It is often said that “Mammootty becomes his character,” while in Mohanlal’s case, “the character becomes him.” Even as this statement isn’t axiomatically true, and one can easily list several characters where even an iota of Mohanlal wasn’t visible, there is merit to the claim to a large extent. There’s a bit of Mohanlal-ness in most of his performances.

The question we should be asking here instead is: is that a big deal? If his portrayals are pitch-perfect and he presents the characters’ journeys in their entirety, ensuring he captures every layer, does it matter that some of them share similarities in gestures, body language, and tone of voice? I would argue that it is subjective, as the answer will depend on each person’s definition and understanding of acting.

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Unlike their counterparts in other languages, Mohanlal and Mammootty are still working at full throttle, even if the number of movies they do per year has dropped significantly over time. While Rajinikanth has starred in six films (including Lal Salaam, in which he appeared in a cameo) since 2020, Kamal Haasan has did only four movies. Superstars like Chiranjeevi (5), Nagarjuna (7), Shah Rukh Khan (7), and Aamir Khan (6) have also done fewer than 10 movies during this period. Salman Khan, however, has 11 acting credits to his name since 2020, among which six were cameos.

In contrast, both Mohanlal and Mammootty have done 20 films each since 2020, including Jailer, Kannappa, Bha Bha Ba, Abraham Ozler, and Chatha Pacha, in which they made special appearances. And, needless to say, both have also delivered stinkers, with Big Brother, Monster, Barroz, Vrusshabha, CBI 5: The Brain, Dominic and the Ladies’ Purse, and Bazooka among the few perfect examples.

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While no one can predict how a movie will turn out until the final cut is ready or its box office performance until it hits the screens, there’s no doubt that all these superstars have delivered abominations over the course of their long careers. However, there was a point when Mohanlal just ‘Mohanlalled’ to the fullest for an entire year. In retrospect, it almost looks impossible, as there has not been a single year since then that he has slam-dunked every time, delivering great performances/movies back-to-back.

Since then, for every Rasathanthram, he has also done a Mahasamudram; for every Chotta Mumbai and Hallo, there is also an Alibhai and Flash; for every Sidharthan (Pakal Nakshatrangal), Sivankutty (Bhramaram), Mathews (Pranayam), and Shanmugham (Thudarum), there is also a Canteen Kumaran (College Kumaran), OMR (Red Chillies), Christy Varghese Mappila (Christian Brothers), and Sachidanandan (Big Brother) and Ganabushanam Neyyattinkara Gopan (Aaraattu). But 2005 wasn’t like that. It was arguably the last time we got an entire year of ‘Mohanlalism,’ marked by stellar performances across a wide range of roles, even defying the “the character always becomes Mohanlal” theory at times.

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After a heartbreaking 2004, when he mostly appeared in mediocre projects that were rehashes of his earlier successes and some outright trainwrecks like Vamanapuram Bus Route, one of his worst movies and performances of the 21st century, Mohanlal began 2005 strongly with Udayananu Tharam, directed by debutant Rosshan Andrrews and penned by Sreenivasan.

Unlike typical film-industry-centric movies that confined themselves to stock stories and visuals revolving around scandals and profiteering from women’s woes, Udayananu Tharam chronicles the lives of those at the far end of movie sets. Instead of antagonising the entire industry, it shows the lengths people go to attain their dreams, particularly when it’s something as alluring as cinema.

In the movie, Mohanlal plays Udayabhanu, a promising assistant director determined to make his directorial debut soon. Alongside him is his friend Rajappan Thengummoodu (Sreenivasan), a struggling junior artiste. In due course, Rajappan betrays Udayan, steals his script, makes a movie with it, and eventually rises to superstardom, rechristening himself as Saroj Kumar.

What’s astonishing here is that Mohanlal played such a character, devoid of any privileges, powers, or superhuman strengths, while he was at the peak of superstardom. Interestingly, 2005 marked his 25th year in the industry, and yet, he gracefully embraced a role that did not offer him even a single moment attuned to his stardom. For Udayabhanu, nothing falls into his lap by design. Worse still, just as he starts believing that his fate is finally changing, life throws fresh conflicts at him, knocking him down.

Udayabhanu is rarely explosive and seldom flamboyant. He speaks in a restrained manner, highlighting his lack of confidence, as he has never proven himself. Even his body language clearly shows how inwardly drawn he is, having faced several life problems that almost made him quit forever. Despite knowing full well that the possibility of Saroj Kumar, a superstar, being unfairly compared to him in real life was there, Mohanlal simply followed the narrative.

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While one could easily trace some of Mohanlal’s actual mannerisms in Udayabhanu, particularly in the way they both talk, there’s no doubt that the legend’s performance as a struggling assistant director was brilliant. At the same time, a real-life superstar calling out a reel-life superstar for arrogance is still a sight to behold. Mohanlal’s professionalism also shone through here, as when Udayananu Tharam was remade in Tamil and Hindi, the character of Udayabhanu was played by significantly lesser stars.

Interestingly, 2005 was also the year when Mohanlal fully broke free from the “savarna, hypermasculine Malayali man” archetype that filmmakers had previously created through him with films such as Devaasuram, Aaraam Thampuran, Narasimham, and Raavanaprabhu, where his characters’ trademark was their handlebar moustache and punch dialogues, not their respective souls.

The same writer-director Ranjith, who created and popularised the said archetype, did not go down the same road in Chandrolsavam. Of course, Chirakkal Sreehari (Mohanlal) was evidently savarna — since that’s something Ranjith (disgustingly) can’t live without — but he wasn’t just about his masculinity. Sreehari is a middle-aged man suffering from cancer who has returned to his native village to spend his final days with his loved ones. He hasn’t told anyone about his condition. During his time there, he slowly begins to regain all that he once lost, including his childhood sweetheart, Indulekha (Meena). But as the clock ticks down, Sreehari has no option but to leave.

Mohanlal’s performance as Sreehari stands as a testament to his ability to excel in layered acting, where the underplayed speaks more volumes than what’s on the surface. The movie begins with a flashback sequence showing Indulekha’s wedding. The first time we see Sreehari, he is standing a bit far away, watching as Indulekha walks away with her husband. Sreehari is a bit drunk and engaged in an almost theatrical performance, pretending to be fine. Mohanlal captures a peculiar metre here, making Sreehari overact, which communicates to us that he is crying a river inside instantly. When his friends call out his act, his voice softens and trembles slightly, revealing how shattered he really is.

Years later, when he returns to his hometown, Sreehari enters the scene exuding unmatched showmanship. He delivers long lines to impress his friends. While one might think it’s due to his elation at having met them again, in retrospect, it becomes evident that these were his attempts to prevent himself from breaking down in front of them. The moments when we see Sreehari crying in the movie are when he is completely alone. The way Mohanlal’s performance graph moves from start to end also highlights Sreehari’s emotional journey. While he initially appears with a mask, marked by showmanship, after one point, his vulnerable side becomes visible, and he speaks in a relaxed manner, where his love for everyone becomes evident. Towards the end, his mask has completely fallen off, and he metamorphoses into the kid he once was.

Arguably one of Mohanlal’s most underrated performances, Shooranad Kunju in director Bhadran’s Udayon is one of those characters in which not a single shade of Mohanlal is visible. From the way Kunju walks and speaks to even the way he scratches his ear and looks at things sharply, Mohanlal absorbed the soul of the grey-shaded landlord into himself without injecting his mannerisms into Kunju. Since the character is an elderly man who follows a peculiar lifestyle and mindset, the actor underwent a significant physical transformation as well.

At the same time, as Kunju has certain signature gestures, Mohanlal ensures absolute continuity in these aspects, which he executes brilliantly. One of the major characteristics of Kunju is that he is compassionate only to a select few; to others, he is a soulless tyrant. The brilliant way in which the acting legend switches between these faces of Kunju, while also maintaining his other characteristics, is extraordinary.

However, the movie’s overall mediocrity, accentuated by his middling performance in the second role of Papoyi, Kunju’s son, failed to get Mohanlal the acclaim he deserved for the performance.

Unlike the many drunkard, macho men Mohanlal has played over the years, Mullankolli Velayudhan in Joshiy’s Naran is one with a heart that has branched across his body. Orphaned at a young age, he considers the river in Mullankolli his mother and the people of Mullankolli his own. He has dedicated his whole life to them, even though most of them pretty much dislike him.

In contrast to his earlier hypermasculine characters, Mohanlal infuses Velayudhan with childlike innocence, making us fall for him instantly. Although he terrorises the wrongdoers, Velayudhan becomes an adorable puppy who doesn’t even bark back in front of his dear ones.

From start to finish, there isn’t even one moment where we feel that Mohanlal is out of place. His performance makes one believe that he has known Velayudhan his whole life, or that he himself is Velayudhan and has known the surroundings since childhood.

In Blessy’s Thanmathra, on the other hand, Mohanlal returns to his familiar territory, the Malayali middle-class household. But here, Ramesan Nair isn’t one of his usual characters. The actor’s handling of the role — eventually diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease — remains a reference point in communicating complex and deep emotions and life situations in a restrained, layered manner.

At the start or even after his Alzheimer’s diagnosis, Mohanlal doesn’t go overboard with Ramesan. Since Blessy doesn’t try to force the character into highly dramatic situations that could have given the actor more space to further unfold and explore Ramesan, Mohanlal discovers the role’s essence and struggles in the most mundane moments.

When Ramesan forgets that he already had dinner and asks for it again, zones out during sex with his wife and goes after a lizard, or when he wounds his hand by biting during a moment of rushing thoughts as he is unable to communicate himself, among many other instances, Mohanlal’s mastery of screen acting shines through. From the articulate Ramesan at the start to the non-verbal Ramesan in the end, he magnificently immortalises the journey of the man. He won the Kerala State Film Award for Best Actor for his performance as Ramesan.

Interestingly enough, Mohanlal played all these characters at the age of 45. The actor has turned 66 and is very much at the top of his game. If there’s anything we lack today, it’s filmmakers who don’t truly know how to utilise him to the fullest. Let’s hope we get another 2005 one day, packed with Mohanlalism, before he wraps up his career.

Cinema cannot exist in a vacuum; it’s all about the discussions that follow. In the Cinema Anatomy column, we delve into the diverse layers and dimensions of films, aiming to uncover deeper meanings and foster continuous discourses.