There was a time in Tamil cinema when the filmmaking process was controlled by writers and the narrative was marked by a plurality of themes, plots and ideas. With the emergence of MG Ramachandran, better known as MGR, the entire argument was woven around the protagonist. The actor became the end in himself
In his account of film and politics in Tamil Nadu, K Sivathamby divides this history into two phases. The first phase is characterised by the overall control of the film-making process by writers. The writer’s pre-eminence in this period is, however, to be seen in its film-historical context in order for it to make full sense. In the studio era, which lasted well into the 1950s in the south and in which actors continued to be somewhat dependent on studios, the narrative was also marked by a plurality of themes and plots, a fragmentary and episodic form in which different elements were often only very weakly connected with the whole. There was, thus, a dominance of the ‘writer’ in the studio, which extended in the case of the DMK film to these politically-inclined writers. However, they wrote conventional stories into which they inserted DMK messages, rather than attempting to transform the dominant film form as a whole. Yet, Sivathamby’s main point remains, that in this phase the writers (and producers/directors) determined the shape of the film.
“In the second phase of the DMK-oriented films when MGR was the chief personality,” writes Sivathamby, “the entire argument was woven around the protagonist himself. The whole concept was personalised in that it was shown as emanating from the personality of the actor. Here the emphasis was equally placed on the actor as it was on the story. Here too it is the dramatic narrative that is important, but the world of conflict exists only as a world centred round the hero and his personal emancipation symbolises the emancipation from the social evil depicted. If we accept this position, and see it in the background that the particular actor chooses to act only in particular roles then it becomes easy for the identification of the actor with the character. Such was the case with MGR.” Sivathamby adds further, “In the case of MGR there is an additional force of the social circumstance. He played the characters of heroes who are socially relevant to the vast majority of the Tamil filmgoers. In such a situation, he emerged as the symbol of the fulfilment of their own wishes.”
What these remarks bring into sharp focus is the transformation that occurred in the DMK film, whereby the figure of MGR became the dominant signifier in the films, and the message became valid only because it emanated from this privileged source. The rise of MGR as an autonomous signifier that transcended the party programme coincided with the entry of DMK into parliamentary politics. The breaking up of the Madras Presidency in the course of States reorganisation in 1956, and the coming into being of the Madras State (later Tamil Nadu), also form part of this background. The film Nadodi Mannan (1958) established MGR in his new role, and the party acknowledged this by organising a massive public reception. MGR was taken out in a procession, seated on a chariot against the backdrop of a rising sun, and garlanded by elephants. (Many years later, when asked what he would do were he to become a minister, MGR told the interviewer that he had already answered the question in Nadodi Mannan.)
The relative strength of the political and the aesthetic domains involved in this process must also be taken into account. DMK intellectuals never tried to transform the film form, but simply employed whatever form was offered by the industry for their own purposes. Thus, when MGR appeared in Nadodi Mannan, it was already a star film of the kind that was then beginning to be made in all south Indian languages. The history of the political use of cinema has been, as it were, short-circuited by the history of the evolving relationship of historical audiences to the cinematic image. No doubt, the roles had been reversed, and MGR, instead of serving as a bearer of the party message, had himself become the most important message of the film. However, it would be inadequate if not misleading to describe this as a case of one man’s clever manipulation of the party’s programme to serve his own ends. Even though that seems to be very much a part of the story of Tamil Nadu politics, it is simplistic to say that MGR ‘used’ the DMK film as a vehicle to launch himself before turning the tables on his benefactors. On the other hand, it cannot be denied that the DMK was short-changed in the phase of its dependence on MGR. Everything, thus, points to a radical break, rather than merely a shift in emphasis, at the transition point identified by Sivathamby.
Division of labour
In 1964, the popular magazine Kumudam carried a ‘review’ of three films, authored by an imaginary subaltern by the name of ‘Cycle Rickshaw Mallayya’. The longest section of the review is devoted to the MGR release of the week, Padagotti. Using this fictional MGR fan as a cover, the reviewer offers the prevalent middle class opinions about the dominant stars, especially MGR and Sivaji Ganesan. The fictional reviewer objects to a scene in Padagotti in which the heroine slaps MGR: “I cannot accept this, the director has made a big mistake.” He also dismisses another spectator’s sceptical remarks about MGR’s stunts, and generally indulges in long, admiring descriptions of the star. The review then turns its attention to Navaratri (1966), a Sivaji Ganesan-starrer. Here the “review from below” proves to be very even-handed.
During the 1960s, one important change became noticeable. In Thaikku Thalaimagan (Worthy Son, 1967), “as in MGR films usually, rather than showing the hero as falling in love with the heroine, it has become customary to show her as desiring him”.
By the mid-1970s, the films are littered with a combination of personal references and party slogans. As an example, we may look at the 1975 film Idhayakkani (Heart of Gold). This film begins in the ‘Satya’ coffee plantation, a reference to MGR’s mother. Straightaway a song is staged, where the plantation workers and MGR sing to each other. This is followed by the distribution of the year’s profits equally among all the workers, including the owner MGR himself. The very next scene, however, shows MGR back at his home, a luxurious mansion crawling with servants who then take turns to sing his praises. This juxtaposition of contrary messages should give us pause. We can treat the song and the socialist collective farming scene as a straightforward piece of propaganda. How then do we explain the next sceneIJ We could simply assume that the innocent masses, seduced by the song, would not see the contradiction. But what enabled this oversightIJ Was it that believing the message about collective farming, the spectator would forget to wonder how with an equal share of the profits, the owner could live in such luxuryIJ
We must first assume the pre-eminence of MGR as the precondition for the very existence of the film. If so, the opening scenes must be taken as both integrated into and separated off from the plot of the film. The personal references are an indication that the sequence was a separate party advertisement of sorts. Continuity is suggested simply by making the plantation the setting for both the staging of the farmers’ collective and the appearance of MGR as the zamindar in the very next scene. Thus, the story of Idhayakkani, begins only when MGR, a rich but large-hearted zamindar, helps a woman in distress who is almost run over by his car.
However, the ‘collective farming’ scene refers not to a collective at all, but to a zamindari. The equal distribution of profits loses its meaning if it is not referred back to the will of the person who decrees it. Thus, we can infer a continuity between this scene and the rest of the film, which is a fairly routine action melodrama about a zamindar with a golden heart who turns out to be a policeman. Innumerable films have been made in which good zamindars and loyal workers and servants cleave to each other in scenes of heart-wrenching emotion, involving devastating sacrifices usually by the servant.
Idhayakkani repeats the logic that was formulated in Nadodi Mannan. In the latter, monarchy is to be abolished by the monarch himself. But for this purpose, MGR has to appear in a dual role as both the king and his rebel subject. As a king, he will implement what, as a peasant leader, he envisions as a future without inequalities. “Monarchy will end with me.” This statement is both an affirmation of revolutionary change, and an assertion of the indispensability of the last monarch. His apotheosis alone will ensure the passing of the age of monarchy and the advent of equality. Similarly, it is for this reason that no contradiction is perceived in the radical planter’s luxurious life in Idhayakkani.
So, we have seen how MGR, the first of the new-style stars of the Tamil cinema, transcended the role assigned to him by the DMK as the bearer of the party message; MGR himself emerged as the only message.
Excepts from M Madhava Prasad’s book, Cine-Politics: Film Stars and Political Existence in South India (Orient Blackswan, 2014)