When he smiles, Mohanlal, in typical Malayali fashion, hides beneath his naughty eyes something like “You want to beat me, son? You wanna try? Come, but how far would you be able to go?” When he ups his right leg to wind up his #mundu, and take that signatured on-screen battle-stance, Mohanlal uncannily exudes a vibe of invincibility similar to that of the valorous heroes of medieval Kerala, whose martial and amorous exploits featured our bedtime lore till recent yore. Elusively enigmatic, carefully coy, mightily meek and harbouring humility, Mohanlal is tailor-made to rule the hearts of Keralites. And he does.
Kerala is ever-ready to glorify his win, cheer at his grin, and forgive his sin, for he is the dearest of her dear sons. A #Superson, I will say. All the more reason for her to celebrate, when he makes a spectacular comeback. Or is it just another random happening, like the Superson himself would love to brush it off as.
Even as I write this, my mobile phone is being bombarded with voices that tell me how effectively the Superson has signed back into the reckoning with a "spectacularly cinematic" #Drishyam. The callers take his name, #Lalettan, as if they are reciting it from a prayer book. They spill their goosebumps onto their handsets as they tell me, in the best possible detail, how “Lalettan” has “made it back, with a big bang”.
I ask each one of them whether it is possible to get me a ticket, but they say I can't even go near the hall where the movie is playing.
“It's Lalettan Mass… Don't expect to be humored with a ticket” (Let me enlighten you here that 'Mass' is a post-modern Malayalam pop-word that denotes star power). I smile to myself, and I realize that I am happy to hear what I just heard.
(Article by Murali Gopy)
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