How Malayalam Cinema Got Storytelling Right—And Why Bollywood Lost Its Way
- Sajeev Varghese
- 8 minutes ago
- 7 min read
In a world obsessed with spectacle, one regional film industry quietly built its global respect on the power of storytelling.
While Bollywood continues to chase spectacle, star power, and PR-fueled box office numbers, the Malayalam film industry has quietly built a global reputation for what truly matters in cinema: storytelling craft.
It’s no coincidence that when Bollywood needs a creative lifeline, it looks south. From Drishyam to Mrs. (inspired by storytelling patterns seen in Malayalam cinema), the Hindi film industry has developed a habit: of waiting for a Malayalam movie to succeed, then remaking it with a bigger budget, popular actors, and glossier packaging.
But here's the irony: even these remakes can’t capture the original’s magic unless they retain the discipline and storytelling-first mindset that defines Malayalam filmmaking.
The secret? In Kerala, producers, directors, and screenwriters invest heavily upfront—long before a script is written—asking tough, story-critical questions like:
Does the story have emotional and thematic weight?
Are the characters layered enough to evolve?
Will the structure hold under scrutiny?
Is this film worth making?
This rigorous development culture, born of necessity and artistic integrity, has helped Malayalam cinema maintain its creative edge—even on shoestring budgets.
Meanwhile, the Hindi film industry has lost its way, often greenlighting projects based on star availability rather than story merit. That’s why, despite massive investments, many Bollywood films fail to connect with audiences—while Malayalam cinema continues to resonate.
Let’s break down how and why this works.
🔍 1. The Power of the Pre-Script Questioning Ritual
Before writing a script, Malayalam filmmakers—especially producers, writers, and directors—come together to interrogate the story idea with a rigorous creative diagnostic framework. At the core of this is a checklist that every story must convincingly answer:
Does my screenplay have a big enough story concept?
Malayalam films rarely start with just a “character sketch” or a gimmick. Instead, they look for a story premise with thematic weight and philosophical intrigue. Think Drishyam—not just a thriller, but a meditation on guilt, memory, and justice.
Does my screenplay have big enough characters?
Protagonists in Malayalam cinema—like Georgekutty in Drishyam, or Sethumadhavan in Kireedam—aren’t just functional; they are layered, evolving, and psychologically believable.
Does my screenplay have big enough set pieces?
While not “big” in scale like a Bollywood item number or VFX-driven climax, the set pieces in Malayalam films are emotionally loaded—a courtroom revelation, a mother’s breakdown, a midnight confession. They're earned, not inserted.
Does my screenplay have a big enough conflict?
Conflict in Malayalam films often comes from moral dilemmas, interpersonal tension, or internal struggle—not from manufactured villains or generic action.
Does my screenplay have big enough stakes?
These filmmakers deeply understand proportional stakes. A domestic issue can feel as high-stakes as an espionage plot when the emotional truth is right. In Drishyam, the stakes aren’t national—they’re primal: a family’s survival.
Does my screenplay have a big enough visual style?
Malayalam cinema excels at authentic visual storytelling. Frames serve the story. The cinematography is quiet but immersive, from the rainy hills of Iyobinte Pusthakam to the sun-drenched urbanism of Maheshinte Prathikaaram.
Does my screenplay have a big enough beginning?
The industry knows how to start with a compelling premise or hook—one that earns attention not through noise, but through tension and curiosity.
Does my screenplay have a big enough middle?
Their second acts don't sag. They’re structured with reversals, moral complications, and character revelations that keep the emotional engine running.
Does my screenplay have a big enough ending?
The endings are earned, thematically aligned, and often emotionally devastating. Drishyam’s final scene? Iconic—because it sticks to its narrative logic and moral complexity.
Does my screenplay have a big enough protagonist arc?
Unlike many Bollywood leads who barely evolve, Malayalam heroes often undergo intense inner transformation. They aren’t afraid to be wrong, vulnerable, or ambiguous.
🔧 2. The Malayalam Storyroom Culture: Discipline Before Dialogue
Unlike Bollywood, where scripts often take a backseat to star power, Malayalam films begin and end with the story. Writers are not just part of the process—they lead it. Directors are often writers themselves (Jeethu Joseph, Dileesh Pothan, Aashiq Abu, Amal Neerad), and producers collaborate early to lock in story merit before budgets are discussed.
This collaborative model ensures:
Narrative alignment across departments
Smaller budget but higher creative ROI
Minimal rewriting chaos during the shoot
Respect for the writer as a foundational voice
🧠 Case-in-Point: Drishyam (2013) by Jeethu Joseph
Jeethu Joseph didn’t stumble upon Drishyam—he engineered it. The idea came from a seed: “What if a man had to cover up a murder to save his family?” But instead of jumping into scenes, he broke it down structurally:
He worked out the timeline of events first—literally hour by hour.
He developed the psychology of Georgekutty based on his social background and limitations.
He made the audience complicit, letting us root for a cover-up while knowing the crime.
Every beat served the theme: Can love justify deception?
That’s not just screenwriting. That’s producing storytelling at its finest.
🎬 Meanwhile in Bollywood…
Since the 1980s, Bollywood's storytelling craft has eroded for three reasons:
Star-Driven Script Selection
If the “hero” doesn’t like the third act, it gets rewritten—even if it destroys the logic.
Spectacle Over Structure
Set pieces are inserted to “sell the film” before a story is even locked.
Fragmented Collaboration
Writers are freelancers, producers are bankers, and directors are stuck in post-midnight edits trying to fix what the storyroom never broke.
The result? Glossy, empty, emotionally hollow cinema.
Case-in-Point: Mrs. (2024) – When Bollywood Borrows the Soul of a Story
In 2021, The Great Indian Kitchen, a quiet Malayalam film with no flashy stars or budget-blowing visuals, did something extraordinary: it ignited a national conversation about patriarchy, invisibilized labor, and the suffocating rituals of domestic life. Written and directed by Jeo Baby, it wasn’t just a film—it was a mirror. It held up the daily grind of womanhood in Indian households with surgical precision and soul-crushing emotional weight.
The brilliance of The Great Indian Kitchen lay in its minimalism and narrative discipline. It didn’t yell. It simmered. Every scene was intentional. Every silence was loaded. The story structure was as tight as the protagonist’s confined world—and just as suffocating. It didn’t follow a commercial formula. It followed the truth.
Fast forward to 2024: enter Mrs., the Hindi remake starring Sanya Malhotra. Produced with significantly more resources and visibility, Mrs. attempts to replicate the Malayalam original’s emotional impact. And while it brings the story to a broader audience, it also reveals a deeper truth about Bollywood’s storytelling gap.
Here’s the difference:
Malayalam cinema conceives such stories from the ground up—through workshops, story break-ins, and theme-driven exploration. Before page one is even written, the filmmakers have asked:
Is this story emotionally inevitable?
Will this character arc resonate across cultures?
Does the conflict escalate with meaning?
Is the visual treatment in service of the theme?
These are hardwired questions in Malayalam cinema’s creative DNA.
In contrast, Bollywood too often adapts without absorbing. While Mrs. is a sincere attempt—and Sanya Malhotra delivers a poignant performance—the film sometimes struggles under Bollywood’s tendency toward over-explanation and gloss. The silences that once stung now feel filled. The restraint that made the original devastating becomes diluted by presentation polish.
The takeaway?
When you copy the what without embracing the how the heart can get lost in translation.
The success of Malayalam stories like The Great Indian Kitchen isn’t just in what they say. It’s in how rigorously they’re built—layer by layer, from theme to structure to emotional precision.
If Bollywood truly wants to own stories like Mrs., it must do more than remake. It must relearn—how to develop stories as Malayalam cinema does:
✔️ With fewer egos.
✔️ With more curiosity.
✔️ With trust in the audience’s emotional intelligence.
✔️ And above all—with reverence for the story above all else.
Because cinema is not about scale.
It’s about intention.
And intention… is what makes stories unforgettable.
✨ Conclusion: The Kerala Way is the Future
In an era where loudness often drowns out substance, Malayalam cinema has quietly reminded the nation of what makes movies matter. It’s not about bigger budgets or flashier frames—it’s about a deeper, more disciplined commitment to storytelling. Where others chase noise, Malayalam filmmakers chase the truth. Where others greenlight on ego, they greenlight on the idea.
The success of Drishyam wasn’t a fluke—it was the outcome of fearless creative collaboration. A team that dared to ask the hard questions early. A director who didn’t just direct the camera, but directed the narrative. A producer who knows the audience isn’t fooled by packaging without substance. And a story so rooted in emotional logic and human psychology, it traveled across languages, cultures, and continents.
Now compare that to the Hindi film industry, where remakes are seen as shortcuts to success—not tributes to craft. But storytelling is not a formula. It’s a fingerprint. You can mimic the structure, but you can’t fake the soul.
And yet—even Mollywood is not immune. As much as the Malayalam industry outshines others in storytelling discipline, it too is beginning to show signs of being lured by the Bollywood trap: chasing greed over grit, spectacle over substance, stardom over story. Across India—from Tollywood to Kollywood—we’re seeing a creeping tendency to abandon story-first filmmaking in favor of bloated budgets, VFX parades, and thinly plotted “event cinema.”
Too many recent releases are neither plot-driven nor character-driven—let alone both.
So here’s a grounded, urgent invitation to every filmmaker—from Mumbai to Madurai, from Kochi to Kolkata:
✅ Start with the story.
✅ Break the idea—not the bank.
✅ Ask the tough questions before the script is written.
✅ Respect the audience’s emotional intelligence.
✅ Collaborate courageously—before the cameras roll.
✅ And above all, protect the craft before chasing the cash.
Because cinema isn’t made in post-production. It’s made in the pitch room, the story room, the quiet, sweaty rooms where writers, directors, and producers battle for emotional truth. That’s where legacy begins.
🎬 India doesn’t lack talent. It lacks rigor before the roll.
Let’s learn from Kerala—not just in what stories they tell, but how they shape them. Let’s rise above the spectacle and reclaim the soul of our cinema.
Because when we begin with the story, we don’t just make films—we make history.
🎥 The next great film is already within us.
Let’s craft it like it matters.
Because it does.