Kochi: Actor Jayasurya is determined to get the fight sequence right, as a 25-member crew turns a stretch of road in Keralam’s hilly Idukki district into a makeshift studio under the sun. But this isn’t a typical actioner. Producer Rajeev Govindan describes the film as “Eyes Wide Shut but made in Kerala… something Indian cinema hasn’t seen yet”.
This instinct—to keep audiences guessing, experiment with unfamiliar stories, and yet root them in Keralam’s culture and sensibilities—sits at the heart of Malayalam cinema’s recent box office success, and its growing recognition beyond the state. In 2024, Manjummel Boys and Premalu out-earned productions 10 times their budget. Drishyam 3 collected Rs 238 crore worldwide this year, while Bethlehem Kudumba Unit grossed Rs 270 crore.
Ironically, this influence has grown without the infrastructure associated with a booming film industry. Keralam has no film city, no network of soundstages, and the production budgets are a fraction of those in Bollywood or Kollywood. But its recent successes have put the spotlight on the industry, making it lucrative for big corporates. However, the industry now fears meeting the same sticky end as Bollywood.
“Our secret ingredient is that for us, content is king; it’s bigger than stardom. While we have been producing quality scripts all along, it is only now that ‘local has become international’,” Govindan told ThePrint.
Malayalam cinema was always respected for its writing, but its reach was limited. Now, films from the industry are shaping conversations in Mumbai multiplexes and Delhi’s cinema circles. The shift rests on three pillars: streaming platforms, word-of-mouth publicity, and a stubborn writing-first approach.
We have always been short of money, but that pushed us to think out of the box. With too much money, we might become lethargic. Creativity might get lost.
—Sanjay, casting director and line producer
The box office may be rewarding Malayalam cinema only now, but its stories have been travelling beyond Keralam for decades, often without the credit they deserved. More than 200 Malayalam films have been remade in Tamil and Telugu, and nearly 60 in Kannada. Hindi cinema has mined the industry for ideas. Around 80 Hindi films, including Hera Pheri (2000), Garam Masala (2005), Chup Chup Ke (2006), Bhool Bhulaiyaa (2007), Billu (2009), Bodyguard (2011), and Drishyam (2015), are remakes of Malayalam originals. And the list doesn’t include the dozens that get labelled ‘inspired by’.
“I didn’t watch films in other languages before Covid-19. But then I watched Parasite (2019). Why did it connect? Because the emotional bond is there. It allows the audience to personalise the story and connect with the script. That is our secret ingredient as well,” Jayasurya said.
The National Award-winning actor explained that Malayalam cinema isn’t incapable of making a grand film such as KGF (2018) or Pushpa (2021). Now that big producers are coming into the industry, they can make action blockbusters, but this will never come at the cost of quality.
“We will watch KGF because it comes from Kannada cinema, but if you make the same film in Malayalam, the audience won’t accept it. We as an industry won’t accept it,” he added.
Money flowing in—at what cost?
Five years ago, an average Malayalam film was made at Rs 5-7 crore, close to what a mid-sized Bollywood or Telugu production would spend on the hair and makeup team for a star. Only recently have budgets of Rs 20-25 crore become common. But the industry never treated its empty pockets as a limitation.
Manjummel Boys was made on a budget of around Rs 20 crore and went on to earn over Rs 242 crore, becoming one of the highest-grossing Malayalam films. Its central set piece, a recreation of the Guna Caves where the crew couldn’t physically shoot, was created at close to Rs 4 crore.
“We came across this building about 50 feet tall,” said Majummel Boys actor Ganapathi. “It was built for some masala, curry powder production company. Luckily, we came across it before the machines were moved to the floor. So we requested them to give us the place for the shoot and delay their machine set-up by a couple of days. That’s how we recreated that cave.”
Ganapathi is in favour of studios being set up in Kochi, as it would help execute larger projects. That said, the actor “strongly recommends” that people from the industry run this setup, so that “the quality of scripts doesn’t get compromised”.
For decades, Mollywood ran on its own money. Films were mostly produced by actors, directors, and creatives from within the industry, pooling resources and betting on a shared vision. It was an ecosystem largely invisible to corporate India. The math changed in 2024.
The scale Malayalam cinema hit in that stretch with L2: Empuraan, Manjummel Boys, Aavesham, Premalu, and Bramayugam finally put Mollywood on the radar of players outside Keralam.
The clearest evidence of that shift surfaced in December 2025, when Mumbai-based Panorama Studios, in partnership with Pen Studios, acquired the worldwide theatrical and digital rights to Drishyam 3, one of the biggest pan-India film acquisition deals of the year.
The deal was seen as part of Panorama Studios’ broader expansion into Keralam, as the studio sought to actively collaborate with both established and emerging Malayalam filmmakers.
“What drew us to Malayalam cinema was always its storytelling,” Panorama Studios founder Kumar Mangat Pathak told Onmanorama. “Over the past two years, we’ve actively met Malayalam filmmakers, signed writers, and explored stories. However, the industry still largely operates within a traditional production ecosystem.”
He added that Bollywood once functioned the same way.
“When studios entered Bollywood, the business became far more streamlined and sustainable. Malayalam cinema today represents that same opportunity. Right now, independent producers must separately negotiate OTT deals, satellite rights, overseas distribution, and domestic theatrical releases. A studio-driven ecosystem simplifies the entire process,” Kumar said.
On the other hand, casting director and line producer Sanjay fears a corporate takeover in the next 2-3 years. He observed that after 2024, production houses and filmmakers from outside Keralam started actively scouting the industry. Zee Studios, for instance, was a co-producer on the 2026 film Pennu Case.
While Sanjay is glad the money is finally showing up, he is also wary of what comes with it.
“We have always been short of money, but that pushed us to think out of the box. With too much money, we might become lethargic. Creativity might get lost,” he said.
Sanjay is living this tension in real time. He is now collaborating with a Mumbai-based production house on his next project, but has drawn a red line on creative control.
“We, as an industry, need to ensure that we don’t fall for corporatisation. Money is good, but not at the cost of creativity. We’ll have to push back, or else we’ll meet the same end as Bollywood,” he said.
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OTT changed the game
When actor-producer Vijay Babu decided to take his film Sufiyum Sujatayum, starring Aditi Rao Hydari, straight to Prime Video in 2020 as the platform’s first Malayalam original, he did not expect the backlash that followed. He received threats, notices threatening an industry ban, and had media camped outside his home for days. At the time, many in the industry saw the move as a betrayal.
What Babu could not have known was that the decision would help change Malayalam cinema’s relationship with its audience—and with the world.
“The industry felt I was going against it. But today, the same directors who told me not to do it have had their films released as OTT originals,” Babu said, sitting in his vanity as he took a break from his shooting schedule.
Around 14 Malayalam-language Prime Video Original films have been released since 2020 under a strict Amazon Original/direct-to-service definition.
Local is international. These stories are connected with one common thread: the characters, the setting, the stories; everything is deeply rooted in the lives of its audience.
—Ganapathi, actor and casting director
For Malayalam cinema, Babu explained, the streaming boom turned out to be both a disruption and an opportunity.
“The best thing that happened was that it connected us with Malayalis sitting across the globe, and also with non-Malayalis who enjoyed our content,” the actor said.
Before streaming platforms, a Malayalam film’s theatrical reach outside Keralam was largely dictated by where Malayalis lived. In India, releases would be concentrated in specific pockets of metro cities. In Mumbai, for example, screenings were often limited to Mulund, Malad, Kandivali, and some parts of Andheri.
Overseas, the footprint was similarly scattered. Malayalam films got a few screens in cities such as San Francisco and New York, followed by limited releases in the UK, Germany, New Zealand, Australia, and Singapore. For audiences elsewhere, the wait could stretch to six months until the film arrived on satellite television.
OTT changed that equation overnight. A Malayali living anywhere in the world could now watch a new film on its release day, just as someone sitting in Keralam could.
“The morning after Sufiyum Sujatayum released, my inbox was flooded with around 2,000 messages. One of them read: ‘We have been living abroad for 15 years. This is the first time we got to see a film on the first day, just like a Malayali sitting in Kerala,’” Babu recalled.
Prime Video’s internal data shows that for Malayalam, Tamil, Telugu, and Kannada films, half the audience comes from outside their home states, with global viewers in over 170 countries streaming them.
Tovino Thomas’ Minnal Murali (2021) landed among the top 10 non-English films on Netflix, racking up 59 lakh viewing hours in a single week. Aashiq Abu’s Rifle Club (2024) made it to Netflix’s global top 10 non-English films list for a week in January 2025. Soothravakyam (2025) clocked an impressive 10 crore streaming minutes on Prime Video, largely driven by audiences outside Keralam.
Hits such as Manjummel Boys and Aavesham had their digital rights snapped up by Prime Video almost immediately after their record-breaking theatrical runs.
“Malayalam subtitles of international films have also changed the game,” said SR Praveen, author of Ticket to Kerala, The Story of Malayalam Cinema. “It’s inspiring writers and widening the horizon of the audiences.”
OTT initially came in as an additional revenue stream for the industry. As producers started receiving better returns, artists increased their salaries, invested in larger-scale productions, and made bigger films with higher production values.
“But the OTT boom has now reached a saturation point,” Babu said.
The growth in OTT revenues is no longer what it was during the initial boom. The problem is that while this additional revenue has slowed down, the costs that grew alongside it have not come down.
“This has created significant financial pressure on film producers and made it much harder for films to remain profitable,” the actor added.
Malayalam cinema’s New Wave
The biggest strength of Malayalam scripts is their ability to find compelling stories in the mundane matters of friendship, family, or young love. Even when a narrative isn’t particularly unique, the writers find a fresh perspective.
After turning a cave rescue into edge-of-your-seat cinema with Manjummel Boys, director Chidambaram narrated the story of a boy who sets out on a mission to find his missing mother with Balan: The Boy (2026). Mamitha Baiju appeared as a charming IT professional in Girish AD’s Premalu, which presented Bengaluru as the romantic setting for young love. After dismantling the institution of marriage with dirty dishes in The Great Indian Kitchen (2021), Nimisha Sajayan floored the audience with her wounded gaze in Babita Singh Reporting (2026).
“Local is international,” said Ganapathi. “These stories are connected with one common thread: the characters, the setting, the stories; everything is deeply rooted in the lives of its audience.
Ganapathi, Chidambaram’s brother, wears more than one hat. He has worked as the casting director for Manjummel Boys and Balan. He admits that casting can often be a thankless job, with little recognition for the work that goes into finding the right actors. Yet, the lack of acknowledgement has never discouraged him. For Ganapathi, the satisfaction of getting it right is reward enough.
“I set out with a vision and I never compromise. For instance, in Balan, I met some 200-300 kids before I finalised Adhisheshan KR for the role of young Balan,” he said.
Sanjay found it unique that Chidambaram chose to work on Balan.
“Earlier, if someone had a success like Majummel Boys, their next project would usually be a commercial film with a big star. But Chidambaram backed a story like Balan,” he said, adding that the new generation of directors “aren’t following a template or chasing big stars.”
Sanjay has worked with Hanumankind as a casting director and as a producer with Puma and Netflix. When he decided to pursue a career in films eight years ago, he picked Kochi over Mumbai. According to him, people in Keralam are “passionate about making films; hence, they go the extra mile”. He found this missing in Bollywood.
“Not to glorify, but we are okay looking like raccoons if our film does the magic. Our craft is supreme,” he said.
Author Praveen agrees. Apart from relatability, he labels “writers” and “strong screenplay” as the ‘X’ factor of Malayalam films. Their characters are never loud like Pushpa or Rocky. Even Lokah Chapter 1: Chandra, a superhero film that depicted the first woman superhero in Indian cinema, didn’t follow the template.
‘Hera Pheri’ came almost 10 years after ‘Ramji Rao Speaking’, and still became such a hit. It shows that in comedy, sarcasm, and humour, Malayalis are 10 years ahead.
—Vijay Babu, actor and producer
This isn’t new. In the 1970s, while the rest of Indian cinema was busy chasing bigger stars and louder music, a handful of Malayali filmmakers decided the story itself could be the star.
It started with Adoor Gopalakrishnan, the Satyajit Ray of Malayalam cinema. His 1972 debut Swayamvaram (1972), about a runaway couple drowning in poverty, swept four National Awards and kicked off the New Wave.
His Elippathayam (1982) was a slow-burn horror about a man trapped by his own decaying feudal ego. The film won the Sutherland Trophy at London’s BFI festival. In Mathilukal (1990), Gopalakrishnan turned a prison memoir into a love story. Sixteen National Awards later, the director sits second to Ray and Mrinal Sen in the country’s history books.
Then there was KG George, the industry’s famous myth-buster. In Yavanika (1982), he narrated a murder mystery inside a travelling drama troupe. One of his finest works was Irakal (1985), a psychological thriller that studies the making of a psycho.
“They were faces of middle cinema; it was the space between commercial and independent cinema. Be it KG George or Padmarajan, their stories were always very personal and rooted. It is also because Malayalam literature inspires and has always had an impact on our cinema,” said Praveen.
Padmarajan is the man behind Thoovanathumbikal (1987), one of cinema’s most heartbreaking love stories, and Namukku Parkkan Munthiri Thoppukal (1986), where he handled forbidden desire with a gentleness that was rare for his time.
There did come a time when Malayalam cinema hit a creative roadblock. It lasted for nearly a decade.
“The rough patch Bollywood has hit now due to the dearth of good writers, we faced something similar in the early 2000s,” the author said, recalling how even Mohanlal and Mammootty slipped into familiar ‘movie hero’ roles.
The tide began to turn with the arrival of a new generation of writers and filmmakers, who also helped the two superstars rediscover their range. Mohanlal found fresh ground in Lucifer (2019) and Neru (2023), while Mammootty delivered acclaimed performances in Peranbu (2018) and Unda (2019).
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Masters of politics and comedy
Malayalam cinema has never shied away from political commentary and anti-State scripts.
Prithviraj Sukumaran’s Jana Gana Mana (2022) put the judiciary, police brutality, and media trials on trial, and still sailed through certification without any drama. Dulquer Salmaan’s Kammatti Paadam (2016) exposed how land mafias and complicit politicians erased an entire Dalit neighbourhood in Kochi.
Even Fahadh Faasil’s Malik (2021), which dramatised communal riots and state-police collusion against a Muslim community leader, got a clean release. A more recent example is The Great Indian Kitchen, which is set against the 2018 Supreme Court verdict allowing women of all ages to enter the Sabarimala temple.
Compare that to Bollywood, where Udta Punjab (2016) needed a Bombay High Court order just to survive the CBFC’s scissors. In 2025, both Phule and Emergency were watered down, delayed, or banned outright over political and religious sensitivity.
“We are more literate,” Sanjay said, laughing. “No, I am kidding. I think our literacy, GDP, and lifestyle are all tied to the Left government. Hence, we don’t shy away from criticising. We were always taught how to stand up to power.”
The last few years have witnessed a change in the industry: women actors are no longer waiting around for distributors to catch up. Thanks to OTT, a new generation of actresses, including Baiju, Sajayan, Parvathy Thiruvothu, Kalyani Priyadarshan, and Rukmini Vasanth, is walking away with the meaty roles.
While it was churning out hard-hitting political dramas, Malayalam cinema also mastered comedy and exported the formula north, without getting much credit.
In 1989, Siddique and Lal, two men making their directorial debut, made Ramji Rao Speaking, a kidnapping-scheme comedy that became a cult classic. Eleven years later, Priyadarshan lifted it wholesale into Hindi as Hera Pheri, and Paresh Rawal’s Baburao became a permanent resident in pop culture.
It wasn’t a one-off instance.
From Poochakkoru Mookkuthi (1984), Harihar Nagar (1990), and Godfather (1991) to Mannar Mathai Speaking (1995) and Punjabi House (1998), Bollywood’s comedy factory kept raiding Keralam’s comedy catalogue. Even the 2014 Malayalam hit Bangalore Days got a Hindi cousin in Yaariyan 2 (2023).
“Hera Pheri came almost 10 years after Ramji Rao Speaking, and still became such a hit. It shows that in comedy, sarcasm, and humour, Malayalis are 10 years ahead,” Babu said, chuckling.
A boys’ club
Malayalam cinema has been dominated by the two Ms: Mammootty and Mohanlal. But these aren’t your typical Bollywood heroes, with six-pack abs and groovy dance moves. That is what made them work.
Malayalam cinema isn’t obsessed with creating larger-than-life stars. Its audience doesn’t worship actors as fans of Tamil or Telugu cinema are prone to.
“We don’t have a Shah Rukh Khan in Mollywood who can drive people to the box office irrespective of the script,” Sanjay said. “If audiences don’t like the script, they reject it irrespective of who the star is. Maybe Mohanlal can get away with an average script. But no one else.”
Even Mohanlal faced the wrath of his fans after it was reported that he got cosmetic surgery.
“Malayali audiences are not so kind to these kinds of things. They are knowledgeable and are quickly able to spot it,” actor Lissy Lakshmi said.
For Sanjay, it’s a simple logic in the viewers’ minds: “We accept you for the way you look; why do you have to change anything?”
That said, Malayalam cinema’s contribution isn’t limited to Mammootty and Mohanlal. The industry has produced a powerhouse of talent, including Sukumaran, Suresh Gopi, Jayaram, Jayasurya, Prithviraj, Fahadh Faasil, Thomas, Salmaan, and Asif Ali.
These actors have built their careers by playing a wide range of characters rather than projecting a star image. They can play a flawed husband, a struggling father, a police officer, even a villain, without having to consider their brand. The actors are always on a mission to surprise the audience, which keeps them on their toes.
Even Jayasurya admitted that the audience is quite choosy. If the film is unable to “hook” them or appears repetitive, they reject it.
“Today, we get so easily distracted on the phone. If a film is able to make sure the audience doesn’t touch its phone, then the film is a hit,” the actor said.
At first glance, Malayalam cinema appears to be a boys’ club. In August 2024, the Justice Hema Committee report detailed widespread sexual harassment, gender discrimination, and exploitative working conditions for women in the industry.
“Back then, we didn’t have the guts or the freedom. We were expected to follow the norms. We didn’t have social media. Today, girls are bold enough to express their problems or their anger,” Lissy said.
Long before Mohanlal and Mammootty became shorthand for Mollywood, Ragini, Sheela, Sharada, and Seema were the ones carrying the industry.
“Female-centric films were being made and were successful,” Lissy said. “But with the Mammootty and Mohanlal era, audience tastes also changed. Then started the male-centric narratives. Not many meaty roles were offered to women.”
She calls Shobana and Urvashi the exceptions who proved the rule. “But they did small roles. Their one or two big film roles were successful,” she added.
Shobana’s biggest success was her dual performance as Ganga/Nagavalli in Manichitrathazhu (1993), which won her the National Film Award for Best Actress. The film was remade in four languages, most famously as Bhool Bhulaiyaa in Hindi. Decades later, nobody who has seen the original would prefer any remake over Shobana’s performance.
Actor Nyla Usha argues that representation has grown significantly since Shobana’s era. Last year, Kani Kusruti and Divya Prabha walked the Cannes red carpet for All We Imagine as Light (2024). For Usha, this is proof that Malayalam actresses are now commanding global attention, not just the local box office. Yet, she admits the industry’s old habits: “When films cross borders, distributors would still prefer a Mammootty, Mohanlal, or Prithviraj film.”
The last few years have witnessed a change in the industry: women actors are no longer waiting around for distributors to catch up. Thanks to OTT, a new generation of actresses, including Baiju, Sajayan, Parvathy Thiruvothu, Kalyani Priyadarshan, and Rukmini Vasanth, is walking away with the meaty roles.
“Look at Jana Nayagan, Mamitha has a genuinely significant role in a Vijay film. Or Nimisha in The Great Indian Kitchen. Even Kalyani in Lokah was something we haven’t seen so far,” said Lissy, who happens to be Kalyani’s mother.
She views it as a positive change in the industry.
“Good heroine roles are coming now. People are looking at films as films, not as hero or heroine-led,” she said.
While the industry has changed with time, one thing remains the same. The actresses on screen appear real—heavy contouring and airbrushed skin have no place in Malayalam films. It’s what makes a Malayalam heroine different from a Bollywood actress.
“There’s no entourage around the female stars; they go in their auto-rickshaw. They’re so relatable to any common girl, and see cinema as just another profession. They do their work, then go back to their flats, pay their bills, and everyone’s quite vocal about that,” Usha said. “Unless wearing makeup becomes the norm off-screen in Keralam too, things won’t really change in cinema.”
Money is the one place the gap refuses to close as fast.
Lissy remembers a time when heroines earned about Rs 40,000 to a leading man’s Rs 5 lakh. Women’s pay has since jumped to Rs 40 lakh—even Rs 1 crore in best cases—along with a stream of brand endorsement deals. But scale it against the men, and the gap is still glaring.
“If Mamitha’s trajectory belonged to a male actor, he would be charging Rs 9-10 crore. She’ll max out at Rs 1 crore, and that’s the ideal scenario,” Lissy said.
(Edited by Prasanna Bachchhav)