How Padmini Shifts The Lens On Women Who Reject Men

The Evolution Of Romantic Rejection

Women who jilt men are often depicted in sexist ways in Malayalam cinema. But some newer films are artfully dismantling the trope, writes Neelima Menon.

WHEN her groom insists that she read his prose on their wedding night, the bride instead suggests a stroll outside. After walking some distance, Smrithi ((Vincy Aloysius), still decked in her bridal gold, quickly jumps into a Premier Padmini and elopes with her lover, leaving her new husband devastated. In a village where everyone knows everyone, Rameshan (Kunchacko Boban) quickly becomes the butt of all jokes.

Padmini, directed by Senna Hegde, pivots around the life and times of this groom who is jilted on his wedding night. He carries with him the scars of this rejection, but interestingly, at no point is he shown to nurture a distrust towards women. On the contrary, when he eyes another woman only to realise that she is in love with his younger brother, Rameshan doesn’t take it too badly. When he does experience a reciprocal romance, he doesn’t carry the baggage of his past betrayals, though the woman’s (Madonna Sebastian) sketchy portrayal makes it difficult to add intensity to their relationship.

As for Rameshan's runaway bride, who is portrayed with a touch of hilarious eccentricity, she isn’t judged harshly either. When they meet again, neither Rameshan nor Smrithi is in the mood to rake up their past, they would rather move on. By way of justification, there are hints of a controlling father who kept Smrithi locked up in a room that eventually prompted her to take such a step for her freedom.

NOT SO BLACK & WHITE

Men Without Women

By Neelima Menon

Meera’s (Rajisha Vijayan) promiscuousness is handled with the same irreverence in the Stephy Xavier directorial debut Madhura Manohara Moham. In a conservative, casteist, and patriarchal family, with a brother (Sharaf U Dheen) and mother (Bindu Panicker) who were proud of her domesticity, this side of Meera catches them off guard. On paper, it’s a fascinating one-liner — a traditional family trying to wrap their head around their daughter’s sexual promiscuity. But the narrative never attempts to explore her mind space beyond the fringes, thereby reducing her to a vacillating, soulless woman. So you feel inadvertently sympathetic towards the men she betrayed than feeling the need to understand her psyche.

In Vineeth Sreenivasan’s Hridayam, when Arun Neelakandan (Pranav Mohanlal) admits to hitting on a woman whilst on a trip, his new girlfriend Darshana (Darshana Rajendran) finds it unpardonable and ditches him. But here, both their reactions are immature and volatile, leading to an ugly split. What is however unpardonable is Arun starting a relationship on the rebound and being unfair to another woman.

In films like Sunday Holiday, Vijay Superum Paurnamiyum, Kattappanayile Hrithik Roshan, Operation Jawa and Ohm Shanthi Oshaana you have women leaving men, only to be judged for their choices. In Sunday Holiday, the man (Asif Ali) is shattered when the woman chooses another man. But he eventually finds love again. What’s pitiable is how his former lover who is now married and seems happy is depicted as greedy and opportunistic. The scene when she looks on with envy at his lover comes across as the reveries of a filmmaker (written and directed by Jis Joy) who is still smarting from a heartbreak.

In Nadirshah’s Kattappanayile Rithwik Roshan, a young man decides to end his life when his lover ditches him. But the woman is portrayed as someone who opted for greener pastures, while the man is empathised with for his “true love.” Then you have the token “heroic” scene where the man gets even with his betrayed girlfriend by sympathising with her groom.

Many of these narratives point towards the man’s inability to take no for an answer. Instead of calling out his sense of entitlement and patriarchal conditioning, the narrative ends up victimising the man and demonising the woman. They end up alienating a woman with agency.

In the 80s romantic classic Thoovanathumbikal, Jayakrishnan (Mohanlal) is such an entitled brat that he decides for himself to marry the woman he fancies. But when she rejects him, not only is his ego badly bruised but he also tries to cover it up by deriding her in front of her classmates. It is the rejection that changes his life forever. Eventually, the incident chastens him, though he ends up being coveted by two women.

In another '80s Padmarajan classic, Koodevide, the man (Mammootty) is so blinded with rage by the rejection of his lover that he murders a boy whom he mistakenly thinks she is having an affair with. You can witness another version of that in Uyare’s toxic entitled boyfriend who attacks his girlfriend with acid for dumping him.

In Njan Prakashan, Prakashan (Fahadh Faasil), who initially ditches his girlfriend, gets a jolt when she pays him back in the same coin. But the narrative conveniently elects to place her as a sly vixen who takes advantage of his gullibility. Meanwhile, Comrades in America had a hero who treks the Mexico-US border to reunite with his girlfriend but ends up being dumped by her. Not only was her volte-face unconvincing, it looked like a shaky attempt to spruce his starry image that lands nowhere. And he adds some off-key lines about “Kerala boys and their commitment” that further add to his infantile attitude.

Almost a similar pattern of betrayal happens in Sathyan Anthikad’s Ponmuttayidunna Tharaavu and Dileesh Pothan’s Maheshinte Prathikaram. The woman dumps the guy for better prospects. If the former leaves without an apology, the latter at least owns up to it. During both instances, though the hero takes it badly, it facilitates their coming-of-age arc. But what’s interesting is how the choices of the women aren’t invalidated. Yes, you feel sorry for the men, not so much because of the betrayal but in not shying away from being vulnerable. The women characters are so well-written that you are willing to see them as they are — smart, practical, and not overly emotional. And neither are there vilified in the end.

In Anjali Menon’s Bangalore Days, what’s more objectionable than the woman (Isha Talwar) dumping the man is that she reinstates that modern girl stereotype (wild, free-spirited) which is almost a trope in cinema. Her character is sketched in such a way that not only does one expect the betrayal, but you are already slamming her morality. Therefore, your sympathies automatically reach the naïve small-town boy Unni (Nivin Pauly).

Pachu (Fahadh Faasil) in Akhil Sathyan’s Pachuvum Adbudha Vilakkum isn’t exactly hero material. His relationship with women has always been skewed. Pachu indirectly admits being a sexist who broke up with his last girlfriend as he disapproved of her clothes and lifestyle to which his colleague says — “Genuine girls never dump guys.” But then you can witness a much-chastised Pachu who says, “It is important to give space in a relationship.” When the heroine Hamsadhwani is in a spot, unable to decide whether to say yes to her suitor, it is Pachu who recognises the red flags in their relationship and advises her to leave him. “I was a toxic guy. One rejection chastened me.” Maybe Pachu’s evolution was a deliberate ploy to please the woke crowd, but at least there is an awareness and we are starting somewhere.

Stay up-to-date with the latest reviews. Sign up for our newsletters.

Like what you read? Get more of what you like. Visit the OTTplay website, or download the app to stay up-to-date with news, recommendations and special offers on streaming content.

OUR OTHER NEWSLETTERS

This weekly newsletter compiles a list of the latest (and most important) reviews from OTTplay so you can figure what to watch or ditch over the weekend ahead.

Each week, our editors pick one long-form, writerly piece that they think it worthy of your attention, and dice it into easily digestible bits for you to mull over.

In which we invite a scholar of cinema, devotee of the moving image, to write a prose poem dedicated to their poison of choice. Expect to spend an
hour on this.