Sthanarthi Sreekuttan is like that hidden gem you stumble upon in the school library - modest, charming, and a little bit messy, but worth your time.
Directed by Vinesh Viswanath in his debut, this film is a delightful snapshot of school life in rural Kerala, with a coming-of-age tale that revolves around an election for the classroom leader, balancing weighty themes with an unassuming charm.
Hailing from Karette, a quaint pocket in Thiruvananthapuram, Vinesh dared to dream big, even while crunching numbers as a sales executive. It wasn’t long before he found kindred spirits in Ambalamukku—a motley crew of dreamers who stuck together through the highs and lows of their cinematic aspirations.
In this conversation, Vinesh reflects on his journey to the director’s chair, his inspirations, the story’s evolution, its political layers, character dynamics and more.
Excerpts:
What was the starting point for developing Sthanarthi Sreekuttan?
In the past decade, two films that deeply moved me were Kaaka Muttai (2014) and Kadaisi Vivasayi (2021), both directed by M Manikandan. I hold all his films, including Aandavan Kattalai (2016), in high regard, with Kaaka Muttai serving as the greatest inspiration. I’ve revisited it countless times and even studied it academically.
My initial debut idea was a time-travel story, but then the concept for Sthanarthi Sreekuttan originally emerged as a short film. I shared it with Anand Manmadhan, Kailash S Bhavan, and Murali Krishnan, who later became my co-writers. This project was initially set to begin during the lockdown, but production was postponed, which added logistical challenges. Shooting the crowded classroom scenes was especially tricky, even for a relatively small-scale film.
How did the concept evolve from its initial stages into a feature-length film?
We later discussed the idea with Jenith Kachappilly, the director of Mariyam Vannu Vilakkoothi (2020), who felt there was enough potential for a full-length feature. He advised us that a short film would not exploit the story’s depth. This led us to revisit and expand the story, taking care to avoid creating something that felt stretched or unnecessarily long. I realised that simply fixing a story and creating characters would make it lifeless. That’s when I began recalling people from my own life. We looked back at our school days and listed interesting characters we had encountered during our childhood. One such inspiration was a teacher, a woman, who later became the basis for CP sir (played by Aju Varghese). In the first draft, it was a female character named Sulekha.
What changes occurred in the narrative or character dynamics when the character’s gender was changed?
As the story evolved, we started exploring its political layers. In the initial version, Sulekha’s goal was merely to transfer to a prestigious school, which felt superficial. When we reimagined the character as CP Sir, with Aju ettan in mind, we gave the role more depth, ensuring it conveyed our message without turning the story into a mere political statement. We were thrilled when reviewers recognised this balance. Also, casting the female version proved challenging—she was intended to be 40-45 years old, and we approached several mainstream actors. Some liked the script but were put off by the character’s limited screen time or political stance, as it was a villainous role.
Did you develop a backstory for CP to explain his elitist and classist behaviour, or was it a deliberate choice to leave his motivations unexplored?
We always create backstories for the characters, and CP was no exception. In one scene, we see him receiving intermittent calls on his phone, cutting them off each time with visible irritation. At one point, he even mutters “ivalu” through gritted teeth. These moments offer subtle hints about his past, but we chose not to explore this too deeply to avoid stretching the screenplay. Reflecting on it, understanding why someone like CP behaves this way is a question society should address. I’ve encountered many CPs in real life, including the female teacher who inspired the character, and I still can’t say why or how they became like that. So, we decided to leave it unanswered, allowing the audience to interpret it in their own way.
As a child, were you aware of the discrimination exhibited by the teacher who inspired the character?
As children, we didn’t recognise it as class discrimination, even though it was often stated explicitly, with terms like “colony” being used openly. Casteism was also deeply normalised during my childhood. Looking back, I wish we had been more aware and able to question such behaviour. That said, I’m glad we’ve progressed, with a more informed generation now, even though there’s still room for improvement.
What was your process for casting the child actors and matching them to their characters?
After auditioning and shortlisting, we brought in Sam George, a theatre trainer, and his team to work with the kids. While we had the right children, it was during the training process that their traits became clearer, helping us assign roles that suited their personalities. Although we wanted to break stereotypes around the Trivandrum dialect, we didn’t restrict casting to just local children. When Abhinav S auditioned, we instantly knew he was perfect for Ambadi. For Sreekuttan, Sam ettan chose Sreerang (Shine), which turned out to be perfect.
The film has a visually driven climax that conveys a broad message without becoming preachy...
When the story was envisioned as a short film, it ended on a comedic note with little emotional depth. As we expanded it into a feature, we knew the climax had to be more impactful, especially with the backbenchers versus frontbenchers narrative. The aim was to show their equality but through the perspective of a seventh grader, not an adult. Our research revealed that this concept was already a norm in countries like Norway, which inspired its inclusion in the script. It was rewarding to hear that KB Ganesh Kumar sir [actor-politician] later implemented this idea at a school in Adoor after watching the film earlier before its theatrical release.
Did you face any challenges during the writing process, particularly in conveying the film’s politics subtly without making them overt?
Fortunately, we didn’t face significant challenges incorporating politics into the film. Many films dealing with caste politics explicitly mention “caste” or refer to specific castes, but we wanted to weave caste and class dynamics into the narrative organically, avoiding forced exposition. While we included subtle hints to make the themes resonate, we were careful not to be too direct. The only scene that required fine-tuning was the pre-climax election sequence.
Is there a character in the story you feel reflects you the most?
I was more of a privileged student who observed and befriended such people. Sharath, Anas, and Anoop are actually the names of my childhood friends, and even the notorious gang in the film, Bhasmam, was inspired by real life. As for Sreekuttan, the only similarity with me is the childhood romance. I had a crush on a curly-haired girl like Meenakshi, and she’s my wife now. The visuals and music for the track ‘Kansoochi Thumbal’, featuring Sreekuttan and Meenakshi, were inspired by my own teenage romance.
Ambadi’s characterisation was particularly interesting...
Every classroom has its share of studious kids like Ambadi. Often, such characters are portrayed negatively, like Chathur from 3 Idiots (2009) or KT Mirash from Salt n Pepper (2011). From the beginning, we decided not to portray Ambadi in a negative or comical light. I believe students who are teachers’ favourites sacrifice friendships and meaningful relationships. They are burdened with roles like identifying troublemakers while their voices often go unheard. Through Ambadi’s arc, we wanted to highlight that he deserves to win because he embodies the qualities of a true leader.