An ancestral house and the nostalgia surrounding it. Modernity’s quest to uproot its own rustic roots and relocate to the urbanscape. A haunting past and a complex present. 'Shilalikhitam' has all that you come across too often in the unparalleled literary world of Malayalam’s master crafstsman M T Vasudevan Nair. The very motives that might look alien to the OTT-binging generation. But then, a work of fiction is not all about its setting alone. On paper or on the screen, a story survives generations as long as it doesn’t fail to take you to the grey areas of life; some known, some unknown, some you wish you hadn’t known. In 'Shilalikhitam', you get to see a touch of mastery. Call it an ode to selfishness.
The Priyadarshan directorial – one of the nine films that make ‘Manorathangal,’ an anthology conceived in honour of MT – unrolls in a day, one that is heavy with haunting memories and hurting indifference. It starts with the journey of Gopalankutty (Biju Menon), an archaeologist, to his village and ends with his return to his city home. In between plays out a dark drama in which almost every character comes with a shade of selfishness. It makes a mockery of the all-good, virtuous village. Only in great literature, you come across a young woman lying in a brook, vomiting blood, awaiting death while the world around her moves on minding its own business.
The seasoned filmmaker in Priyadarshan brilliantly captures the essence of MT’s writing with his ability to apply the visual grammar the theme requires and draw the best out of his performers. Biju Menon converts himself to the conflict-ridden Gopa while Nila Bharathy as Renu, his school-going daughter, does an excellent performance. With a well-maintained maturity in movements and expressions, she manages to play perhaps the only piece of conscience in narrow world of hypocrisy and helplessness. Joy Mathew with his realistic portrayal of a patriarch rather impresses. Santhi Krishna as Gopa’s mother repeats what she has been known for – subtle acting.
In 'Shilalikhitam', the scenic beauty of a bygone era is recreated even as the situations dwell deep into the dark corners of its collective and individual mindscapes. The scale of the production evidently elevates Priyadarsan’s visual treatment. That bus journey in the end. Cinema, it is.
