Features
Kings and infidels, cops and gangsters
By Uditha Devapriya
“Étonne-moi!” – Sergei Diaghilev to Jean Cocteau
“There’s nothing here that astonishes me.” – A friend on seeing Nombara 17
The Sinhala cinema has made a fetish out of two genres: the historical epic and the crime thriller. These have been among the biggest box-office draws from the last 75 years. They have often been combined with other genres: the historical epic with the romantic drama (Sandesaya, Veera Puran Appu, Maharaja Gemunu), the crime or gangster thriller with the buddy cop (Nombara 17, Magodi Godai). They have featured the same casts and have been directed by the same director. They have always resonated with popular audiences, though not so with critics and reviewers. And they have always been recycled.
Once you identify the basic themes and motifs associated with these genres, it becomes easy to deconstruct the typical historical epic and gangster thriller. To be sure, directors have imposed endless variations on these works. No two films are the same. Nevertheless, the basic outlines mirror each other. This is why Sunil Ariyaratne’s Vijayaba Kollaya (2019) seems eerily similar to Sandesaya (1960), and why there’s little to distinguish between those 1980s gangster thrillers that paired Vijaya Kumaratunga with Sanath Gunatilake.
The general trend in both these genres today is to play it safe. That usually means using the same cast and the same crew. In the early days, this was not much of a priority. Sinhala film directors, like the Jayamanne brothers, worked with something that passed for a repertoire of actors. They used the same actors, like Rukmani Devi and Eddie Jayamanne, often in the same kind of role. With the expansion of the studio system, producers shifted to hunting for fresh talent, mostly through the press. It was at this point that the likes of Gamini Fonseka, Mallika Pilapitiya, Kanthi Gunatunga, and Punya Heedeniya emerged.

The industry faced a renaissance between 1965 and 1977. After 1977 everything changed. The underlying, dominant ethic was no longer artistic merit; it was profit. That necessitated a paradigm shift in not just the type of films made, but also the way in which they were to be made. The early restrictions, such as the requirement that one had to make a short film before one could obtain financing for a feature film, were abolished. This gave much greater freedom to the studios and individual producers like Sunil Soma Peiris. But it also compelled them to focus on a narrow range of genres, themes, and issues. The actors who made their way to the top during these years found frequently themselves cast in the same genres, the same kind of film. Among them were Vijaya Kumaratunga, Sanath Gunatilake, Freddie Silva, Sabeetha Perera, Robin Fernando, and Wilson Karu.
The Indian film has been granted the honorary moniker of masala cinema. If this is so, the Sinhala film can be termed as achcharu cinema. I am not being tongue-in-cheek here: the truth is that most Sinhala films tend to be so confused about their intentions that they freely go hither and thither, unmindful and unaware of the direction they want to take. We can often predict the ending: in Nombara 17 (1989), for instance, we know, before the hero does, about the identity of his two lost brothers. The Sinhala film has few virtues, but many vices. Among its vices is its inability to surprise us. Even the least informed spectator can guess what the characters take seemingly forever to realise. I would argue that in no other genre is that more glaringly obvious than the thriller and the epic.
What is predictable about the gangster thrillers is not just their stories, but their structures. The typical American Western follows the same format, but the story is made more vivid and interesting by the inclusion of side-plots, secondary characters, and other devices. The Sinhala crime thriller uses these same devices, but they turn out to be as predictable as the main plotline. Often comic relief is provided by an actor like Freddie Silva, Tennyson Cooray, or Bandu Samarasinghe, yet they get mixed up in side-plots that are more predictable than the main story. In Nombara 17, for instance, Freddie Silva finds himself enmeshed in a love affair which serves more to distract than to add colour. In these films, these actors fulfil the same function that Eddie Jayamanne did in the early Rukmani Devi films.
The historical epic is no different. Here too one notices a tendency to use comic relief. Even in as great a work as Maharaja Gemunu (2015) – which together with Aloko Udapadi (2017) goes down as one of the better Sinhala historical epics of recent years – the director resorts to light humour. In itself this is an effective device: it breaks the flow and the tension. In the case of Maharaja Gemunu we witness episodes of carnage right before the comic vignettes, prominently the sequence where the hero despatches female garments and jewellery to his father. In this regard Aloko Udapadi and, to a greater extent, Maharaja Gemunu broke away from the never-ending cycle of Mahavamsist epics like Mahindagamanaya (2011), which did away with light humour in favour of sombre ethno-religious homilies.
The moral universe occupied by the crime thriller is clearcut and Manichean. On the one hand you have good, on the other evil. There is very little moral ambiguity, even if the villain is redeemable or is shown to be working for the sake of a loved one. The biggest source of moral ambiguity in these films, however, is not the villain, but the heroine, who sometimes happens to be related to the villain. One of the earliest local films to feature this dilemma is Vasantha Obeyesekere’s Diyamanthi (1976). Nombara 17 features it as well. The prototype here is Bruce Lee’s The Way of the Dragon (1972), in which the villain is revealed to be the uncle of the hero’s lover. The Way of the Dragon also inspired another trope used by Sinhala crime thriller directors: the deployment of a Chuck Norris gun-for-hire before the revelation of the villain. In Nombara 17, this gun-for-hire is played by Sanath Gunatilake.

There is greater depth and ambiguity in the historical epic, though even these films operate within a Manichean framework. There are signs that the genre is improving in this respect, however. In Aloko Udapadi, to give one example, we know that the “Tamil” usurpers are the villains, and Valagamba’s final triumph over them represents the triumph of good over evil, of light over darkness. Yet these usurpers are shown not as menacing savages, but rather as intelligent if not shrewd political manipulators. Elara in Maharaja Gemunu is characterised by intelligence and self-doubt, qualities which popular narratives deny him. Played by the intrepid Jackson Anthony, he emerges from the story not so much an antagonist as a foe worthy of the protagonist. Indeed, Dutugemunu’s father and brother are shown to be much bigger obstacles to his ambitions than the Tamil and hence “infidel” king.
From all this, one can argue that while the crime thriller has become as formulaic and inert as ever, the historical epic, within the ideological confines it has had to work, has progressed somewhat. In terms of production values, it has improved considerably. One can contend that the genre has gone as far as to revert to the mood and tenor of its earliest prototypes. Sunil Ariyaratne’s Vijayaba Kollaya, for instance, evokes not merely the plotline but also the texture of Lester James Peries’s Sandesaya. These films have also benefitted from assured direction, of the sort one simply did not see with Mahavamsist epics like Mahindagamanaya. Maharaja Gemunu, for example, would not have become a hit without Jayantha Chandrasiri, just as Abha (2008) would not have set records without Jackson Anthony. The acting matters as well: Uddika Premaratne in both Aloko Udapadi and Maharaja Gemunu, Sajitha Anthony in Abha. The gangster or crime thriller, by contrast, lacks these qualities.
There is, however, one limitation in the historical epic, which a friend pointed out to me recently. Barring the swashbuckling adventure epics like Vijayaba Kollaya, these films tend to repress the heroism of its heroes. What I mean here is that the protagonists are denied any real agency in the flow of events and incidents they live through. Instead, these events are granted almost divine attributes. The telos of the Sinhala epic film is the triumph of one ethno-religious group over all others: the triumph of the Dhamma over the infidel. What that pre-empts is the triumph of the king. Unlike the Indian or the Western epic, the prince or king does not emerge as a hero in these films. Instead, he becomes an instrument of the forces he deploys to conquer his enemies. That explains the weak final act of Maharaja Gemunu: the confrontation between Dutugemunu and Elara is short, anticlimactically so. Perhaps with the passing years, directors will address this limitation.
The writer is an international relations analyst, researcher, and columnist who can be reached at udakdev1@gmail.com
Features
Combining local resources,traditional knowledge and science to build a food-secure Sri Lanka
World Food Day 2026: Innovating today for a better food future
by Dr. Kaushalya Wijayasekara
What will be on the Sri Lankan dinner table ten years from now? Will our children be able to get nutritious food at a price their families can afford? Will farmers be able to grow enough despite changing weather and rising costs? And how much of the food we produce will actually reach the consumer, instead of being lost or wasted along the way?
These questions can’t wait. A farmer faces unpredictable weather. A family faces rising food costs. Fruit goes unsold after a good harvest. Some children do not get enough nutrition. The future of food is tied to the future of Sri Lanka itself.
World Food Day 2026 is a chance to look beyond the immediate problems and ask whether we can build a food system that feeds our people well, gives farmers better opportunities, protects the environment and makes better use of what we already have. The answer can be yes, but we will have to think differently.
We are not starting from zero. Sri Lanka has diverse crops, fisheries, traditional food knowledge, indigenous varieties, research institutions, universities and a young generation able to create new solutions. What we need is to bring these together and act. Producing more will not secure our food future on its own. It will depend on how intelligently we produce, process, preserve, distribute and consume food.
Making more of what we already have
Innovation does not always mean inventing something new. Often it means finding better uses for the resources we have.
Sri Lanka grows traditional rice varieties, kurakkan, green gram, cowpea, jackfruit, breadfruit, cassava, sweet potato, coconut and palmyrah. All of them have great potential for modern, nutritious, value-added foods. Jackfruit and breadfruit can be made into flour and other convenient products. Traditional rice varieties can go into new foods that suit changing consumer needs. Palmyrah, with its strong cultural heritage, can create new income through better processing, packaging, quality assurance and market development.
The aim is to connect our traditional food knowledge with modern consumer needs and technology, while keeping our food heritage.
Stop wasting the food we produce
Reducing food loss and waste should be a major priority. Seasonal fruits such as mango, banana, papaya and pineapple can be lost in large quantities when production exceeds demand or when storage, transport and processing facilities are inadequate. With suitable technology, these fruits can become dried products, pulps, powders, beverages and other shelf-stable foods.
Agricultural and fisheries by-products are resources too. They could be turned into food ingredients, animal feed, bio-based products and other useful materials, which would move us toward a more circular food economy.
Technology alone is not enough. We need stronger local processing facilities, cold storage, efficient transport, collection centres and market information systems, especially close to where food is produced. Cutting food loss raises the value of what our farmers and fishers already produce.
Nutrition and food safety come first
Food security means more than having enough food. People also need food that is safe and nutritious.
Sri Lanka can develop affordable, nutritious foods from local pulses, grains, vegetables, fruits and fish. Children and other vulnerable groups should get particular attention. Schoolchildren in particular deserve a focus: safe, nutritious, locally sourced products for school feeding programs would support child nutrition, local farmers and domestic food industries at the same time.
Food safety must stay at the centre of food innovation. Good hygiene, quality control, laboratory testing, traceability and appropriate food safety systems are what make new products safe as well as attractive and nutritious.
A food system that can cope with climate change
Climate change is already affecting agricultural production, water availability, crop yields and food prices. We need food systems that can handle changing conditions. That means climate-resilient crops, efficient water use, soil and water conservation, better storage and resource-efficient food processing.
Traditional knowledge matters here. Generations of Sri Lankan farmers have developed practices suited to local climates and ecosystems. Combining that experience with modern science can give us solutions that fit local conditions and are sustainable. Technology alone will not build the future of food. Science, experience and local knowledge together can.
Give young people a bigger role
Sri Lanka’s universities have an important part to play in shaping our food future. Young people should be encouraged to identify real problems in the food system and work on practical solutions in areas such as food waste, sustainable packaging, nutrition, food safety, modernising traditional foods and digital technologies.
A good research project should not always end as a research paper. Where appropriate, research should be supported to move on to products, technologies, enterprises and community solutions. That needs stronger partnerships between universities and industry, along with mentoring, research funding, business support and market connections. If young researchers and entrepreneurs can turn their ideas into viable food innovations, both consumers and producers will benefit.
A pathway designed for Sri Lanka
We do not need to copy food-system models from other countries. We can build a pathway that suits our own resources, culture and needs. It would bring together local resources, traditional knowledge, scientific research, appropriate technology and entrepreneurship, with farmers, fishers, universities, research institutions, food industries, entrepreneurs and policymakers working side by side.
The goal goes beyond selling raw materials. We need to create more value, reduce waste, improve nutrition, generate jobs and strengthen rural livelihoods. This matters especially for small and medium-scale food enterprises, which can drive local economic development when they get the right technical, financial and market support.
The choices we make today
The food future will not create itself. It will be shaped by what we grow, what we research, what we process, what we consume and what we choose not to waste.
So, the question for World Food Day 2026 is this: what can we do today so that every Sri Lankan has safe, nutritious, affordable and sustainable food tomorrow?
The answers are already around us, in our farms, fisheries, food businesses, universities, laboratories and communities. We have the resources, the traditional knowledge, the scientific expertise and talented young people. What we need now is to connect them and act.
A better food future begins with the choices we make today.
Dr. Kaushalya Wijayasekara
Senior Lecturer, Department of Biosystems Technology, Faculty of Technology, University of Ruhuna
Features
20th Anniversary of Digampathana blast – the day Sri Lanka Navy cried
By Admiral Ravindra C Wijegunaratne
WV, RWP and Bar, RSP, VSV, USP, NI (M) (Pakistan), ndc, psn, Bsc
(Hons) (War Studies) (Karachi) MPhil (Madras)
Former Navy Commander and Former Chief of Defence Staff
Former Chairman, Trincomalee Petroleum Terminals Ltd
Former Managing Director Ceylon Petroleum Corporation
Former High Commissioner to Pakistan
The Digampathana suicide truck attack on 16th October 2006 remains the deadliest single strike in Sri Lanka Navy history, leaving scars that time cannot erase.
It was a seemingly ordinary Monday morning on 16 October 2006, but the calm of that day would soon be shattered in a way none of us could have imagined. As the Commandant of the Naval and Maritime Academy and Flag Officer Commanding Naval Fleet at Trincomalee, I was aware that a number of my cadets were travelling that morning, part of a convoy of fifteen buses carrying naval personnel from Trincomalee, Colombo, and other bases, heading toward Dambulla to rendezvous with another group. The convoy also included trucks and escort vehicles, a routine movement planned and coordinated with the army to ensure the roads were clear. The morning started quietly. Some personnel greeted friends, handed over their weapons, or strolled to a nearby tea shop. It all seemed so ordinary—too ordinary for what would come next.

Sri Lanka Navy sunk LTTE Ships carrying arms, ammunition and warlike materials thousand miles away from Sri Lanka in Indian Ocean in September and October 2007.
By late morning, both convoys had reached the small ground at Digampathana, near the Sigiriya junction, and personnel mingled briefly, unaware that a carefully orchestrated act of terror was waiting. Then, suddenly, an empty half-truck veered directly into the convoy. It exploded with a ferocity I can still recall as if it were yesterday. Nuts, bolts, and high explosives tore through the air. Pandemonium erupted instantly. I later learned that 107 of our naval personnel were killed on the spot and another 153 critically injured. The scene was indescribable—bodies scattered, vehicles mangled, personal effects strewn across the ground. I remember later hearing that the head of the suicide bomber was recovered more than 100 meters away from the blast, a grim testament to the sheer force of the explosion.
I was in my office at the Naval and Maritime Academy when my mobile phone rang. A young midshipman from the 21st intake called, his voice trembling: “Sir, there was a huge explosion at the convoy point! Many are dead … my batch mate Wijesundara is among them.” I immediately jumped into my jeep with my escort Chief Petty Officer and driver and rushed to Digampathana, relying on every ounce of my driving skill to reach the scene. The journey, which usually took little more than an hour, felt endless that day, each passing mile weighed down by dread.
When I arrived, I was confronted with a sight that no training can prepare you for. The injured were being rushed to Dambulla Hospital, where doctors and nurses worked tirelessly, improvising in ways that saved lives despite the overwhelming chaos. I went back to the site after visiting the hospital. The remains of our naval personnel were scattered across the ground, and someone had begun collecting weapons and protective gear. I immediately contacted Surgeon Rear Admiral Nico Jayasekara and received his instructions: collect all body parts in separate bags and transport them to the Trincomalee Naval Hospital mortuary. This gruesome work had to be done with care and dignity, and it filled the icebox in my vehicle. Through DNA testing initiated by Rear Admiral Nico, we were able to identify every naval personnel lost that day, bringing some closure to grieving families.
The Navy Commander at the time, Vice Admiral Wasantha Karannagoda, was devastated. I had worked closely with him and knew how deeply he cared for his men. He ensured that the fallen were honoured with full ceremonial naval funerals at Welisara Naval Base, attended by families and comrades. Sixty-seven funerals were conducted in a single day—a number that still haunts me.
The Digampathana attack remains the largest single loss of naval life in our history. It was a day of sorrow, but also a day that reinforced our resolve. The tragedy galvanized the Navy to target the LTTE Sea Tiger wing with renewed determination and reshaped our maritime operations forever. Every time I think of that day, I remember not just the lives lost, but the courage, professionalism, and dedication of those who survived, those who treated the injured, and those who ensured the fallen were honored properly. May the souls of our naval hero’s rest in peace, their sacrifice guiding us and inspiring generations of naval personnel to come.
Features
‘Murder at Whitby Abbey’
Tales of Mystery and Suspense – 24
I was intrigued by the title of a book I found in a book drop at the condominium of a friend, Murder at Whitby Abbey, and I brought it home with me though I will not be able to return it in the near future. It was described on the cover page as ‘a standout in the crowded medieval mystery field’, though I fear I do not know of other books in this field, apart from the Cadfael series, which I have dealt with earlier.
The book, by Cassandra Clark, is set during the reign of Richard II and has as a backdrop his precarious position, which led to his being replaced, and murdered, by his cousin Henry, who reigned as Henry IV. It is a gloomy book, the action taking place in the twelve days of Christmas leading up to the Epiphany. And the gloom is pervasive, even though this is supposed to be a time of festivity, with mummers performing, and many of those in the guest house where the heroine stays going to town to enjoy themselves, with much drinking and much music, which also fills the guesthouse.
The heroine Hildegarde is a nun, sent to try to acquire a relic being sold by Whitby Abbey, though this was also a penance set by the Abbot of the monastery that governed her abbess because she had had sex with a man. Soon after she and her companions reach the Abbey set high on a cliff, she finds that there are other bidders, and soon suspects that the hierarchy, not perhaps the Abbot who seems a weakling, but his rapacious bursar, is determined to make money, and not above creating false relics to sell to several aspirants.
After Hildegarde and her Cistercian companions – Whitby is a Benedictine Foundation – two monks, Gregory and Egbert, and a young priest Mark, reach the abbey, they find that Aelwyn, a monk they had met on their way to the guesthouse had died. This was in the apple store, and they realize, when they find the surplices of novices stuffed into the air vents, that he had been left to suffocate in the overwhelming scent of apples.
The Cistercians are asked to look into the death, perhaps because they are likely to get no cooperation from the Abbey folk, but perhaps because those in charge are keen to know what happened. And the infirmarer, an old monk, suggests Hildegarde talk to a man called Edred who worked for the bursar, and had been a friend of Aelwyn’s. But Edred too is killed, before he can keep an appointment he had made with Hildegarde, drowned in a pool near the farmhouse of the Abbey.
Meanwhile tensions arise between the fisherfolk and the abbey for the bursar wants to charge them for using the beach that technically belongs to the abbey to dry their fish and their nets. This leads to physical battles, when the guards used by the abbey, under the command it seems of the bursar whose determination to make money is not resisted by the abbot and the prior, try to storm the area where the fishermen live.
Hildegard finds out more about what had happened through two youngsters, one of whom Torold is the son of Aelwyn by a woman who worked as a prostitute for a cartel, and with whom Mark fell in love. The other works on the farm and had seen Edred meet someone near the pool, after which that someone left the place by himself. And the boy had also found in the pool a sort of dagger with the seal of the abbey.
He and his dog, and Torold who follows her, rescue Hildegarde from a man at arms who has waylaid her and tries to rape her earlier. Escaping into the abbey she was nearly been raped then by the bursar, but she managed to escape, in the process setting fire to him and the muniments room, which led, when he was rescued, to the discovery of a box with the money he said had been stolen, blame being cast on both Aelwyn and Edred.
Matters come to a head when the fisherfolk try to storm the abbey, being resisted by the men at arms stationed on the towers. But then Hildegarde realizes that behind the murders was the bursar’s clerk, whom she pursued to the cathedral. There is great drama then as she escapes from him when he tries to kill her, and then from the man at arms who had tried to both rape and kill her, but they both fall from the scaffolding she had climbed, the latter coming from a tower where he had been stationed.
Both of them think they run the rapacity of the abbey, the latter claiming to work for the nobles opposed to Richard, who is presented throughout the book as devoted to his subjects, not to power or money. But though the villains die, the bursar continues, having got over the hysteria the fire had caused and his acknowledgment then of guilt – and though the abbot and the prior seem less vicious, whether they will be able to assert themselves is questionable.
Before the climax, when the others in the guesthouse were leaving, Hildegarde found that two of them were in possession of the relic, for which they seem to have paid well. Hildegarde herself had made a derisory offer, but before she leaves the abbot gives her the relic, perhaps in gratitude for what she and her fellow Cistercians had discovered, the abbey having made as much money as it needed and more from the gullible other buyers.
Mark’s inamorata is saved from the stews because she moves in with Edred’s widow whom the bursar had thrown out of the rooms he occupied when her husband was found dead. Hildegarde had paid for lodgings, in a house run by the man who ran the brothels, but he had a kindly side and was going to finance them to make nets for the fishermen.
So, the Cistercians set off for their home as swiftly as they can to get there on the day of the Epiphany, having stopped en route to pray for King Richard whose birthday it was.
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