From Rathinirvedam To Kumbalangi Nights, The Many Faces Of Adolescence In Malayalam Cinema
From fantastical crushes to quietly radical teens, Malayalam films have navigated the turbulent waters of youth with tenderness, whimsy — and sometimes troubling oversight, writes Neelima Menon.
Last Updated: 02.48 PM, Apr 23, 2025
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IN PHILIP BARANTINI’s miniseries Adolescence, one of the most crushing passages unfolds as 13-year-old Jamie, who has been accused of murdering a classmate, engages in a tense conversation with a forensic psychologist at a secure training centre. Initially defensive and distrustful, Jamie’s demeanour gradually unravels as the psychologist calmly probes his thoughts on his father, women, int imacy, social media, and masculinity. His outbursts of fury reveal a disturbing undercurrent of misogynistic conditioning, shedding light on the harsh realities of peer pressure, online radicalisation, and the toxic influence of the manosphere.
The scene effectively captures the complexity of adolescent emotions, the fragility of identity formation, and how societal norms can shape individual attitudes and behaviours. Inspired by this, we looked at how Malayalam cinema has represented young adulthood. From the tender moments of first crushes and sexual awakenings to dreamy fantasies, familial frictions, and the struggle for selfhood, here’s how adolescence has been cinematically imagined over the decades.
Between Sexual Awakenings and Whimsical Dreams
Traditionally — and for the longest time — Malayalam cinema explored adolescence through a narrow lens: either the thrill of sexual awakening or the carefree whimsy of teenage years. Societal norms, cultural sensitivities, or the urge to cater to broader audiences might explain this limited framing. That perhaps explains the continued fixation on Bharathan’s Rathinirvedam (1978) and its portrayal of adolescent sexuality. The film follows 16-year-old Pappu (Krishna Chandran) as he navigates his desires for an older woman, Rathi (Jayabharathi). In retrospect, Rathi’s depiction feels voyeuristic, objectifying her to illustrate Pappu’s longing.
A decade later, the same writer, Padmarajan, returned to similar terrain in Njan Gandharvan (1991), delving into the tumultuous awakening of a teenage girl who secretly romances a celestial being. Like his earlier work, the depiction leans towards the explicit and the fantastical, rarely pausing to explore the emotional or psychological depths of the protagonist’s journey.
More subtle in its treatment, Venal Kinavukal (1991), written by MT Vasudevan Nair and directed by KS Sethumadhavan, also falls short of a truly textured portrayal of adolescent struggles. The film follows four boys as they navigate puberty, societal expectations, and unfulfilled desires, but ultimately the characters’ tragic ends feel less like the result of complex internal conflict and more like consequences of not being heard.
Ironically, it was the same Padmarajan who gently explored the inner life of teenage angst, including a rare and thoughtful portrayal of homosexuality, in Deshadanakili Karayarilla (1986). In Sally (Shari) and Nimmi (Karthika), he gave us two contrasting teens — both neglected by their parents — grappling with insecurities and unspoken emotions. Sally rebels against authority, while Nimmi has learnt to absorb and endure it, illustrating how different adolescents process the world around them.
In Hariharan’s Aranyakam (1988), with a screenplay by MT Vasudevan Nair, the whimsical and often tumultuous world of adolescent dreams is personified by Ammini (Saleema). Unapologetically free-spirited, Ammini is considered a social embarrassment by her conservative family. Her solitary childhood draws her to the freedom of forests and the companionship of birds. The film intertwines her story with the Naxalite movement, offering a quiet, internal counterpoint to the hyper-masculine trope of the 'angry young man'. Ammini’s gentle rebellion gives voice to women’s perspectives in socio-political struggles — perspectives often overlooked.
In Ennu Swantham Janakikutty (1998), Hariharan and MT introduced another precocious teenager — Janaki (Jomol) — who feels unseen in her household. Her emotional unrest leads to a hallucinatory bond with a Yakshi who seemingly protects her. Much like Njan Gandharvan’s Bhama, Janaki uses fantasy to break free from the confines of convention. When her heart heals, the Yakshi disappears — symbolising the vulnerability of adolescence and the quiet compromises of growing up. MT’s recurring device of blending the real and the fantastical mirrors the creative, fragile mental space teenagers often inhabit.
The Evolution of the Precarious Teen
In the past decade, Malayalam cinema’s portrayal of adolescence has matured, embracing more layered and realistic narratives. Pooja (Nazriya Nazim) in Jude Anthany Joseph’s Ohm Shanthi Oshana (2014) and June (Rajisha Vijayan) in Ahammed Khabeer’s June (2019) represent witty, grounded, and relatable teenagers. Both characters embody a mix of dreaminess, ambition, emotional turmoil, and humour. Their journeys reflect a growing agency — navigating heartbreak, resisting conventional expectations, and asserting their sense of self. Their resilience doesn't come from grand gestures but from an evolving self-awareness that allows them to hold on to their identity, even in the face of emotional upheaval.
Sharanya (Anaswara Rajan), in Girish AD’s Super Sharanya (2022), is another layered portrayal of adolescence. A small-town girl thrust into campus life, she starts off overwhelmed — uncertain, emotional, and unsure. Her encounters with persistent male attention raise valid questions around consent and agency. But as she finds love and grows in confidence, Sharanya’s arc becomes one of quiet transformation and self-actualisation.
In Thanneer Mathan Dinangal (2019), also by Girish AD, Jaison (Mathew Thomas) is the archetype of the confused teenage boy, grappling with unrequited love. Meanwhile, in Udhaharanam Sujatha (2017), Athira (Anaswara Rajan again) plays a more complex character — a girl who, while self-centred and stubborn, slowly learns to recognise her mother’s silent struggles and sacrifices. Her growth feels earned and authentic, a reflection of adolescent self-absorption giving way to emotional maturity.
Then there’s Franky (Mathew Thomas) in Madhu C Narayanan’s Kumbalangi Nights (2019), whose character subtly underscores how familial dysfunction affects young minds. The youngest of the Napoleon brothers, Franky displays an emotional intelligence that often eludes his elders. His grounded presence and plainspoken insights offer stability in a house teetering on chaos. He becomes both anchor and observer — a reminder of how adolescents in broken homes are often forced into premature adulthood, cultivating resilience to protect their fragile worlds.