T G Ravi spends much of our three-hour-long conversation smiling. There is little trace in this soft-spoken man of the screen presence that once made him one of Malayalam cinema’s most notorious villains. A cruel face that repulsed and spooked many once.
Since making his debut in ‘Uttarayanam,’ Ravi has been in the cinema industry for five decades. He eventually moved into character roles, bringing the same intensity to roles. No matter the screen time, he makes the character memorable. In an engaging interaction with TNIE at his home in Thrissur, Ravi opens up about his cinema journey, life-changing love story, business venture, politics, stint as Cochin Devaswom Board president, and more
Shall we start with a bit about your family and childhood?
I was born in a village named Moorkanikkara, about 10km from Thrissur town. My father was a schoolteacher and my mother a homemaker. Ours wasn’t a large family. My elder brother is a doctor. While studying medicine in Mysore, he appeared in a small scene in a film. So, for namesake, you could say he was the first ‘actor’ in our family. I never intended to enter the film industry. It was completely unexpected.
How did you develop an affinity for communist ideas?
There was a communist leader named A M Paraman, who later became an MLA from Ollur. He was a relative of mine. In those days, he would give speeches near the Moorkanikkara temple. Five or six people would gather to listen.
Before his meetings, he would come to our house for tea. He would then take me along, though I was just a child. It was like an outing for me. I would sit and listen to his speeches.
Hearing them repeatedly, communist ideas gradually took root in me. Later, during the Emergency, the party needed messengers who were not directly associated with it to avoid police detection. I was entrusted with some such responsibilities.
After graduating from Government Engineering College in Thrissur, you started a business. Why did you choose that path?
I didn’t go for a regular job because of my Leftist ideals. I studied at a government school in my village. Back then, Moorkanikkara was a backward area. People lived in poverty. Women returning from marriage functions would take home the bananas and chips served at lunch to give them to their children. I still remember children coming to school in torn shirts and trousers. So, when I completed my engineering studies, I wanted to create jobs for at least 10 people. I started a small company with Rs 12,000 given to me by my elder brother. My father transferred 20 cents of land to my name, which I used as collateral at the State Bank of Travancore to borrow Rs 1 lakh. That’s how I started a small tyre-retreading company. It grew steadily and, at one point, employed over 100 people.
Your first film was ‘Uttarayanam,’ directed by the legendary G Aravindan. How did that happen?
When I was six, I got the role of a girl and danced to a Hindi song. That was my first acting experience. The teachers taught me the steps. Being the headmaster’s son also helped—whatever the programme, I would often be among the first to be selected. Later, in engineering college, I became the fine arts club secretary and eventually the general secretary. I joined a theatre group and began organising plays. That was also when I discovered All India Radio.
I went to Calicut for a voice test. Thikkodiyan (P Kunjanandan Nair) conducted it and selected me as an artist. During college, he would call me for plays. When ‘Uttarayanam’ was being made, Thikkodiyan was involved with the script. One morning, I received a call saying Aravindan was looking for someone and my name had been suggested. I thought it was a prank. The caller clarified that he was calling on Thikkodiyan’s behalf. I then realised I was being considered for a film.
He asked me to come to Koyilandy the next morning. When I arrived, I met Aravindan. He asked me to stand in front of him. I was nervous. He simply asked me to have food that evening. Two days later, I was called for the shoot. Aravindan asked me to play Govindan. The film went on to win awards. But at that time, hardly anyone knew me.
How did you move from acting into film production?
‘Uttarayanam’ made me realise how much I loved cinema. After that, however, no one called me for films. I didn’t have the connections to approach people either. At the time, the film industry was based in Madras, and I knew very little about cinema. I hadn’t even visited a film set. There was a lecturer named Gopalakrishnan in my college’s geology department. He had connections.
Through him, I got involved with ‘Padasaram,’ a black-and-white film with P J Antony in the lead. The production cost was around Rs 2–3 lakh. It dealt with an unusual subject for its time, and some people were uncomfortable with it. I produced the film, but it struggled financially. Then came ‘Chora Chuvanna Chora’ with Gopalakrishnan. I supported the production and also played the lead. The film went on to become a success.
Your relationship with your late wife (Subhadra) has often been described as unique. How important was she to your life?
I believe my relationship with my wife has played a significant role in shaping my character. We first met in 1961, when I was 17 and she was 12. She was my sister-in-law’s sister. We met several times over the years, and gradually our friendship blossomed. She was exceptionally bright. Her father was a teacher, and she started school very young, entering Class 5 by the age of five. By 12, she was ready to sit for her 10th-standard exams but needed special permission because of her age. She later joined Vimala College to study chemistry. The college was near mine. I would often go there to see her as a ‘relative’. Eventually, I realised I had fallen in love with her. When I finally proposed, she told me she had been waiting for me to make the move. (Smiles)
Was she comfortable with you playing the villain?
Absolutely. We would watch all the films together. Our bond was deep. She knew my real self inside out. You might be surprised, but I am a vegetarian and teetotaller. My wife had a fear of alcohol, and hence, I decided never to drink. Even before we were married, whenever I travelled, I carried a photo of her with me. The first thing I would do on reaching the hotel room was keep her photo on the table.
Were you personally ever uncomfortable doing violent scenes?
Never. We are artists. There was always that level of understanding and mutual respect with female co-actors. There was never any awkwardness.
Where did you draw inspiration from when playing villainous characters?
I never over-analysed things. I didn’t do elaborate preparation for most characters, except 1921. I played Variyan Kunnathu Kunjahammed Haji, and the Malabar dialect was unfamiliar to me. During dubbing, I sought the guidance of a friend named Rishi Babu, who hailed from the region.
Did you ever feel typecast as a villain?
No. I got some other roles too. But people expected me to be the one fighting Nazir sir, Mohanlal, Mammootty or Ratheesh. If a scene called for someone to beat up those four, I was the one who did it. That was simply the trend at the time.
So, you carried forward Balan K Nair’s legacy?
Yes. Just before I arrived, Balettan had begun transitioning into character roles. Janardhanan chettan was also active around that time. But he too moved towards comedy.
How many films did you do in a year during your heyday?
During the busiest times, I did up to 12 films a year. A main villain character usually needs only about eight days of work.
There will be a lot of fight sequences. It’s mostly grappling, wrestling, rolling around together. Balettan and I once did a fight scene that had us rolling in cow dung. It got so intense that people had to jolt us out after the shot was over. (Laughs)
One had to be careful around Balettan. You could end up with some hard knocks from him. He fully transformed into the character.
Any unforgettable ‘action’ experience?
During the shoot of our first film together, he advised fellow actors to be cautious and avoid mishaps during action scenes. He was a gentle soul off screen. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt. However, in our very first scene together, I mistimed a move and got punched in the face by Balettan. (Laughs)
There was a gap after your run of villain roles. How did the comeback happen?
I didn’t leave because I was fed up playing the ‘villain’. There were industry-related issues. During that period, re-treading became a major headache for tyre manufacturers. A lobby was allegedly at play against us. After sorting out that issue, I returned later with ‘Dhruvam.’ I played the role of a hangman named Kashi. It remains one of my most memorable roles.
Among your fellow actors, with whom did you share the closest rapport?
I have had good friendships with almost everyone in the industry.
Prem Nazir sir was a gem of a person. He would carry most of his own costumes for a film to avoid additional expense for the producer. Once a film was released, he would gauge whether it was likely to be a box-office success.
If he felt it might not do well, he would call the producers and offer them his dates for another film to make up for their losses. Nazir sir always treated me like a brother. I felt his warmth firsthand. He took genuine interest in the welfare of fellow artists. He had sponsored the education of some fans too. (Turns emotional)
He also took a genuine interest in my business activities. I was the Thrissur agent for his company, Carbon and Chemicals India Ltd.
Among the younger crop, Mohanlal and I were close. We shared Room No. 312 of a hotel for a long time. I was also very close to Ratheesh. He was quite a naughty, playful personality off screen. He was like a child.
I do have one regret. I never got the chance to act with Sathyan, whom I had admired. He was a true legend.
I had a good rapport with Jayan as well. After ‘Chakara’ became a success, I wanted to cast him in one of my films. I went to meet him, only to learn that he had died. It was a huge shock, since I had gone there specifically to see him. When his body was brought back, I travelled to Kollam to be alongside him in his final journey.
Have you noticed major changes in Malayalam film production over the 50 years?
Back then, a film was normally completed in 25 to 26 days. ‘NH47,’ a film I did, was shot in under 20 days. Malayalam cinema wasn’t as big then in terms of production or scale. These days, the number of shots and retakes has increased a lot. We can shoot as many times as we want. There is no tension about wasting the film reel. Those days, similar to theatre culture, there used to be a lot of camaraderie on the sets. Like a big family. That’s somewhat missing now. With the arrival of caravan culture, everyone withdrew into their own little cells. That’s not down to anyone’s personality, it’s just how things changed.
There’s a lot of discussion about women’s safety in cinema, particularly after the Hema Committee report. As someone who has been in the industry for five decades, what’s your take on it?
Like any other field, cinema does have its share of issues around women’s safety. Unlike most other kinds of work, those involved in cinema may interact more closely. So chances of inappropriate behaviour may be higher. But it is wrong to portray the issue as something unique to the cinema industry. Doesn’t harassment happen in other workplaces too?
You are one of the pioneers of using Thrissur slang in films. How did that begin?
It was first done by Oduvil Unnikrishnan. But it was a small scene. I was the one who did it as a full character in ‘Parankimala’ (1981). Bharathan, who was from Wadakkanchery, was the director. He wanted me to play a villain with a comical side. I asked if we could use Thrissur slang and some absurd punchlines. Both of us were young and decided to experiment. That template clicked.
In ‘Pranchiyettan,’ was there a specific discussion about using Thrissur slang?
Director Ranjith had long been associated with Thrissur, so that’s how the dialogues naturally evolved. Mammootty and the others would clarify their doubts and refine the slang as the shooting progressed.
Even within Thrissur, the slang varies. People in the market areas speak one kind, some Hindu communities speak differently, and Christians have their own variation.
You mentioned that you were a Leftist. Were you ever drawn to active politics?
No, I never considered it. Not even when an offer to contest elections came my way. The way I see things, I don’t have the temperament for politics.
Yet, you accepted the post of Cochin Devaswom Board president (2007 - ’09) under the Left government. How did that happen?
The CPM Thrissur district secretary called me one day and asked me to meet senior leader Vaikom Viswan. During our meeting, he asked me to take charge as president of the Cochin Devaswom Board. I asked, “Why me?” I wondered why I had been chosen when I had no deep personal ties to temple affairs. He replied that the government wanted someone who would never put their hand in the temple offering box. Since that was how they perceived my integrity, I was willing to step up. I found genuine satisfaction in doing the job. But if asked today, I wouldn’t do it again.
Why so?
It wasn’t really about any single issue. It’s a position where you face countless opportunities to make mistakes—an environment you don’t fully grasp, where people speak as though they are relaying the will of God. One is expected to act on those words. I am not questioning anyone’s devotion. If it’s genuine, that’s their faith, and I respect that. As Dr S Radhakrishnan used to say: ‘If you’re going to believe or disbelieve, do it wholeheartedly, as both paths lead towards the truth.’ But in the world we live in, real conviction is difficult to sustain. People end up believing only in fits and starts. My mother used to take me to temples as a child, and I still feel that pull occasionally. I have called out to God during difficult times. And I genuinely felt some positive energy in temples during my stint as Devaswom president.
You said you were satisfied with your job as Devaswom president. Any memorable interventions?
A crucial intervention that I made was regarding a sathram (resthouse) owned by the Cochin Devaswom in Varanasi. It is believed that an erstwhile king of Varanasi gifted the land to the Cochin royal family for its support when Aurangzeb sought to destroy the Kashi Vishwanath Temple. There was a proposal to sell the resthouse. I thwarted the move. I visited the place and found the building in ruins, though the board was paying annual maintenance fees to a private party there. I was disgusted when I visited the place. The floor was carpeted with bat droppings, despite the Board paying annual maintenance charges to a private party. Inside, on opening a door, I saw an old portrait of the Cochin maharaja. There were also some things he had used during his visits. That’s when I decided the property had to be preserved, that it’s part of heritage. I got the place cleaned and decided to maintain it as a resthouse for devotees going from Keralam. I am not aware of what happened after my stint. There were some other controversies that erupted later.
Returning to cinema, what are your upcoming projects?
The most exciting one is titled ‘Swamiyum Varkeyum,’ featuring Babu Namboodiri and myself. It is directed by Ambili, who is making a comeback after about 12 years. Another one has me playing a former Naxalite and atheist, whose son is deeply religious. It is an intense emotional drama.
Any role that you have been keen to play?
No, nothing like that. I am happy to do any role that’s offered. The scale doesn’t bother me.
Finally, any new-gen villain who can match up to T G Ravi in his prime?
(Smiles) Nowadays, you don’t have designated villains. The scene has changed. However, one villain character I envied was that of Keerikkadan Jose, played by the late Mohan Raj, in ‘Kireedam.’ The aura build-up for the character was spectacular.
TNIE team: Anil S, Rajesh Ravi, S Neeraj Krishna, Gopika Warrier, M K Sajeevkumar A Sanesh (photos) Harikrishna B (Video)