What inspired you to enter the film world?
Sathyan Mash was my first inspiration. During school days, I wanted to become an actor like him. Perhaps that interest deepened when, as a Class 5 student, I got a chance to meet him at Bharat Hotel in Ernakulam. Like most teenagers, I was drawn to action films.
Later, while in college, I worked as a projectionist at Bhavani Theatre in Cherthala under Rajappan chettan. For two years, I worked there without salary, simply to watch films. I handled the 6 pm and 9 pm screenings and loved the sound of the projector. In 1974 alone, I watched nearly 400 films — Malayalam, Tamil, Hindi and English.
A turning point came when I attended a film appreciation camp led by George K George, then a Jesuit priest, who later left priesthood and became the president of an American university. I was 17 then. Watching ‘Battleship Potemkin’, ‘Pas de Deux’, and other serious cinema changed my understanding of film. That was when I realised this was the kind of cinema I wanted to pursue. I then became determined to study at FTII, Pune.
Was this during your student days?
Yes, while in college. Cinema became an obsession then, and the projection room was my classroom.
When did you take the FTII entrance test?
I first wrote the entrance test after Class 12 at the Adyar centre in Chennai, as Kerala had no test centre then. I was young and mischievous, and thought unconventional answers would impress them. In the general knowledge section, when asked who was the greatest exponent of the flute, I wrote “Lord Krishna”. Naturally, that did not help (laughs).
What happened next?
I kept trying for another five years. My biggest hurdle was the interview. I was shy, barely made eye contact, and often answered only yes or no. In my final attempt, I expected rejection again. Acclaimed filmmaker Mrinal Sen chaired the interview board, with Hrishikesh Mukherjee as an external expert for editing.
Since I had wanted to specialise in editing before moving into cinematography, that moment stayed with me. When they asked who edited ‘Chemmeen’, I pointed to Hrishikesh Mukherjee and identified him. They were surprised I recognised him.
Even then, I had technically failed the interview. Years later, after graduating from FTII in 1983 and winning a national award for my experimental film ‘Clown and the Dog’, a psychologist who had been on that interview panel wrote to me.
He revealed he had given me 100 out of 100 marks, overriding my poor interview performance because he believed in my potential. That’s how I finally entered FTII. I met him years later, after ‘Vasthuhara’, and whenever I visited Kolkata, I made sure to have dinner with him.
How did you come to know G Aravindan?
Aravindettan was one of the biggest forces that pushed me towards FTII. Even before I joined the institute, I had approached him hoping to assist him. After seeing my wild handwritten notes and enthusiasm, he told me, “First go to Pune and learn cinema.” So I knew him long before film school.
How did your relationship with Shaji N Karun begin?
I first met Shaji chettan by chance. While returning from FTII, I got word to reach Kottayam to assist Aravindettan on a documentary. When I arrived, ‘Panchavadi Palam’ (K G George’s film released in 1984) was being shot. Since Aravindettan had taken K G Jayan, who was assisting Shaji, I had no immediate work. Shaji chettan took me into his room and asked me to assist him on ‘Panchavadi Palam’ until Jayan returned. I worked with him for five days. That was our first connection. Ironically, I still knew very little about handling a camera then — my main subject at FTII was film editing.
How did you shift from editing to cinematography?
At FTII, editing was my chosen discipline. I studied it for two years and topped the class, but I also excelled in cinematography. My teacher, Bhanumurthy, urged me to switch. Under the institute’s famous ‘Wisdom Tree’, he convinced me to move to cinematography. I resisted at first, saying my focus was editing, but eventually shifted and specialised in cinematography in my final months there.
What was the next turning point?
After my marriage in 1985, I joined Christian Medical College, Vellore, as a producer for medical education films. Those two years deeply shaped my thinking. I filmed nearly 20 open-heart surgeries and several medical subjects. In many ways, I felt like a medical student. Watching the human body, surgery and clinical precision changed my intellectual understanding of life and reality.
What brought you back to Malayalam cinema?
After two years in Vellore, I felt the urge to return to films. One day, I went to Chitranjali Studio to meet Shaji chettan. There were no calls or letters then — you simply went and met people. He saw me and said, “Sunny came at the right time.” Shooting for Mohan’s ‘Theertham’ was starting the next day, and I had arrived purely by accident. Shaji chettan asked me to take his assistants, including M J Radhakrishnan. That became my return to Malayalam cinema.
You joined ‘Theertham’ without any preparation?
None at all. I hadn’t even read the script. I was thin, with long hair, and Radhakrishnan and I apparently looked so unconvincing that the producers doubted whether we could even handle a camera. They quietly called cinematographer Madhu Ambat, who had earlier wanted me to work on one of his projects. After speaking to me, he assured them, “If Sunny has come, he can manage.” That’s how I got ‘Theertham’.
You are best known as the cinematographer of ‘Piravi’...
Actually, ‘Piravi’ was my fourth film. My first three films happened almost accidentally, and all were closely linked to Shaji chettan. After my first film, I had even decided to quit cinematography and move towards direction because I felt I wasn’t good enough. But when I met Shaji, he unexpectedly handed me my next project, ‘Eenam Maranna Kattu’, which had originally been meant for him. I took it up almost as destiny.
My confidence was at its lowest during ‘Theertham’. When I first watched the rushes, I was devastated. The footage had been processed on “yellow stock” — a poorly stored film stock that distorted the visuals. I didn’t know that then and I thought I had failed as a cinematographer. I even told Shaji chettan I wanted to leave. But he told me, “You cannot leave a film unfinished. Finish it first.” So I completed it in my own style.
Later, when the footage was properly printed, Adoor Gopalakrishnan happened to see the rushes and told me they were good. Those were among the first words of encouragement I received in Kerala after film school. That gave me confidence. Then came ‘Oru Thooval Pakshi’, another project linked to Shaji. And ‘Piravi’. I assumed I would only be the operating cameraman.
But after the pooja ceremony, Shaji suddenly asked me to begin lighting. Only then did I realise I was the cinematographer. That surprise turned out to be a blessing. I had no time to overthink or overprepare. Everything evolved spontaneously and the images emerged naturally. Looking back, that instinctive process shaped ‘Piravi’ and changed my life.
How did FTII training shape you?
FTII was much more than a film school. I joined in 1979, just after the Emergency, and like any art school, it was full of rebels. There was a strong culture of questioning, debate and resistance. Students came from diverse social, linguistic and national backgrounds. I had classmates from Palestine and Iran, and for the first time, I truly understood how connected the world was beyond borders and identities.
FTII opened up cinema, music and literature for me. We watched films almost every day, often two screenings, and the real learning happened as much in conversations and debates as in classrooms. There was rigorous technical training, but also an open, enriching atmosphere that widened my outlook on life and art.
When I returned home, my siblings asked what I had learnt there. I had already made 16mm films before joining FTII, but I told them the greatest lesson was this: I had become a citizen of the world. That understanding was deepened by thinkers like Sree Narayana Guru and Nitya Chaitanya Yati, whose writings influenced me greatly. Later, Yati became a mentor and a close presence in my life, shaping not just my artistic thinking, but also my worldview.
FTII exposed you to a politically charged, diverse environment...
When I revisited FTII for a workshop two years ago, I felt the same spirit remained. On New Year’s Eve, everyone gathered under the ‘Wisdom Tree’, and I joined them in dancing. That video later went viral. As a student in Pune, I was something of an anarchist, though never violent.
Even my film ‘The Clown and the Dog’ explored whether violence can be a tool for social change. Back then, I believed it could. Today, I don’t. Now I believe hatred and violence only drain people. Peace begins when we remove both from our minds. Buddha is one of my greatest influences. In truth, all prophets preach peace; it is people who fail to understand that.
How different is Malayalam cinema today from the era you began in?
I was away from Malayalam cinema for nearly two decades, returning only in 2022 after my last Malayalam film in 2002. So many younger filmmakers are unfamiliar with my work. In that period, I worked with directors in 12 languages — something I consider unique in Indian cinema. I have worked on nearly 70 feature films, and even now discussions are on for projects in Odia and Assamese.
Watching Malayalam cinema from the outside gave me perspective. The biggest change has been digital filmmaking and the stronger role of capital in cinema. Earlier, filmmaking involved far more collective sacrifice. During the making of ‘Chidambaram’ with Aravindan, we slept on mats in small houses during shoots.
That kind of compromise and camaraderie is rare today. People are less willing to give up personal comfort. At the same time, I do not agree that digital technology has “democratised” cinema. A pencil is cheap, but easy access to a pencil does not create more authors.
How did your understanding of remuneration and labour in cinema evolve?
For years, I never negotiated pay with producers. From 1988 to 2000, I simply worked. That changed after meeting Papanasam Swami in Ambasamudram. He had invited me to record an interview. When he offered me Rs 2,000, I refused. He asked, “Did you ask your family before refusing it?” That question stayed with me. He told me I must demand fair payment for every job. After that, I began valuing my labour and asking for remuneration.
What did filmmakers like Aravindan teach you?
Aravindan was deeply ethical about work and payment. While making ‘Unni’, a workshop film with Harvard students, I suggested rewriting parts of the script. He refused, saying it was the students’ vision and he should not interfere. That was his humility. He was also careful about paying everyone fairly. While I was building my house in Thiruvananthapuram, he even helped me financially. During ‘Chidambaram’, my assistant’s remuneration was Rs 5,000. Later, he quietly gave me another Rs 5,000. That generosity and integrity shaped how I understand cinema and collaboration.
How do you see the rise of AI, positive or negative?
Like any technology, AI can be used both ways. I see AI-generated films as another form of animation, much like 2D, 3D, or stop-motion. I have used AI and found it fascinating. For one project, I needed a storyboard, and within 10 minutes AI generated nearly 50 shots. One of them gave me a strong idea for my film’s ending. There is now talk of Synthetic Intelligence (SI), which claims to go beyond AI by creating rather than relying on past data. I haven’t experienced that yet.
Many young filmmakers say they learnt filmmaking through YouTube. Does that reduce the relevance of film institutes?
I don’t fully believe anyone learns everything from YouTube. Many who make such claims have often worked under established directors at some stage. Film education still matters.
Why do you place so much importance on storytelling?
Storytelling is older than cinema itself — it goes back to cavemen. Whether it is AI, animation or live-action, story remains the strongest element. Without stories, people may lose emotional balance. Stories help us understand life, find pathways and survive difficult times. As Kunjunni Mash said, art can be an easier route to God than devotion.
What’s the status of K R Narayanan Institute? Have you been able to recreate the FTII campus spirit?
FTII had a unique advantage. Pune was a cultural hub and the film archive was close by. But cinema is a social act, and we have tried to create that atmosphere here too. The institute offers facilities and shared spaces that help students grow through practice and collaboration.
What can a film institute provide that self-learning cannot?
Cinema is not learnt in isolation. A peer group helps build critical thinking and political awareness. Students learn by debating, observing and working together. An institute also gives them direct access to masters in the field. That collective experience cannot be replaced by studying alone.
Why is peer learning important in filmmaking?
When we show our work to friends, they may simply appreciate it. But a peer group offers both creative and critical feedback. That sharpens our thinking in ways self-learning cannot. One of my biggest recognitions came after ‘Kahini’. During a workshop at the Satyajit Ray Film and Television Institute, Subrata Mitra watched the film. After the screening, he gave just two claps. For me, that was an award greater than anything else.
What’s your view on awards today?
Awards reflect the majority opinion of a jury. Tastes change, so they are never absolute. As filmmakers, we always feel our latest work is our best. When ‘Vasthuhara’ was released, I believed it was my finest work, but it received no award. Today, there are also attempts to make films that align with government policies or particular ideologies. Such films often get funding and recognition. I think that is dangerous.
Have such pressures affected the themes filmmakers choose?
I had directed ‘Bhoomiyude Uppu’, which explored how blind religious faith can distance people from God. Even some close friends questioned why I chose to approach God in that way. That itself shows how difficult such themes can be.
Has the freedom to choose such themes reduced now?
It is a complex issue. One major factor is the growing alliance between religion and politics. Every era has its belief systems, but many survived through exploitation. At the same time, that does not mean we should blindly reject everything. We need awareness and critical understanding. The problem arises when wealth is accumulated in the hands of a few. The only cure here is education.
Many pundits, including K Satchidanandan, said it was good there wasn’t a continuation of any existing government...
Change of governments after every term had only proved beneficial to the people of Kerala. If you study the policies enacted after each term, you can see that it is indeed a continuation of the same model, or maybe some parts of it had remained intact. It is not that a government came in and pulled the plug on all existing policies of its predecessor. At least, that isn’t the case in Kerala. But, of course, we are plagued by budgetary limitations.
What would your immediate focus be?
My immediate agenda is the modernisation of equipment to improve efficiency. Another goal of mine is to turn the state into a preferred destination for film studies, especially for students from neighbouring countries.
You’ve earlier donned the role of an administrator at K R Narayanan Institute. How was that stint? And how would that experience influence your new role?
Basically, I’m a film teacher and a professional practitioner. I know very little about administration. I’m just taking the early steps in that realm. There are students from different political and ideological backgrounds there. When rifts in society and politics happen across Kerala, naturally, this is reflected on the campus as well.
About the recent ruckus inside the campus/classroom... what happened?
Saturdays are usually for using library, meeting people on campus, etc. When some people arrived there, a small group of students allegedly did not allow them
to enter. Subsequently, they came in and created a ruckus inside the classroom. I was the one giving the class at the time. The students asked me to come outside. I told them we could discuss the matter after the class because we were against disruption.
However, they entered and continued with their explanation. I told them they could return later and discuss it properly, but they did not allow that to happen. But let me explain, I know this. I was the treasurer of the students’ union at FTII and had also taken part in protests there.
One person was suspended...
Yes, the person who came to me and talked, the leader, was suspended.
Any initiative to prevent such incidents?
This suspension is part of that. The activities have been frozen. I hope it will help prevent such incidents in the future and create a good atmosphere.
Do you have any plans to make a film?
We always have plans to do one more film. I was planning a film, ‘Iza’, based on Shihabuddin Poythumkadavu’s story. Twenty-five years ago, my dream was to make a film based on Anand’s ‘Marubhoomikal Undakunnathu’. I even got Anand’s silent approval. However, to do such a film, we need pan-Indian actors and a Rs 100-crore budget.