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Journalism of Courage
Actors have, since the beginning of Indian cinema, hopped borders, crossed over to work in films that spoke languages other than their own. No one seemed to mind that the first actress (Sharadha) to win the National Award for a Malayalam film came from Andhra Pradesh. The very essence of acting was, after all, pretence — why not go all the way and adopt a foreign tongue?
Back then, dubbing artists became the voice of the non-native actor. When time passed and methods changed, more films embraced the authenticity of the voice and insisted on every actor dubbing for herself. But filmmakers did not always enforce authenticity in casting. A Tamil actor played Malayali and flaunted a broken, in-between language, a Bollywood actress played Tamilian and stuck to accented Hindi, and at least two Hindi actors tried to pass off as Malayalis in recent years and succumbed to stereotypes.
In the last two weeks, Param Sundari has received the maximum flak a film could, for its portrayal of the Malayali heroine, stereotyped in every single way a Malayali woman could be, and given the voice of an actor who could not pronounce the name of her character right. Thekkepaatil Sundari – mispronounced ‘Thekkapetta’ Sundari – in Janhvi Kapoor’s broken Malayalam, became the perfect tool for trolls that have not stopped even after the film came out and got critiqued for more reasons than mere miscasting.
When Janhvi pronounced the name as ‘Thekkapetta’ and put ‘Sundari’ next to it, it translated to ‘betrayed beautiful woman’ in Malayalam slang. ‘Thekkuka’ is slang for betrayal, and ‘thekkapetta’ would mean ‘the one betrayed’. It did not help the film that the term has, in recent years, taken on a misogynistic flavour, used mostly by men to derogate women who broke up with them.
Social media influencers had a field day, dressing themselves into caricatures of the Malayali stereotype the film projected – women with Rapunzel hair [wigs], saying they prefer Mohiniyattam costumes at home, insisting on wearing jasmine flowers before going to the restroom, and carrying coconuts in their hands at all times. Imagination ran wild. Many asked seriously, why could they not cast a Malayali to play a Malayali, so that it would be her Hindi which might be flawed, and not the other way around.
Authenticity is often the compromise that filmmakers make to get the actors of their liking into films of another language. In Malayalam cinema, after Sharadha, came a series of actors from other states who not only played the native woman but also won admirers for passing off as one — Zarina Wahab, Sumalatha, and even Sridevi (late actor and Janhvi’s mother) were household names for the audience. The only difference was that their stories were authentic — written by Malayalis — and their voices, dubbed, unless they played the non-Malayali.
The practice was not limited to women. Senior male actors like Amol Palekar, Om Puri, Naseeruddin Shah, and Anupam Kher played Malayali men, struggling to pick the nuances but making convincing portrayals of their characters. Mammootty and Mohanlal comfortably transformed into unforgettable Tamil characters. Shah Rukh Khan admirably pulled off his Tamil debut in Hey Ram. Skills overcame differences, as long as the representation was paid heed to, and the culture was respected.
Tamil cinema welcomed Simran, a Mumbai-born Punjabi, another Mumbaikar Jyothika, and the Malayali Nayanthara as their top heroines for years on end. Dubbing helped until some of them learnt the language well enough to give voice to their characters. Hindi cinema, too, threw the doors open for several South Indian actors, including Rekha, Sridevi, and Deepika Padukone, who learnt or knew Hindi. Bollywood even extended patience to British actor Katrina Kaif with her accent.
Casting other-language actors needn’t be a frowned-upon practice, especially in times that more and more borders are drawn to separate man from man. You only need to write around it. Years ago, when Tamil actor Bhagyaraj played a Palakkad Malayali, it was forgiven since Palakkad belonged to both Malayalis and Tamilians. Or remember when Mani Rathnam played it smart, casting the Shimla-born Preity Zinta as Shah Rukh Khan’s Malayali fiancée? He kept the Malayalam only in the intro of a song, and with Preity calling her dad ‘Acha’ – a word used in Hindi and Malayalam, to mean ‘good’ in one, and ‘father’ in the other.
It is when the characters look like caricatures of a state or its people that the audience takes offence. In The Kerala Story – a film much critiqued for its poor portrayal of the state – Shalini Unnikrishnan, the Malayali heroine, is a template of the cliche that Malayalis are reduced to. Unsurprisingly, she has the ground-sweeping hair, and of course, the string of jasmines on them, kasavu (golden-bordered) sarees and skirts, and spends her leisure time dancing with kathakali performers. But the bigger misrepresentation was the butchering of the language.
Tamil speakers were not happy with the “Lungi Dance” or Deepika Padukone’s portrayal of the quintessential Tamil girl in Chennai Express. Neither was Alia Bhatt’s portrayal of the Tamil bride in Two States taken well.
Let’s not forget, even native speakers have been accused of butchering the language. At one point, faking an accent and pretending to know little of one’s mother tongue was considered ‘cool’. The trend was critiqued even within the movies. In Thenali, Kamal Haasan famously mocked an anchor’s anglicised Tamil, capturing the absurdity of such “stylish” practices, as he called them.
Lines, therefore, needn’t and shouldn’t be drawn between languages or states. Let’s hope our writers and filmmakers will keep the doors open while they scout for cast, but create convincing portrayals, and keep out the stereotypes, unless it is to satirise.
Cris is a freelance writer
