Features

“Dadayama” and the Sinhala middle – cinema

Published

2 years ago

2024/04/26

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.

Parithyagaya

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 .

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Features

Cricket and the National Interest

Published

22 hours ago

2026/05/5

Sahan Weerasooriya

The appointment of former minister Eran Wickremaratne to chair the Sri Lanka Cricket Transformation Committee is significant for more than the future of cricket. It signals a possible shift in the culture of governance even as it offers Sri Lankan cricket a fighting possibility to get out of the doldrums of failure. There have been glorious patches for the national cricket team since the epochal 1996 World Cup triumph. But these patches of brightness have been few and far between and virtually non-existent over the past decade. At the centre of this disaster has been the failures of governance within Sri Lanka Cricket which are not unlike the larger failures of governance within the country itself. The appointment of a new reform oriented committee therefore carries significance beyond cricket. It reflects the wider challenge facing the country which is to restore trust in public institutions for better management.

The appointment of Eran Wickremaratne brings a professional administrator with a proven track record into the cricket arena. He has several strengths that many of his immediate predecessors lacked. Before the ascent of the present government leadership to positions of power, Eran Wickremaratne was among the handful of government ministers who did not have allegations of corruption attached to their names. His reputation for financial professionalism and integrity has remained intact over many years in public life. With him in the Cricket Transformation Committee are also respected former cricketers Kumar Sangakkara, Roshan Mahanama and Sidath Wettimuny together with professionals from legal and business backgrounds. They have been tasked with introducing structural reforms and improving transparency and accountability within cricket administration.

A second reason for this appointment to be significant is that this is possibly the first occasion on which the NPP government has reached out to someone associated with the opposition to obtain assistance in an area of national importance. The commitment to bipartisanship has been a constant demand from politically non-partisan civic groups and political analysts. They have voiced the opinion that the government needs to be more inclusive in its choice of appointments to decision making authorities. The NPP government’s practice so far has largely been to limit appointments to those within the ruling party or those considered loyalists even at the cost of proven expertise. The government’s decision in this case therefore marks a potentially important departure.

National Interest

There are areas of public life where national interest should transcend party divisions and cricket, beloved of the people, is one of them. Sri Lanka cannot afford to continue treating every institution as an arena for political competition when institutions themselves are in crisis and public confidence has become fragile. It is therefore unfortunate that when the government has moved positively in the direction of drawing on expertise from outside its own ranks there should be a negative response from sections of the opposition. This is indicative of the absence of a culture of bipartisanship even on issues that concern the national interest. The SJB, of which the newly appointed cricket committee chairman was a member objected on the grounds that politicians should not hold positions in sports administration and asked him to resign from the party. There is a need to recognise the distinction between partisan political control and the temporary use of experienced administrators to carry out reform and institutional restructuring. In other countries those in politics often join academia and civil society on a temporary basis and vice versa.

More disturbing has been the insidious campaign carried out against the new cricket committee and its chairman on the grounds of religious affiliation. This is an unacceptable denial of the reality that Sri Lanka is a plural, multi ethnic and multi religious society. The interim committee reflects this diversity to a reasonable extent. The country’s long history of ethnic conflict should have taught all political actors the dangers of mobilising communal prejudice for short term political gain. Sri Lanka paid a very heavy price for decades of mistrust and division. It would be tragic if even cricket administration became another arena for communal suspicion and hostility. The present government represents an important departure from the sectarian rhetoric that was employed by previous governments. They have repeatedly pledged to protect the equal rights of all citizens and not permit discrimination or extremism in any form.

The recent international peace march in Sri Lanka led by the Venerable Bhikkhu Thich Paññākāra from Vietnam with its message of loving kindness and mindfulness to all resonated strongly with the masses of people as seen by the crowds who thronged the roadsides to obtain blessings and show respect. This message stands in contrast to the sectarian resentment manifested by those who seek to use the cricket appointments as a weapon to attack the government at the present time. The challenges before the Sri Lanka Cricket Transformation Committee parallel the larger challenges before the government in developing the national economy and respecting ethnic and religious diversity. Plugging the leaks and restoring systems will take time and effort. It cannot be done overnight and it cannot succeed without public patience and support.

New Recognition

There is also a need for realism. The appointment of Eran Wickremaratne and the new committee does not guarantee success. Reforming deeply flawed institutions is always difficult. Besides, Sri Lanka is a small country with a relatively small population compared to many other cricket playing nations. It is also a country still recovering from the economic breakdown of 2022 which pushed the majority of people into hardship and severely weakened public institutions. The country continues to face unprecedented challenges including the damage caused by Cyclone Ditwah and the wider global economic uncertainties linked to conflict in the Middle East. Under these difficult circumstances Sri Lanka has fewer resources than many larger countries to devote to both cricket and economic development.

When resources are scarce they cannot be wasted through corruption or incompetence. Drawing upon the strengths of all those who are competent for the tasks at hand regardless of party affiliation or ethnic or religious identity is necessary if improvement is to come sooner rather than later. The burden of rebuilding the country cannot rest only on the government. The crisis facing the country is too deep for any single party or government to solve alone. National recovery requires capable individuals from across society and from different sectors such as business and civil society to work together in areas where the national interest transcends party politics. There is also a responsibility on opposition political parties to support initiatives that are politically neutral and genuinely in the national interest. Not every issue needs to become a partisan battle.

Sri Lanka cricket occupies a special place in the national consciousness. At its best it once united the country and gave Sri Lankans a sense of pride and international recognition. Restoring integrity and professionalism to cricket administration can therefore become part of the larger task of national renewal. The appointment of Eran Wickremaratne and the new committee, while it does not guarantee success, is a sign that the political leadership and people of the country may be beginning to mature in their approach to governance. In recognising the need for competence, integrity and bipartisan cooperation and extending it beyond cricket into other areas of national life, Sri Lanka may find the way towards more stable and successful governance..

by Jehan Perera

Features

From Dhaka to Sri Lanka, three wheels that drive our economies

Published

22 hours ago

2026/05/5

Sahan Weerasooriya

Court vacation this year came with an unexpected lesson, not from a courtroom but from the streets of Dhaka — a city that moves, quite literally, on three wheels.

Above the traffic, a modern metro line glides past concrete pillars and crowded rooftops. It is efficient, clean and frequently cited as a symbol of progress in Bangladesh. For a visitor from Sri Lanka, it inevitably brings to mind our own abandoned light rail plans — a project debated, politicised and ultimately set aside.

But Dhaka’s real story is not in the air. It is on the ground.

Beneath the elevated tracks, the streets belong to three-wheelers. Known locally as CNGs, they cluster at junctions, line the edges of markets and pour into narrow roads that larger vehicles avoid. Even with a functioning rail system, these three-wheelers remain the city’s most dependable form of everyday transport.

Within hours of arriving, their importance becomes obvious. The train may take you across the city, but the journey does not end there. The last mile — often the most complicated part — belongs entirely to the three-wheeler. It is the vehicle that gets you home, to a meeting or simply through streets that no bus route properly serves.

There is a rhythm to using them. A destination is mentioned, a price is suggested and a brief negotiation follows. Then the ride begins, edging into traffic that feels permanently compressed. Drivers move with instinct, adjusting routes and squeezing through gaps with a confidence built over years.

It is not polished. But it works.

And that is where the comparison with Sri Lanka becomes less about what we lack and more about what we already have.

Back home, the three-wheeler has long been part of daily life — so familiar that it is often discussed only in terms of its problems. There are frequent complaints about fares, refusals or the absence of meters. More recently, the industry itself has become entangled in politics — from fuel subsidies to regulatory debates, from election-time promises to periodic crackdowns.

In that process, the conversation has shifted. The three-wheeler is often treated as a problem to be managed, rather than a service to be strengthened.

Yet, seen through the experience of Dhaka, Sri Lanka’s system begins to look far more settled — and, in many ways, ahead.

There is a growing structure in place. Meters, while not perfect, are widely recognised. Ride-hailing apps have added transparency and reduced uncertainty for passengers. There are clearer expectations on both sides — driver and commuter alike. Even small details, such as designated parking areas in parts of Colombo or the increasing standard of vehicles, point to an industry slowly moving towards professionalism.

Just as importantly, there is a human element that remains intact.

In Sri Lanka, a three-wheeler ride is rarely just a transaction. Drivers talk. They offer directions, comment on the day’s news, or share local knowledge. The ride becomes part of the social fabric, not just a means of getting from one point to another.

In Dhaka, the scale of the city leaves less room for that. The interaction is quicker, more direct, shaped by urgency. The service is essential, but it is under constant pressure.

What stands out, across both countries, is that the three-wheeler is not a temporary or outdated mode of transport. It is a necessity in dense, fast-growing Asian cities — one that fills gaps no rail or bus system can fully address.

Large infrastructure projects, like light rail, are important. They bring efficiency and long-term capacity. But they cannot replace the flexibility of a three-wheeler. They cannot reach into narrow streets, respond instantly to demand or provide that crucial last-mile connection.

That is why, even in a city that has invested heavily in modern rail, Dhaka still runs on three wheels.

For Sri Lanka, the lesson is not simply about what could have been built, but about what should be better managed and valued.

The three-wheeler industry does not need to be politicised at every turn. It needs steady regulation — clear fare systems, proper licensing, safety standards — alongside encouragement and recognition. It needs to be seen as part of the solution to urban transport, not as a side issue.

Because for thousands of drivers, it is a livelihood. And for millions of passengers, it is the most immediate and reliable form of mobility.

The tuk-tuk may not feature in grand policy speeches or infrastructure blueprints. It does not run on elevated tracks or attract international attention. But on the ground, where daily life unfolds, it continues to do what larger systems often struggle to do — show up, adapt and keep moving.

And after watching Dhaka’s streets — crowded, relentless, yet functioning — that small, three-wheeled vehicle feels less like something to argue over and more like something to get right.

(The writer is an Attorney-at-Law with over a decade of experience specialising in civil law, a former Board Member of the Office of Missing Persons and a former Legal Director of the Central Cultural Fund. He holds an LLM in International Business Law)

by Sampath Perera recently in Dhaka, Bangladesh

Features

Dubai scene … opening up

Published

22 hours ago

2026/05/5

Sahan Weerasooriya

Seven Notes: Operating in Dubai

According to reports coming my way, the entertainment scene, in Dubai, is very much opening up, and buzzing again!

After a quieter few months, May is packed with entertainment and the whole scene, they say, is shifting back into full swing.

The Seven Notes band, made up of Sri Lankans, based in Dubai, are back in the spotlight, after a short hiatus, due to the ongoing Middle East problems.

On 18th April they did Legends Night at Mercure Hotel Dubai Barsha Heights; on Thursday, 9th May, they will be at the Sports Bar of the Mercure Hotel for 70s/80s Retro Night; on 6th June, they will be at Al Jadaf Dubai to provide the music for Sandun Perera live in concert … and with more dates to follow.

These events are expected to showcase the band’s evolving sound, tighter stage coordination, and stronger audience engagement.

With each performance, the band aims to refine its identity and build a loyal following within Dubai’s vibrant nightlife and event scene.

Pasindu Umayanga: The group’s new vocalist

What makes Seven Notes standout is their versatility which has made the band a dynamic and promising act.

With a growing performance calendar, new talent integration, and international ambitions, the band is definitely entering a defining phase of its journey.

Dubai’s music industry, I’m told, thrives on diversity, energy, and audience connection, with live bands playing a crucial role in elevating events—from corporate shows to private concerts. Against this backdrop, Seven Notes is positioning itself not just as another band, but as a performance-driven musical unit focused on consistency and growth.

Adding fresh momentum to the group is Pasindu Umayanga who joins Seven Notes as their new vocalist. This move signals a strategic upgrade—not just filling a role, but strengthening the band’s front-line presence.

Looking beyond local stages, Seven Notes is preparing for an international tour, to Korea, in July.

Bassist Niluk Uswaththa: Spokesperson for Seven Notes

According to bassist Niluk Uswaththa, taking a band abroad means: Your sound must hold up against unfamiliar audiences, your performance must translate beyond language, and your discipline must be at a professional level.

“If executed well, this tour could redefine Seven Notes from a local band into an emerging international act,” added Niluk.

He went on to say that Dubai is not an easy market. It’s saturated with highly experienced, multi-genre bands that can adapt instantly to any crowd.

“To stand out consistently you need to have tight rehearsal discipline, unique sound identity (not just covers), strong stage chemistry, audience retention – not just applause.”

No doubt, Seven Notes is entering a critical growth phase—new member, multiple shows, and an international tour on the horizon. The opportunity is real, but so is the pressure.

However, there is talk that Seven Notes will soon be a recognised name in the regional music scene.