FILMS THEN AND NOW

 “Digital technology has given filmmakers wings—but some have forgotten how to fly.” — Anonymous

Watching films has always been one of life’s favourite pastimes. But back when we were young—before television, the internet, or mobile phones—films weren’t just a pastime. They were the only source of entertainment we had.

In our family, the movie craze ran deep. My mother, in particular, was almost addicted to films, and so were her sisters. They never missed a movie—good, bad, or forgettable. My father, on the other hand, had different tastes. He preferred stage plays, classical music, and dance performances. We children, naturally, followed our mother’s lead.

Theatres Then and Now

Movie theatres in those days were nothing like the plush halls of today. Many were just makeshift buildings, with no chairs or benches. We sat on bare sand floors, and the old projectors would often stop midway. Still, it was magical. Over time, things improved. We graduated from open-air sheds to large, air-cooled—and later air-conditioned—theatres. Today, we have sleek multiplexes, mini-theatres in malls, and of course, OTT platforms. The films themselves evolved—from silent reels to talkies, from black-and-white to vibrant colour.

Malayalam Films

We began our film journey with Malayalam cinema. Though the first silent film Vigathakumaran (1930) and the first talkie Balan (1938) predated us, our first real experience was Padatha Painkili (The Silent Nightingale). We only watched two films with our father—Sita and Rama Bhakta Hanuman—both religious. Though Neelakuyil (1954), a landmark film that won the President’s Silver Medal, was widely discussed, we somehow missed it.

Satyan and Prem Nazir were the giants of their time—Satyan, with his intense, grounded performances, and Prem Nazir, the charming, evergreen hero. Miss Kumari often played their leading lady. Later came stars like Lalitha, Padmini, Ragini (the Trivandrum Sisters), followed by Ambika, Sheela, Sarada, and Jayabharathi. Shobhana, Urvashi, and Manju Warrier arrived in later years.

After Satyan and Prem Nazir passed on, Mammootty and Mohanlal took over and came to define an era. They became so familiar that they now seem part of every Malayali’s daily life.

Interestingly, it’s often hard to say whether the lead actors or the character artists were better in Malayalam films. Artists like Sankaradi, Oduvil Unnikrishnan, Kottarakkara Sreedharan Nair, Nedumudi Venu, Sukumari, Kaviyoor Ponnamma, Philomina and KPAC Lalitha brought unmatched depth to their roles.

Malayalam films, like their Bengali counterparts, had a unique flavour: strong stories, earthy characters, realistic settings, and gentle humour. I fondly recall S.P. Pillai and Adoor Bhasi’s comic acts. With the arrival of Jagathy Sreekumar, Malayalam comedy reached new heights. It’s a tragedy that a road accident silenced such an exceptional talent.

Some college-time favourites remain etched in memory. The haunting Bhargavi Nilayam, scripted by Vaikom Muhammad Basheer. Chemmeen (1965), which portrayed life in the fishing community and won the President’s Gold Medal. And Nirmalyam (1974), where P.J. Antony gave an unforgettable performance as an oracle.

Living outside Kerala for many years, I missed Malayalam cinema. But when I returned, I was fortunate to watch Manichitrathazhu (1993), a psychological thriller by Fazil. Shobhana’s portrayal won her the National Award—and my eternal admiration. I could watch it endlessly.

Malayalam cinema is known for its offbeat gems. Films like Swayamvaram, Elipathayam, Adaminte Variyellu, Mathilukal, Kanchana Sita, Kodiyettam, and Agrharathile Kazhutha were pathbreakers. Directors like Adoor Gopalakrishnan, G. Aravindan, K.G. George, Bharathan, M.T. Vasudevan Nair, and Shaji N. Karun crafted films that left a lasting impact. Sadly, many of them are no longer with us.

Tamil Films

Thanks to my mother’s fluency in Tamil, we also watched Tamil movies. Kalyana Parisu, Nenjil Oru Aalayam, Thiruvilayadal—we saw them all. Icons like Sivaji Ganesan, Gemini Ganesan, M.G. Ramachandran, Savitri, B. Saroja Devi, and J. Jayalalithaa lit up the screen. Interestingly, MGR and Jayalalithaa parlayed their screen popularity into successful political careers. Nagesh, the beloved comedian, kept us all laughing.

Hindi Films

Language was never a barrier. Hindi films were, and still are, loved across India. My mother adored them, despite not knowing the language. I remember her becoming emotional while recounting scenes from Mother India, Do Aankhen Barah Haath, Sahib Bibi aur Ghulam, Bhabhi and others.

We grew up watching masterpieces like Mughal-e-Azam, Anarkali, Bandini, Sujata, Kagaz Ke Phool, Madhumati, Hum Dono, Guide, and Khamoshi. We admired Nutan and Waheeda Rahman immensely and never missed their films.

The earlier actresses were Surayya, Nalini Jaywant, Madhubala and others. Later came actresses like Sharmila Tagore, Zeenat Aman, Rekha, Hema Malini, Sridevi, and Madhuri Dixit. On the men’s side, there was Balraj Sahni (unforgettable in Do Bigha Zamin), Ashok Kumar, Dilip Kumar, Dev Anand, and Raj Kapoor. Pran was the villain in most films; Mehmood and Johny Walker the comedians. Kapoor’s films—Awara, Sangam, Mera Naam Joker, Jis Desh Mein Ganga Behti Hai, Teesri Kasam—were hugely popular. Dev Anand too left a trail of hits.

Pran was the villain in most films; Mehmood and Johny Walker the comedians.

Then arrived Rajesh Khanna—the first real superstar—followed by the intense Amitabh Bachchan. Together, they delivered the deeply moving Anand. While Rajesh was adored, Amitabh became a legend and still commands the screen well into his eighties.

One film I particularly remember is Satyajit Ray’s (the timeless pioneer of Indian Cinema) Shatranj Ke Khiladi, based on a story by Munshi Prem Chand. Ray’s Pather Panchali and Apu Trilogy won global acclaim. Though some criticized him for showing India’s poverty, his films were humane, realistic, and rich in artistry.

English Films

In college, English films were a rage. That was the golden age of Hollywood. We’d watch them at Sree Kumar Theatre in Trivandrum—The Ten Commandments, Ben-Hur, The Bicycle Thief, Roman Holiday, The Birds, The Sound of Music, Doctor Zhivago... such magical experiences! After starting work, I stopped watching them. I’m not sure if the films changed—or I did.

Film Songs

Film songs—Hindi or regional—are inseparable from Indian cinema. In my time, songs touched every emotion. Early Malayalam songs were sung by K. Purushothaman, P. Leela, Santha P. Nair, and M.L. Vasanthakumari. Then came Jesudas, Jayachandran, S. Janaki, P. Susheela, Vani Jairam, Chitra, Sujatha and others. Jesudas, rightly called “Gaanagandharvan” (Celestial Singer), ruled for decades.

Hindi songs transcended language barriers. Saigal had a cult following. Rafi and Lata were national treasures. Asha Bhosale brought boldness, Mukesh his sorrowful sweetness. Hemant Kumar, Manna Dey—they all had their own magic. Today’s stars like Shreya Ghoshal continue the legacy, but the old songs had soul.

During the golden age of Hindi cinema, a group of highly talented Lyricists penned some of the unforgettable film songs. Among them were Anand Bhakshi, Sahir Ludhianvi, Shakeel Badayuni, Kaifi Azmi, Naushad, Shailendra and Hasrat Jaipuri.

Many old Hindi songs were poetic gems, their Urdu-tinged lyrics adding romance and grace. Songs like “Diwana Hua Badal,” “Abhi Na Jao Chhod Kar,” “Tere Mere Sapne,” “Waqt Ne Kiya”—they linger in memory. I miss the days when songs blared from loudspeakers, when people sang together while walking or working. Now, music is solitary—heard through earbuds, not shared.

Changing Times

Today’s films mirror today’s world—fast-paced, tech-savvy, sharp. As one critic wrote, “Cinema used to be an art of shadows and suggestion. Now it’s a symphony of pixels and precision.” Melodramas about family are fading. An actress once lamented, “There are no roles for mothers or sisters anymore.” But society has changed—joint families gave way to nuclear ones, and films merely reflect that.

Many of the earlier films included dancing by heroes and heroines. Madhubala, Meena Kumari, Padmini, Waheda Rahman, Vaijayantimala, Hema Malini, Sree Devi and Madhuri Dixit excelled themselves in dance performances. The accompanying music was equally captivating. Modern movies unfortunately have no place for classical dances or classical music.

Modern films aim for realism, but often lose the poetry. As someone observed, “Silent films said so much with so little. Today, some films say so little with so much.”

Earlier, actors were well-rounded in more ways than one—physically and emotionally. Today, they are trim, smart, and camera-ready—but somehow, they all look the same. Gone is the gentle charm once found in a single glance from someone like Nutan. We rarely see that kind of grace anymore.

That said, good films are still made. I recently saw two Malayalam films—Home and Kishkindha Kandam. Both had strong stories and tight scripts. But many others disappoint—too many thrillers, too much violence. It’s hard to tell if films are imitating life or the other way around.

Today’s songs, though technically brilliant, often lack depth. Many in my generation still turn to the old melodies, where love, passion, sorrow, and spirituality found voice. I once asked my nephew why today’s songs are so loud. “Because there’s so much noise around us,” he replied. It made perfect sense.

I miss the films that spoke for the poor, that wove nature into their narrative. I remember one Malayalam film where the wind too was a character! Today, nature is beautifully shot—but no longer part of the story.

Every generation clings to its own golden age. We know those times are gone—but memory keeps them alive. And so, like many of my generation, I can only smile wistfully when I hear Raj Kapoor sing: “Jaane Kahaan gaye woh din…” (Where have those days gone?)

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