The Year Was 1941. In the town of Madurai stood J C Daniel’s house, where an old iron trunk lay forgotten amidst unused junk. For six-year-old Harris, that trunk was a constant source of curiosity. One day, driven by an unstoppable urge, he managed to pry it open. Out spilled film negatives and prints, their sheen catching the boy's wide-eyed wonder. Excited, he ran to his parents, asking if he could play with the mysterious films. They did not object.

With childlike innocence, Harris began cutting the films into large pieces using a pair of scissors. He packed some in his bag and took them to school, proudly displaying them to his friends. The peculiar sound the film strips made as they rubbed together filled the children with laughter and delight.

Had no idea what he was doing

But at home, little Harris often found himself at the receiving end of his elder brother Sundaram’s teasing and harmless beatings. On one such day, plotting a small act of revenge, Harris noticed something that made him pause — the very film roll he had been playing with contained an image of his brother. Without a second thought, he gathered the remaining film rolls from the trunk and set them ablaze. Clapping his hands with glee, he watched as the flames devoured the reels, unaware of the value of what he had just destroyed.

He didn't know then that he was burning a piece of Malayalam cinema’s history. He had reduced to ashes Vigathakumaran, the very first Malayalam film, a milestone etched in golden letters. Years passed, and those who had once dismissed Vigathakumaran and J C Daniel eventually came to recognise their significance, elevating them to the realm of legend.

Today, that same little boy lives in one of the old houses lining the tree-shaded streets of the capital city, carrying with him a diary of memories. Even in the twilight of his life, as he navigates the calm of retirement, his thoughts flow like a river, reaching deep into the past. Harris Daniel, the youngest son of J C Daniel—the father of Malayalam cinema—steps once more into the Capitol Theatre of his memories. The lights dim. Through the projector of recollections, Vigathakumaran and J C Daniel flicker to life on the screen once again.

Harris had served as an officer in the LIC and, after retirement, settled in Salem for many years. But last year, a longing to return to the city where his parents had lived brought Harris and his wife back to Thiruvananthapuram. One of the first places Harris revisited in his mind was their ancestral home in Agastheeswaram.

Walking down memory lane

"My father was born with a silver spoon in his mouth," Harris remembers. "His father, Dr N J Daniel, was a prominent doctor and wealthy man in Thiruvananthapuram. Much of Agastheeswaram bore his name. The house my great-grandfather built there was nothing short of a palace. It was so vast, with rooms upon rooms, that finding your way out was no easy task."

From a young age, J C Daniel had a deep passion for the arts and music. He was drawn to kalaripayattu, horse riding, theatre and swimming. It was his pursuit of high school education that first brought him to Thiruvananthapuram. Life in the hostel and the friendships he forged there left a lasting impression on him. It was during this time that the dream of cinema began to take root. He never missed an English film screening in the city and was an avid reader. The idea of making his own film had already begun to blossom in his mind.

Harris recalls how his father, a lover of books, met his mother, Janet, on a quest for a rare book. Janet was the daughter of Joel Singh, the owner of the LMS Book Depot in Pulimoodu.

“One day, while searching for a book at LMS Book Depot, my father unexpectedly crossed paths with my mother. It was love at first sight. Their romance blossomed over five years, and in 1924, they married at the MM Church in Palayam. With marriage came greater responsibilities. My father tried his hand at various businesses, including the timber trade, but suffered losses each time. He then started a grocery store in Palayam. Despite these setbacks, the dream of making a film kept him going."
Initially, J C Daniel considered making a short film based on kalaripayattu, but his friend Sundaram encouraged him to aim higher and make a full-length feature film. Losing interest in his business ventures, he decided to pursue cinema. He tried enrolling in a film studio in Chennai but was turned away. Undeterred, he moved to Mumbai, where, with the help of friends, he gained valuable knowledge by working in various studios. He learned about cameras, film equipment and where to procure them. Once confident in his abilities, he returned home.
 

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J C Daniel with his father and other family members



His wife and family supported his decision to make a film, though his grandmother Gnanambal strongly opposed it. But J C Daniel was resolute—he would make his film, no matter who disagreed. To fund the production, he first sold 108 acres of land he owned in Panachamoodu near Neyyattinkara.

With the money, he bought some equipment, but purchasing the camera required selling more land. Piece by piece, through selling property and taking loans, he managed to shoot and release Vigathakumaran. However, the film’s release faced fierce backlash due to the casting of a Dalit woman as the heroine. This upper-caste opposition broke his spirit. He could not even recover half of his investment from the theaters. As moneylenders hounded him, he sold off his film studio, camera, equipment and even his car to repay debts. When that was not enough, his wife’s jewelry and the remaining land were sold. Though the debts were eventually cleared, the family plunged into severe financial distress. Relatives and friends turned accusatory. For two years, my father sank into deep depression.

Eventually, he moved to Mumbai and studied dentistry. In 1935, at the invitation of his cousin, police superintendent Devasahayam, he started a dental clinic in Madurai. That same year, I was born in our ancestral home in Agastheeswaram. As his clinic flourished, he brought my mother and us to Madurai. Life began to feel joyful again.”

Good ol' days

Harris fondly remembers those early days in Madurai as the golden period of their family’s life. J C Daniel ensured his children received the best education, and life moved smoothly. No one expected the passion for cinema, which once led them into despair, to resurface.

"As the youngest in the family, I was allowed to spend time at my father's clinic after school. Besides patients, I often saw many unfamiliar faces—Congress activists involved in the freedom struggle, seeking refuge from the police. Despite strict surveillance, my father fearlessly provided shelter to many revolutionaries. He even adopted khadi to show his solidarity. He never touched alcohol, remaining steadfast in Gandhian principles despite facing numerous challenges."

“After some years in Madurai, the family moved to Karaikudi. My father received a government posting as a dental surgeon in Pudukottai and also ran a private practice near our home. Life prospered. Among his prominent patients was the famous Tamil actor P U Chinnappa. The two became close friends, and this friendship reignited my father's cinematic dreams. Chinnappa promised to star in and co-produce my father's next film. To fund this project, my father sold property in my mother’s name and sent us back to Agastheeswaram. Many opposed his decision to return to cinema, but he paid no heed. He raised the necessary funds and traveled to Madras to meet Chinnappa—only to be betrayed. Chinnappa refused to meet him.

“Broke and heartbroken, my father eventually returned home. After enduring much criticism, he started another clinic in Madras with the help of his uncles, but it didn’t succeed. He moved to Trichy, worked there for three years, then shifted to Tiruppattur, where his clinic finally flourished. But my father’s restless spirit never settled. We moved again to Karaikud,” Harris recalls.

“Meanwhile, my elder brother Sundaram completed his studies and became a teacher at Trinity College in Ceylon. He took on the responsibility of supporting the family. My father returned to Agastheeswaram to arrange my sisters’ marriages. Slowly, he started a clinic in a nearby village called Kottaram and dabbled in the cashew business. But financial gains remained elusive. During this period, he also founded Pankaja Theatres, aiming to bring plays to local audiences, but that too failed. Later, he opened a clinic in Neyyattinkara, and we moved into a rented house. By then, my three sisters were married. But tragedy struck again when my father suffered a debilitating stroke.”
Perhaps, if someone had stopped him that day, Harris might not have burned the negatives of Vigathakumaran. He speaks with emotion about the affection his father had for him, the youngest son.

“Sometimes I wonder if things would have been different if someone—my father or mother—had intervened while I was burning those films. My father always had a special fondness for me because I was a good student. When I performed in a Tamil play in women’s attire at University College, Thiruvananthapuram, he came to watch.

But my father’s frequent job transfers and the resulting relocations troubled me. I believed his generosity was the root cause of all our struggles. Even after I got a job, I sent money home in my mother's name. My father held on to his love for cinema until the very end. In his final days, he even told my wife Sushila about his desire to make films based on Bible stories.”

J C Daniel's final days

Harris Daniel does not hide his regret about not being closer to his father during his final days. He remembers that J C Daniel was bedridden for nearly four years, and his mother endured all hardships to stay by his side.
“After 1971, my father was completely paralysed. None of his children were near him. He spent his last days in our ancestral home in Agastheeswaram. He passed away on April 27, 1975. None of us could attend his funeral. He was laid to rest in the family cemetery. But his final days weren’t as tragic as depicted in the film Celluloid. He didn’t die in a shack; he passed away in a house that resembled a palace.”
 

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Harris Daniel with wife Susheela at the tomb of J C Daniel


“It was after 18 years of my father’s passing that we lost our mother. She passed away at my sister Lalitha’s home in Thiruvananthapuram. Mother was laid to rest at the CSI Church in Mateer Memorial, near the museum. Though their resting places lie apart, I am certain they are together beyond these distances,” shares Harris.

Now, Harris is deeply committed to honouring the memory of his late father, striving to secure the recognition that once eluded him, including the installation of a statue in the capital city. The wrinkles of age may have marked his body, but they have never touched or pained his memories.