Malayalam cinema recently lost two known actors in less than 10 days, but otherwise a mention of Rajan P Dev alongside Murali would leave many grimacing. Surely, the purists. The two might have acted in some roles that would have suited them even if they were swapped, but surely both veterans fell under two different classes of acting.
Both actors had a rugged look; it was in the way they made it subtle that Murali went miles ahead. His villainy was a measured menace, his pathos a refreshing profundity — he even gave heroism a touch of rawness. A scholar’s streak in his personality helped Murali give a new facet to Stanislavski’s system of method acting. Dev also was originally a theatre person, but drawing parallels between him and Murali is rather absurd.
In 1976, Murali led a dual life. During the day, he was a government clerk, but by night he donned multi-layered characters on stage. An active fraction of the alternative theatre moment in Kerala during the early ’80s, it was litterateur-actor Narendra Prasad’s Natyagraha that really groomed the emoting skills in Murali. Dev too, strikingly, gave up his dreary stint — as a film representative — and took up theatre. Being part of veteran N N Pillai’s group helped, of course. Quite a few plays lent him popularity, but the zenith came when did the role of Kochuvava in Kattukuthira.
Murali’s foray into cinema was with Njattadi (1979), though it was eventually the late Aravindan’s Chidambaram that marked his screen debut. Then came Panchangni. In 1986, this Hariharan-directed movie heralded his onset as a potent performer. As the brooding, suave villain who lusts after his wife’s friend, Murali was chillingly subtle. It was a refreshing change for the Malayalam cine fans.
Be it the rustic rogue in Adhaaram, the fisherman in Amaram (that won him the state award for best supporting actor). In passing, Murali has immortalised many of the late scriptwriter-director’s poignant characters — the theatre artiste in Chamayam or Appu maistry of Neythukaran (national award), Murali, a good reader of books, always gave the notion of doing meticulous character study before essaying them. Often, it’s said, he provided personal insights into some of his characters. Mammootty once described him as the Naseerudin Shah of Malayalam cinema.
Even his baddie roles had a sleek nastiness (Artham, The King). Murali’s characters thrived on crisp and impeccable dialogue delivery along with a simmering body language. It is the same characteristic that appealed him to Tamil cinema where he did a handful of character roles (though not as memorable).
Dev, on his part, missed out on playing
Kochuvava when the loud-mouthed character found portrayal on celluloid, yet his screen debut was no less momentous. As the whimpering don Carlos in Indrajalam (1990), Dev added a new dimension to villainy. The Carlos-tag left him in 1995 after the Rajasenan’s slapstick comedy, Aniyan Bhava Chettan Bhava. What followed was a long-winded session of villain-comical roles that somehow failed to humour the critics. But Dev’s brand of crude wit, his inimitable style of dialogue delivery and body language had already garnered a loyal fan following. He replicated his trademark villain roles in Tamil (Gentleman, Suryan, Kushi etc), Telugu and Kannada as well. But Dev never abandoned his ties with the theatre world and continued to produce plays under his productions, Jubilee theatres. He also made a shot at direction with Achamakuttiyude Achayan.
Murali dabbled with theatre, politics and writing. He authored five books out of which his book, on poet Kumaranasan, Abhinethavum Asante Kavithayum (Actor and Asan’s Poetry) won him the Sangeetha Nataka Akademi award. A confirmed Leftist, Murali’s political aspirations, nonetheless, clashed with his own personal ideologies. He remained a devout Hindu at heart. One highpoint of his career remains the epic rendition of Sreekantan Nair’s Lankalakshmi on stage. Like every actor, he too suffered bad patches in his career. It translated into mindless roles in CID Moosa, Vindodayathara and Kochi Rajavu. “I realise priorities have changed in Malayalam cinema. I feel like an odd one out now,” he had said in a recent interview.
Maybe their career never streamedlined in the same direction but in real life both succumbed to alchohol. If Dev (on July 29) suffered liver failure, Murali died (on August 6) of severe diabetic problem. It’s a strange twist of fate that at least in death they shared an undeniable link.
— neelkmenon@gmail.com