part0014

Since there is little or no access to few films from the silent era, it is extremely difficult to assess whether filmmakers of that era depended on words—in the form of title cards—for narrative flow. But as mentioned in an earlier chapter, there were narrators or “explainers” in cinema houses who explained the story to the viewers as it unfolded on the screen. Even after the advent of sound films in the Thirties and Forties, title cards were still in use. The very first talkie, Kalidas, opened with a lengthy “preface” (munnurai ) written on title cards. In Gulebakavali (1935), a sequence in the narrative has the hero Tejanmulk meandering through the clouds on his magic steed. As this effect could not be achieved cinematographically, a title card announced to the viewers that the hero was flying across the sky on his magic horse.1 The practice of using title cards persisted even up to Marudanattu Ilavarasi, where at the beginning, a lengthy title card was scrolled on the screen to narrate the prologue. Here too, the narration was through words, though not of the spoken variety.

From the very beginning of the sound era, Tamil cinema was aurally oriented and could be viewed as part of the continuum of the aural tradition in Tamil Nadu. The traditional mass media, like ballads, performances of wandering minstrels and folklore, all testify to the predominance of the oral tradition in South India. In the early years of talkies, it was song which reigned supreme and typically a film from the 1930s had about forty to fifty songs. It may be recalled that the stories were mostly episodes from the Puranas and epics which were already popular with the audience because of religious discourses and later, through company dramas. Therefore films were used as mere vehicles for songs. There was of course some dialogue which was often written by the songwriter himself. What made Kalidas, which is referred to as the first Tamil talkie, a Tamil film, was that its songs were in Tamil, while the characters spoke in Telugu and Urdu. In Baktha Ramdas (1935) also, while the characters spoke in Tamil, Telugu and Hindi, it was ensured that all the songs were in Tamil. Song was the most important factor which determined the character of a film. Commenting on the state of Tamil films, a correspondent wrote in The Hindu in 1935, ‘the predominant element is music but it is mostly music of such a sort that one is apt to be quickly cloyed with it. What little speech there is, is turgid or stilted, bereft of all harmonious emotions and content.’2

Spoken words were totally neglected in the early years of sound cinema. It was only when Ilangovan (aka
T K Thanikachalam), a dialogue writer, arrived on the scene that the spoken word became important as an ingredient of cinema. Ilangovan wrote in a flowery style, replete with witticisms: for the first time, the dialogue-writer began to be noticed. He wrote for many successful films which included Ambikapathi (1937) and Ashokumar (1941). In Thiruneelakantar (1939), an argument ensues in the scene when the courtesan, Kalavalli, tries to seduce the devout Neelakantar. The lengthy rhetoric written by Ilangovan for this scene endowed the spoken word with a significance hitherto unknown on Tamil screen. But it was the film Kannagi, also scripted by Ilangovan, which marked the arrival of the dialogue-writer, in which Kannamba as Kannagi reeled off paragraph after paragraph in high flown Tamil. Ilangovan’s dialogue was identified as the chief reason for the success of the films he wrote.

There were also other writers who adopted this style of dialogue writing on their way to fame and success. T V Chari (Manonmani) and A S A Swamy (Valmiki, 1946), along with Ilangovan, ushered in the era of the dialogue-writer. S D Sundaram (The Virgin’s Love/Kanniyin Kathali, 1949), Jalakantapuram Pa Kannan (The Dream of Athithan/ Athithan Kanavu, 1948) and Bharathidasan (Ponmudi) continued the trend. In addition to florid and long-winded sentences, they employed alliteration to make the dialogue more witty and entertaining. Thus, along with songs, dialogue emerged as another ingredient of filmic entertainment.

However when writers began using dialogue to reflect the ideology of the Dravidian movement, the spoken word gained more importance as films were now replete with political content. The importance of dialogue reached its apogee when some leaders of the Dravidian movement entered the film industry as dialogue writers and used films as propaganda vehicles, as C N Annadurai did with Velaikari. M Karunanidhi made his debut as a dialogue writer with the film Marudanattu Ilavarasi. He set the pattern for long, alliterative monologues which made Parasakthi a landmark in Tamil cinema as far as dialogue was concerned. The evolution of rhetorical dialogue in Tamil cinema added a distinct dimension to films of this period.

The language spoken by the characters in Tamil films at the time can be described as “written Tamil” which is different from “spoken Tamil”. In linguistic terminology, Tamil is characterized as a diglossic language. In such a language, there are two forms—the high and the low. The high is used on certain occasions and is grammatically more complex. It is this form which is codified and legitimised. This is also the written version which can be used in a few spoken contexts also, such as oration. On the other hand, the spoken variety is the low form which takes a lot of liberties with grammar and form. In a diglossic language like Tamil, the distance between the written and the spoken form is great and the two categories are sharply defined: it is a case of the formal as opposed to the informal. In a spoken context which is formal, the high variety would be used. On the other hand, a personal letter can be of the low variety while an academic paper can be of high variety. What defines the form here is the relationship between the speaker and the audience.3

It is interesting to note that the language in Tamil films belonged to this formal domain. Most of the principal characters spoke the formal or the written form and one of the reasons for this was that dialogue in Tamil films was intended to be a one-way communication, as in more of a monologue like a speech from a podium. Such one-way communication opted for the high variety as more befitting to the speaker’s status. In mythological films, the kings always used the high variety which was in keeping with their royal position. The comic characters and menials used the low, informal variety, like the two fishermen in Sakunthala (1940), played by
N S Krishnan and T S Durairaj. The kind of language spoken—high or low—depended upon the status of the character, very much like the implicit social regulations regarding the dress and bearing of various social strata.

The dialect used by Brahmins was considered superior because it was spoken by the high caste group. In the early films, even royal characters often used this form. In the film Gulebakavali (1935), a story about a Muslim prince, which was apparently set in the Middle East, all the lead characters spoke Brahmin Tamil. In fact, this practice lasted even up to Chandraleka.

With the appearance of films scripted by leaders of the Dravidian movement, this characteristic of one-way communication and the use of high variety of Tamil was accentuated. In their films, each piece of dialogue was long and very much like an oration. Manohara, which had dialogues by M Karunanidhi, has a durbar scene in which Sivaji Ganesan, playing the role of Manoharan, delivers a long, alliterative monologue; the soundtrack of this scene was released on a gramophone record and later, on audio-tape. These monologues were remarkably like formal speeches. Even the camera angles were such that the characters appeared to be directly addressing the vast multitudes in cinema houses when compared to other characters in the scene. These long monologues were always delivered standing, and with gesticulations typical of stage oratory. The actors did not even modulate their voices to suit the soundtrack of cinema. A speech that was meant for crowds at a political rally was delivered to the film audience.

Gradually, writers belonging to the Dravidian movement developed public speaking into a finely honed art and used it effectively for political mobilization. In fact, it was common practice to charge an entrance fee for their speeches. When they sat down to write scripts for films, they used exactly the same structure and style. Here however the larger question is: which communication should be given importance—that between the characters in the film, or the one between a character in the film and the audience? If a film has a message, it should be woven into the filmic narrative for the audience to receive it through a cinematic experience, by their becoming active participants in the film at the level of imaginative experience and not as passive listeners. But this is precisely what does not happen when long monologues become a major part of the film—as in Parasakthi. To these dialogue writers, a film was just a public address system. The characters addressed the camera—in other words, the audience and not their fellow characters in the scene.

In Tamil Nadu, although each caste group and region has its own variant of the spoken language, written Tamil does not have these differentiations. In most instances, the high language used by dialogue writers is caste-neutral and region-neutral and therefore, characters in films are not authentic and lifelike. In some novels, regional dialects (vattara vazhaku) have been used. In recent years, there have been similar attempts in films also. One of the earliest films to adopt a region-specific variant of spoken Tamil was The Blessed Mother/Makkalai Petra Makarasi (1957) in which some of the characters spoke Kongu Thamizh, the variety of Tamil spoken in the Coimbatore region where the story is set. Even in films when an effort was made to give a regional flavour to the spoken language, this was achieved only partially and the formal variety invariably predominated. During the Eighties, in some films with a rural setting, there were similar attempts made, but not one film was consistent in this respect. Moreover, however colloquial or regional the Tamil spoken by the characters in the film might have been, when they started singing, they became very literary. However, mention must be made of Unnaipol Oruvan and Hunger/Pasi (1979) in which the Madras working class dialect was consistently used in an authentic manner.

The patois notwithstanding, spoken word in films must have a realistic quality. Satyajit Ray once wrote, ‘Film dialogues must have the feel of life-like speech. Only then can it have the true plastic quality which can enhance a film instead of stultifying it.’ When this quality is absent and formality of language takes its place, as it does in most Tamil films, cinema, instead of being strengthened by the spoken word, is thwarted. The cinematic quality of a film is enhanced by the manner in which words are combined with significant action and behaviour. This quality is often absent in Tamil films where dialogue is delivered as though it were a piece of oratory. In real life, it is the educated urbanites who tend to use words to express themselves while the illiterate and rural people are more likely to act out their reactions and feelings. But in Tamil films, even the rustic folk use the ornate, high variety of Tamil, as does the ghetto dweller, played once by Sivaji Ganesan, in Forgiveness of Sins/Pavamannippu (1961).

As long as there was dependence on the spoken word for the flow of filmic narration, there was no effort to stretch the visual range of cinema. During the Fifties, the heyday of the spoken word in Tamil cinema, the works of K Ramnoth were an exception. In The Plight of the Poor/Ezhai Padum Padu (1950) there is a sequence in which Kandhan escapes through a storm drain, carrying the wounded Umakanth. The short-statured police inspector, Javert, is not able to follow Kandhan as the water is too deep for him, while the tall Kandhan, played by Nagaiya, wades through with ease. This portion is told only through images as Ramnoth had the cinematic sense to contain the dialogue-writer.

However, domination of the spoken word in Tamil films still continues, militating against any development of a visual sense. A common feature is to resort to short soliloquies when the filmmaker is unable to visually depict a certain turn of events in the film. When the filmmaker wants to reveal the intentions of a character to the viewers, he/she sometimes resorts to “direct address” in which the character looks into the camera and addresses the audience. In the film Pudhaiyal, Tukkaram, speaks aloud the reason for his being there, even as he waits alone on the beach for the heroine to arrive. This practice is reminiscent of the folk theatre convention where the performer addresses the audience directly.