Vijayaraghavan’s film career was marked by a long wait for recognition. However, he eventually established himself as a formidable actor in the Malayalam film industry through a series of memorable performances.
As the son of celebrated playwright and actor N N Pillai, Vijayaraghavan’s theatrical roots played a pivotal role in shaping his acting career. In an interaction with TNIE, he shares his passion for acting, his inspirations, and his candid thoughts on the film industry and society
You were born into your father’s hands, literally, in Kuala Lumpur. Can you share that story with us?
(Chuckles) Yes, that’s true. After my father returned to Kerala from Malaysia after the war, he married my mother. He briefly worked for the Congress but soon became jobless, prompting him to return to Malaysia, where I was born. My mother, being from a village, was uncomfortable with the local doctors. She preferred my father, who had studied ‘materia medica’ and was a qualified ‘dresser’, to assist with my birth. Although my father had the necessary knowledge, he had never performed a delivery before. At 11.30pm on January 12, 1950, I was born, literally falling into my father’s hands upside down.
It’s also said that you were very close to your father...
Yes, I was. He had a unique approach to teaching life’s lessons. Instead of simply warning me about the danger of fire, he encouraged me to experience it firsthand. He’d ask me to touch the fire. I consider it a blessing to have shared such a unique bond with my father from the very beginning. We never had secrets between us, and I cherish the memories of walking hand-in-hand with him.
Did your father start a drama troupe after the family returned to Kerala?
Yes, that’s correct. My father was educated at CMS College and later went to Malaysia. We returned to Kerala when I was just eight or nine months old due to the Malayan movement in Malaysia, which made my mother anxious. Despite having savings, my father’s investments in a wood mill and a hotel didn’t work out, and we had to start over.
My father was a skilled orator and writer. He began writing scripts for plays and eventually started Vishwa Kerala Kala Samithi in 1952, which was inaugurated by Vallathol in Thiruvananthapuram. My father’s writings were exceptional, and his play Athmabali won an award from the Song and Drama Division. This success paved the way for other plays like Prethalokam, Cross Belt, and Kapalika. I grew up watching rehearsals and training sessions, which shaped my interest in acting.
What was your first play, and did you ever consider pursuing a different career?
My first play was Porter Kunjali, which I performed in while I was in Class 6. To be honest, I wasn’t interested in academics or exploring other career paths. My father would often vividly describe plays and characters, which sparked my imagination.
It’s said that your aunt had a profound impact on your acting career...
My chitta (father’s cousin Omana, who was a theatre artist) was a force to be reckoned with on stage. Despite her petite frame, she had a larger-than-life presence that commanded attention. When she performed, people were mesmerised by her character, forgetting her real self. I recall her performance in Kanakku Chembakaraman, where she played a character with a distinctive backward bend. It wasn’t just an act; she embodied the mannerism, even maintaining the bend during backstage moments. It was as if she had locked herself into the character, releasing it only after the three-hour performance. Her portrayal of Kadakavvur Atha, a former prostitute, was remarkable.
Was it challenging for you to transition from theatre to cinema?
Initially, I was hesitant to act in movies. My first film was Kapalika, an adaptation of my father’s play. I wasn’t satisfied with my performance. My father had written the script and I had accompanied him to the sets as a driver. When one of the actors failed to show up, the director, Crossbelt Mani, asked me to take on the role. I found it difficult to adjust to the lack of emotional continuity in films, compared to plays. I later acted in Ammaykkorumma, directed by Sreekumaran Thampi. I had only two scenes in the movie which, unfortunately, wasn’t a success. It was only after New Delhi that I established myself in the industry. Our plays were realistic, which made my transition to cinema smoother.
Have you tried your hands at experimental theatre? It was very active in Kerala those days...
My father experimented with one-act plays, in which I’ve also acted. His works incorporated postmodern realism, similar to the Bastian Theatre style, which explored themes of alienation. In his professional play Eeswaran Arrestil, my father employed postmodern realism, engaging the audience’s emotions and intellect. Whether in cinema or theatre, the creators’ aim should be to elevate the audience’s thought process. Art, in all its forms, should stir human conscience. Consider an acoustic performance – it can uplift us solely through rhythm. Similarly, art should have the power to move people without being didactic.
Theatre actors often mention the instant response they receive on stage. Is that a unique experience?
Yes, it’s a special feeling that can’t be replicated in cinema. The instant feedback from the audience is exhilarating, and that’s what drives people to excel in public speaking or performances. Some may get carried away, but it’s a blessing to receive such responses regularly. In theatre, there’s no distinction between the actor and the character — it’s a seamless blend. When I worked on films like Pookkaalam and Roudram, I wanted the audience to connect with the character, not just the actor.
Can cinema genuinely influence people, particularly in addressing pressing issues like rising drug abuse?
In reality, our parents and family have the most significant impact on us. The family serves as the foundation of society, followed by education, which plays a vital role in shaping individuals. However, our education system has flaws. We often learn concepts that have little relevance to real life. My grandson in the UK, who’s in the fourth standard, has already acquired practical skills like cooking, basic electrical work, and plumbing. His school maintains open communication with parents and covers essential topics like sexuality and ethics. In contrast, children here lack awareness about these subjects and are instead forced to learn things that don’t interest them.
Recently, some college lecturers shared their concerns about degree students struggling with basic writing skills. Our education system prioritises rote memorisation over critical thinking and research. Given this educational landscape, can we reasonably expect cinema alone to shape society? If cinema had such a profound influence, wouldn’t I have picked up numerous bad habits by now?
Has violence in cinema increased?
There is a growing perception that one can act without consequences now. In the past, when a policeman arrived at a scene, people maintained a distance. Even placing a police cap on a stick was enough to command discipline. But today, policemen are attacked and ridiculed. If the attacker belongs to a political party, the officer often hesitates to act out of fear for his job. In such an environment of anarchy, is cinema really the issue? There should be social discipline. Before demanding personal freedom, people must understand their responsibilities. In a democracy, citizens have certain duties, and they must abide by them.
Do you think cinema has a responsibility to teach morality?
No, art is not meant to be a moral lesson. Art should elevate our conscience, not dictate morality. People reject blatant propaganda. If they sense an agenda, they resist it. The best propaganda is the one that doesn’t feel like propaganda at all. This applies to cinema and theatre as well. Take Kunjan Nambiar, for example. His works criticised even the king, but his satire was never perceived as outright rebellion. We must be mindful of how we express criticism. One can critique Christianity, but should not desecrate the cross. Similarly, while people have personal beliefs, we should not deliberately hurt their sentiments. Nowadays, people use terms like ‘Thanthavibe’. I find it difficult to tolerate such expressions.
How do you view the controversy surrounding Empuraan?
I view it with disdain, regardless of who sparked the controversy.
The makers were forced to cut scenes…
I’ve heard many rumours and versions, some of which haven’t been made public. It’s easy to manipulate and present information in a biased way. However, beyond the controversy, the audience deserves substance. I’ve not watched Empuraan and don’t know what its content is, other than the hearsay.
How has the Malayalam film industry changed?
The COVID-19 pandemic marked a turning point, as people began exploring world cinema, including Korean films, which broadened their perspectives. Today, we’re witnessing a surge in innovative and thoughtful storytelling in films like Ponman, Vazha, and Manjummel Boys. These movies are pushing the boundaries of the industry and showcasing the diversity and creativity of Malayalam cinema.
Are you saying it’s a good time for Malayalam cinema?
Of course. There are so many artists today. Back then, there were just one or two leading actors. At one point, it was only Mammootty and Mohanlal. Then Suresh Gopi came in, followed by Jayaram. But there was a gap after that. Now, there are many talented people. That’s why more films are being made. In the past, people would say, “If you get a date from Mohanlal or Mammootty, then we have a producer.” If not, they’d look for Suresh Gopi or someone else. Without one of them, a film couldn’t be made.
Which is more challenging, theatre or cinema?
The two are entirely different. While working with troupes, we will have to perform different plays at different stages, even on the same day. The audience changes. Explaining theatre, my father used to say, “A platform to perform, a curtain in the background, a play in my mind and you in front of me as the audience.” There is no art without an audience. I think the audience in north Kerala are good connoisseurs of plays. In theatre, we have more freedom. It becomes the art of the actor as it is he who performs. It’s very difficult to convince people through films that you’re a good actor. That’s not the case with plays — there, there is no actor, only the character.
Some of your movies, in which you played the lead, have lots of fight scenes…
Yes. I had to do fight scenes which were not so comfortable. So, when I told one of the directors about my inhibitions, he just shrugged it off saying fight scenes have a big market in the Malabar region. Films are made to cater to the likes and dislikes of the viewers. But fight scenes were never my forte.
In cinema, does an actor’s image play a significant role? For instance, Mohanlal has portrayed many larger-than-life characters, making it challenging for the audience to accept him in simpler roles?
That’s the nature of stardom. It’s a product that requires certain expectations to be met. For example, if a new actor is cast as Mohanlal’s father, it may not be believable. However, if Mohanlal plays the father of a new actor, it could work. Similarly, with Rajinikanth, audiences may only accept him playing a father’s role if the son is portrayed by another established actor. I’ve always desired to avoid being typecast into a specific image.
The character of Appu Pillai (Kishkindha Kaandam)… we’ve not seen many such persons in society...
Nor have I.
Especially the expressions on your face. How did you do that?
Acting is not to be done through your face but with your heart. I believe so. My father used to write at night and would then sit seemingly lost, thinking of the portions he was about to write. Then his pen would remain stationary but his fingers would move. I’ve copied the mannerisms in Kishkindha Kaandam. That was my switch in the film. When the shooting started I told myself the audience shouldn’t know the character was having that particular problem. The audience should think the character is a normal person who loses his temper easily.
Which is your most recent favourite character?
I enjoyed playing my role in the film Leela. Although the film wasn’t a success, it remains a highlight of my career. I also liked my work in Pookkaalam.
Your character in Salt and Pepper was quite distinctive…
Yes, I liked my character in Salt and Pepper. Typically, I avoid romantic roles, as my perception of romance differs from the conventional portrayals. I also never felt comfortable with dancing. However, under the brilliant direction of Aashiq Abu, I was able to play a romantic character convincingly.
Your portrayal of Cheradi Skariah, an old man in Ekalavyan, was well-received. You’ve taken on roles that transcend your age...
I’ve always been eager to play diverse roles, especially those of older individuals. I was particularly drawn to the character of Cheradi Skariah and even argued with Ranji Panicker to secure the part.
Did you model your portrayal of Cheradi Skariah after anyone?
Not exactly. A character is often a composite of various influences. We absorb mannerisms from multiple sources. While playing Cheradi Skariah, I recalled a college student I knew who exuded confidence and wealth. He’d wear jubbah-dhoti, drive a Fiat car, and smoke 555 cigarettes. His demeanour had a lasting impact on me, and I incorporated elements of his personality into the character.
When you were approached to play the character in Ramji Rao Speaking, how did you react?
I loved the opportunity. The character isn’t complex, with no real emotional arc. It’s more of a caricature, with a single, humorous dimension. The incongruity of the character creates comedic value. Landing such roles is a blessing.
After a 40-year career, you received a state award last year. How did you feel about it?
Honestly, I didn’t feel overwhelmed. I had hoped for it, especially after playing Cheradi Skariah, for which I won the critics’ award. I thought I’d surely receive the state award then, but it didn’t happen. Similarly, after Desadanam, I expected to win but didn’t. Over time, I stopped worrying about awards. What brings me joy is when people watch my movies and call to appreciate my work. As actors, we exhibit ourselves to a large audience, which is a unique experience. This profession allows us to explore various roles and emotions, experiencing things we’d never do in real life, like portraying a collector, policeman, or thief. No other job offers this kind of versatility.
Will you be directing a film?
No, I don’t think so. I’m not entirely sure I understand the audience’s preferences. However, I have had the opportunity to direct stage plays, which I consider a fortunate experience. In theatre, I’ve worked closely with actors, guiding them through their performances. It was a rewarding experience, but cinema is a different ball game altogether. The stakes are higher and the financial investment is substantial. You need to be confident that your investment will pay off.
Is Vijayaraghavan as rough and tough in real life as he appears on screen?
Not at all. I’m actually a laid-back person without any extreme obsessions. I recall my initial days, where I arrived on set in a Toyota car bought by my father. Even now, I don’t have a fascination with material possessions like cars. My only desire is to secure meaningful roles in films.
Do you believe in God?
Honestly, I’ve never learned to believe. Growing up, our home didn’t have prayer rituals, although my mother would occasionally visit the temple. My father, on the other hand, didn’t believe, but he respected others’ beliefs. After my mother passed away in 1991, I felt lost and began visiting the Mookambika temple. Although I still don’t consider myself a believer, I experienced a sense of calmness there. Perhaps it was my emotional connection with my mother that drew me to the temple. I also feel a strong presence of my father in my life. He once told me, “God is like a wall – those who are afraid lean on it.” As a fearless person, he didn’t need that support.
What is your philosophy of life?
For me, everything revolves around the present moment. Today, now – that’s all that truly matters. I believe that’s enough, and there’s no need to look beyond that. We can find contentment in the here and now, without craving more.
TNIE team: Rajesh Abraham, Rajesh Ravi, Manoj Viswanathan, Anu Kuruvilla, Anna Jose. A Sanesh (photos), Pranav V P (video)