Tamil film ‘Mayilaa’ is a tribute to ‘women whose lives and pain often remain unseen and unheard’

There has been a healthy batch of Tamil films in recent years set in small towns or villages, exploring with skin-pricking authenticity the travails and joys of ordinary people. This list – Pariyerum Perumal, Koozhangal, Seththumaan, Angammal – now includes Mayilaa, the assured first feature from 35-year-old actor Semmalar Annam.

Premiered at the International Film Festival Rotterdam (January 29-February 8), Mayilaa is a remarkable drama about a woman’s uncommon resilience in the face of poverty, abandonment and emotional distress. Mayilaa revolves around a young mother with a cruel husband and a beloved daughter who is suffering from severe constipation.

Poongodi (Melodi Dorcas), who is also known as Mayilaa for her devotion to the goddess Mayilatha, takes her child Sudar (Shudar Kodi) along for a new job: going door to door to sell mats. Inexperienced at this sort of thing, Mayilaa struggles to earn the money she needs to dress the goddess in a saree.

Semmalar Annam’s script weaves together Mayilaa’s predicament, her faith in the goddess, which frequently leads her into a trance, and Sudar’s stomach problems. The micro-perspective reveals a wider world of women who refuse to be cowed down by grim circumstance, and who create as well as sustain a community that helps deal with the perfidies of men.

Shot by Vinoth Janakiraman, Mayilaa has solid support: it’s edited by Sreekar Prasad, while the sound is by Anand Krishnamoorthi. The producer is Newton Cinema, which previously backed Paradise and Family, while the presenter is Pa Ranjith.

In an email interview, Semmalar Annam revealed the inspiration behind her film: “Prior to creating Mayilaa, I interviewed many women from rural communities to hear about their experiences. Their stories, the challenges they faced and the resilience with which they endured them, shaped the character of Mayilaa.” Here are edited excerpts from the interview.

Is Mayilaa autobiographical in any way, or based on anybody you know?

Mayilaa is not conceived around a single individual. As an actor, my work has taken me across many rural regions, where I had the opportunity to interact closely with women of different ages and backgrounds. Through these interactions, I became aware of their marital struggles, economic hardships, and unspoken suffering. These collective experiences shaped the writing of this film.

The narrative draws from several real-life incidents, such as women bearing cigarette burn marks from domestic abuse, making the story deeply rooted in reality. Mayilaa stands as a representation of countless such women whose lives and pain often remain unseen and unheard.

When went into creating Mayilaa’s character?

Many women in rural communities are married off in their teenage years without a true understanding of marriage or its consequences. Owing to the deep-rooted stigma surrounding separation and divorce, they often endure toxic relationships in silence, with little possibility of escape.

Mayilaa is one such woman, married too young and forced to live with an abusive husband. The constant violence suppresses her inner child, yet her spirit refuses to fade. Like a resilient child, she draws strength from her devotion to Mayilatha, which becomes the driving force that helps her move forward.

As she journeys through life with her child, Mayilaa strives to reclaim the parts of herself she has long buried. Innocent yet perceptive, intense and powerful, she is filled with zeal and an unyielding desire to pull herself out of the depths and rediscover who she truly is.

Mayilaa goes into a trance when the goddess appears before her, or when she is distressed. The film has a spiritual as well as a secular explanation for her condition.

My father is an atheist, while my mother and other relatives are believers, which allowed me to grow up exposed to two very different worldviews. From a young age, I had witnessed women entering trance-like states during rituals, and it often frightened me. My father once explained that these women were releasing long-suppressed and unexpressed emotions, and that the trance was simply a channel for emotional release.

That idea stayed with me deeply. Years later, while shooting in a village, a local junior artist arrived drunk and tried to keep her distance, afraid I might notice. I reassured her, and she eventually opened up about being separated from her husband. She spoke with excitement about how liberating her life felt after leaving him, as he had been abusive and taken her earnings. The very next day, when she returned sober, she contradicted herself, saying life alone was difficult and that she missed having a companion.

That contrast struck me powerfully. I realised it was similar to the trance state, when a woman momentarily sheds fear and social conditioning to express her true emotions, whether anger, frustration, pain, or helplessness. While believers may view this journey through a religious lens, others might perceive it as a psychological process.

Sudar’s problem with her bowel movements is an important part of the plot.

Sudar’s constipation is drawn from a deeply personal experience of my own motherhood. When my daughter Sudar was just a few months old, she suffered from severe constipation. We tried home remedies such as raisin water and betel leaves, and I learned first-hand how infants, unlike adults, do not follow a predictable routine. Even attending social functions becomes a quiet challenge for mothers.

This made me reflect lightly at first, but later more seriously on how much harder this burden must be for women traders and working mothers who carry their children with them on the road every day. On a broader level, I used human faeces as a metaphor for toxic relationships. One cannot truly feel free without letting go of what poisons the body and mind.

I have also heard and witnessed how children exposed to traumatic experiences, such as Sudar seeing her mother endure physical abuse, often manifest their distress physically, including through constipation. In the film, Mayilaa’s liberation from her abusive relationship coincides with Sudar finally being able to relieve herself. These parallel moments are intentional.

Tell us about the social setting for the film.

The film is set in and around rural Coimbatore, a region known for its strong traditional values and close-knit village life. The social fabric here is deeply rooted in customs, faith, and community practices, where spirituality often becomes an emotional outlet.

Women in these villages are resilient and hardworking, yet bound by rigid social norms that discourage open expression of marital suffering. While caste hierarchies exist as part of the lived reality, the film does not foreground caste politics; instead, it reflects how patriarchy and economic dependence cut across caste lines and shape women’s everyday lives.

Along her journey, Mayilaa finds a community of women like her. Is this something you have observed too?

Though Mayilaa is isolated within her marriage, she gradually discovers a silent sisterhood among women like her, especially those whose husbands are absent, abusive, or no longer alive like Kamala akka and other co-workers. The film suggests that in rural Tamil Nadu, such women are often socially invisible, yet they create informal networks of empathy, shared labour, faith, and emotional support.

Through this collective presence, the film emphasises women’s ability to survive and heal, not through individual rebellion alone, but through shared understanding and solidarity.

Mayilaa has been filmed on location. What inspired you to adopt a starkly realist, observational storytelling style?

Mayilaa was shot entirely in and around Coimbatore, including my native village. This region is known for its deeply rooted traditions, where women often turn to spirituality as a means of expressing their emotions – whether joy, grief, or pain.

My urge to tell Mayilaa in this style comes from real life experiences rather than cinematic intention. Through years of travelling to rural spaces as an actor and listening to women speak about their lives, I realised that their realities could not be contained within formulaic storytelling or glamourised rural imagery. Their pain, silence, faith, and resilience unfold in everyday moments, not dramatic highs.

I wanted the film to emerge from observation and emotional truth, allowing characters to exist as they are, without imposed heroism or spectacle. The realities of gendered violence, economic dependence, and social pressure demanded a restrained, honest approach.

This form felt most respectful to the women whose stories inspired the film, and it allowed the narrative to stay rooted in psychology and lived experience rather than conventional plot mechanics.

You have an excellent cast, especially Melodi as Mayilaa.

From my childhood, I have personally witnessed women surrendering themselves to the divine and confiding their most intimate struggles through faith. Remarkably, I was able to cast some of these very women who had originally inspired the story.

Since most of the supporting cast were people from rural communities, it was important for me to cast someone who could naturally blend into that world as Mayilaa. I was keen on choosing a theatre artist for the role, as they possess the depth, discipline, and command over voice and diction required to truly inhabit a character – especially since the film was shot with sync sound.

Mastery over rural slang was crucial; I wanted the audience to see her as one among the story’s people, not as an actor performing a role.

Melodi fit these requirements perfectly. I had previously acted alongside her and had seen first-hand her dedication and ability to grasp local dialects with remarkable ease. She brought an innate authenticity to the character, making Mayilaa feel completely real.

Her performance is so organic that it is hard to imagine anyone else in the role. Even in demanding scenes – such as those involving trance – she consistently struck the right emotional chord, often delivering her best performances in the very first take.

How did you find a producer for your film?

Initially, the film was supported by my father and other family members. At a crucial stage, editor Sreekar Prasad extended immense support, which significantly boosted my confidence. His constant encouragement, appreciation of the footage, and deep involvement in the process became a major driving force behind the film.

Through him, I was introduced to Anto Chittilappilly of Newton Cinemas, who expressed genuine interest in producing the film. It is rare to find a producer who truly believes in and supports a humble, reality-driven film like this, and I am deeply grateful for that.

In Tamil cinema, many such rooted, realistic films often remain unreleased due to financial constraints, with only a few exceptions like Koozhangal and Seththumaan. In such a challenging landscape, a producer’s belief in films like Mayilaa becomes vital – not just for one film, but as encouragement for other filmmakers to attempt similar stories.

Director Ram watched the film and appreciated it, expressing confidence that it would receive strong recognition at international film festivals. The support of director Pa Ranjith has also been crucial, and I am proud that my debut film is being presented by him.

How did you get into filmmaking?

Becoming a filmmaker has been my dream since my school days. With that goal, I pursued a degree in visual communication and directed a few short films, one of which won first place at the state level. Alongside this, I trained in acting under independent filmmaker Arunmozhi Sivaprakasam, which led me into street plays, theatre, voice work, and acting in independent films as well as supporting roles in commercial cinema.

While acting, my aspiration to direct resurfaced strongly, prompting me to make the short film Muthal Mazhai, which received wide appreciation. When I shared it with several filmmakers I had come to know during my seven-year acting journey, their encouragement and insistence that I pursue direction seriously greatly strengthened my confidence. One such viewer even offered to produce another film, which became the initial push to write Mayilaa.

With nearly 90% of the cast being women, the process was deeply moving – many of them felt that their unspoken lives were finally being voiced through the film, something they had never imagined expressing in front of a camera. That realisation has reinforced my resolve to continue telling such untold stories and bringing them into the light.