Few filmmakers have shaped the cultural memory of Malayali families as profoundly as Sathyan Anthikad has. His stories have flowed through our living rooms for over four decades, carrying laughter, warmth and glimpses of ordinary life that somehow become extraordinary on screen.
From the sharp wit of Nadodikkattu and Ponmuttayidunna Tharavu to the warmth of Sanmanassullavarkku Samadhanam, from the biting critique of Sandesham and Varavelppu to the unconventional turns of Artham and Kalikkalam, and to the intimate family portraits of Veendum Chila Veettukaryangal and Manassinakkare, his films continue to stay with us. We grew up with them in the 80s and 90s, carried them through the 2000s, and now we find ourselves revisiting the same films with a new generation, as if passing down a piece of home.
This Thursday brings another such moment with the release of Hridayapoorvam, which sees Sathyan and Mohanlal reuniting after a decade. Their collaborations have given us characters who still feel like neighbours and friends, and this new film promises to echo that magic for a new generation. Ahead of the release, Sathyan spoke with us about his creative process, the changing rhythms of cinema, the absence of his old comrades, the joy of making films that outlive their makers and more.
Excerpts:
How did Hridayapoorvam first take shape?
Earlier, I used to take on many films each year, but now I only consider a project if the subject truly excites me. While exploring stories for my next film, my son Akhil (Sathyan) shared a small idea that immediately felt fresh, different, and deeply emotional. Akhil, Anoop (Sathyan) and I shaped it into a plot. Later, Akhil became busy with Sarvam Maya, and Anoop moved on to his next project, so I approached Sonu TP, whose short film Night Call had impressed me. He loved the outline and appreciated its freshness. The two of us developed the screenplay, and when I narrated it to Mohanlal, he instantly loved it, calling it unique. It was actually Mohanlal who suggested the title Hridayapoorvam the moment he heard the story.
Pune hasn’t really been explored much in Malayalam cinema. What drew you to set the story there, and was it the backdrop you had in mind from the very beginning?
The story Akhil shared already had Pune as a setting, along with Kochi. Though I have shot extensively in Tamil Nadu, Pune felt different. With its numerous military areas, it suited the film’s army angle. While Pune has been shown beautifully in films like Andhadhun, with its charming streets, Malayalam cinema rarely features it, with most filmmakers opting for Mumbai. During location scouting, I found Pune very appealing; its well-maintained streets, abundant trees, and greenery looked stunning on screen. We also filmed in areas slightly outside the city, such as Lonavala, which added further variety to the visuals and enriched the film’s overall aesthetic.
Hridayapoorvam is your 20th film with Mohanlal over four decades. How has working with him evolved, and what makes him special?
I have witnessed Mohanlal’s magic since Appunni in 1984. He can slip into a character within seconds and step out just as quickly once the shot is over. Whether it was Balagopalan or Gopalakrishna Panicker, the moment the camera rolls, he becomes the character, and when 'cut' is called, he is back to being Mohanlal. What amazes me is that he has sustained that magic over the years without ever losing it.
The best part of working with him is that he elevates a character beyond what you imagined, while never losing its consistency or mannerisms. In my very first film Kurukkante Kalyanam, he gave me a glimpse of that, though neither of us knew it would mark the start of something special. Then came TP Balagopalan MA, with Sreenivasan, when I truly realised that Mohanlal exemplifies effortless acting. That same quality is very much present in Hridayapoorvam.
Even after 47 years, Lal remains passionate about acting. Before we began Hridayapoorvam, he suggested we explore something different yet light-hearted. My biggest joy in seeing him as Sandeep Balakrishnan is that it feels distinct from his recent roles. I am not saying I have presented him like never before, but I do believe I have managed to bring back the charm and flexibility he showed in our best collaborations. He is a master at portraying characters who can cry with a smile, and ones experiencing deep emotion, yet keeping those around them happy. That has always been Mohanlal’s unique strength.
Hridayapoorvam features Sangeeth Prathap alongside Mohanlal, and you’ve mentioned their chemistry as a highlight. What led you to cast Sangeeth in this role?
When I saw Premalu, I really liked the combination of Naslen and Sangeeth. I was especially impressed with the nuances Sangeeth brought to the character of Amal Davis, both in his expressions and his dialogue delivery. In Hridayapoorvam, there was a character who needed to be present throughout the film alongside Mohanlal. In the past, we might naturally have cast someone like Sreenivasan, Jagathy or Mukesh. But Sangeeth represents the present generation, and the contrast between him and Mohanlal felt really fresh.
Sangeeth is very good at giving spontaneous reactions, just like Lal. The scenes where they are together feel very lively and engaging. After a few days on set, Lal became very close to him and even told me it was a good idea to include him in the film. Lal also helped Sangeeth overcome any nervousness about acting alongside him by sharing that he had worked with Sangeeth’s father, who was part of the camera units.
Hridayapoorvam marks Mohanlal’s return to sync sound after 34 years since Vasthuhara. What was that experience like?
Lal was never very familiar with sync sound and usually preferred dubbing in the studio. I began to understand its possibilities during Njan Prakashan, after Fahadh Faasil encouraged me to try it and introduced me to Anil Radhakrishnan, the sound recordist of Thondimuthalum Driksakshiyum, who recently won the State Award for Ullozhukku. Experiencing the magic of sync sound in both Njan Prakashan and Makal convinced me to use it for Hridayapoorvam.
I didn’t tell Lal beforehand that we would be shooting in sync sound, knowing he might be reluctant about wearing a wired mic under his shirt for every scene. He joined us on the fifth day, initially sceptical. He recalled that the last time he used sync sound was in Vasthuhara. Also, in an Aravindan film, you could almost count the lines because there would be so much silence. (laughs). Hridayapoorvam, by contrast, is dialogue-heavy.
Though he agreed mainly out of friendship, Lal soon began to appreciate the quality it offered. He never needed to enter a dubbing studio after the shoot. Audiences will hear exactly how Lal delivered his lines on set—the mumbles, gasps, and subtle lip noises—details that cannot be recreated in dubbing. While dubbing has its own charm, it lacks this raw naturalness, particularly in the scenes with Lal and Sangeeth. By the end of the shoot, Lal was very pleased with the experience, and I encouraged him to watch the film in theatres to witness its effect for himself.
The teaser scene highlighting Fahadh Faasil’s popularity among non-Malayalis went viral as reels. How did that scene come about?
It’s a touch of black humour. With an actor of Mohanlal’s stature in the frame, even as a character, having a North Indian praise Fahadh as the greatest Malayalam actor could have been tricky. Many stars might hesitate with a scene that highlights another’s greatness, but that’s what makes Mohanlal different. He burst out laughing when he first read the FaFaa reference and brought it to life with ease. Only someone without ego or insecurity could do that. Since the film is set in Pune, and given Fahadh’s growing popularity outside Kerala, it felt natural to explore that phenomenon. Lal enjoyed it thoroughly, and even Mammootty told me he liked seeing it. (smiles)
Hridayapoorvam was initially announced with Aishwarya Lekshmi as the female lead. How did Malavika Mohanan come to be cast in the role?
Aishwarya Lekshmi had a scheduling conflict with a Telugu film, and I already had a Pune schedule with Mohanlal, so she couldn’t join. She was gracious and said she would be happy to work on another film in the future.
While exploring other options, I realised that, since the film was shot in Pune with sync sound, the character needed to speak multiple languages naturally. The actor had to speak Malayalam, though fluency wasn’t essential, as well as Hindi, Marathi, and English, effortlessly. I looked at Malavika Mohanan’s previous work and was impressed by her confident, genuine presence and potential to hold her own alongside Lal. Casting her also allowed us to showcase the linguistic diversity of Pune realistically, enhancing the authenticity of the character and the film.
During the shoot, some criticised casting 32-year-old Malavika Mohanan opposite Mohanlal, who is over 65, as a romantic lead. How do you respond to those comments?
Social media is a place where anyone can comment based on their own thoughts and imagination. That’s their freedom, and there’s nothing we can do about it. Some people see Mohanlal as the male lead and Malavika as the female lead and immediately assume they are playing lovers. That’s a misunderstanding. Male and female leads can be siblings, a father and daughter, or even a couple with a significant age difference. As Malavika rightly said, wait until you see the film and then form an opinion.
Over the years, you have worked with many music directors. In this film, you have collaborated with Justin Prabhakaran...
I was very impressed with Justin’s work in Akhil’s Pachuvum Athbutha Vilakkum. When I approached him, he came to Kerala and composed all the songs in just a week. In Hridayapoorvam, music plays a vital role, as even deeply emotional moments need to be handled lightly or pleasantly.
Having worked with Ilaiyaraaja, Johnson, and Vidyasagar in the past, I see Justin as a composer who combines their qualities. He can craft melodies like Ilaiyaraaja and Johnson, bring Rahman-like novelty, and offer the soulful touch of Vidyasagar. Though he hasn’t done many Malayalam films, I’ve always admired his talent, particularly in Dear Comrade.
I also appreciated his working style, as he enhances the mood of each scene in ways that often exceed my expectations. He has also composed for Akhil’s next film, Sarvam Maya, and I loved those tracks as well.
Hridayapoorvam is your 58th film. Do you still feel the same nervousness or excitement as you did in your first film ahead of the release?
When I did my first film, things actually felt a bit easier. These days, I find myself more nervous, especially before a release. That’s why I prefer spending the days leading up to a release at my home in Anthikad rather than in the cinema circles of Kochi. It feels more comfortable. Back when films like Nadodikkattu were released, we didn’t even have landlines, so I would just go home and stay at peace. You only really know how a film is received once it’s out there. I don’t feel the need to watch my film with audiences on the very first day either, because so many people come in with different mindsets. You know it’s a success when the majority enjoys it. Even when I do go to the theatre for a film of my own, I’m usually watching the audience, not the screen—checking if someone is distracted, on their phone, or talking.
Speaking about people looking at their phones in the middle of a film. Do you think people these days have a problem with their attention span?
That’s a contemporary change. People today are more impatient, and as filmmakers, we feel it too. If the audience doesn’t have patience, neither do we. Trailers are shorter, stories are tighter, and life itself runs at what I call an Instagram speed. We need to recognise that and move forward. For me, the principle remains the same. We are living in today’s world, with today’s audience. If a story engagingly touches people’s hearts, it will always stand the test of time. That is why films like Sandesham remain relevant even after decades.
Respecting today’s audience means adapting to their pace. I have no problem with that shift. My three sons keep me connected to the new generation, watching contemporary films and understanding today’s viewers. One of the highlights of Hridayapoorvam is that it’s very much a film of the new generation. Lal joked that only the two of us were from the older guard. Akhil wrote the story, Sonu the screenplay, Anu Moothedath did cinematography, Justin composed the music, and my son Anoop was chief associate director. Most assistants were also young, bringing fresh ideas and a collaborative spirit that perfectly suited today’s audience.
Many veteran supporting actors like KPAC Lalitha, Oduvil Unnikrishnan, Innocent, and Mamu Koya, who were the backbone of your celebrated films, are no longer with us. Has their absence affected how you approach your recent films?
Yes, I start feeling their absence right from the early stages of a story or screenplay. I can’t immediately assign faces to the characters anymore. Earlier, certain faces came naturally. If it were an uncle, Oduvil Unnikrishnan. An older man, Shankaradi. A neighbourly woman, KPAC Lalitha. An older woman, Philomina. For comic roles, Innocent. While writing, these characters almost spoke through their faces.
Now the characters remain on the page without faces, and we have to find suitable actors only after the script is ready, which is a real challenge. When they were alive, I could confidently make a film even without a big star leading it. I think I am one of the filmmakers most affected by their loss because I depended on them so much. Still, death is inevitable, and I am grateful I could capture their best work while they were here. For Hridayapoorvam, I felt more at peace since it is urban. Had it been rural, I would have missed them more.
Your films were enjoyed by audiences from the 80s and 90s, and now their children are watching them too. How do you view the rare privilege of making movies that resonate across generations?
This is my 43rd year of directing, and three generations have now discovered my films. I find it fascinating that even children who were not born when my 80s and 90s films were released can enjoy them wholeheartedly, including those that were not well-received at the time. Pingami, for instance, came out when some of today’s viewers were only three or four. I remember being in a meeting with Basil Joseph, and he casually mentioned that he was born while I was shooting Kalikkalam in Wayanad. (laughs) To see such lasting appreciation is deeply rewarding, and I hope Hridayapoorvam achieves that too.
Some of your films, particularly Sandesham and other collaborations with Sreenivasan, have faced criticism over the years from certain quarters, both within the industry and from politically inclined audiences. How do you view these criticisms?
Once a film is out for the public, it is entirely up to the audience how they wish to view it. That is their freedom, and we cannot insist they see it exactly as the makers intended. If someone finds Sandesham apolitical or even boring, they are completely entitled to that opinion. A small section, especially those linked to political parties, may dislike the film, yet I am glad that most viewers continue to connect with it. At the same time, many senior political leaders I have spoken to tell me they have always enjoyed Sandesham, which I find reassuring. I am comfortable with both reactions.
With the rise of social media and YouTube, criticisms can sometimes become quite personal and harsh. How do you view this shift?
In the past, reviews genuinely inspired us to correct our mistakes. Critics would respectfully point out flaws, helping us learn and avoid repeating them. Today, that kind of feedback is rarer and often replaced by rants and performative reactions aimed at views, which have become a source of income. For instance, a review of my 1985 film Gaayathridevi Ente Amma rightly noted then that I had overlooked the junior artists in the climax when Seema and Rahman come to the home. It was my mistake, and ever since, even in Hridayapoorvam, I make sure to observe background actors closely, watching their movements so that scenes feel complete.