I don’t remember the first time I watched Nedumudi Venu act. I struggle to remember the last I saw of him as well. Was he the old man excitedly telling his bedridden wife how he furtively watched a man and woman having sex, in 'Aanum Pennum' (2021)? Was it the actor himself, in a TV interview from a few years ago, arguing how not being a star helped him evolve as a performer who could be both king and court jester? It could’ve been another re-play of a favourite clip from 'Dasaradham' (1989), where a fantastic Venu breaks an evening of drunken bromance with the equally fantastic Mohanlal, to tell him there are things his inherited wealth cannot buy. I’m not sure.
For most of us from a certain generation of Malayalam cinema watchers, Venu – the actor died on Monday, aged 73 – was a comfort call we didn’t even need to take; we always knew he was this terrific actor but he never really seemed to need reassurance on what his being there meant to us. We didn’t even have to say his name enough, for Venu was always Nedumudi, the village in Alappuzha he came from.
Mammootty, in a moving tribute, remembers Venu as a friend who introduced him to new worlds in art, theatre and music. Venu’s extensive work in theatre, his artistic pursuits outside of cinema and his off-screen disposition as an amiable, non-controversial man could be seen reflected in some of the actor’s character composites.
He had an extended run as the kind, playful teacher-father figure; the definitive act came as Ravunni Nair in Bharathan’s 1987 classic 'Oru Minnaaminunginte Nurunguvettam', his most celebrated lead performance. Venu was also a natural in the musical bits – he could be the front-yard guest with a folksy tune ('Aalolam', 1982) or the grieving, drinking loner with ready lines of poetry ('Sarvakalasala', 1987). In 'His Highness Abdullah' (1990) for which he won a National Film Award for best supporting actor, Venu is an erstwhile royal, holding on against his family that is out to kill him. In 'Devasabhathalam', the film’s nine-minute classical medley, Venu is good just being there – nodding, swaying, enjoying – and when he does break into his own 35-second bit of the song, he’s a treat.
The composites, though, did not limit Venu as he transited the typical by bringing to it fresh shades. He smashes his own Father Type with a delectably animated performance in the 1988 comic thriller 'Orkkappurathu'. In 'North 24 Kaatham' (2013), Venu is the older, calmer presence around Fahadh Faasil’s OCD-battling protagonist. On paper, that’s like 20-odd characters from his filmography but with Venu, they are never quite the same.
In the 1980s, mimics attempted to recreate Venu with a slouch and a mournful drawl. He had already defied such bracketing. In his first five years, Venu established a notable range, collaborating with three of parallel cinema’s finest practitioners. He had a career-defining turn as a village carpenter who prods a young, love-struck man headed for eventual tragedy in Bharathan’s 'Thakara' (1979). In P Padmarajan’s 'Kallan Pavithran' (1981), he’s a thief caught in a play of power and lust. 'Panchavadippalam' (1984), K G George’s masterly political satire, features Venu as a sly power broker.
Venu’s choices were not influenced by factors like screen-time. He’s fabulous in 'Dhanam' (1991) – in the scenes he has – as a lecherous policeman stalking his young sister-in-law. Denver, the old street goon in Martin Prakkat’s 'Best Actor' (2010), is a more recent anti-type who, according to Venu, was “challenging” with his dialect and setting (Mattancherry-Fort Kochi).
It makes academic sense to place Venu along with Gopi and Thilakan, very accomplished contemporaries, to forge a post-1970s trinity but unlike with the other two actors, Venu’s career was not powered by the big thespian flourishes or the layered, central characters. In terms of runtime and character heft, a top-10 list becomes a touch tricky here. Venu could play the crafty uncle, the spurned lover and the ailing grandfather with such conviction, all when he was in his 30s, that his consistency, soon, became a given.
He was so good across the range that the industry, and during his latter years the viewer, could not always look beyond his utility as a formidable supporting act. Venu was never very vocal about his processes – but did we ask enough? – and he, like many fine actors in Malayalam cinema, seldom had the luxury to say no to the ordinary. He was always around, consistently elevating the ordinary, without making a big deal of it. He came with a promise of quality that rarely slipped during a 43-year career of over 500 films.
In one of his interviews, Venu speaks about a bedtime ritual of his – the imagining of a cinematic shot of the night sky, followed by a counter-shot from one of the stars, directed at him, the utterly insignificant sky-watcher. He seemed to have found his place in the big scheme of things. Nedumudi Venu was a back-chair virtuoso; a bona fide master who was quietly, unobtrusively integral to the finest of Malayalam cinema.
(The writer is a senior journalist based in Bengaluru).