Kalu Sudu Mal: The Cinematic Suicidal Body and its Politics
--Neloufer de Mel
Ever since the suicide bomber was first used as a living weapon
by the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) in its separatist
war against the Sri Lankan State, (with an estimated 217 suicide
attacks to date), the suicide bomber has become a focus of public
scrutiny. Such killings, despite their deadly recurrence throughout
the 19 year war, still remain both disturbing and fascinating.
The bomber is not an inanimate weapon but a human being. Yet,
where is the humanity in the destruction and annihilation of innocent
life the bomber causes in his/her wake? The bomber lives and carries
out his or her duty amidst us. How does s/he blend with society
at large? Are there ways in which we can tell the bombers apart?
What are their innermost feelings as they embark on a mission
of self-destruction? How do we assess their final act? Is death
always the opposite of life? What validity can we give death as
life-giving to future generations, a community, a nation waiting
to be born? These are some of the questions that have fascinated
and preoccupied us over the years. Feminist scholars have been
particularly challenged by the phenomenon of the female suicide
bomber. The woman suicide bomber refutes conventional notions
that women are essentially pacifist and peace-loving by nature.
Does she act out of a false consciousness, brainwashed by the
(male) commanders of the movement? Or does she act with self-knowledge
and dedication to a cause she believes is just? Is she used only
instrumentally as someone who, because of her sex, is more likely
to get through a military checkpoint than a male? Is her act of
destruction a moment of victimhood or agency? As she explodes,
is she both a victim and an agent of change? And what does
she signify for the struggles for women’s empowerment and the
future of the women’s movement?
In recent years, film makers have turned their attention to portraying
the phenomenon of the suicide bomber. Santosh Sivan’s film The
Terrorist (1998) comes to mind. In the persona of the bomber
is a mix of idealism, conflict, passion, resourcefulness and ruthlessness
that provides a compelling script for drama. Weave in a story
of sexual intimacy between a male and female suicide bomber and
we have the added ingredients of jealousy, a sudden shift in dedication
to life not death, and an inevitable conflict between the individual
vs the totalitarianism of the militant group. These ingredients
animate the story of the Sri Lankan director Mohamud Mohan Niyaz’s
latest film Kalu Sudu Mal (or ‘Colourless Flowers’, an
English translation that fails to capture the vivid duality available
in the Sinhala term). It is the first Sinhala film to deal with
the theme of Tamil suicide bombers and, moreover, attempt to establish
an empathy with them. As such, Niyaz needs to be commended for
his courage, for the journey has not been easy. The controversial
nature of the theme kept potential funders as well as renowned
actors and actresses away from the project. Finally, five years
after the script was first written in 1994, the National Film
Corporation agreed to finance the film, and a couple of ‘brave’
actors came forward to enact the roles. The final cinematic realization
of Niyaz’s script (filmed in 1999 and released in 2002) and his
determination to tackle the controversial plot in the face of
Sinhala nationalism and commercial cowardice needs to be acclaimed.
Whether the film succeeds or fails as a powerful cinematic experience,
it has at least purposefully added to the archive of Sinhala cinema
exploring a deadly war that has irrevocably changed the very fabric
of Sri Lankan society.
Two suicide bombers, Dilip (Kamal Addararachchi) and Nirmala
(we note the name means immortal in Sinhala) played by Dilhani
Ekanayake, travel from rebel controlled territory to Colombo.
That they are suicide bombers immediately locates them as belonging
to the LTTE, although the LTTE is never specifically mentioned
in the film. The bombers, whose real names are Rajkumar and Rohini,
only refer to a ‘sanvidanaya’ or organization to which they belong.
But the early scenes in the film which show them at a militant’s
training camp, as well as the ceremonial benediction, before they
embark on their mission, of the cyanide capsule bestowed by a
commander who looks like the LTTE leader Prabhakaran makes the
link with the LTTE more than implicit. In Colombo, they meet with
Gauri (Veena Jayakody), the organization’s Tamil woman controller.
Their mission is to kill a target code-named ‘Double X’ who will
visit Sri Lanka. We later find out that Double X is involved with
the Israeli security forces which helped the Sri Lankan government
against the LTTE. The scene of the killing is the hill country
around Kandy, with its lush backdrop and verdant landscape. As
they plan their mission, the militants hone in on an electronics
repair shop owned by Chathura (Linton Semage). The repair shop
is situated in an ideal location from which to set-up a decoy
for their target. Nirmala sets about seducing Chathura so that
as his lover, she can have easy access to his shop.
The conflict in the narrative arises when the suicide bombers
themselves become lovers. Although they resist intimacy at first,
adhering to the principles of discipline and chastity ordered
by their organization, sexual desire on the part of two young
people living in an already isolated and intimate environment
as they share the last days of their life together, is hard to
resist. Nirmala becomes pregnant and with her pregnancy she and
Dilip experience a turning point in their lives. They begin to
desire life, family life and legacy. Individual aspirations stir
within them that go against the collective goals of their group.
They face the wrath of its totalitarian regime. Fearful of Gauri’s
retaliation if they fail in their mission, they plan to kill their
target, but escape with their lives. They enlist the help of an
ex-LTTE cadre, Mala (Yasodha Wimaladharma) who lives in Colombo.
How they set about fulfilling their task of killing Double X and
escaping, how Gauri and the organization on the one hand, and
the Sri Lankan police on the other close in on Dilip and Nirmala
make for much of the suspense and action of the film. That the
militants succeed in escaping at first is only an illusion. They
have been watched by their organization all the time, and are
finally ambushed onto a deserted sea shore. Dilip is shot to death.
Nirmala bites on her cyanide capsule in the face of tragic personal
loss and defeat.
Nirmala is portrayed in the film extremely skillfully by Dilhani
Ekanayake. A woman of few words (we remember her silent but insistent
presence in Asoka Handagama’s film Me Magai Sandai (This
is My Moon / 2001) she holds the audience with her evocative stage/film
presence. As Dilip goes about his business in an utterly patriarchal,
selfish and brutish manner, barking orders at Nirmala and playing
the ruthless militant, she stands in quiet contrast, showing us
that humanity can live side by side with militancy. In fact, throughout
the episode in which a neighbouring child’s dog strays into their
compound, she proves that instead of killing the dog to cover
their tracks as Dilip does, if they returned the pet to the child,
they would have attracted less attention. Nirmala has the time
to be kind to children and strangers, even as she goes about preparing
for her deadly mission. Even as she seduces Chathura we feel that
there is compassion in her for his poverty-stricken, difficult
life. Her feminized portrayal of the militant subverts the stereotypical
notion of the ‘terrorist’ as masculinized and ruthless and makes
for a more complex rendering of the female militant. Gender roles
are subverted when she shows her metal as a better markswoman,
less excitable and more mature and purposeful than Dilip. That
her femininity and humanity are not made a false mask for her
militancy is important as it prevents her character from degenerating
into a ‘chilling’ schizophrenic Jekyll and Hyde persona. In her
feminization and humanity that complements her militancy,
Mohamud Mohan Niyaz and Dilhani Ekanayake achieve a difficult
balance that deliberately blurs the distinctions between life
and death, compassion and ruthlessness to hew a sensitive and
complex portrayal of a female suicide bomber.
However, this same emphasis on Nirmala as a complex protagonist
both enhances and detracts from the film. Even as she is drawn
on interesting lines, the other characters in the film are unconvincing,
merely there as a foil to Nirmala or to provide her with a love
interest. The portrayal of Dilip is particularly unconvincing.
We have no real clues to his character, and are utterly surprised
when he suddenly turns soft on paternity and becomes a considerate
lover. Nirmala’s pregnancy alone is not sufficient to convince
us of how and why Dilip changes from self-contained, dogmatic,
intolerant and sexist male to a man capable of jealousy, love
and tenderness. If his internal crisis is produced by the stress
of impending self-annihilation, we are not given a chance to witness
that development, that deeply intimate moment in his character.
Gauri too remains a one-dimensional foil to Nirmala. Played icily,
in a tightly controlled portrayal by Veena Jayakody, Gauri remains
the stereotypical wicked middle-class woman (with a male lackey
named Vaas at her command) who threatens the well-being of the
lovers. Chathura, again, is a static character with the sole function
of providing Nirmala a platform on which to enact her dualities
while moving the plot along. Despite these weaknesses, the film
does succeed however in telling the story at a relatively fast
pace, and keeping the suspense while the action unfolds.
A visual medium such as film invites a certain objectification
of the body, and the body of the suicide bomber is of special
significance. This body is a deadly weapon. It is the site of
its own destruction. Its pieces are all that is left when the
tragedy is over. From being a person’s innermost, individual,
private terrain, it becomes the focus of the public gaze. The
body of the female bomber in particular, becomes an attractive
site for cinematic exploration. Its sensuousness, how it is gendered,
dressed and represented is an important part of Kalu Sudu Mal.
As Nirmala sews her suicide bomber’s jacket, as she looks at her
body for the last time, as she rehearses wearing her corset of
death, we realize the cruciality of her body to her persona, her
political goals and finally, to her struggle for life.
Propaganda about the militant is always at pains to represent
him or her as respectable, clean cut, neat and well-groomed. This
is an externalization of the respectable, bourgeois body which
has its strategic uses, tapping into a middle-class morality which
assesses such a body as well behaved and conforming rather than
anarchical. Dilip and Nirmala, once they come to Colombo, settle
into a middle-class life style. They dress in western clothes.
They wear shorts and T shirts, and Nirmala teasingly sports transparent
lingerie, a satin housecoat and slit skirts. The dress code of
a conservative Tamil woman disappears except for the flowers in
her hair when in public. The western dress paves way for an arousal
of sexual desire. There is a fine line between female provocation
and male responsibility, particularly in the scene where Nirmala
in transparent lingerie excites Dilip. As Dilip has not been particularly
endearing to us up to this point, we are encouraged to judge his
reaction as comic. However, the patriarchal male in him soon asserts
itself. Caught off balance by his own arousal he immediately imposes
the dress code of a sari for Nirmala. Through scenes like this
Niyaz highlights for us how patriarchy asserts itself.
The focus on the body and the sub-plot of Chathura’s seduction
pave the way for the sexual scenes in the film. These are clumsily
done, reflecting the inhibitions of the actors and actresses in
a society which is, by and large, still repressive about sex and
sexuality. Why such scenes are included in the film in the first
place, whether they really enhance the story and explain new aspects
of the characters while adding to our visual pleasure is a matter
of contention. Kalu Sudu Mal could have done without any
of these scenes, for we only shared in the embarrassment of the
actors rather than the passion and intense emotion they were attempting
to enact.
Repressed sexuality, however, is vital to the film’s reversal
of plot. In a society that has denied the militants an opportunity
to have sex, this can be the one experience on their wish list
to be fulfilled before they become extinct. Moreover, their physical
proximity is already imbued with deep intimacy as they spend the
last days of their life together. Their anxieties and fears about
death which lie beneath their bravado often come to the surface.
They are made vulnerable in the eyes of each other. Sexual intimacy
becomes an extension, then, of this already intense experience
of awaiting death. In Kalu Sudu Mal, it is this sexual
intimacy and consequent pregnancy that turn the tide around in
favour of affirming life over death. That life is portrayed in
terms of stirrings in the womb is a hackneyed cliché employed
yet again in this film (as Santosh Sivan does in The Terrorist).
(Does this mean that women who are not mothers and who have not
experienced pregnancy are incapable of imagining the beauty and
wonder of life, or be politically motivated towards its preservation?!).
But the body carries its own terms of intimacy which is shown
to be a powerful force. Dilip changes into a caring human being.
Nirmala, responding to this change, decides to fulfill her destiny
as the mother of his child. She sees the child as a means by which
Dilip can re-connect with his humanity. When he is shot in the
dying moments of the film, the sound of a baby’s cry makes sure
we get the point.
This humanity in the militant is constructed in the film by aid
of another important discourse. The depiction of the suicide bombers
in the film holds them in a vacuum, deracinated from their social,
cultural and political contexts of being Tamil, possessing a specific
history that has driven them to revolution. We are given nothing
in the film of their families, their homes, their past lives.
At one level this is dictated by the plot of the suicide bombers
itself as the killers are required to cover their tracks and integrate
with Sinhala society in the south. Yet, that they hold no trace
of a Tamil accent (even if they are trilingual), speak Sinhala
fluently, find no difficulty in adapting to Colombo, adopt a middle-class
westernized lifestyle with ease and have no reminiscences of their
past, consists of an erasure that is deeply problematic. One wonders
too whether the multidimensionality of Nirmala’s character is
possible only because of the presence of Gauri who, in embodying
the stern totalitarianism of the militant organization, is there
to remind us of what the Tamil militant is finally about. My contention
is that in the Sinhala cinema to date, the de-politicization of
militants from their Tamil roots, the silencing of a history of
discontent and difference, are prerequisites if the Tamil militant’s
humanity is to blossom. In their clothes, speech, mannerisms,
they are made one with the Sinhala audience. Their divergent histories
and cultural differences are erased in the service of establishing
empathy with them. We are yet to see a truly brave film on this
topic of our ethnic war which grasps the nettle of how Sinhala-Tamil
difference can be the site of healing and a common humanity.
Cinesith 2, ed. Robert
Crusz, Asian Film Centre, Colombo, 2002
_________________________________________________________
Dr. Neloufer de
Mel is Senior Lecturer, Department of English, Colombo University.
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