Semmalar Annam on her debut Tamil feature Mayilaa, which premiered at the International Film Festival Rotterdam, working with villagers and theatre actors, and linking the body and the divine through scatological humour
Women-centric films are gradually finding their way into the mainstream, but films chronicling the experiences of working-class or rural women are a lot rarer in Tamil cinema. Semmalar Annam’s charming and impactful feature film debut, Mayilaa, which premiered at the International Film Festival Rotterdam (IFFR) recently, offers a helpful corrective on both fronts, with its story revolving around the triumphs and travails of a mother-daughter pair from a village close to Coimbatore.
The protagonist, Mayilaa, also known as Poongodi, played with poignancy by Melodi Dorcas, is a working woman stuck in an abusive marriage. Circumstances force her to lose her job, but determined to purchase a saree to dress the village goddess, Mayilatha, she starts selling mats. This new business forces her out of the confines of her village as she tries to increase her chances of making a profit, exposing her to sights and ideas which she had previously not encountered.
Accompanying her on these trips is her daughter, Sudar (Shudarkodi V, the director’s daughter), an excitable, carefree child with constipation problems. Told wittily with sarcastic and scatological humour, Semmalar Annam wonderfully captures the camaraderie between this loveable duo, while allowing the protagonist to grow through encounters and events that expand her worldview and clarify her state of being.
Aided by Sreekar Prasad’s sharp and seamless edits, something as seemingly unedifying as shit becomes inextricably linked with the divine, where worship, like all other human activities, is itself shown to be a manifestation of mental and corporeal concerns. Anto Chittilappilly, the producer of Mayilaa, which has been presented by Pa Ranjith, says the film is being planned for a worldwide theatrical release, and with a bigger release in Tamil Nadu. “A date hasn’t been set yet, but we are working towards one. After a theatrical run, we hope to get it on an OTT platform, says Chittilappilly.
In this interview, Chennai-based Semmalar Annam, who has acted in Maadathy: An Unfair Tale (2019), Sennai (2021) and the Malayalam film Mmmmm (2021), talks about Mayilaa, working with non-professional actors, drawing from lived and familial memory, using humour, labour, faith and the body to explore women’s inner lives in rural Tamil Nadu, and more. Excerpts from the interview:
Many people know you as an actor, but you actually directed short films before you began acting. What prompted the switch, and do you think that acting in other films has helped your direction?
I didn’t intend to make any switch; it just happened organically. I met Arunmozhi Sivaprakasam, an independent filmmaker, when I arrived in Chennai as an assistant director. He’s also interested in photography, and took some photos of me, which were circulated across various auditions, ultimately landing me the role in Lakshmy Ramakrishnan’s film, Ammani (2016).
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There was no desire to enter the industry as an actor, but it was a little difficult for me to get assistant director roles at the time, so I thought I could make use of the opportunities I had. Performing roles for different directors has certainly shaped my approach to direction.
You are a professional actor yourself and have been involved in films with other professional actors. However, in Mayilaa, you have cast many villagers for the roles. How different was it working with non-professionals, and why did you choose to take this route to casting?
I thought non-professionals would be appropriate for my script. I wanted to set my first feature in a milieu I grew up in as it would be a little easier for me, both in terms of direction and support. So, I thought it would be a good choice to cast the villagers themselves.
Melodi Dorcas in a still from the film.
About five-six lead artists were theatre actors who I thought would gel with the villagers, and these actors indeed interacted well with the villagers, observing and staying with them. Since I knew these villagers, I tried to maintain the same convivial atmosphere with them as I would in my conversations. They were very quick to adapt though, requiring only a couple of days to get used to the procedures and terms.
You have mentioned before that you had constructed the story of Mayilaa from real events. How did you conceive the character of Mayilaa? Is she a single person or pieced together from different events and personalities?
Many people provided me with the inspiration for Mayilaa, but my grandmother, who was also named Mayila, served as a major source of inspiration. She was married quite early and was also my grandfather’s second wife. I started asking questions about how she lived and died, but couldn’t get satisfactory answers. Her death is shrouded in mystery, with some claiming that it was due to a possession of her by a ghost. Mayilaa refers to the peahen, and it is the male of the species which exuberantly displays its feathers, so I wanted to imagine the possibilities of females expressing themselves in this film.
I don’t think you would mistake me for using this word as it is used a lot in the film, but how did you decide to structure your movie around shit, not just as a source of comedy, but even as a prime mover in terms of plot and character development?
Among the various layers, this was the first line of thought in my film. These constipation issues were faced by my daughter as well, and I wanted to weave this aspect with her mother’s mat business. During my daughter’s constipation, we wanted to ensure that the stool came out of the body somehow on its own.
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Similarly, whenever we consider any toxic relationships, like that of Mayilaa’s in the film, we wish that it would detach from us by itself. I used this as a metaphor, bringing humour in whenever she discusses this with Sudar and giving the seriousness it deserves when showing Mayilaa’s problems.
Speaking of toxic relationships, your film clearly shows how men disrupt the dynamics of women in groups. Mayilaa’s husband isn’t seen in the film, but only heard and felt as a menacing presence.
During one of my shoots as an actor, I met a woman who had drunk a little, and she felt so relaxed and carefree that day, even claiming that she enjoyed her freedom from her husband. However, the next day, when she was sober, the same woman affirmed her need to be with her husband. I just wanted to show how women have internalised the societal norms and behave accordingly, even if they have wishes of their own. Within groups of women, they are far more relaxed.
Mayilaa is not just the name of your protagonist, but also of the goddess she worships. You display a particular attention to detail of the various rituals and modes of prayer, which I thought you expertly linked to Mayilaa’s and Sudar’s own bodily and mental issues. Do you see the act of praying as something bodily, especially when we consider the trance-like state Mayilaa goes into while praying?
Many of the village goddesses have an associated mythology revolving around the struggles of a woman, including the goddess in Maadathy, where caste violence was involved. In Mayilaa, I wanted to establish a connection between the woman and the goddess through their shared struggles.
Like the surreal sequence where Mayilaa visualises the goddess having similar wounds to her own.
Yes, through her belief in the goddess, her suppressed emotions come out in the form of a trance, and once she gets this vision, she obtains some clarity about herself. I view this Saami-Aattam (person dancing because they are possessed by the spirit of the God) as something psychological, a catharsis of sorts that provides relief to the person.
I think you brought these themes out well through your editing. Did you think of these parallels beforehand or was it something that came out after shooting?
Sreekar Prasad sir helped me a lot with this. Our collaboration helped to bring out these parallels more clearly, and he was especially insightful in using cutting as a means of telling the story.
The mat business exposes Mayilaa to different facets of society, like the women’s liberation conference, cars, or non-Tamil speakers. Did you envision such a progression to help Mayilaa understand her issues better and the world beyond?
Mayilaa’s world was initially limited to her family and some of her ex-colleagues in her village. The mat business exposes her to both the positive and negative sides of the world, and some incidents, like the conference, give her the confidence to move forward, thereby even expanding her thoughts. I contrast this with her daughter, who has fewer inhibitions in talking to a boy of her age. The purity and togetherness of the younger generation is transferred to Mayilaa herself, and this lack of inhibition is what I hope the next generation continually displays.
Instead of whole songs, you almost employ sung lines as a background score in different scenes. How did you think about employing music in your film along with the recorded natural sounds?
I thought about the music only after the editing was finished. When shooting, I felt that the silences were adequately filled by the sounds of the wind and live background sounds. Initially, I didn’t think a background score was necessary at all. But watching the film again, I thought that some places could have used something extra, but I wanted it to be a little minimal, which is why I thought that a voice singing a line was a better choice.
Finally, what’s next for you in terms of acting and directing?
I am thinking mainly about writing at the moment. I am not withdrawing from acting as I think it does teach me something new. I am open to working with new directors and exciting roles as well.

