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Madness As Method: The Priyadarshan Legacy Behind The Pet Detective

Praneesh Vijayan’s film feels like an attempt to reclaim a genre Priyadarshan once ruled with effortless wit — the art of turning flawed, foolish, and flamboyant characters into comic gold.

Madness As Method: The Priyadarshan Legacy Behind The Pet Detective

The release of The Pet Detective feels like the perfect moment for a nostalgic roundup of Priyadarshan’s iconic oddball comic characters over the years.

Last Updated: 06.35 PM, Oct 25, 2025

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VERY EARLY in Praneesh Vijayan’s The Pet Detective, we get a glimpse of the absurdities ahead — a flashback sequence takes us to a detective caught in the crossfire of a Mexican don’s shooting spree, who later escapes to Kerala to save himself. That becomes the origin story of his son, Private Detective Tony Jose Alula (Sharaf U Deen), who accidentally stumbles into the business of tracing missing pets. What follows is a parade of quirky characters and a comedy of errors that stretches along a wafer-thin plot. For those who grew up on Priyadarshan’s oddball comedies of the '80s, this isn’t novel, just a familiar echo, minus the same sharpness. Take the characters, for instance — there’s Rajat Menon, a harebrained cop more invested in his rivalry with a schoolmate over a woman than in actual policing; a Mangalore don who’s far less menacing than he appears; a Mexican-Malayali don perpetually at the mercy of his partner; and a social media influencer who’s an unabashed creep. The film teems with such caricatures, each adding to its loud, chaotic humour, even if not all of them land. This feels like the perfect moment for a nostalgic roundup of Priyadarshan’s oddball comic characters, highlighting why they’ve remained so iconic over the years.

Sukumari in a still from Poochakkoru Mookkuthi.
Sukumari in a still from Poochakkoru Mookkuthi.

Sankaramangalathu Revathy Amma | POOCHAKKORU MOOKUTHI:

In his debut, Poochakkoru Mookkuthi, Priyadarshan crafted one of his finest ensembles of oddball characters, weaving a narrative driven by a relentless comedy of mistaken identities and chaotic misunderstandings. Among these, Sankaramangalathu Revathy Amma stands out vividly — the millionaire’s wife who begins to shed her inhibitions once they shift to the city. She navigates this new world with a mix of naivety and cunning, learning to twist dance, pretending to understand cricket conversations, and even advising her rustic husband on style, fitness, and modern living. Sukumari’s performance imbues Revathy with a radiant joie de vivre, balancing charm, wit, and a subtle sensuality, making her both hilarious and unexpectedly relatable. Through Revathy, Priyadarshan not only captures the comedy inherent in culture shock and social pretensions but also presents a character who embodies aspiration, adaptability, and the quiet rebellion of a woman carving her own space amidst absurdity.

Jagathy Sreekumar in a still from Boeing Boeing.
Jagathy Sreekumar in a still from Boeing Boeing.

OP Olassa | BOEING BOEING: 

In a story that revolves around a man juggling romances with three women to climb the social ladder, OP Olassa emerges as the most unlikely comic relief. A perpetually struggling writer who can’t quite grasp what his editor wants, Olassa spins one absurd story after another, dabbling in every possible genre — contemporary, abstract, postmodern — with misplaced confidence. Everything about him is exaggeratedly theatrical: from the way he dramatically unfurls an endless scroll of paper to his solemn declaration that his work will make women weep, men furious, and children cry. He admits, without hesitation, that he often writes while stoned, and to prove his point, launches into a bout of literary brilliance: “In this marijuana-induced world, Bhima and Yudhishthira are smoking beedis, Guruvayurappan has a cold, and the epics have merged with Chengapuzha’s Ramanan.” Olassa becomes the unwitting Soothradharan — the puppeteer — of a ridiculously funny world built on delusion and misplaced grandeur. Jagathy Sreekumar is unhinged brilliance here, embodying Olassa with an energy that’s both manic and magnetic.

Sukumari in a still from Boeing Boeing.
Sukumari in a still from Boeing Boeing.

Dick Ammayi | BOEING BOEING: 

Even as Shyam (Mohanlal) frantically tries to balance three women (air stewardesses with conflicting schedules) under the same roof, the elderly house help Dick Ammayi remains remarkably unbothered. She drifts through the chaos with an air of calm detachment, as though in her mind she’s an island adrift in a turbulent sea. The squabbles, the deceptions, the jealous confrontations — none of them ruffles her. The only moment this stern, matronly figure lets her guard down is when she’s bribed with a drink; only then do we glimpse a flicker of indulgence. Otherwise, Dick Ammayi exists in her own unshakable little universe, unmoved and unaffected. Sukumari makes it all look effortless, from her dry wit to that hilarious tipsy jig with the two men lost in stupor — a moment that perfectly captures Priyadarshan’s flair for finding comedy in composure.

MA Dhavan in a still from Mazha Peyyunnu Maddalam Kottunnu.
MA Dhavan in a still from Mazha Peyyunnu Maddalam Kottunnu.

In yet another of Priyadarshan’s screwball comedies teeming with eccentrics, Madhavan — or as he insists on calling himself, MA Dhavan — takes the whole bakery. A self-proclaimed bourgeois, Dhavan returns from America dripping with pretension. When his mother greets him with open arms, he recoils, embarrassed by her “cheap sentiments.” Spotting his family still driving an old Ambassador, he dismisses them as “cultureless people.” Yet beneath all the bravado and faux sophistication, Dhavan is all façade — hopelessly failing to impress his fiancée despite flaunting his newly acquired “American polish.” The ultimate irony comes when his humble childhood friend, now his driver, effortlessly outshines him, even managing to win over Dhavan’s fiancée without any pretence. Sreenivasan plays Dhavan with a mix of goofiness, brittle pride, and just the right touch of pathos, turning him into one of Priyadarshan’s most memorably ridiculous creations.

Jagathy Sreekumar and Mohanlal in a still from Kilukkam.
Jagathy Sreekumar and Mohanlal in a still from Kilukkam.

Nischal | KILUKKAM: 

Though at its heart, Kilukkam is a story of romance and illegitimacy, Priyadarshan characteristically hides the drama under a carpet of hilarity, populated by characters who refuse to take life or themselves too seriously. Leading the pack is Nishchal, a delightfully sly presence. He’s the first to mock Joji’s endless financial troubles, but when he wants, he can be endlessly charming, which is why Joji’s fanciful tales of Nandini’s wealth excite him initially. But when those dreams crash, Nishchal briefly slips into the role of Joji’s tormentor, only to make a sharp, 90-degree turn once he discovers that Nandini is, in fact, a runaway heiress. It’s classic Priyan — shades of grey painted with laughter — and Jagathy, as always, is the irrepressible life of the party.

Innocent in a still from Kilukkam.
Innocent in a still from Kilukkam.

Kittunni | KILUKKAM: 

If Justice Pillai is the tyrant who keeps everyone around him perpetually on edge, Kittunni is his overworked, perpetually harried house help, a man who’d give anything to escape but remains trapped in the Judge’s orbit. Day after day, Pillai mocks him — for undercooked fish curry, missed deadlines, or simply existing within reach. So when Kittunni finally wins the lottery, his first instinct is to hurl a string of expletives at his tormentor before he storms out. Of course, fate (and Priyadarshan’s mischief) has other plans as the poor man is duped and forced to crawl back to his old job. Only Priyan could turn a character like Kittunni — an everyman ground down by a toxic work culture into a bundle of laughter and empathy. Innocent is, unsurprisingly, all aces here, infusing Kittunni’s frustrations with warmth, wit, and an aching humanity.

Sreenivasan in a still from Mukunthetta Sumitra Vilikkunnu.
Sreenivasan in a still from Mukunthetta Sumitra Vilikkunnu.

Vishwanath | MUKUNDETTA SUMITRA VILIKUNNU

Priyadarshan has always had an uncanny knack for populating his romantic narratives with delightfully quirky characters, often steering the story away from its core theme and into irresistible chaos. Take Vishwanath, for instance — an absolute cad who boasts of contacts and jobs he never had, and yet somehow finds himself paired with the gullible Mukundan (Mohanlal). For every elaborate lie Vishwanath spins, it’s Mukundan who ends up paying the price, while Vishwanath glides through unscathed. Priyadarshan turns him into a kind of social experiment — a sly study of how charm and audacity can masquerade as success. And, of course, it takes someone like Sreenivasan to make such a morally elastic character both exasperating and utterly likeable.

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