Madhu: From Pareekutty to the GOM of Malayalam Cinema

As the 60th anniversary of the iconic Malayalam movie ‘Chemmeen’ is being celebrated with a number of events across Kerala, senior journalist AJ Philip highlights some of the finer aspects of the Ramu Kariat directed movie, with a special emphasis on one of its lead actors, Madhu.

Who can ever forget Pareekutty, the unforgettable Muslim youth in Ramu Kariat’s Chemmeen (1965), the first South Indian film to win the President’s Gold Medal for the best feature film in India? Based on Thakazhi Sivasankara Pillai’s celebrated novel of the same name, Chemmeen wove into its narrative the deep-seated coastal belief that the safety of a fisherman at sea depends on the chastity of his wife on land.

This superstition, which had haunted Kerala’s fisherfolk for centuries, became the moral spine of the story—giving the film both its mythic resonance and tragic inevitability.

When it was released, Chemmeen was a landmark in Indian cinema. For the first time, Malayalam film entered the national mainstream, carrying with it the earthy cadences of Thakazhi’s prose and the raw power of the sea as both setting and metaphor.

Salil Chowdhury’s music, blending folk strains with orchestral grandeur, became immortal; songs like Manasa Maine Varu are still sung across generations. The cinematography captured the coastal landscape in all its elemental beauty, turning the Arabian Sea into a living character. To this day, Chemmeen is remembered as a cultural milestone.

At the heart of this film was Madhu’s haunting portrayal of Pareekutty. His love for Karuthamma, played with luminous restraint by Sheela, formed the emotional core of the narrative. Karuthamma’s father, blinded by ambition, borrowed a large sum from Pareekutty, using the young man’s love-struck heart as collateral.

Pareekutty neither recovered his money nor the hand of his beloved, for Karuthamma was married off to Palani, a hardworking fisherman. The climax of the film, when Palani battles the sea for a giant catch, echoes Hemingway’s ‘The Old Man and the Sea’.

Meanwhile, Karuthamma and Pareekutty, bound by suppressed desire, yield to passion. The ocean punishes all three—the fisherman is lost to the waves, and the lovers meet a watery grave. Tragic, lyrical, and elemental, Chemmeen made history. And Madhu, as Pareekutty, became immortal in Malayalam cinema.

But Madhu’s cinematic journey did not stop there. He went on to become one of the most versatile lead actors in Malayalam films, working across genres and with almost every significant filmmaker of his time. He embodied the quintessential Malayali hero—earnest, grounded, and believable. Unlike some of his contemporaries who leaned towards theatrics, Madhu’s strength lay in understatement and depth.

I had the good fortune of meeting him in New Delhi some years ago, when he was the chief guest at a function at the Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan. On that occasion, he had a warm tête-à-tête with the late Gopan, the Malayalam newsreader, at Kerala House. There was no mistaking the fact that Madhu was deeply admired wherever he went, for he represented a rare blend of artistry and humility.

I was lucky of meeting him again this afternoon in Thiruvananthapuram. A conference I was attending ended earlier than expected, and my friend Dr. Manakkala Gopalakrishnan suggested we visit the veteran actor. He called Madhu on the phone to seek an appointment, and when Madhu was told I was Prof. Omchery’s successor at Kerala Club, he readily agreed to meet us.

We set out in the afternoon, but there was a small hitch. Though Dr. Gopalakrishnan had been to his house a couple of times, he became a little uncertain when we reached the locality. There was no nameplate, only the house name—Shiva Bhavan. Yet, I was confident it was his residence. Sure enough, his loyal assistant was waiting at the gate, and we were ushered in.

Inside, we found Madhu relaxing before an online programme he had to attend. The first thing that struck me was his appearance. Though in his nineties, he looked astonishingly handsome, his skin radiant with the freshness of youth. Time, it seemed, had caressed him gently. His warmth and charm put us instantly at ease.

In the course of our conversation, he spoke of his days at the National School of Drama (NSD). I knew he was an alumnus, but what I did not know was that he belonged to the very first batch, trained under its legendary founder-director, Ebrahim Alkazi, and guided by the pioneering theatre thinker B.V. Karanth. He recalled with pride that Om Puri, the great actor whose biography I had recently read, was his junior at NSD.

When I mentioned the Micro Drama Festival organised regularly in Delhi by Vriksh The Theatre, he was fascinated by the idea of a play unfolding entirely in under 10 minutes. His curiosity was childlike, his enthusiasm undimmed. Here was a man who, even in his advanced years, remained open to fresh ideas, new experiments, and youthful ventures in theatre.

His daughter and her family lived with him, and he seemed happy in their company. Before we left, he readily agreed to photographs. Though he had an online meeting to attend, he gave us his time graciously, without the slightest hint of hurry or irritation.

As I walked away from Shiva Bhavan this evening, a silent prayer rose within me—that he may continue to live long, with health and happiness. Madhu is more than just a beloved actor. He is a bridge across the worlds of literature, theatre, and cinema. His life is also a testimony to humility in fame, discipline in craft, and generosity in spirit.

Madhu represents the very best in Malayalam cinema—its rootedness in human stories, its openness to experiment, and its ability to move audiences across time. In him, the dreams of Thakazhi’s Pareekutty, the rigour of Alkazi’s NSD, and the lyricism of Malayalam theatre all found a dignified, graceful custodian.