referred to as the editor-in-chief (EIC), holds a significant role as the editorial head of a media house, being ultimately responsible for its operations and policies. It is highly improbable for a Chief Editor to randomly assign tasks to reporters. Since the EIC is not directly involved in managing specific teams, they would not have a comprehensive understanding of each reporter’s individual strengths and abilities. In practice, the EIC would typically consult with the head of the department or team concerned to discuss assignments and responsibilities. It is worth mentioning that there are numerous other positions and titles that exist between a reporter and the Chief Editor within the newsroom hierarchy.

This particular scene exemplifies the prevalence of such newsroom depictions in Malayalam movies that clearly demonstrate a lack of thorough research and attention to detail. 

Another common concern that journalists themselves have while watching newsroom scenes is whether the filmmakers are even aware of the existence of the edit desk. Although the term “sub-editor” is frequently used by Malayalam filmmakers, it seems that they lack a basic understanding of the responsibilities of editors. In Malayalam films, these sub-editors rarely engage in actual copyediting. It is evident that the filmmakers disregard the various designations within a newsroom.

Expanding on this point, it is important to recognise that not all journalists are reporters, and not all reporters are investigative journalists. Furthermore, investigative journalists are not constantly engaged in carrying out investigations. These distinctions are often overlooked or oversimplified in the portrayal of journalists in movies.

The omnipotent journalist

While it is common for Malayalam filmmakers to depict scribes as villains or arrogant people, there have been instances where creators have taken a different approach. However, even this portrayal is superficial, as the focused journalist is portrayed as a powerful figure capable of extraordinary Rajinikanth-ish feats. A distant variation of the virtuous journalist archetype, the only distinction between these two is that the former is typically impoverished, as they own a principled newspaper that prioritises truth over circulation (raising the question of how they compensate their employees). On the other hand, omnipotent journalists are relatively wealthier, having been employed by global news organisations like BBC or Reuters or working for top-tier media outlets with significant pay.

An excellent example showcasing this is the character Venu (played by Mohanlal), a prominent Reuters stringer, in the film Run Baby Run (2012) directed by Joshiy. While it is undeniable that journalists possess considerable power to shape and influence public opinion, it is oversimplistic to suggest that they can single-handedly confront the system or challenge the state machinery. However, unlike previous endeavours in the Malayalam industry, this film provides a more sensible portrayal of journalists’ lives. Other broadcast journalist characters in this film such as Renuka (Amala Paul), Rishikesh (Biju Menon), and Indu Panicker (Aparna Nair) bear a striking resemblance to their real-life counterparts, lending authenticity to their depiction.

In Malayalam cinema, there exists another omnipotent journalist character. The journalist-turned-media mogul G Krishnamoorthy, known by various aliases such as GK and Viswanathan, in Joshiy’s New Delhi (1987) is an embodiment of wonder, charm, and intellectual depth. While New Delhi may not fit the mould of a typical newsroom movie, as it unfolds as a crime action thriller, it stands out among the rare films that, despite depicting a journalist as an all-powerful entity, do not solely define the same by their profession. GK, with his self-proclaimed omnipotence, alters the landscape of the national capital’s newspapers, orchestrating murders of his rivals and breaking the news of their demise before any other publication can do the same. However, beneath this portrayal lies a deeper truth — GK’s motivations stem not from a pursuit of journalistic integrity or entrepreneurial ambition, but rather from a vengeful spirit seeking retribution.

The exceptions

While Sreebala K Menon’s Love 24×7 (2015) had the potential to emerge as an exemplary newsroom drama in the annals of Malayalam cinema, the film’s central romantic plot overshadowed its exploration of journalism. As a result, it becomes challenging to classify it as a true newsroom movie. Nevertheless, Sreebala, who also penned the script, meticulously ensured a remarkable job by portraying maximum accuracy in the scenes set within newsrooms. Consequently, it stands as one of those exceedingly rare films that treat journalists as ordinary human beings, devoid of the exaggerated Batman or Joker archetypes. The film primarily centres around the mundane and unremarkable daily lives of journalists, just like any other profession, and highlights the functioning of newsrooms, which aren’t always characterised by chaotic turmoil.

Regarded as a groundbreaking film, Ranjith Sankar’s Passenger (2009) skillfully delves into the challenges and underlying potential of journalists in tandem. Although the film does not extensively showcase newsrooms, it is laudable how it handles the character of a journalist, Anuradha played by Mamta Mohandas. Anuradha is depicted as a resolute and dedicated journalist, but without any superhuman abilities. Instead, she embodies a normal journalist who diligently pursues leads with unwavering determination and utmost patience until the desired outcomes are achieved.

Blessy’s Calcutta News (2008) emerges as a tragically undervalued cinematic masterpiece within a decade plagued by mediocre offerings. Set amidst the captivating backdrop of Kolkata, the film weaves a mesmerising narrative around Krishnapriya, an orphan woman who escapes her late husband’s horrifying scheme to sell her to a Sonagachi pimp. Assisted by a compassionate group of Malayalees working at a renowned news channel in Kolkata, Krishnapriya manages to save herself. However, her journey is far from over, as she becomes the target of a relentless sex trafficking network in Sonagachi. When Ajith, one of the reporters, ventures into Sonagachi in search of Krishnapriya, the profound sights he witnesses leave him shattered to the core. Driven by his journalistic instincts and the influential force of media, Ajith embarks on a daring mission to rescue numerous women ensnared in the clutches of prostitution within the red-light district. Calcutta News gracefully defies the inclination to idolise journalists or newsrooms, instead highlighting their potential to catalyse positive societal transformations and uplift the lives of the oppressed. In its portrayal, the film neither glorifies nor diminishes journalists, but rather emphasises their responsibility in offering a conscientious depiction of their profession.

In Malayalam cinema, there are only two films that stand out for their artistic portrayal of journalists, newsrooms, and media houses, while boldly acknowledging the flaws and challenges of the field. Though P Sukumar’s Swantham Lekhakan (2009), also known as Swa.Le, and Aashiq Abu’s Naradan (2022) are not cinematic masterpieces, their merit lies in the unwavering commitment exhibited by their makers in ensuring that the story they developed is true to its core plot.

Both films delve into the immense pressure faced by journalists in the race to break news, as well as the disheartening depths some reporters may sink to. However, neither of these works approaches its story or characters with a binary perspective. Instead, they reveal how a morally corrupt system and environment provide fertile ground for unscrupulous media houses, which in turn breed journalists who are caught in a race to preserve their jobs, all while hoping for the possibility of a meagre salary increment that may or may not materialise.

Earlier last decade, media critic Jack Shafer wrote on his Reuters blog that, in the age of Twitter, the public had better get used to a new fact of life: News stories, especially the early reports of breaking news events, are very likely to be inaccurate, The New York Times reported. While there were other aspects of Shafer’s blog that can’t be justified and did not require agreement, his observation about the unreliability of early reports in breaking news events could be deemed highly probable.

Swa.Le, set in the evocative 80s, deftly portrayed the relentless demands placed upon newspaper journalists by their bosses, compelling them to prioritise “getting it first”. On a parallel stage, Naradan, set in the 2020s in the age of new media, gracefully narrated the transformation of a journalist into a luminous media figure, weaving a web of fabricated news, to ascend the towering heights of TRP ratings. Through these narratives, an eternal truth echoed via these films: the passage of time has not altered the situation. Both films skillfully unveiled the inner workings of newsrooms, where journalists engaged in an intricate dance of struggle and competition, their spirits aflame with unyielding determination. These films cast a prismatic light upon the diverse facets of journalism.

Now that VK Prakash’s Live has hit screens, let’s hope that the film does not stick to the age-old narrations, and provides a comprehensive image of the media industry and the working of newsrooms.