Abstract

The 1970s Tamil Cinema and the Post-classical Turn

This paper engages with the significant Tamil films of the 1970s to explore the
way these films were distinct from much of the films made by and mostly in the Madras
studios, like Modern Theaters, AVM, Gemini, and Vijaya-Vauhini, during the earlier
decades. This paper interrogates the seminal moment in the history of Tamil cinema,
when films like Aval Appadiththan (Thats the way she is, 1978), Agraharathil Oru
Kazhuthai (Donkey in an elite colony, 1978), 16 Vayathiniley (At age sixteen, 1977) and
Uthirippookkal (Fallen flowers, 1979), marked by ambiguous and dark protagonists, new
subjectivity, avoidance of clichd and cathartic closures, experiments in cinematography
and editing, and shooting on locations, signaled the transition of Tamil cinema from the
classical period of the studio system to the post-classical.

The 1970s Tamil Cinema and the Post-classical Turn

The 70s in Tamil cinema marked a unique time when a distinct transition from the
old to the new occurred. The studio system, which was on the decline from the mid-60s,
lost its power over the film industry, and in its place emerged independent producers and
technicians, who now shaped Tamil cinema by dictating the form and content of its films.
Simultaneous to the fading away of the centrality of the studio system, its biggest stars
MGR (Maruthur Gopalan Ramachandran) and Sivaji Ganesan also lost their preeminence
as the key players who substantially dictated the economics of the industry through their
dominance of the box-office for over two decades. These changes marked a dramatic
shift of power away from a studio system that was arguably the biggest in the private
sector outside the classical Hollywood. This decentering of the power and control of the
Madras studios, which dominated not only Tamil but also Telugu, Kannada, and
Malayalam cinemas for over three decades, thus, marks the 70s as the most significant
decade in the history of South Asian Cinema.
Although the 50s and the 60s are often nostalgically referred to as the golden
period of the Madras studios, their dominance was already undermined in the 60s by the
rising power of individual stars, but the studios could still coexist with the stars and
exercise control over production and distribution by financing and offering their facilities
to outside producers. Thus, it was only in the 70s that Tamil cinema established its
identity as a cinema driven by independent producers and technicians, who moved away
from the studio infrastructure and its formulaic narratives in search of a new style.
Therefore, in this paper, I engage with the significant Tamil films of the 70s to

interrogate this unique decade when all the films made could not be co-opted as Madras
studio pictures, since the form and content of many of the landmark films were distinct
from much of the films made by and mostly in the Madras studiosparticularly the
major ones like the Modern Theaters, AVM, Gemini, and Vijaya-Vauhiniduring the
earlier decades. This period, thus, signified a seminal moment in the history of the Tamil
cinema of the transition from the classical period of the studio system to the postclassical. Although postclassical has become a loaded term as far as film studies is
concerned, I prefer to use it in its hyphenated form as it informs us of the ringing-out of
the old and the ringing-in of the new of the 70s Tamil cinema, and the conflation of the
echoes of the old and the new through its hyphen.
By the classical period (of Tamil cinema), I refer to a certain classicism entailed
in the style, storytelling, modes of production, and technology of the (Madras) studio
system (Bordwell, Staiger, and Thompson). Until the late 60s, Tamil cinema was marked
by the uniformity in the narratives, which generally favored the predominant genre of the
melodrama, and the modes of production driven by the studio system and the stars, and
the technology available mainly through the studios for production and postproduction.
However, with the fading away of the studio system in the 70s, all the above factors
began to loose their homogeneity. Though the standardization of an earlier industrial
practice too was defined and dialectically driven by variance, as exemplified by the films
of auteurs like Shridhar, it was the 70s that marked Tamil cinemas uniqueness as
predominantly driven by differentiation, not only with an earlier classical style but also
among the different types of films which emerged particularly from the mid-70s onwards.

Therefore my point of departure is Bordwells later observations on the continuity

and change in Hollywood from the 60s onward, and his claim that classical narrative has
the stability to explain the contemporary changes in storytelling and style as it has the
potential to subsume difference by co-opting variations (Bordwell 14). Though the traces
of the classical is present in the 70s Tamil films, it is the post which defines the
decadethe period after the complete domination of the studio system and its stars,
when Tamil cinema was redefined by films which emblematized the spirit of
experimentation.
Before exploring the 70s Tamil films, let us look at the discourse surrounding the
postclassical which is inextricably tied to (classical) Hollywood: After their compelling
analysis of the film Die Hard (1988), and arguing for it as falling under both the rubric of
the classical as well as the postclassical, Thomas Elsaesser and Warren Buckland
conclude by comparing their act of classification to rotating a crystal due to its
interpretive malleability (Elsaesser 289). In their reading Die Hard, can neither be
situated conceptually in a linear, progressive, chronological line nor pictured as a
dialectical or directly antagonist relationship (to the classical) (79). Elsaessers analysis
foregrounds the tenuousness in labeling randomly chosen films; therefore, for my claim
regarding the post-classical in Tamil cinema, which is not predicated on any one film, I
will explore the 70s in a linear, progressive, and chronological order for the provenance
and entrenchment of the post-classical period. I will interrogate the decline in the
productivity of the major Madras studios as well as the descent of its main stars to
demonstrate how the studios became a nonentity, particularly during the second-half of
the 70s, when it was the challenges to the studio-inflected classical narrative and style

that attracted the audience to the theaters. Such a critical evaluation of the 70s, I believe,
will enable our understanding of the significance and uniqueness of the post-classical turn
that defined the specificity of the Tamil cinema by undergirding its narratives with
regional and native ethos, unlike in the case of Hollywood where the postclassical 70s
cinema, became a conduit to the expansive New Hollywood of the 80s. In Madras,
however, the 70s experimentation with form and thematic was a means to uncover the
singularity of Tamil cinema/culture by filtering it from the stereotypical Madras(i) studio
picture/melodramas.

Tamil cinema scholars differ widely in their assessment of the number of studios
which were in Madras: while Theodore S. Baskaran accounts for 98 by the end of 1998,
Venkatesh Chakravarthy argues that the total would never have exceeded 30 (Baskaran
89; Chakravarthy). This huge discrepancy could be reasoned out to the lack of a standard
definition as even a standalone dubbing facility was often addressed as a studio.
Nonetheless, as studios which were active for at least 3 decades, and which had all the
facilities for production and postproduction including a laboratory under one roof, only 5
qualify to be considered as the major ones: The Modern Theaters, AVM, Gemini, VijayaVauhini, and Prasad Studios.
The Modern Theaters Ltd., oldest among the majors produced 116 films between
1937 and 1982 (Venkataswamy 169-74). During the 50s it produced 36 films, but in the
60s only 24; it further dwindled in the 70s to 5, none of which were box-office successes.
After 3 more productions in the early eighties, The Modern Theaters Ltd. closed down in
1982 (150-61). The Modern Theatres was once at the forefront of innovation exemplified

by its special effects, particularly during the inaugural title sequence, and was the
unparalleled pioneer among the Madras studiosproducer of the first Malayalam film
Balan (1938); producer of the first color film in Tamil (Alibabavum Narpathu
Thirudargalum/ Ali Baba and Forty Thieves, 1956); known for its international
collaborations: seven films in Sinhalese in partnership with Ceylonese producers, and one
in English (The Jungle, 1952). From the 50s when it was on top of the market controlling
genres, stars, and the scales of production, 60s was a descent, and 70s a steep decline.
In contrast to the defunct Modern Theatres, the most prolific of all majors, the
AVM Studios, has announced its 175th feature film recently; nonetheless, the 70s marked
its lowest output ever since it began production in 1945.i From 1968 to 1976, AVM
produced only 17 films, and thereafter no films until 1980. Venkatesh Chakravarthy
reasons the low output to three major factors: in 1968, the workers went on strike,
demanding salary on par with the workers of Vijaya-Vauhini studios, which led to the
shutting down of its operations for 18 months; the second major strike again in 1975; and
the general economic crisis for the studios during the later half of the seventies: it was a
time of recession, and many studios in Madras had to rent their floors to organizations
like the Food Corporation of India which were looking for warehouse space; however,
AVM tried to survive the crisis by reorganizing their studio space into a massive theater,
a post-production sound unit, and retaining four of its studio floors (Chakravarthy:
Naam Iruvar 50-53). From 1947 onward, AVM had produced an average of 4 films a
year with 22 major hits by the end of the 60s; therefore, the 70swith an average of less
than 2 per yearindicate, like in the case of Modern Theaters, a sudden fall in the level
of its operations (Anandan 7-43).ii When AVM released its carefully mounted and well

publicized film every quarter till the 60s, the boxoffice success of most of its films, and
their innovative scripts which anticipated the changes in the tastes of the audience,
became the signifier of the pulse of the masses for most producers (Suryanarayanan).
Besides, AVM Studios regularly entered into package contracts with outside producers
by offering them their entire facilities including the raw stock and the processed final
prints on credit for a share in the profits. Thus AVM was the nucleus of the Tamil film
industry; for example, Sivaji Ganesans highly successful and landmark films in the early
60s were in partnership with AVM but were released by producers under their own
banners (Anandan).
The decline in the 70s is mirrored by the history of Vijaya-Vauhini Studios as
well. With thirteen floors (Vahini-13 and Vijaya-2), it was arguably the biggest studio in
Asia in the 50s and 60s, and produced 45 films from 1950-1980: 15 films in the 50s, 18
films in the 60s, 12 films in the 70s. Vijaya-Vauhinis significance lay in the trends it
could set through its bilingual films in the Tamil and Telugu market through its
sophisticated production values, achieved through a team of technicians like the
legendary cinematographer Marcus Bartley. Nonetheless, Vijaya-Vauhini, like AVM, did
not produce any Tamil film during the second half of the 70s; thus, signifying the end of
Madras studios as the predominant production houses of Tamil cinema.
Gemini Studios too, reeling under the death of its visionary founder S.S. Vasan
the DeMille of India known for his spectacles like Chandralekha (1948)on 26 August
1969, saw its output shrinking in the 70s: in the 50s it had produced 7 Tamil films; in the
60s 4; and the 70s 2; whereas in Hindi the corresponding figures were 8, 7, and 7. Thus, it
was interested in maximizing income by catering to a national market in the 70s rather

than producing Tamil films. The Hindi version of Chandralekha (1948), which was
highly successful all over India, established Vasans reputation as an unparalleled
producer on an epic scale, and gave him the clout to cast stars like Dilip Kumar and Dev
Anand in Insaaniyat (1955), and Dilip Kumar and Raaj Kumar in Paigham/Message
(1959). Though Gemini studios continued to work with iconic figures like Rajesh Khanna
(Aurat/Woman, 1967) and Amitabh Bachchan (Sanjog/Coincidence, 1971) during the
later decades, they had not yet attained their star status, thus, exemplifying the
descending graph of Gemini from the 50s to the 70s.
The fifth major, Prasad Studios, focused in the 70s on offering the best
postproduction facilities in India and produced only one Tamil filmPiriya Vidai (The
Long Goodbye, 1975). Besides, founder L.V. Prasads not directing a Tamil film after the
successful Iruvar Ullam (The minds of the duo, 1963), in which he worked with Sivaji
Ganesan, points to the other important dynamic of the studio period: MGR and Sivaji
established themselves as bankable stars by the end of the 50sMGR through the huge
success of Madurai Veeran (The Soldier of Madurai, 1956), and Sivaji through his
double role in Uthamaputhiran (The ideal son, 1958) (Baskaran 57). As a consequence,
the 60s saw them becoming power centers, and the industry reorganized itself around
these two stars in its objective of releasing almost a film every week: of the 485 Tamil
films produced in the 60s, Sivaji acted in 75, and MGR in 60, thus, between them acting
in 27.8 % of the total films as heroes. But, the 70s saw a decline: Sivaji acted in 72 films
and MGR only in 30 out of a total of 641, thus, together accounting for only 15.9% of the
films (Anandan 13-28).

The decline on the part of MGR is obvious, since he did not act in movies towards
the end of the decade, as he became the first popular star in India to become the Chief
Minister of Tamilnadu in 1977. MGR, who was a member of the Dravida Munnetra
Kazhagam/Dravidian Progressive Front, and a Member of the Legislative Council,
elected from the St. Thomas Mount constituency in Chennai (in 1967, and 1971), was not
happy when he was given the party treasurers post instead of a ministry after his
mammoth win in the 1971 elections. Then-Chief Minister, M. Karunanidhi, wanted to
undermine MGRs enormous popularity and the incomparable network of his fan clubs,
and launched his son Mu Ka. Muthu in a film scripted by him with a protagonist as an
imitation of MGRs persona. The spiraling of Muthu fan clubs at the behest of the DMK
party functionaries and their financial incentives angered MGRs fans, and the
secretaries of eight hundred of his fan clubs threatened to disaffiliate their clubs from the
DMK, forcing Karunanidhi to disband the Muthu clubs (Subramanian 243-44). When an
increasingly alienated MGR, responding to the charges of corruption against the party by
the media, asked for the disclosure of the assets of party members and their relatives, he
was suspended from the party on 10 October 1972. In a week, MGR formed his own
partythe ADMK (Anna Dravidian Progressive Front)on 17 October 1972. Later, the
ADMK won the state legislative elections in 1977, and MGR became the Chief Minister,
and remained so till his death in 1987 by winning the elections in 1980 and 1984 (243330; Celluloid Connection). The 70s, therefore, was the most crucial decade in the
career of arguably Indias most popular star of the last century. Although the number of
his films declined, MGRs successful transition from celluloid to politics as a mass hero

while blurring the line between cinema and life prefigured the increasing visibility of
stars in active politics.
The year 1977, thus, was seminal, as it saw the aura surrounding MGR reach its
teleological fruition and validate the Dravidian movements investment in film as a
preeminent tool for ideological dissemination: MGRs persona was carefully constructed
from the 50s by a team of writers, directors, and producers, who borrowed the
swashbuckler action-hero stereotype from Hollywood, especially from the films of
MGRs idols Erroll Flynn and Douglas Fairbanks Jr., and juxtaposed it effectively with
the staple of the melodrama of indigenous folklore or the mythos of an Oedipal son who
could balance the excessive attachment toward for his mother with the taming of the
shrew(s) and freeing the downtrodden. More over, MGRs charisma as an innocent but a
rebellious villager against injustice appealed to his fans in the nooks and corners of
Tamilnadu, and contributed to the entrenchment of the industry, particularly in terms of
box-office returns from villages, and through the expanding network of exhibition
outletsthe semi-permanent and touring theaters in the semi-urban and rural areas.
Nonetheless, by the 70s MGRs persona subsumed the protagonist and the
narrative of his films, as exemplified by Nam Naadu (Our Country) released in
November 1969. The film produced by Vijaya-Vauhini recycled for its narrative the
growing resentment of the masses over the corruption in the DMK government,
particularly after the demise of Annadurai and Karunanidhis taking over of the
leadership in 1969. In Nam Naadu, MGR plays an honest clerk in the Mayors office who
is forced to contest the elections due to rampant corruption. MGR utilized the film to
critique his own party, the DMK, thorough the idiom of the propaganda song, a staple of

10

most MGR films: for instance, the lines, Vizi Pola Enni Nam Mozi Kaakka Vendum/Like
the eyes we must protect our language; Thavarana Perku Ner Vazikaata Vendum/Show
the right path to the misguided ones; Jana Naayagathil Naam Ellorum Mannar/In
democracy we are all kings; Thennattu Gandhi Annaalil Sonnar/As told by the Southern
Gandhi (Annadurai), alludes to the Dravidian ideology by invoking Tamil language, but
is used by MGR to critique Karunanidhi and recall the greatness of Annadurai. Later,
when MGR founded the ADMK, his partys candidate Maayathevar contested and won
the by-election at Dindugal in 1973. Nam Naadu was rereleased to capitalize on the
euphoria, and stock shots of MGR and Maayathevar celebrating the electoral victory was
inserted into the film when MGR celebrates his success in the mayoral elections
(Suryanarayanan). Furthermore, the black and red colored flag of the DMK, which flies
at the Mayors office in the film, was changed to the tricoloredblack, white and red
one of the ADMK. Thus, MGRs persona subsumed not only the characters he played on
screen and dictated the way his films will be showcased and exhibited, but also
undermined the reputation of Vijaya-Vauhini as producers of classical films with a
seamless narrative that sustain an illusion of reality. The rupturing of the national through
the regional in the narrative, which alludes to a Naadu/country while invoking a
Southern/regional Gandhi, enabled the space for the juxtaposition of the
Mayoral/metropolitan electoral success with that of the regional/Dindugal district.
Though MGRs persona as the stereotypical oppressed, epitomized by the titles of
his filmsMattukara Velan (Cowherd Velan, 1970), Rickshakkaran (Rickshawpuller,
1971), and Meenava Nanban (Fishermans friend, 1977)continued through the 70s, the
aging stars pull at the box office was waning: in the 70s, only 9 of his 30 films had huge

11

success (30%). The paucity of fresh ideas to feed an aging stars young romantic persona
on the part of his regular writers led MGR to look elsewhere for the stories: the 70s
marked significant remakes in MGRs career, including three consecutive remakes from
HindiNinaithadhai Mudippavan (Achiever of goals, 1974)/Sacha Jhutha (True and
false, 1970), Naalai Namade (Tomorrow is ours, 1975)/Yaadon Ki Baarat (Procession of
memories, 1973), and Pallandu Vazhga (Long live!, 1975)/Do Aankhen Barah Haath
(Two eyes and twelve hands, 1957). However, none of them succeeded like the originals
(Suryanarayanan).
This mirrors Sivajis career when he had 12 remakes in the 70s, accounting for
one out of six of his films, thus, underscoring the changed scenario when producers
wanted to play safe. However, 1972 was a year of phenomenal success for Sivajihe had
six hits till Bharatha Vilas (his first film of 1973). But the very next film presaged
Sivajis fading charisma as a hero at the box-office and his transformation into a
character actor by the 80s: Raja Raja Cholan (Chola Emperor Rajaraja, 1973), the first
cinemascope film in Tamil on the life of the Chola emperor Rajaraja, bombed at the boxoffice; thereafter, the success rate of his films dwindled (Strokes). Subsequently, many
of his films after 1974, were under production for a long time due to financial hurdles,
and fared miserably at the box-office when released (Anandan).
Nevertheless, Sivaji, more than anybody else, epitomized the efficiency of the
Madras Studios: in 23 years, from Parasakthi (1952) till Avan Than Manithan (He is the
man, 1975), he had acted in 175 films, i.e. an average of 7.6 films a year. In a career
spanning more than 4 decades, he acted in 306 films, of which 288 were lead roles.
Therefore, the mid-70s with Sivajis career on decline and MGRs gradual exit from

12

films marked the end of an era: an era marked not merely by the domination of the studio
system through its productions and that of its collaborators, the independent producers,
who functioned like satellites around the stars, but also the preeminence of studio-trained
technicians and their aesthetics of indoor lighting (inspired by the three-point Hollywood
style) and use of the sturdy Mitchell camera, in-camera special effects, continuity editing,
and seamless narratives centered on melodrama and action framed in city/village locales
mostly designed inside the studio.

The mid-70s was also the time, when the graduates from the Film and Television
Institute of India, Poona, and the Institute of Film Technology, Madras, made their
presence felt; scholars regard the 70s as the only decade when Tamil cinema had the
semblance of an art movement. Films like Thagam (Thirst, 1974), Thikkatra Parvathi
(Abandoned Parvathi, 1974), Sila Nerangalil Sila Manithargal (Some peopleat some
moments, 1977), Agraharathil Oru Kazuthai (Donkey in an elite colony, 1978), Aval
Appadiththan (That is the way she is, 1978), Oru Nadigai Natakam Parkiraal (An actress
watches a play, 1978), Kudisai (Hut, 1979), constitute the only period in the history of
Tamil cinema when there was a sustained attempt towards an alternative form of cinema.
Of these films, Aval Appadiththan reflected most the aspirations for change in
Tamil filmmakers and audience in a changed environment: in 1978, the International
Film Festival was held in Madras, apart from the film appreciation course conducted by
the National Film Archives, which energized the film society movement in Madras. In
this backdrop, a young director from the Madras film school, C. Rudraiah, teamed up
with his classmates and cinematographers, Nallusamy and Gnansekaran, to make a film

13

on the triangular relationship of a documentary filmmaker, an independent woman and

her sexist boss, and signed-up the emerging stars of the 70s: Arun (Kamalahasan),
invested in documenting the plight of women, arrives in Madras from Coimbatore and
falls in love with the enigmatic Manju (Sripriya), who is haunted by her past, and the life
of her wayward mother. She works for the male chauvinist Thyagu (Rajinikanth). Arun
falls in love with Manju, proposes and waits for her response, but by the time the
reluctant Manju could make up her mind regarding marriage, he leaves for his hometown
and returns with his newly married wife. The final sequence has Thyagu driving his car
with the newly weds along with Manju from the station. On the way, Manju asks Aruns
wife for her opinion on womens liberation. When Aruns wife expresses her ignorance
on the subject, Manju retorts: Thats why youre happy. Then she abruptly asks Thyagu
to stop the car and gets down on the way, and the car pulls away from her in the last shot:
All this could have been avoided if only she had a proper mother! The last shot of the
film leaves her on the road that is where liberated woman ends up. This final visual detail
reveals the entire content of the film, observed Tamils preeminent feminist writer,
Ambai (Lakshmi 25), in her critique of the representation of women in Tamil cinema.
Nevertheless, on reevaluation Aval Appadithan is considered by many to be a landmark
Tamil film as it refrained from the clich of the pseudo-feminist, a staple of the 80s and
90s Tamil cinema (Kumar). The climax of the film, while showcasing Manjus criticism
of the complacent Aruns wife/Tamil women, complicates any easy access to her
subjectivity by immediately positing her in a no womans land from the audiences point
of viewthe any-space-whatever denies both the cathartic as well as a Brechtian
understanding of her subjectivity (Deleuze 109).iii Manjus characterization, thus,

14

resonates with the atypical representation of women in the films of the legendary K.
Balachander, especially Arangetram (Debut, 1973), Aval Oru Thodarkathai (Shes is a
never ending story, 1974).
Besides, to focus only on the narrative would be to miss the real significance of
the film. Aval Appadiththan, recalls the films of the film school brats of Hollywood and
Bombay in its techniqueinspired by the French New Waveof the use of jump cuts,
repeated zooms, extreme close-ups, and handheld camera. The easy availability of the
lightweight Arriflex 35-2c cameras in the 70s enabled location shooting, while the film
school training helped cinematographers to use minimal lights privileging realism which
was vastly different from the studio stylewith high intensity key lights and the soft
filler-lights for the shadows. The film within the filmthe documentary shot by Arun
reflexively reveals the enthusiasm of these young filmmakers through a handheld camera
which, as it documents the documentary, records the spontaneous and insightful reactions
of women to Aruns question about equality, freedom and choice. The music was
composed by, another star on the horizon, Elaiyaraja, whose songs were used to
punctuate the interiority of the characters rather than as a spectacle or merely move the
plot forward.
The search for a new idiom was underscored by John Abrahams Agraharathil
Kazhudhai as well. John, and his cinematographer Ramachandra Babu, graduates from
the FTII, drew their inspiration from their mentor Ritwick Ghatak, Robert Bresson
(particularly Au hasard Balthazar, 1966), the political cinema of Latin America (mainly
that of Glauber Rocha) and the surrealism of Bunuel, to narrate the story of Prof.
Narayana Swamy, who provides refuge to a donkey (whose mother has been killed by a

15

mob), and a mute girl Umathe caretaker of that donkeyin a village. The evil
donkey is held responsible, when Umas stillborn child is found dead outside the temple,
and killed. Soon after, as the cremation of the donkey gets delayed in getting the suitable
(caste) person to light the pyre, miracles happen and the villagers start worshipping the
donkey. Ultimately, when the donkey is ritually cremated, the fire that spreads engulfs
the whole village except the professor and the girl. The screenwriter Venkat Saminathan,
criticized the film for its immaturity and unevenness, whereas others endorsed Johns
political cinema of imperfection (Nerthiyatra 16-9). The film incited debates in the
media regarding casteist politics. Nonetheless, Johns conflation of his leftist politics and
the mythos surrounding donkey as an abject figure goes beyond its critique of the
Brahmanical hegemony as it tries to shake a feudal society out of its slumber by
showcasing the absurd universe in which its bigots are enclosed. Johns raw and
incoherent style was in polarity to the seamless, closed universe of both the classical
narrativesresponsible for the creation of the MGR mythand its
unthinking/superstitious audience. Aval Appadiththan and Agraharathil Oru Kazhuthai,
thus, challenged the classicism of the studio system through their formal innovations and
narrative style. However, the most enduring influence on Tamil cinema was from films
that were not so removed from the mainstream.
Barathiraja redefined popular Tamil cinema with his seminal film 16 Vayathiniley
(At age sixteen, 1977): Ananda Vikatan, the popular Tamil weekly, praised the film for
representing village life with realism, and for avoiding the clich of (studio) court and
police station in its poignant climax. Vikatans technical reviewer, while complimenting
cinematographer P.S. Nivas, the Madras film school alumnus, for his framing of the lush

16

green village landscapes, drew attention to the error in focusing and advised the
assistant/focus-puller to be alert: with the new Arriflex cameras mounted with zoom,
while the mobility enabled shooting in any nook and corner, the focus-pulling became
critical as slightly missing the mark meant the scene was going to be in soft focus.
Besides, the lush green photography was made possible by the availability of cheaper
Orwo color stock, which favored the green. The reviewer also criticized the dark scene
where the villain asks for beedi (tobacco rolled inside dry leaves) at the kiosk, and
wondered whether it was because of underexposure or under-developing in the lab: this
draws attention to the films aesthetics of location-shooting as well as available-light
photography with minimum accessories (like reflectors in the outdoors). Such aesthetics
also mirror the mode of production of an independent film with limited resourcesthe
entire film was shot in Karnataka, the neighboring state, to qualify for a subsidy of
Rupees 50000/$1200 approx. Regarding the editing, the reviewer points to the repetition
of shots in the very beginning of the film: when the heroine waits at the railway station
with expectation, the train leaves without the expected guest, and instead of a (reaction)
shot of her disappointment, the (earlier) shot of her expectation is repeated. The
meticulous attention to such details in a popular weekly reveals the informed audience of
the 70s, who were mainly responsible for the success of films like Aval Appadiththan and
16 Vayathiniley.
Bharathiraja had his training in the industry as an assistant to directors ranging
from the arthouse-inclined Babu Nandancode to the veteran mainstream director of
Kannada films, Puttanna Kanagal, which enabled him to combine the art-cinema
sensibilities of location shooting and the use of non-professional actors with the

17

mainstream paradigms of melodrama, romance, songs, and action. Thus, he could rework
the classical genre of a love triangle and experiment with its possibilities, and render 16
Vayathiniley in the post-classical mold. While Rudraiah or John too experimented, their
films could be described as anticipating the postmodern in their appeal to an increasingly
modernizing and cinematically aware audience in urban cities, whereas Bharathirajas
film was catering to a larger audience which was rejecting the traditional studio-produced
films and was prepared for the reinventions of style and the retelling of the stories they
were familiar with.
The narrative of 16 Vayathiniley revolves around the village girl Mayil (Sridevi),
her distant and unattractive cousin Chappani (Kamalahasan), who is secretly in love with
her, and the village rowdy Parattai (Rajnikanth). Mayil, aspires to be a teacher, but falls
in love with the veterinarian who arrives from the city, and gives up her desire to pursue
the teachers-training course in the city. But the veterinarian exploits her sexually and
leaves the village; consequently, Mayils mother dies of shame. Chappani supports the
lonely and despondent Mayil, who begins to appreciate the innocence and commitment
behind his appearance, and decides to get married to him. When an overjoyed Chappani
goes to town to get the thaali (mangalsutra/sacred thread), Parattai, who had an eye for
her from the beginning, enters her home and tries to rape her. Chappani returns in time to
save Mayil but kills Parattai, and goes to jail.
This brief sketch informs us of the familiar territory the film treads, but what was
unfamiliar was the framing of the entire story in a flashback through Mayil, who is
waiting for Chappani to return, at the station. Unlike, earlier films like Mother India
(1957) or its Tamil remake Punniya Bhoomi (1978), when the flashback ends there is no

18

closure in the classical sense, as Mayil is still waiting, and we are not informed as to how
long it is going to be, though the (superimposed) title card assures us that Chappani will
return and Mayil will be happy. Such a waiting invokes the poignant subjectivity of the
ambiguous wait for freedom that the state of Emergency (imposed by then-Prime
Minister Indira Gandhi from June 1975 till March 1977) entailedthe film went into
production immediately after the Emergency. Therefore, the plot of the classical love
triangle was retooled to address a recent trauma: during the emergency, the MISA
Maintenance of Internal Security Actcould be imposed on anyone who disagreed, like
the Dravidian ideologues or Tamil subnationalists, to imprison and maim, as exemplified
by the lame protagonist Chappani. Bharathiraja had originally planned the film as a Film
Finance Corporation project in black and white during the Emergency.
Nevertheless, today 16 Vaythiniley has become synonymous with color and
(outdoor) cinematography. Bharathirajaa changed the course of Tamil cinema by taking
the camera out of the studios and into the villages and its natural landscapes (Rao, 227228). After the classical-studio period (from the 30s till the 60s) and before the invasion
of video/MTVstyles in the 80s, this post-classical period, particularly from the mid-70s
onward, when Bharathiraja visualized his songs through his unique style of repeated
entry of faces in close-ups, freeze-frame shots, and symmetrical reversing of movement,
marked a unique time in Tamil cinema. His narration and style of using long takes and
improvisations for dramatic scenes instead of the shot/reverse shot technique of the
studio-films energized the experimental impulse within mainstream cinema. For instance,
addressing the audience directly/frontally through voiceover, improvising with local
dialects, and symbolic and contrapuntal sound effects marked his use of sound. Parallel to

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Bharathirajas intervention in sound and images, was the challenge posed by Elaiyarajas
music to the accepted norms (Chakravarthy: Mani Ratnamum 289-90). Elaiyaraja was
trained in western classical music; therefore, could combine the folk melodies with
complex orchestral score. His music would become the mainstay of the post-classical
period as his name enabled the marketing of films since he was one of the dominant stars
in the package. Besides, the minimalist use of instruments made him affordable for the
independent producers, and his ability to draw from composers like Bach to the very
specific folk music of the narrative locale contributed to rare melodies and the success of
these films.
But above all, 16 Vayathinileys stature as the watershed of the 70s Tamil cinema
lay in the seeking of its audience for a redefinition of Tamil culture and its specificity:
during the 70s, parallel to the waning of hopes surrounding Nehruvian socialism in India,
the dreams of an egalitarian Dravidian land, alluded by films like Parasakthi (1952),
vanished in the state, and the audience were searching for ways beyond the empty
rhetoric of the politicians to define themselves as Tamilians: earlier films of the
Dravidian ideologues could posit Tamil chauvinism against the Hindi/Congress
hegemony, but the 70s audience were not satisfied by such binaries: the
outsider/veterinarian (still) arrives and destroys Mayils dream, but the focus was on
Mayils readjustment to the realities and her discovery of the heart and spirit of the
local/Chappani.
The next landmark film to foreground the changing directorial approaches was
Uthirippookkal (Fallen Flowers, 1979)the top favorite of many directors including
Mani Ratnam: If I get anywhere near what Mahendran did in Udhiri Pookkal, Ill be a

20

happy man (Magic). Mahendran, the director of the film was a scriptwriter from the
industry, and he adapted Tamils seminal writer Pudhumaipittans short story Chirrannai
(Stepmother) for his second film as a director. The film revolves around the family of the
administrator of a local school Sundaravadivelu (Vijayan), his wife Lakshmi (Ashvini),
two kids, sister-in-law Senbagam (Madhu Malini), and father-in-law (Charuhasan).
Sundaravadivelus character is complex and dark; he is a caring father but a misogynist
who lusts after his sister-in-law. His patient wife and her helpless father put up with his
schizophrenic persona of dignified calm and threatening turbulence. A new teacher
(Sunder) and a health officer (Sarathbabu) arrive at the village, and Sundaravadivelu, on
growing suspicious about his wifes friendship with the health officer, tortures her. He
decides to divorce her and marry his sister-in-law, who has already fallen in love with the
new teacher. When Sundaravadivelus sick wife dies, he remarries another woman. Later
when his sister-in-law goes to invite him for her marriage with the teacher, he disrobes
and molests her. When the village comes to know about this, he is forced to walk
followed by the entire village to the pond and commit suicide by entering into it. His
children wait for him hoping that he would swim back.
The characterization of Sundaravadivelu was new to Tamil cinema: although he
was an affectionate father and a prideful administrator, he was portrayed unambiguously
as flawed, lecherous, and scheming, thus, leading the audience into the very heart of
darkness of the village: the climax, when the entire village chases him, through its long
shots suddenly distances the audience to meditate on a weak, conscienceless man
juxtaposed with an equally inhumane and rigid society. It is rendered visually without
any dialogue, and recalls Mahendrans authorial style of moving the camera away during

21

key conflictual moments, for instance, when Sundaravadivelus slaps his wife, and
imploring the audience to engage with the visual to interrogate the violence underneath.
Besides, the sparse dialogues added to the instability which marked Sundaravadivelus
relationship with people, and the silence provided Elaiyaraja the space for differential
theme music to etch out the characters, especially the laconic Lakshmi and her profound
sorrow and her joyful moments with the children. It was a sign of the times that films like
Uthirippookkal, which not merely inverted the verbose Tamil cinema on its head but
deglamorized the village hero, celebrated silver jubilee (175 days): the synthetic village
hero of the studios was replaced by a complex protagonist who propelled the audience to
introspect the culture which produced him. Besides, the Madras film school alumnus,
cinematographer Ashok Kumars predilection for backlit photography to frame the dark
heros journey enabled the juxtaposition of the serenity of the village with its dark
unconscious. Released in the same year, Pasi (Hunger, 1979), and Rosaapu Ravikkaikari
(The woman in rose blouse, 1979), were other milestones in the post-classical period.
As my above discussion of few of the significant films of the post-classical period
reveals, the 70s was the high point of creativity and experiment which substantially
inspired and changed Tamil cinema in the subsequent decades. Mahendrans style of
visual rather than verbose storytelling inspired many young filmmakers including Mani
Ratnam, particularly his first major success in TamilMouna Raagam (Silent
Symphony, 1986). Even recently, the critically acclaimed and commercially successful
film Myna (2010) recalled 16 Vayathiniley in its romance in lush green locales and
adventure outdoors (Myna). Similarly when Paruththi Veeran (2007) became a
landmark success, critics invoked the 70s to map the trajectory of its village backdrop

22

and characterizations. Thus, the 70s certainly was the defining decade of Tamil cinema
when classical period of the studios paved way for the post-classical through a radical
reorganization of its modes of production due to the failure of the studio system and the
arrival of new stars whose status had yet to be entrenched, thus providing the space for
innovative directors for formal and narrative experiments, and to explore particular
character and thematic traits. This post-classical period, marked by weak and ambiguous
protagonists, ambivalence of traditions, realism in dialogues, new subjectivity, avoidance
of clichd and cathartic closures, shooting on locations and subtler melodramas, was
driven by the necessity to redefine Tamil/regional specificity in the wake of the unkempt
promises of the Dravidian government when it came to and remained in power from 1967
onward.
Endnotes

i According to Anandan, the number of films produced by the various independent
producers with the assistance of the major studios would be much higher than the
number of films produced by the studios themselves.
ii All the statistical details in this paper are from Anandan (2004).
iii For Deleuze such any-space-whatevers are singular spaces wherein the homogeneity is
lostin this case our labeling of Manju as a cynical loser.

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