Ashoka Handagama, a distinguished creator of cinema, theatre, and television, has made a new film based on the story of Dr. Manorani Saravanamuttu, a mother who fought for justice for her son, Richard de Zoysa, a media personality and artist who was abducted and murdered on 18 February 1990. 

The film, titled ‘Rani,’ is part of a discussion with Handagama regarding the local film industry.

Following are excerpts: 

How is ‘Rani’ different from your previous films like ‘Chanda Kinnari,’ ‘Me Mage Sandai,’ ‘Aksharaya,’ ‘Ege Esa Aga,’ ‘Thani Thatuwen Piyabanna,’ ‘Vidhu,’ ‘Ini Avan,’ ‘Asandhimitta,’ and ‘Alborada’?

It’s easier to explain how ‘Rani’ differs from my previous film, ‘Alborada,’ because both belong to the character-driven cinema genre. 

In ‘Alborada,’ I had more creative freedom because the story is over 100 years old. None of us have seen those historical figures and no one alive today has met them. That allowed me to imagine and create freely.

However, Richard de Zoysa’s story is different. Some of the people connected to this event may still be alive. His friends, acquaintances, and those who knew him personally are still around.

People of our generation, who were young at the time, are still living. Many people already know the details of this incident.

So, in making this film, I had to manage those factors carefully. My creative freedom was naturally limited within those constraints. The challenge of ‘Rani’ was to craft the narrative while respecting these realities.

You took a long time to make a film based on this incident, which occurred during a violent era that you also lived through. Why did it take so long? Did you, like many others, choose to forget these horrific past experiences? How did the idea for ‘Rani’ come about?

After Richard’s murder, the political causes and circumstances behind it were completely suppressed. The political discourse surrounding it faded away. 

Even before his assassination, in November 1989, the killing of Rohana Wijeweera shattered the political hopes of our generation. Any form of people’s struggle or alternative politics began to resurface only in the late 1990s and early 2000s. By then, we were facing another harsh reality – the war in the north.

During that time, my artistic focus shifted. In my films and television creations, I addressed the political and social consequences of war. For example, ‘Me Mage Sandai’ and the TV drama ‘Synthetic Sihina’ explored aspects of the war. Films like ‘Ini Avan’ and TV dramas like ‘Me Paren Enna’ and ‘Neganahira Weralen Asena’ dealt with post-war experiences.

At that time, the immediate concern was the war and our creative efforts naturally gravitated towards it.

Now, in this era, we finally have the space to reflect on the past calmly and to look back at those times from a new perspective. The opportunity for ‘Rani’ came about coincidentally. Not just Richard’s murder, but everything that happened during that period should not be erased from history.

If you look at my creative work, these themes have been discussed in different ways, but there was still a gap – a missing piece in this historical discourse. When I got the chance to fill that gap, I took it.

For a long time, our attention was consumed by the war. Even the film about Wijeweera – ‘Ginnen Upan Seethala’ – was made only recently.

I actually attempted to discuss the 1988/’89 era much earlier. In 1996, I made a film called ‘Sanda Dadayama’ which touched on that violent time. However, technical issues prevented its release. That film was my first attempt to explore that era, but with ‘Rani,’ I now have the opportunity to revisit that past more comprehensively.

Apart from theatre, cinema, television, writing, songwriting, poetry, and short stories, you are now also emerging as a talented visual artist. Additionally, you are an experienced cultural and political activist. You also hold a degree in science, pursued further studies in economics in England, and have served as a senior officer at the Central Bank of Sri Lanka. Given these diverse roles, do you engage in the arts purely for entertainment or do you see it as a social mission?

Whether in cinema or theatre, I do not engage in art purely as a social mission, nor simply for entertainment. For me, it is an act of self-expression. That expression may, in turn, serve a social purpose. 

Others may experience my creative work as entertainment, but at its core, my artistic journey is an expression of my inner self.

Your creations, particularly those centred around the ethnic issue or set against the backdrop of the civil war, have faced numerous restrictions, threats, accusations, and condemnation. Did these challenges strengthen your artistic work or did they lead to a shift in your political and social ideologies?

Threats and intimidation did not change my beliefs; instead, they made them stronger. The evolution of my perspectives was shaped by my experiences and acquired knowledge, not by external pressure. 

Seeing the world, engaging with literature, and expanding my understanding transformed my outlook. Restrictions and threats only strengthened my resolve, giving me the courage to confront challenges head-on.

Your works are often political, but they also frequently explore themes of femininity and sexuality. Why is that?

The position of women in society is inherently political. Discussing it is political. Sexuality, too, is deeply political because political structures shape how it is perceived and controlled.

Compared to the past, women today enjoy relatively more freedom, but that is the result of long-standing political struggles.

For example, in education, a higher percentage of university entrants are now women. Even in Parliament, female representation has increased. These changes didn’t happen naturally; they were won through political and social movements. The same applies to sexuality – society’s views on sexual freedom and gender roles have evolved over time due to political and ideological shifts.

In my film ‘Thani Thatuwen Piyabanna,’ (‘Flying with One Wing’), a female character fights a solitary battle for her own liberation. Even though she is ultimately defeated and left alone, her act of resistance itself is political. Femininity and sexuality, in this sense, exist within the larger framework of politics.

What are the main challenges in the Sri Lankan film industry and how do you see its future?

Cinema, as an industry, is a broad concept. Both film production and exhibition are parts of this industry, and for it to thrive, there needs to be an economically viable ecosystem. 

For filmmakers, production must be financially sustainable – meaning the investment must be recoverable. Exhibition venues (cinema halls) also need an economic model that ensures their survival. The struggle in the industry lies in balancing these two factors.

Filmmakers can become disheartened if their films do not generate revenue, whereas cinema exhibitors can simply replace an underperforming film with a more profitable one. This imbalance creates a fundamental issue within the industry.

The survival of Sri Lankan cinema is not solely about making movies – it is tied to the overall economy. A sustainable film industry requires an audience. But today, cinema is no longer limited to movie theatres.

For instance, in 1997, when we produced the television drama ‘Diya Keta Pahana,’ a single episode was sold for Rs. 250,000. In 2025, despite inflation, a single episode still sells for the same price. Everything else has become more expensive, but the price of television drama production has remained stagnant. 

Meanwhile, the availability of production equipment has improved significantly. In the early days, Sri Lanka had only two or three cameras in total. Today, anyone can make a film, but the challenge lies in exhibition and distribution.

Filmmakers and producers face difficulties, but the greatest burden falls on investors. The potential for future growth is limited unless we expand our market.

A solution to this issue is to explore new markets, particularly among Sri Lankan expatriates. In countries like Australia, Sri Lankans attend film screenings, theatre productions, and concerts. A parallel economy has emerged between Sri Lanka and these expatriate communities, providing a market for our creative work. 

Sri Lankan cinema cannot survive solely on local theatres; we must explore digital platforms similar to Netflix, catering to the global Sri Lankan diaspora.

Conversations among Sri Lankan filmmakers about expanding the industry are ongoing. We are still in a transitional phase and it is difficult to predict the exact direction we are heading.

For example, a filmmaker like Vimukthi Jayasundara does not have a mainstream audience in Sri Lanka, but his films find markets through international film festivals. Similarly, different filmmakers must identify markets that align with their work.

Do you have any expectations for new filmmakers and creators in the local film industry, given your extensive experience?

Yes, I do have expectations for them. When we entered the world of cinema, becoming a filmmaker was very challenging. Today, anyone can become a filmmaker relatively easily.

However, the challenge is in getting one’s creation seen and acknowledged. In our time, if we made a film, there was certainty about its exhibition. Today, even if someone creates something, it’s hard to have confidence that it will be exhibited or accepted.

Our generation of filmmakers still carries a certain degree of demand due to the recognition of our older works. People still go to see our films because of the history we have built. Similarly, as television drama creators, our names are still known. 

But the newer generation of TV drama creators faces a unique challenge: how do they ensure their creations get exhibited? Who are these creators? Most people don’t even know. The challenge for emerging filmmakers is making sure their work is shown. They need to find the space to showcase their craft. That’s where they need to succeed.

The opportunity to discover new possibilities lies in their hands. They are the ones who truly understand the issues and needs of the current moment. We may not be able to fully grasp or anticipate the solutions they might bring. 

For example, YouTube has become a viable platform for earning money. Creators like Lochi, Lakai Sikai, and Janai Priyai have established financial sustainability through platforms like YouTube. They are not known as traditional filmmakers or TV drama creators; they are recognised as YouTubers. YouTube, in itself, has become a form of performance.

Thus, new filmmakers need to explore and find new avenues. They are the ones who must decide how to navigate these new environments and challenges. It is no longer just about traditional methods. The rules of the game have shifted and the power to adapt lies with them.

(The writer is a freelance writer and trade union activist. She can be contacted at ishanka.singhe@gmail.com)