The Innocent school of comedy: How the Malayalam actor owned his Thrissur accent

Innocent belonged to Irinjalakuda, a town in Thrissur district, a district very distinct for its colloquialisms, not to mention accent. (Photo by Lithin Thomas via Wikimedia Commons)

Malayalam film star Innocent, who died on Sunday, is fiercely mourned by his fans and fellow-actors alike. A personification of pure entertainment – slapstick, wit, droll, sarcastic, farcical – who left his audiences rolling in the aisles, he is largely responsible for elevating the comic element in Malayalam cinema. Some of his films have attained cult status, while some remain iconic. Just his entry on the screen would bring on a collective relaxation, an anticipation of laughing ourselves silly.

While he came in as comic relief, he was different from an Adoor Bhasi or a Jagathy Sreekumar, developing as he did, with the help of a distinct accent, an exclusive style very much his own. His manner of speaking, which did not change despite the wide variety of roles he did, was his USP. It was how he spoke – along with what he spoke – that brought him the limelight.

Innocent belonged to Irinjalakuda, a town in Thrissur district, a district very distinct for its colloquialisms, not to mention accent. As it is, the accents from one corner of Kerala to the other are too different to even be understood unilaterally. Multiple Malayalams abound in the state; Thiruvananthapuram has its own Malayalam, Kochi another. For some reason it is the Thrissur accent that has been accorded a ‘comic’ status in films, with many comedians who do not even belong to Thrissur imitating the tone – some call it a tune – to launch their punch lines.

Usages like enthutta (what), kdave (child), endappidu (now what is this?)  are just some of the examples of the Thrissurian trope lavishly used in jokes. With Innocent it was his native tongue, it was the way he spoke naturally. In most of his films his unabashed plying of the typical accent, in scenes funny or not, had him own this particular Malayalam. This was his language, his birthright. No one can imagine an Innocent without his unique way of dialogue delivery. He was all about his verbal calisthenics.

Unlike the others, Innocent neither exaggerated the accent nor overplayed it. It was just his thing, like a down to earth vocabulary, the way he had of turning his head and trademark facial expressions. There is his extensive reaction to his wife’s miming, where he mistakes her pious actions for amorous intent, in Manichitrathazhu (the ornate lock), or a throwaway casual line like in Ishtam (love), where he tells the character played by the late Nedumudi Venu who is standing stunned for reasons of his own: ‘Pennu kaanan chennappo pennu iratta pettu ennu ketaa pole nikkane!’ (roughly translated: why are you standing like a guy who just heard that the girl he has come to ‘see’ as a marital prospect has delivered twins?)

Along with KPAC Lalitha, Kalpana, and more recently Subi Suresh, the comic constellation in Kerala is now twinkling just that bit less. Innocent will be sorely missed in every funny film scene in the future. For the longest time any on-screen humour effort will bring only one question to our lips: Wonder how Innocent would have done it?