It’s dark outside. The only light in the room comes from the vilakku, throwing soft shadows on the walls.
Children sit around their grandmother, huddled close, waiting for her to begin. In a low voice, almost a whisper, she starts, “Don’t step out after dusk, the Yakshi might be waiting under the pala-maram.”
Their eyes widen, caught between fear and excitement, as she narrates the story of the Yakshi in her white saree, sharp teeth flashing, her feet never touching the ground as she floats through the night, looking for her next victim.
These nights of storytelling were never just about passing time. They were a way of growing up, a way of passing down memories, fears, and lessons. Names like Chathan, Neeli, and Madan lived in those stories, changing from village to village, each with a different face, a different temper, a different kind of power.
Even now, when one is old enough to reason, to dismiss what doesn’t make sense, those stories stay. They sit somewhere deep, tied to nostalgia, culture, and identity.
Perhaps that is why these characters have always found their way into art — in books, songs, and, most memorably, on screen. Malayalam cinema has been in conversation with folklore for decades.
From the eerie ‘Bhargavi Nilayam’ that haunted audiences in the ’60s, to ‘Akashaganga’ with its supernatural chills, to ‘Odiyan’, ‘Kumari’, and the recent ‘Brahmayugam’, filmmakers have kept these myths alive, now reshaping them for a generation raised on technology and global storytelling.
The excitement around ‘Lokah — Chapter 1’ is the latest proof of how audiences are embracing these modern reinterpretations.
Here, TNIE explores how Kerala’s age-old folklore is being reimagined in contemporary art, where mythical characters move from fireside tales and sacred rituals to modern narratives that blend tradition, technology, and fresh storytelling.
For Santhy Balachandran, co-writer of ‘Lokah’, the connection audiences feel is immediate, organic. “I feel they embraced it because of the cultural resonance and the sense of ownership toward these characters. The idea of placing folklore characters in an urban setting was director-writer Dominic’s original thought,” she says.
“For me, incorporating a female perspective and being mindful of various layers of privilege in the narrative was important. That is how we updated it to a more modern ethos.”
The film’s setting in a contemporary context, and the trio of friends, she adds, made the story relatable, allowing viewers to step into the world of myths and slowly journey ahead of these characters.
Veteran film critic C S Venkiteswaran believes adapting folklore and myths in entertainment is a pan-Indian phenomenon. “However, what Malayalam cinema has always lacked is this kind of variety. Ninety-nine percent of our films are social dramas or comedies, with hardly any animation, very few full-length thrillers, and almost no science fiction,” he says.
“The only variety we had earlier was films based on Vadakkan Pattukal and Yakshi stories, but those came with their own limitations. With the digital tools we have today, there is immense potential to do much more. Lokah is a glimpse of that possibility.”
Next up is ‘Kathanar: The Wild Sorcerer’. Directed by Rojin Thomas, the film promises a fresh take on Kadamattathu Kathanar, with actor Jayasurya playing the legendary priest with supernatural powers.
The film’s first-look poster, which was released on Sunday, has already stirred discussions. It shows him standing on a cliff that resembles the face of a woman, his flowing robes merging with the gnarled roots below.
With cutting-edge visual effects and a strong cast including Anushka Shetty, Prabhudeva, and Sandy Master, the film is billed as one of the most ambitious ventures in contemporary Malayalam cinema.
Writer and orator Vilakkudy Rajendran notes that regional folklore and mythical characters are “deeply rooted in us and carry strong cultural significance”.
“Every story has its reason to exist. Each one, in some way, brings goodness, values, a sense of community, and even fear, but fear with good intentions. Retelling these stories for the next generation, without losing those roots, will always do good,” he says.
Mohanlal’s ‘Odiyan’ is a notable example. Going beyond box office and reviews, the buzz around it made hundreds of youngsters delve into research on the subject. People were seen regaling one another with Odiyan tales over tea.
A more recent example is the spectacular return of the legendary 1974 play ‘Raktharakshas’, which was relaunched by the Areis Kalanilayam theatre group in 2024. Currently being staged in Kollam, the play has been a remarkable success, with packed audiences at every show.
This link between folklore and art is inevitable, says Kerala Folklore Academy programme officer P V Lovelin. “These characters are woven into the cultural fabric of the state. Archives at the academy reveal that these mythical beings are more than just stories — they are cultural anchors that shaped how Kerala perceived fear, faith, morality, and identity for generations,” he highlights.
Madan and Chathan were guardians of homes, fields, and sacred groves, deeply tied to rituals and everyday life. Yakshi and Neeli carried tales of beauty, betrayal, and vengeance, reflecting society’s fears and unspoken rules, especially around women and power. Odiyan, with his shape-shifting tricks, symbolised secrecy, caste dynamics, and control.
Passed down through theyyam, ballads, and most importantly, oral storytelling, these figures remain alive in Kerala’s collective memory. “You know, the stories we grow up with are like rivers flowing quietly under our lives. I think they quietly shape how we see the world, the choices we make, the fears we carry, and the courage we find,” says Anagha Prasad, a film enthusiast.
“Folktale characters really reflect the society we live in, and the invisible rules around us. When I watch folktale-inspired stories, I feel so connected. They give a fresh take on folklore, and suddenly all those old tales feel alive again, making the whole film feel more meaningful and rooted.”
Animator and filmmaker Suresh Eriyat, known for his animated film ‘Kandittundu’, says these stories are like living organisms, growing with each retelling.
“In the US, they don’t have folklore the way we do, but they have comic books. When those characters became popular, they made movies out of them, and they became even more iconic (referring to Marvel and DC series),” he says.
“Comic books are to them what folklore is to us: open to interpretation, never fixed, never owned. That’s what makes them so rich; they are shaped by the imagination of countless people over time, making them personal and diverse.”
Suresh is worried about the fading of oral traditions. “Today, in the real culture, we are just forwarding content. Back then, forwarding meant telling stories, adding your imagination, passing it on, and making it your own,” he points out.
“That is why folklore connected so strongly with ordinary people — because it was their story, our story. Without the oral tradition, there is no folklore. But incorporating it into mainstream art, even when reimagined, is like documenting socio-cultural history in a new way, and that makes it important.”