• ‘Rani’ centres on Dr. Manorani Saravanamuttu, the mother of murdered journalist Richard de Zoysa

Can you imagine someone spending three decades pursuing a dream, one that is not their own? It is indeed remarkable. Swarna Mallawarachchi, once considered a symbol of radical femininity in Sri Lankan cinema, carried this dream for 30 years on behalf of Dr. Manorani Saravanamuttu, who tragically died without witnessing justice for her murdered son, Richard de Zoysa.

This dream was brought to life on screen by the exceptional film director Asoka Handagama, who transformed the landscape of Sinhala cinema with the highly anticipated film, ‘Rani’.

Originally planned in the 1990s, the film faced numerous delays, largely due to the harsh political realities it explores. Yet, a small group of dedicated individuals, particularly Mallawarachchi, did not abandon their hopes until the promise made to Manorani was finally fulfilled. This long struggle culminated on 30 January, when cinemas welcomed the film after three decades.

Known for his controversial stance throughout his cinematic career, Handagama excels at depicting the political unrest of contemporary society. He incorporates significant historical incidents from Sri Lanka’s political history, making ‘Rani’ both realistic and relatable for its audience. For instance, Handagama includes a segment from his controversial 1980s play ‘Maghatha’, which critiques the country’s judiciary and adds weight to the film’s exploration of social issues.

The assassination of then-President Ranasinghe Premadasa and senior police officer Ronnie Gunasinghe, both infamous for their roles in Richard’s abduction and murder, further spotlight the film’s crucial themes. Additionally, the authentic portrayal of the People’s Alliance (PA)-led Mothers’ Front closely resembles original photographs, adding originality and depth to the narrative.

Casting talent

Handagama’s exceptional talent for casting is evident throughout the film. Mallawarachchi reaches a pinnacle in her career with her portrayal of Manorani, even surpassing her widely lauded role as Rathmalee in Vasantha Obeysekera’s ‘Dadayama’. Mallawarachchi’s embodiment of Manorani captures the raw desperation of a mother mourning her only son, brutally assassinated by the government, and the disappointment stemming from the lack of timely justice.

Handagama’s ironic biblical reference, “Oh, my son Absalom” (2 Samuel 18:33), powerfully conveys Manorani’s deep grief as a mother who lost her beloved son. In the film, Richard is portrayed by Rehan Amaratunga, while key political figures are played by actors such as Sanath Gunathilake, Bimal Jayakodi, and Ashan Dias. A special mention must be given to Channa Deshapriya, who excels in cinematography, along with the entire crew for their robust support.

The director also skillfully contextualises the socio-political landscape, highlighting how contemporary issues were manipulated in the political power play, and how the genuine trauma of victims became a tool for gaining power. The film vividly depicts the events associated with social unrest during the second Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP) insurrection, state repression during the latter part of the 17-year United National Party (UNP)-led regime, and the PA’s political agenda in their journey to 1994 election victory.

While depicting Richard’s abduction, torture, and murder at the hands of state-sponsored thugs disguised as socialist rebels, the film illustrates how even politicians within the same party became victims of the ongoing power struggle (the assassination of the politician named Lalith). The irony shines through, revealing how individuals were entrapped regardless of their social status or power.

The relationship between the mother and son duo is well illustrated, with dialogues reflecting the enduring caste consciousness present in society (for example, the conversation between Manorani and her housekeeper, Karu, in the aftermath of the President’s death) and the different perspectives held by Richard and Manorani greatly caused by the generational gap and exposure (for example, the conversation between Richard and Manorani on the way home after the stage drama).

Female courage

What drew me most to the film is its powerful portrayal of unique female courage. The scene featuring the Mothers’ Front, comprising mothers, sisters, and widows whose loved ones were victimised by the government and paramilitary groups, encapsulates the silent grief of women deeply affected by conflict. Nevertheless, Manorani, like many others, was unable to attain justice for her son’s death, save for the natural justice supposedly served to those responsible for his murder. In a way, she is fortunate to have found her son’s body, unlike many mothers in that era who have never been able to locate their children, whose names have been recorded as forced disappearances for decades.

‘Rani’ is not just any film. For many, it is a reflection of their own stories. While we witness the struggles of a Colombo-born, elite physician, countless unheard grievances of less fortunate mothers, sisters, and wives remain lost to time. ‘Rani’ serves as a voice for these unheard sorrows.

This film undoubtedly has the potential to encourage generations to stand against repression and injustice and seek justice for those who have fought for it. Many younger viewers, unfamiliar with the stories of Manorani or Richard, will learn about the hidden realities of an era where innocent lives were sacrificed in the name of patriotism, highlighting the vital importance of advocating for justice.

Thank you, Manorani!

The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect those of this publication