Legacy, craft and risk: Why Mammootty remains a masterclass for actors

For decades, each time the Mammootty versus Mohanlal argument resurfaced, the debate always pivoted around an undisputed script. If Mohanlal was celebrated as the benchmark of versatility, Mammootty was always enclosed in a narrative of presumed limitations. So much so that the claim almost became a folklore! It was said that Mammootty struggled in domains (naturality, comedy, dance, romance, action) where Mohanlal glided effortlessly. It reached a point where even his most definite strength was strangely held against him. So his intense emotional range, which had the capacity to carry entire films, was routinely dismissed as melodramatic. As for his mastery over dialects, period roles, and culturally rooted characters, which he always approached with meticulous precision, it was casually reduced to being “just one of his things.” It was never accorded the same cultural capital as Mohanlal’s comfortable naturalism.

Despite everything, the juggernaut rolled on, braving hits and misses, bricks and bouquets, until his career took an unexpected, almost gentle U-turn in recent years. Before 2019 (not going to the 80s and 90s that showcased both actors breaking new grounds), the Megastar was often seen in embarrassingly forced misadventures (Thoppil Joppan, Masterpiece, Pullikaran Stara, Parole, White, Oru Kuttanandan Blog, among others) that not just undermined everything he had long been celebrated for but also indulged in his conceit. But then, post-pandemic, the actor seemed to have had a creative epiphany, resulting in a recalibration that led him to restore focus, subtlety, and objectivity to his craft. One also has to concede that even during those bumpy years, he produced unpolished gems (Pathemari, Varsham, Puthan Panam, Munnariyippu, Pranchiyettan and the Saint), more of a quiet reminder to himself and the audience that his craft was far from latent.

His first real attempt to shift gears came with Ram’s Peranbu (2019), which was a daring, experimental narrative in which the actor played an emotionally wrought father coming to terms with his teenage daughter’s cerebral palsy. That the star in him showed no hesitation in letting his character marry a transgender woman was a move few would have dared to try in mainstream cinema.

Then came a series of roles (deliberate or strategic) that subverted his stardom. For instance, Mani sir, a meek, anxious cop who is dependent on medication and stands helpless in the face of danger in Unda, is far removed from the heroic archetype. While Michael Appan in Bheeshma Parvam, despite carrying a Godfather-esque gravitas, remains humanised, restrained, and morally ambiguous, showing that power needn’t be synonymous with spectacle. If Puzhu’s Kuttan is a casteist bigot, Rorschach’s Luke Antony is consumed by self-destructive obsession and wages a metaphorical war against a ghostly presence. In Kaathal: The Core, Mathew’s closeted sexuality adds the kind of conflicts that have rarely been explored by a mainstream hero. The actor inhabits a character with striking dualities who seamlessly navigates the distinct emotional and social topographies in Nanpakal Nerathu Mayakkam, whereas Chathan in Bramayugam is a chilling, malevolent figure who eventually succumbs to the very darkness he once tried to evade.

Even in his supposedly “massy” roles, one could find nuance. So ASI George Martin in Kannur Squad is a realistic and rooted cop, while Turbo Jose in Turbo, despite the adrenaline-spiking action stunts, remains a simple, vulnerable man driven by love and fear for his mother.

And the contrast, if you place this against his contemporaries, is really striking. Not just Mohanlal, even his peers across languages aren’t willing to step beyond the comforts of their established stardom. They would rather be confined to the persona that initially earned them that acclaim, even if they keep repeating it to the point of monotony. It goes without saying that it’s an image they have painstakingly built over the years. But then, unlike Mammootty, they would rather operate within familiar formulas than venture into morally complex, socially daring, or emotionally intricate territory.

So what truly defines the longevity or greatness of a star? Is it just inherent talent, a succession of box-office victories, and the ability to maintain the image that first brought them fame? Or is it about discipline, persistent hard work, an unwillingness to rest on past laurels, the hunger in refining and expanding one’s craft, and the ability to recognise one’s strengths, limitations, and the evolving demands of the art form? Surely it is a combination of talent, consistency, and insight into oneself that separates transient popularity from enduring legacy.

That’s why the 74-year-old Mammootty should be an inspiring case study for every aspiring actor who dreams of sustaining in an industry where fortunes flip every weekend. Here is an actor and star who has been constantly measured against a contemporary widely hailed as one of the finest in the business, right through his career. Mammootty was always criticised, taunted, and even diminished for his perceived limitations and sporadic lapses. But then today, he stands decisively at the peak of his craft.

It is the careful attention he brings to his evolution that makes him unique. Anyone who has followed his career will be able to recognise the decades he spent identifying and softening the rough edges in his performances and how he strengthened every weakness in his game, and always went for roles that demanded subtlety, complexity, and moral ambiguity. One could call this strategic self-awareness, the capacity to recognise one’s own strengths and weaknesses and work deliberately to expand them.

And the result is a quiet confidence that radiates not only from his screen presence but also in the trust his audience places in him. His fans are confident that regardless of genre or narrative, their favourite actor will inhabit his characters fully, delivering performances of surprising depth and authenticity. Today, even his celebrated contemporary is unable to inspire this level of conviction and range. In an era where actors often plateau once they achieve fame, Mammootty shows how continuous refinement, courage, and self-awareness can sustain both artistry and stardom over decades.

That’s why he continues to take risks that newer stars won’t, while simultaneously influencing filmmakers and actors to push boundaries. And by blending mainstream appeal with nuanced performances, he has quietly redefined heroism in Malayalam cinema like no one else.

And finally, to those Gen Z social media voices who are mocking the actor for not having a 100-crore film to his name, this is a case of glaring historical illiteracy. An ignorance that allows an entire generation to casually “cancel” a legend and measure him against a rank newcomer based on a single box-office figure.

A star’s true value lies in the ability to draw audiences purely on the strength of their name. But beyond that hyped initial, the film’s commercial success is solely based on the merit of the film. That’s why Premalu’s opening collection was Rs 1.5 crore, while Turbo collected Rs 6.5 crore on its first day. That discrepancy comes from legacy, history, and the trust a seasoned star has built with audiences over decades. Stardom can never be reduced to a weekend box-office number. It is an enduring game, and Mammootty has already played it better than most.