Features
“Dadayama” and the Sinhala middle – cinema
By Uditha Devapriya
In a long, thoughtful article on Vasantha Obeyesekere in the Daily Mirror two years ago (“Versatile Filmmaker Vasantha Obeysekera’s Dadayama“, August 6, 2022), D. B. S. Jeyaraj remembers going to watch Dadayama with Ajith Samaranayake for the first time. This was 1983, a few months before the riots; political turmoil had become a fact of life, but people went in large numbers to theatres. Dadayama was no exception.
“When we went to the Regal Theatre, the show had already started running to a full house. Furthermore, tickets to the next show were also sold out. There were long lineups of ticket holders waiting to see the next show of the film. The chances of seeing the film that evening or night were extremely remote.”
The most obvious reason for the full and packed audiences, of course, was the experience Obeyesekere’s film had offered spectators. In the context of the Sri Lankan cinema, there had not been a film like it before. It represented not only the peak of the Sinhala cinema of the 1980s, but as importantly, the high point of the middlebrow-masscult culture of that decade. By now, the divide between box-office success and critical appeal that had prevailed and, in a way, defined the cinema in the 1960s and 1970s had faded away. What was once considered as lowbrow entertainment had become middlebrow art. The old middlebrow, by contrast, had become the new highbrow.
Against this backdrop, what Vasantha Obeyesekere did was to subvert the tropes of popular cinema, using the motifs of the mainstream as a vehicle for serious themes. Obeyesekere figured in among a group of ambitious filmmakers – among them, H. D. Premaratne and Vijaya Dharma Sri – who had emerged in the 1970s thanks to the policies of the National Film Corporation, and had taken it on themselves to question the conventions and frontiers of their medium. In doing so, they carved a space for themselves.
Dadayama was far from the first film that exemplified this trend. Nor was it Obeyesekere’s first work to take a step in that direction. Before Dadayama, he made Palagetiyo. And before Palagetiyo, he made Diyamanthi, a slick neo-Hitchcockian thriller which steered clear of the song-and-dance sequences of mainstream Sinhala films, yet, somehow, managed to keep audiences entertained. Diyamanthi, in turn, followed a long line of films that began with H. D. Premaratne’s Sikuruliya and Apeksha, and Vijaya Dharma Sri’s Duhulu Malak.
For all intents and purposes, these were films that examined “serious” themes, political or otherwise. Yet they did so while featuring some of the most melodramatic, contrived storylines that could ever be concocted. Sikuruliya, for instance, borrows its plot from the Ummagga Jatakaya and every other trope of Sinhala romance films. Yet, crucially, it subverts those tropes. In a typical Sinhala film, the forlorn girl – played here by the highly versatile Swineetha Weerasinghe – would not take it upon herself to elope with another man on the day of her wedding: she would invariably wait for someone to rescue her. Yet here, she does what she pleases with various men who enter her life.
Apeksha takes this a step ahead by confronting social class, a theme that had never been addressed with any modicum of intelligence in a mainstream Sinhala film. In popular Sinhala cinema, class served as a backdrop, or at best a prop. The rich man would invariably be the villain, the poor boy the hero, and the (almost always rich) girl would be saved by the latter from the clutches of the former. Apeksha ends on that note: it culminates in a predictable fistfight between hero and villain. But the rich, depraved villain does not entirely become a villain: at certain points, such as when he visits a singer at a bar he has fallen in love with, we feel the director is trying to humanise him.
Vijaya Dharma Sri’s Duhulu Malak tackles a more controversial and difficult theme: adultery. As the film scholar Laleen Jayamanne notes, Duhulu Malak became “perhaps the first Sri Lankan film to present adultery in a manner that makes it seem visually pleasurable.” This was no mean achievement, and it cannot be undermined. However, Dharma Sri worked at a time when adultery could not be presented in any visually pleasing way without making concessions to the box-office. For that reason, Duhulu Malak has the cake and eats it too: it sympathises with the woman who faces a stark choice between her husband and her lover, yet satisfies the moral brigade by making her return to her husband.
Both Premaratne and Dharma Sri spent the rest of their careers making films that addressed one difficult theme after another, within an essentially commercial framework. To their credit, this formula never backfired on them. Premaratne, for one, managed to make a series of hits in the most unlikely and impossible settings.
Two of his films, Devani Gamana and Palama Yata, were released in that interregnum between the ethnic riots and the second JVP insurrection. Both performed well at the box-office. Then, in 1997, when the trauma of the insurrection had begun to fade away, he made Visidela, which confronted the insurgency as in unfolds in an otherwise quaint, nondescript Sinhala village.
It is against this backdrop that one should note Obeyesekere’s achievement. Obeyesekere fundamentally belongs to the middle-cinema space, but his films are not of the same mould as Premaratne’s and Dharma Sri’s. Premaratne and Dharma Sri ostensibly steered clear of political themes, though of course one can argue that there is nothing apolitical about the themes they explored.
Obeyesekere, however, is more of a political radical: he questions norms and conventions by first making us idealise them before shattering all illusions we have of them. In this regard, his treatment of class in Palagetiyo is different to Premaratne’s approach to it in Apeksha: unlike the latter, in which the two lovers reconcile, in Palagetiyo the romance eventually takes second place to the harsh realities of class.
As I mentioned earlier, Dadayama was far from the first film which epitomised the middle-cinema space of the 1970s and 1980s. Yet it was unprecedented in its own way. For the first time in a Sinhala film, we are seeing tropes of the popular cinema being presented before our eyes, only to be shattered like the shards of glass that rain down on the camera and the screen in that final encounter between the protagonist and antagonist.
Obeyesekere made sure to include his actors in this scheme. To give the best example, he conjures Irangani Serasinghe out of the blue, presents her as the sweet, idealised mother-type so strongly associated with her, and then destroys that image of her by making her a chain-smoking brothel owner. During a conversation I had with her 10 years ago, Serasinghe recalled being showered by letters from outraged fans: “They all asked me, ‘Why did you take on that role, why did you set such a bad example for our children?’” She seemed visibly distraught. Obeyesekere’s ruse had worked.
It goes without saying that Vasantha Obeyesekere never again reached the heights he did with Dadayama. Kadapathaka Chaya comes a close second, but it is too long, and at one level derivative of Dadayama, to rise on its own. His last great work, Dorakada Marawa, bears comparisons with Dadayama and Palagetiyo. Yet by the time of its release, the Sinhala cinema had moved on to its next phase, marked by the entry of a new and different – a more politically inclined – generation of directors. Premaratne and Dharma Sri continued to make films. Yet they had to give way to a new order.
For better or worse, the Sinhala middle-cinema of the 1970s and 1980s no longer exists. Most of its best and brightest purveyors, including not just Obeyesekere, Dharma Sri, and Premaratne, but also to a considerable extent Sumitra Peries, have long passed away. Yet in that interregnum, that middle-cinema space provided both directors and audiences a chance to confront, address – and even resolve – some of the more pressing issues from that time.
One wonders whether the present culture in Sri Lanka – with its emphasis on low budgets, on avant-gardism, on lavish funding – has made us less appreciative of the cinema’s potential to raise awareness of important issues within mainstream audiences.
Perhaps what we need to do is to return to that earlier mode of filmmaking. In doing so, we can redefine, even revolutionise, the Sinhala cinema, tapping into its potential as the most popular and the most populist of the arts in this country. Films are, essentially, communal experiences. What the likes of Premaratne and Obeyesekere taught us is that this does not preclude directors from examining serious themes, and that mass audiences can be made to respond to them – as the 1970s and 1980s illustrated well enough.
Uditha Devapriya is a writer, researcher, and analyst based in Sri Lanka who contributes to a number of publications on topics such as history, art and culture, politics, and foreign policy. He can be reached at .
Features
Relief without recovery
The escalating conflict in the Middle East is of such magnitude, with loss of life, destruction of cities, and global energy shortages, that it is diverting attention worldwide and in Sri Lanka, from other serious problems. Barely four months ago Sri Lanka experienced a cyclone of epic proportions that caused torrential rains, accompanied by floods and landslides. The immediate displacement exceeded one million people, though the number of deaths was about 640, with around 200 others reported missing. The visual images of entire towns and villages being inundated, with some swept away by floodwaters, evoked an overwhelming humanitarian response from the general population.
When the crisis of displacement was at its height there was a concerted public response. People set up emergency kitchens and volunteer clean up teams fanned out to make flooded homes inhabitable again. Religious institutions, civil society organisations and local communities worked together to assist the displaced. For a brief period the country witnessed a powerful demonstration of social solidarity. The scale of the devastation prompted the government to offer generous aid packages. These included assistance for the rebuilding of damaged houses, support for building new houses, grants for clean up operations and rent payments to displaced families. Welfare centres were also set up for those unable to find temporary housing.
The government also appointed a Presidential Task Force to lead post-cyclone rebuilding efforts. The mandate of the Task Force is to coordinate post-disaster response mechanisms, streamline institutional efforts and ensure the effective implementation of rebuilding programmes in the aftermath of the cyclone. The body comprises a high-level team, led by the Prime Minister, and including cabinet ministers, deputy ministers, provincial-level officials, senior public servants, representing key state institutions, and civil society representatives. It was envisaged that the Task Force would function as the central coordinating authority, working with government agencies and other stakeholders to accelerate recovery initiatives and restore essential services in affected regions.
Demotivated Service
However, four months later a visit to one of the worst of the cyclone affected areas to meet with affected families from five villages revealed that they remained stranded and in a state of limbo. Most of these people had suffered terribly from the cyclone. Some had lost their homes. A few had lost family members. Many had been informed that the land on which they lived had become unsafe and that they would need to relocate. Most of them had received the promised money for clean up and some had received rent payments for two months. However, little had happened beyond this. The longer term process of rebuilding houses, securing land and restoring livelihoods has barely begun. As a result, families who had already endured the trauma of disaster, now face prolonged uncertainty about their future. It seems that once again the promises made by the political leadership has not reached the ground.
A government officer explained that the public service was highly demotivated. According to him, many officials felt that they had too much work piled upon them with too little resources to do much about it. They also believed that they were underpaid for the work they were expected to carry out. In fact, there had even been a call by public officials specially assigned to cyclone relief work to go on strike due to complaints about their conditions of work. This government official appreciated the government leadership’s commitment to non corruption. But he noted the irony that this had also contributed to a demotivation of the public service. This was on the unjustifiable basis that approving and implementing projects more quickly requires an incentive system.
Whether or not this explanation fully captures the situation, it points to an issue that the government needs to address. Disaster recovery requires a proactive public administration. Officials need to reach out to affected communities, provide clear information and help them navigate the complex procedures required to access assistance. At the consultation with cyclone victims this was precisely the concern that people raised. They said that government officers were not proactive in reaching out to them. Many felt they had little engagement with the state and that the government officers did not come to them. This suggests that the government system at the community level could be supported by non-governmental organisations that have the capacity and experience of working with communities at the grassroots.
In situations such as this the government needs to think about ways of motivating public officials to do more rather than less. It needs to identify legitimate incentives that reward initiative and performance. These could include special allowances for those working in disaster affected areas, recognition and promotion for officers who successfully complete relief and reconstruction work, and the provision of additional staff and logistical support so that the workload is manageable. Clear targets and deadlines, with support from the non-governmental sector, can also encourage officials to act more proactively. When government officers feel supported and recognised for the extra effort required, they are more likely to engage actively with affected communities and ensure that assistance reaches those who need it most.
Political Solutions
Under the prevailing circumstances, however, the cyclone victims do not know what to do. The government needs to act on this without further delay. Government policy states that families can receive financial assistance of up to Rs 5 million to build new houses if they have identified the land on which they wish to build. But there is little freehold land available in many of the affected areas. As a result, people cannot show government officials the land they plan to buy and, therefore, cannot access the government’s promised funds. The government needs to address this issue by providing a list of available places for resettlement, both within and outside the area they live in. However, another finding at the meeting was that many cyclone victims whose lands have been declared unsafe do not wish to leave them. Even those who have been told that their land is unstable feel more comfortable remaining where they have lived for many years. Relocating to an unfamiliar area is not an easy decision.
Another problem the victims face is the difficulty of obtaining the documents necessary to receive compensation. Families with missing members cannot prove that their loved ones are no longer alive. Without official confirmation they cannot access property rights or benefits that would normally pass to surviving family members. These are problems that Sri Lanka has faced before in the context of the three decade long internal war. It has set up new legal mechanisms such as the provision of certificates of absence validated by the Office on Missing Persons (OMP) in place of death certificates when individuals remain missing for long periods. The government also needs to be sensitive to the fact that people who are farmers cannot be settled anywhere. Farming is not possible in every location. Access to suitable land and water is essential if farmers are to rebuild their livelihoods. Relocation programmes that fail to take these realities into account risk creating new psychological and economic hardships.
The message from the consultation with cyclone victims is that the government needs to talk more and engage more directly with affected communities. At the same time the political leadership at the highest levels need to resolve the problems that government officers on the ground cannot solve. Issues relating to land availability, legal documentation and livelihood restoration require policy decisions at higher levels. The challenge to the government to address these issues in the context of the Iran war and possible global catastrophe will require a special commitment. Demonstrating that Sri Lanka is a society that considers the wellbeing of all its citizens to be a priority will require not only financial assistance but also a motivated public service and proactive political leadership that reaches out to those still waiting to rebuild their lives.
by Jehan Perera
Features
Supporting Victims: The missing link in combating ragging
A recent panel discussion at the University of Peradeniya examined the implications of the Supreme Court’s judgement on ragging, in which the Court recognised that preventing ragging requires not only criminal penalties imposed after an incident occurs but also systems and processes within universities that enable victims to speak up and receive support. Bringing together perspectives from law, university administration, psychology and students, the discussion sought to understand why ragging continues to persist in Sri Lankan universities despite the existence of legal prohibitions. While the discussion covered legal and institutional dimensions, one theme emerged clearly: addressing ragging requires more than laws and disciplinary rules. It requires institutions that are capable of supporting victims.
Sri Lanka enacted the Prohibition of Ragging and Other Forms of Violence in Educational Institutions Act No. 20 of 1998 following several tragic incidents in universities, during the 1990s. Among the most widely remembered is the death of engineering student S. Varapragash at the University of Peradeniya in 1997. Incidents such as this shocked the country and revealed the consequences of allowing violent forms of student hierarchy to persist. The 1998 Act marked an important legal intervention by recognising ragging as a criminal offence. The law introduced severe penalties for individuals found guilty of engaging in ragging or other forms of violence in educational institutions, including fines and imprisonment.
Despite the existence of this law for nearly three decades, prosecutions under the Act have been extremely rare. Incidents continue to surface across universities although most are not reported. The incidents that do reach university administrations are dealt with internally through disciplinary procedures rather than through the criminal justice system. This suggests that the problem does not lie solely in the absence of legal provisions but also in the ability of victims to come forward and pursue complaints.
The tragic reminders; the cases of Varapragash and Pasindu Hirushan
Varapragash, a first-year engineering student at the University of Peradeniya, was forced by senior students to perform extreme physical exercises as part of ragging, resulting in severe internal injuries and acute renal failure that ultimately led to his death. In 2022, the courts upheld the conviction of one of the perpetrators for abduction and murder. The case illustrates not only the brutality of ragging but also how long and difficult the path to justice can be for victims and their families. Even when victims speak about their experiences, they may not always disclose the full extent of what they have endured. In the case of Varapragash, the judgement records that the victim told his father that he was asked to do dips and sit-ups. Varapragash’s father had testified that it appeared his son was not revealing the exact details of what he had to endure due to shame.
More than two decades after the death of Varapragash, the tragedy of ragging continues. The 2025 Supreme Court judgement arose from the case of Pasindu Hirushan, a 21-year-old student of the University of Sri Jayewardenepura, who sustained devastating head injuries at a fresher’s party, in March 2020, after a tyre sent down the stairs by senior students struck him. He became immobile, was placed on life support, and returned home only months later. If the Varapragash case exposed the deadly consequences of ragging in the 1990s, the Pasindu Hirushan case demonstrates that universities are still failing to prevent serious violence, decades after the enactment of the 1998 Act. It was against this background of continuing institutional failure that the Supreme Court issued its Orders of Court in 2025. Among the key mechanisms emphasised by the judgement is the establishment of Victim Support Committees within universities.
Why do victims need support?
Ragging in universities can take many forms, including verbal humiliation, physical abuse, emotional intimidation and, in some instances, sexual harassment. While all forms of ragging can have serious consequences, incidents involving sexual harassment often present additional barriers for victims who wish to come forward. Victims may hesitate to complain due to weak institutional mechanisms, fear of retaliation, or uncertainty about whether their experiences will be taken seriously. In many cases, those who speak out are confronted with questions that shift attention away from the alleged misconduct and onto their own behaviour: why did s/he continue the conversation?; why did s/he not simply disengage, if the harassment occurred as claimed?; why did s/he remain in the environment?; or did his/her actions somehow encourage the accused’s behaviour? Such responses illustrate how easily victims can be subjected to a second layer of scrutiny when they attempt to report incidents. When individuals anticipate disbelief, minimisation or blame, silence may appear safer than disclosure. In such circumstances, the presence of a trusted institutional body, capable of providing guidance, protection and support, become critically important, highlighting the need for effective Victim Support Committees within universities.
What Victim Support Committees must do
As expected by the Supreme Court, an effective Victim Support Committee should function as a trusted institutional mechanism that places the safety and dignity of victims at the centre of its work. The committee must provide a safe and confidential point of contact through which victims can report incidents of ragging without fear of intimidation or retaliation. It should assist victims in understanding and pursuing available complaint procedures, while also ensuring their immediate protection where there is a risk of continued harassment. Recognising the psychological harm ragging may cause, the committee should facilitate access to counselling and emotional support services. At a practical level, it should also help victims document incidents, record statements, and preserve evidence that may be necessary for disciplinary or legal proceedings. The committee must coordinate with university authorities to ensure that complaints are addressed promptly and responsibly, while maintaining strict confidentiality to protect the identity and well-being of those who come forward. Beyond responding to individual cases, Victim Support Committees should also contribute to broader awareness and prevention efforts, within universities, helping to create an environment where ragging is actively discouraged and students feel safe to report incidents. Without such support, the process of pursuing justice can become overwhelming for individuals who are already dealing with the emotional impact of abuse.
Making Victim Support Committees work
According to the Orders of Court, these committees should include representatives from the academic and non-academic staff, a qualified counsellor and/or clinical psychologist, an independent person, from outside the institution, with experience in law enforcement, health, or social services, and not more than three final-year students, with unblemished academic and disciplinary records, appointed for fixed terms. Further, universities must ensure that committees consist of individuals who possess both expertise and genuine commitment in areas such as student welfare, psychology, gender studies, human rights and law enforcement, in line with the spirit of the Supreme Court’s directions, rather than consisting largely of ex officio positions. If treated as routine administrative positions, rather than responsibilities requiring specialised knowledge, sensitivity and empathy, these committees risk becoming symbolic rather than functional.
Greater transparency in the appointment process could strengthen the credibility of these committees. Universities could invite expressions of interest from individuals with relevant expertise and demonstrated commitment to supporting victims. Such an approach would help ensure that the committees benefit from the knowledge and dedication of those best equipped to fulfil this role.
The Supreme Court judgement also introduces an important safeguard by giving the University Grants Commission (UGC) the authority to appoint members to university-level Victim Support Committees. If exercised with integrity, this provision could help ensure that these committees operate with greater independence. It may also help address a challenge that sometimes arises within institutions, where individuals, with relevant expertise, or strong commitment to addressing issues, such as violence, harassment or student welfare, may not always be included in institutional mechanisms due to internal administrative preferences. External oversight by the UGC could, therefore, create opportunities for such individuals to contribute meaningfully to Victim Support Committees and strengthen their effectiveness.
Ultimately, the success of the recent judgement will depend not only on the directives it issued, the number of committees universities establish, or the number of meetings they convene, or other box-checking exercises, but on how sincerely those directives are implemented and the trust these committees inspire among students and staff. Laws can prohibit ragging, but they cannot by themselves create environments in which victims feel safe to speak. That responsibility lies with institutions. When universities create systems that listen to victims, support them and treat their experiences with seriousness, universities will become places where dignity and learning can coexist.
(Udari Abeyasinghe is attached to the Department of Oral Pathology at the University of Peradeniya)
Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies.
by Udari Abeyasinghe
Features
Big scene … in the Seychelles
Several of our artistes do venture out on foreign assignments but, I’m told, most of their performances are mainly for the Sri Lankans based abroad.
However, the group Mirage is doing it differently and they are now in great demand in the Seychelles.
Guests patronising the Lo Brizan pub/restaurant, Niva Labriz Resort, in the Seychelles, is made up of a wide variety of nationalities, including Russians, Chinese, French and Germans, and they all enjoy the music dished out by Mirage, and that is precisely why they are off to the Seychelles … for the fifth time!
The band is scheduled to leave this month and will be back after three weeks, but their journey to the Seychelles will continue, with two more assignments lined up for 2026.
In August it’s a four-week contract, and in December another four-week contract that will take in the festive celebrations … Christmas and the New Year.

Donald’s birthday
celebrations
According to reports coming my way, it is a happening scene at the Lo Brizan pub/restaurant, Niva Labriz Resort, whenever Mirage is featured, and the band has even adjusted its repertoire to include local and African songs.
They work three hours per day and six days per week at the Lo Brizan pub/restaurant.

Donald Pieries:
Leader, vocalist,
drummer
Led by vocalist and drummer Donald Pieries, many say it is his
musical talents and leadership that have contributed to the band’s success.
Donald, who celebrated his birthday on 07 March, at the Irish Pub, has been with the group through various lineup changes and is known for his strong vocals.
He leads a very talented and versatile line up, with Sudham (bass/vocals), Gayan (lead guitar/vocals), Danu (female vocalist) and Toosha (keyboards/vocals).
Mirage performs regularly at venues like the Irish Pub in Colombo and also at Food Harbour, Port City.
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