In a stirring scene in Mahesh Narayanan’s Malik, the leading man, Sulaiman alias Ali Ikka (Fahadh Faasil), engages in a quarrel near his father’s burial spot, now a wasteland. Badly assaulted by cops, he is later dumped by a group of people in the very same pile of waste. There is darkness, and the melancholy of a violin provides ambience. It’s a classic Fahadh Faasil sequence where a broken man rises from the stink with decisiveness in his eyes. Sulaiman’s vision is to build a school at that very spot. His mother reacts with teary eyes, “Once in my life, I felt happy that I had given birth to him.” When the district collector quizzes him on resources, he quips, “Even though we don’t have the money now, we have the health to earn it.”
No, Mahesh Narayanan’s film is not about education or emancipation. It is about dreams and doing good for one’s people, dismantling all hurdles. The prime barrier is religion, even though it never poses as a visible enemy. Early in the film, we observe how religion lies in the very fabric of the setup Malik constructs. The altercation around waste dumping occurs between Muslims and Hindus, but it goes much further. We hear Sulaiman’s friend and confidante, David (Vinay Forrt), screaming in a consequential scene, “Your mosque issue has affected us (Christians) too.” Interestingly, Malik never becomes a generic social piece that blindly hails humanity and communal harmony. It exposes how religion is the easiest trigger to split an otherwise peaceful social framework.
Narayanan opens his film with a fascinating long shot that runs for about 12 minutes. A Godfather-like figure in sparkling white attire, Sulaiman is off to the Hajj pilgrimage. Shot using dim lighting with minimal colours, the scene establishes the man’s authority as well as the tension surrounding his decision. Soon, at the airport, Sulaiman is captured under the TADA Act for possession of illegal weapons.
In a parallel track, we observe a group of 17-year-olds throw bombs at policemen for unexplained reasons, with one of them (Sanal Aman as Freddy) ending up in prison. In a flashback narrated by Sulaiman’s mother, Jameela Teacher (Jalaja), we examine the bewildering context behind these events. I wasn’t particularly convinced by the way this thread unfolded. The writers are unable to link the Kerala police’s (Indrans, Chandunath) decision to use Freddy and Jameela as pawns in their strategy convincingly.
Cut to the ‘80s, Narayanan gives us a glimpse of a largely harmonious society around the picturesque Ramadapally in coastal Kerala. Sulaiman and David, then adolescents, play rough pranks on the local priest and later kickstart a flourishing business with smuggled goods from the Middle East. David’s brave and decisive sister Roselin (Nimisha Sajayan), the only college-educated girl in the village, cultivates a natural affection for Sulaiman, and he duly reciprocates. Their enterprising friend Aboo (Dileesh Pothan) has his eyes set on power, whereas the initially suspicious sub-collector Anwar Ali (Joju George) supports Sulaiman’s wish to build a school in Ramadapally.
The first twist drops when a blast occurs in the warehouse, leading to the deaths of many, including minors. From then on, Malik becomes a gripping labyrinth of human relationships as it masterfully studies people and their belief systems in the rawest of terms. If Sulaiman takes revenge by brutally killing a man named Chandran (Nisthar), who was behind the blast, his righteous mother testifies against him. If David is disappointed about his religion being sidelined—including in the naming of the school—he’s further vilified when his sister marries Sulaiman. He never voices it out, but his impulses do. So does the well-meaning Anwar Ali, who inadvertently stokes a fire in David’s mind about unacknowledged paybacks and the resultant erasure of Christian identity. This way, David evolves into the quintessential misinformed victim – a stock character in this widely recognized subgenre. He’s never given the halo of a messiah like Sulaiman, who breaks open the school gates, against the Jamaat’s decision to rehabilitate tsunami victims. To remind us this is still commercial Malayalam cinema, he thunders, “Naadu mudiyaan nilkumbolano ninteyokke matham parachil?” (roughly: “You’re talking religion when our land is suffering?”)
On the personal front, Roselin is not just a pillar of support but an equal partner. In a rare romantic scene, Sulaiman requests his newly wedded wife to bring up their children in the Islamic faith, without asking her to convert. It’s a tender moment, and Roselin agrees in an instant. This cordial exchange, set in the ’90s, makes us ponder over an educated woman’s autonomy in deciding her children’s religion.
Narayanan’s screenplay does not work very hard to manifest the changes in Sulaiman and Roselin’s relationship in an expository fashion, primarily because this isn’t their story. Malik is about a community, with Sulaiman as its pivot. That said, we do observe Roselin constantly orbiting Sulaiman’s life while commanding reasonable authority in the network.
The prototype Narayanan draws in Malik is time-tested. We have celebrated it in The Godfather. Closer home, India has repackaged it in great, good, and godawful films. Nayakan, Abhimanyu, Lucifer, and umpteen Rajinikanth-starrers come to mind. Then again, I never had an issue with the jaded story or the hero with unthinkable grit. What matters is how Narayanan (also the editor) keeps us engaged through the film’s 2-hour-41-minute runtime.
The twists can be seen coming from a distance. Several individual scenes—right down to their staging—are predictable. Yet, one ought to trust Narayanan’s judicious shot-taking and the actors’ (especially Fahadh’s) mettle to convince us of even the most unsurprising turnarounds. The pre-climax, where Freddy meets Sulaiman in prison, for example, is heavily hyped in the screenplay. Yet, we watch it in awe purely because of the players who sip the age-old wine like it’s sparkling new. That said, the climactic twist—despite its shock value—lacks grounding. The character who executes it throws misleading hints earlier, but Malik is not a suspense thriller to justify such misdirection.
Narayanan’s film scores by not becoming an excruciatingly character-driven crime saga, unlike many of its predecessors. In Malik, Ramadapally becomes a character in itself. So do its inhabitants. Rarely are chants sung to hail Sulaiman, and the highest degree of hero-worship comes in lines like, “Nobody in Ramadapally dares to kill Sulaiman.” That said, I sorely missed a chapter explaining his grip over the people. If the title aimed to equate him with Maalik, the Islamic angel who governs Hellfire, Narayanan chooses not to fully explore that metaphor.
While the screenplay has its inconsistencies, Narayanan’s editing elevates the familiar story into a polished product. Sanu John Varughese treats the camera like a marvellous plaything—delivering long takes, brisk zooms, and pans that catch us unawares. His chemistry with Narayanan peaks in the final act, especially during Sulaiman’s breakdown after his son’s death. Sushin Shyam’s music is extraordinary, reaching an emotional crescendo when he integrates the theme song Theerame (also a silken love ballad) to heighten key moments.
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Malik boasts principal performers who never hit a false note. Fahadh Faasil internalises the fire brewing within Sulaiman. It’s a pleasure to watch him perform some of the most un-Fahadh-like scenes (notably as his older self). The makeup may not be perfect, but his studied, frail physicality is a treat. Nimisha Sajayan is brilliant, delivering a volcano of emotion with just a twitch of the eyebrow. Veteran Jalaja makes a powerful comeback as the quietly courageous Jameela Teacher, while Vinay Forrt impresses in a role that underutilises his energy. Indrans, who plays a cop, masterfully reveals the coldness of his profession. Aman is a revelation as he faces seasoned performers in major scenes sans too many lines. That said, Dileesh Pothan steals the show in the supporting cast as the scheming Aboo, bringing clever nuances to a man climbing the power ladder with clear intent.
Malik ends with a somewhat forced climax, pointing fingers at the Kerala Police’s role in the chaos (the film is reportedly inspired by the Beemapally riots of 2009). While they are portrayed as despicable and corrupt, the makers opt for a more cinematic conclusion, blaming a single individual for shifting a community’s mindset. That said, Mahesh Narayanan’s third directorial effort is a tremendously immersive experience with grey characters and a timely message on religious polarisation.
Rating: ★★★ 1/2
Malik premiered on Amazon Prime Video.
