Features
Sugathapala senarath Yapa: The one who went away
By Uditha Devapriya
Archive images courtesy of Gordon de Silva
In 2016 Torana Video Movies released Hanthane Kathawa. One of the last Sinhala films to depict university students in a romantic light, Hanthane Kathawa (1969) marked the debut of the man who became the Sinhala cinema’s most popular star, Vijaya Kumaratunga. It was also the last in a series of films which revolved around the theme of unrequited love, the others including Dahasak Sithuvili, Romeo Juliet Kathawak, Bakmaha Deege, and arguably the best of them all, Golu Hadawatha. Though classical in their conception, these works are important, in that they heralded both the end of an era in the Sinhalese cinema and marked the entry of those who would play a major role in the new cinema.
Probably no other film epitomised this shift than did Hanthane Kathawa. Kumaratunga would, of course, figure prominently in the new Sinhala cinema. Also making their debuts alongside him were the likes of Amarasiri Kalansooriya and Daya Tennakoon. Tennakoon and Dharmasena Pathiraja, then studying at the Peradeniya University, where the story is set, made a significant contribution to the mood and the tenor of the film. Though very few critics have noted this aspect to the film, Pathiraja’s repertoire of actors – who he would use again and again – included those who made their entry in Hanthane Kathawa. In that regard, the latter marked an interregnum between two historical eras.
On its own, Hanthane Kathawa stands out rather well. The acting is convincing – perhaps because many of the cast members were real-life university students – and the music, by Premasiri Khemadasa, who for the first and last time in his career worked with Mahagama Sekara, figures in among the best he composed for any film. It marked the last time Tony Ranasinghe played the role of a sympathetic everyman: practically every role he got in the 1970s were as hardened, cynical protagonists or antagonists. It also signalled the return of Swarna Mallawarachchi, who would soon leave Sri Lanka. As for the story, it is captivating, if not simple, revolving around a theme one can identify with at once. For me, it is one of the few Sinhala films that remain as fresh today as it was at the time of its release.
More than anything, the film reveals the eclecticism of its director. There are references to other films and works of art which one can easily miss. Its theme – a contest between two completely different teenagers over a woman – borrows from two somewhat interrelated stories: the bandit’s version of events in Kurosawa’s Rashomon, and the last few sequences in Sarachchandra’s Maname. To this one can add another reference: Roman Polanski’s Knife in the Water. Neither Rashomon nor Knife in the Water was playing at mainstream halls in Sri Lanka at the time; these were art-house works, screened at places like the British Council and the American Center. That the director had absorbed these influences obviously tells us that he was an avid cinephile eager to come up with a different work of art.
And yet, very little has been written about the director, Sugathapala Senarath Yapa. This may be because Yapa never directed a feature film again. He had his reasons for not doing so. The critical fraternity, long wooed over by what directors like Lester James Peries were doing in the Sinhala cinema, were beginning to turn and rebel against them. Like the Cahiers du Cinema critics in France, they were not disposed towards directors they associated with classical films: what they called “le cinéma de papa”, or “daddy’s cinema.” At the screening of Dharmasena Pathiraja’s Ahas Gawwa, a group of critics distributed pamphlets directed at, and against, Peries: following their French counterparts, they termed the latter’s conception of the cinema “Apochchige Cinemawa.” Yapa became one of their targets.
Sugathapala Senarath Yapa was born in Akuressa in 1935. Both his parents died when he was young. He would be brought up by his grandmother, a “generous woman” as he remembered her for me. His childhood, he recalled, had been rather boisterous, amounting to a series of misadventures which frequently landed him in trouble. These misadventures reached their peak when together with a friend of his called Abeywickrama, Yapa spread a rumour around his first school, Rakvana Maha Vidyalaya, that the buns served to children during the interval contained worms. The outcry this provoked and the discovery of the two culprits who had spread the rumour led to Senarath Yapa being expelled. Out of one school, he managed to get into another, Pelmadulla Central College some miles away.
Pelmadulla Central had been headed by a stern but well-meaning principal, A. V. Gunapala. A member of the Hela Havula, Gunapala had just one message for young Yapa: stick to your studies, don’t indulge in antics. Heeding Gunapala’s message, Yapa managed to get through his SSC Preparatory Exams. However, the school he had applied for to do his SSC Exams, St Anthony’s College, rejected him. The Rector at St Anthony’s, “one Father Moses”, told him to wait for another year. “I didn’t want to wait that long. I would have wasted time getting into all kinds of mischief and into fights with boys my age.” Having abandoned his hopes for a career in the civil service, Yapa ultimately decided to let go of his studies.
At the time cinema halls were limited to the cities. Villages like Akuressa and Rakvana, on the other hand, had to do with “moving theatres”, which were essentially makeshift camps. These would screen the popular attractions of the day: Bollywood romances and Hollywood thrillers. Yapa made his way to these theatres: “I got to watch the entire Zorro series there.” His first job was as a movie title painter for one of the many touring theatres. Having seen his work, the owner of the hall, the MP Reggie Perera, asked him to pay visit. When he met Yapa, Perera offered him a better job: “as a kind of advertiser for the company.” This would be followed by another more lucrative job: as a counter clerk at a touring cinema owned by a distant cousin, “the comedian L. M. Perera.” It was while at this job that Senarath Yapa did his clerical exams, passed them, and began work at the Labour Department.
Offering a more stable and lucrative career, the Labour Department encouraged Yapa to get more fully and actively involved in the arts, starting off with a series of radio drama that included a translation of Tagore’s Gitanjali. His stint at the radio service a few years later got him to meet Mahagama Sekara. The radio service also helped Yapa land a role in a newly established drama troupe. Headed by G. D. L. Perera, the troupe was called Kala Pela. The role was not in a play as Yapa had expected, but in a film: Perera’s debut, the searing and beautifully poignant Sama, which also marked the debuts of Denawaka Hamine and Leonie Kothalawala. Sama would win a number of awards, locally and internationally.
Senarath Yapa wound up as the Secretary and Treasurer of Kala Pela. Later he left the group, determined to carve his own path. In his first few years at the Labour Department, he had made it a habit to visit the British Council, to watch films and read books about the cinema, to brush up his knowledge of Western culture. “I wanted to get away from what I had been watching and savouring at the touring theatres.” He could not have picked on a better time and era to transition from the one to the other: the 1950s, when he was at the prime of his youth, was when exciting new strides were being made in the Japanese, Indian, and even Sri Lankan cinema, with Satyajit Ray and Akira Kurosawa taking the lead.
Recalling the films he saw and the books he read, Yapa had this to tell me”
“What I understood about the cinema, from what I watched and came across back then, was that art is not always about action. A good film is built not just on what characters say and do, but what they hide from other characters. Two films that inspired me in this regard were Vittoria de Sica’s Bicycle Thieves and Kurosawa’s Rashomon. Bicycle Thieves is about a father who can’t bear to tell his son that he is trying to steal a bicycle for him. Rashomon is about a group of people who have got involved with a murder, who can’t come out and tell us what really happened. Not even the dead Samurai can speak the truth.”
Interview with Sugathapala Senarath Yapa, December 21, 2015
Good art, in other words, revealed as much as it concealed, and in the movies and plays he saw, the characters, even the heroes, hid their intentions from one another. This aspect surfaced more sharply in the 1960s, with the arrival of a new generation of directors in the West, particularly in Europe. Two films in particular epitomised this trend: Antonioni’s Blow-Up and Roman Polanski’s Knife in the Water. Having seen Knife in the Water, Sugathapala Senarath Yapa finally decided to make his own film. In it he combined three stories: not just Polanski’s and Kurosawa’s films, but also Sarachchandra’s Maname.
Because the story revolved around a woman whose intentions and desires are never clear, Yapa asked the lead actress, Swarna Mallawarachchi, “to watch My Fair Lady and model herself on Audrey Hepburn’s performance.” There is a point in the story, in fact, where the male characters jokily taunt Mallawarchchi for being a “fair lady.” What this showed clearly was a director who wanted everything to be pitch-perfect, a director who wanted his work to reflect his own love for the cinema. In this Yapa differed very little from Lester James and Sumitra Peries, except probably in the circumstances from which he hailed: unlike the latter, he came from an altogether less affluent and privileged background.
Perhaps, it was these circumstances that, tragically, prevented him from moving into what could have been a promising career. “I was soon among the directors attacked by critics who felt their conception of the cinema was the only one that mattered.” While the two Perieses could bear the brunt of these attacks, Yapa found himself increasingly side-lined and ostracised, to a point where he had to limit himself to the Government Film Unit. At the GFU, he revealed his talents once again: his debt documentary (really a docudrama), Minisa saha Kaputa, won the Silver Peacock at the New Delhi Film Festival. Like Peter Bogdanovich and William Friedkin, however, Senarath Yapa was pushed to making lesser works: his next two films, Pembara Madu and the much better Induta Mal Mitak, are deeply commercialist in their outlook. At the GFU, meanwhile, he directed 28 documentaries.
Despite his less than memorable encounter with radical left-wing film critics and directors, Yapa holds those who demand a greater and superior conception of the cinema in high regard. “Today, films have become an extension of fantasies, of dreams,” he told me, as we wrapped up our interview. This may seem like an unfair judgement – aren’t all films, at the end of the day, extensions of dreams? – yet viewed from a certain angle, there is really no denying that the commercial cinema, while sustaining the industry, has fallen far short of the production and aesthetic values which epitomise it in countries like India. I sense some bitterness in Yapa’s recollections of the past, but this is only to be expected: no one who has seen Hanthane Kathawa can fail to be entranced by its romantic sweep. This is a movie that should have heralded a brilliant career. That it did not is utterly saddening.
The writer is an international relations analyst, researcher, and columnist who can be reached at udakdev1@gmail.com
Features
‘Lord Edgware Dies’
It has been some time since I read an Agatha Christie, the plot of which I cannot remember. So, I was delighted to find on the shelves of a friend Lord Edgware Dies, which I had a vague memory of, but no certainty about who had done it.
When I read it, I found that my memory of who was probably the killer was correct, but I could not be certain and the red herrings Christie threw in were so diverting that until almost the very end I wondered if I had been wrong.
The plot is very simple. Jane Wilkinson, who is married to Lord Edgware, tells him that she is desperate for a divorce since she is in love with a very proper Anglo-Catholic peer, Lord Melton, but Edgware refuses to divorce her. She asks Poirot to talk to him, which he does, and is surprised to find that Edgware has told Jane he is prepared to give her a divorce. This was, after he had categorically refused, through a letter, which Jane said she had not received.
That night Edgware is murdered, after Jane had been to see him, or so the butler said, and also Edgware’s secretary. But Jane had been that evening at a grand dinner many miles away, where a dozen fellow guests could swear to her presence.
There was a solution however to the mystery of two Jane Wilkinsons, namely a skilful impersonator called Carlotta Adams who, in the opening chapter had impersonated Jane Wilkinson, who had also been at the performance. But when Poirot goes to see her, he finds that she had been found dead on the morning after Edgware had been killed, of an overdose. And in her bag was a gold case, with a strange inscription, that contained the drug, along with a pair of pince-nez.
Her maid said she had written a letter to her sister in America and posted it the previous night. Poirot asks Inspector Japp to get the letter, and a transcript is received from America, and in it the name of Edgware’s nephew Ronald Marsh is mentioned; he had taken Carlotta to dinner after her performance, with which the book opens, and had then set her a challenge. Japp arrests Marsh, but Poirot is not happy and asks for the original of the letter, which the sister sends him. That shows that a page is missing, and the tear is obvious, though that raises the question as to why it had not simply been cut.
Matters are further complicated by the fact that Marsh had gone in a taxi to the Edgware house, along with Edgware’s daughter Geraldine, in the interval of an opera which had previously seemed to provide them with cast iron alibis. Geraldine had gone in to fetch her pearls so that Marsh could raise money he needed, and thus had an opportunity to kill Edgware, as did Marsh, for the driver said he had got out of the taxi while waiting and gone into the house.
Marsh explained why he had gone to the house on the night of the murder as having followed Bryan Martin, an American actor, who had been in love with Jane, whom he saw go into the house with a key. But there was no one visible when he entered, and Geraldine almost immediately came down and they left together. And Martin too has become an object of suspicion to Poirot, for he had been to see him before the murders were discovered with a story of being followed by a man with a gold tooth – a story Poirot immediately realized was false when he was asked how old the man was, and was told he was young, for young people did not have gold teeth.
A heap of French money Edgware had got for a trip to Paris was missing, but since Marsh had no need for it after his cousin’s offer of help, Poirot deduces that it must have been taken by the butler, who has disappeared. Christie has stressed that he is astonishingly handsome, unusual in a butler, and Poirot notes a resemblance to Martin, so he thinks the mysterious man going into the house must have been him.
Incidentally, later Poirot assumes that Edgware’s change of mind was because he was involved in some scandal, and I believe Christie intends us to see the cause of this in his handsome butler, though this is not specified.
Meanwhile, Poirot has asked Japp to find out the provenance of the case found in Carlotta’s handbag, and it turns out to have been made in Paris, specially commissioned, and collected by a woman with pince-nez.
But then another murder occurs—that of another guest at the grand dinner, which provided Jane with her alibi. The victim is an actor who had been bemused when Jane, at a lunch, thought the Judgment of Paris referred to the city. He told Hastings he wanted to see Poirot, but was killed before he could get to the appointment. Poirot had rushed there when told about his request, but it was too late.
Meanwhile, Poirot has tried out the pince-nez on Edgware’s secretary, but she could not see through these. It was only a chance remark heard outside the theatre that led him to try them out on Wilkinson’s maid Ellis, a spare pair that had been appropriated for the night of the murders.
Poirot then lays things out, having summoned Martin and told him that he probably suppressed Edgware’s letter, as he had been dropped by then and he did not want Jane to marry another. But after teasing Martin, Poirot says that Jane was in fact the murderer, and she got Carlotta to impersonate her at the dinner while she went to the house and killed her husband. After meeting Carlotta later and checking with her through a call that she had
not been rumbled, Jane had gone ahead with the murder – she put veronal into her drink and the case with veronal into the handbag. She forgot to take out the pince-nez she had used earlier to imitate an American. Carlotta had registered as the American in a hotel and Jane had gone to see her, and there they exchanged identities. After seen the letter, she made use of it by tearing off the page that referred to her, and the S of She, so that the person who had challenged Carlotta to impersonate her seemed to be a man.
There is a coda in which Jane, condemned to death, writes to Hastings, still full of pride at her ingenuity hoping she will be remembered.
Features
Desilt reservoirs, learn from our ancient irrigation systems
by Prof. O. A. Ileperuma
Silting of reservoirs is a major problem today affecting our hydropower production and irrigation systems. The main Mahaweli reservoirs are silted to a considerable extent reducing the water holding capacity of them. Due to poor soil management practices, floodwaters deposit large amounts of silt in these reservoirs. When the Polgolla reservoir was fully drained about two years back, one could see mountains of silt in the lower reaches of the reservoir. A rough estimate is that 50% of the total capacity of these reservoirs has been lost to siltation. This is a serious issue which affects not only power and agriculture but also flood control.
Our ancient irrigation systems ensured that desilting of reservoirs took place under royal decree where all users of the reservoirs were ordered to carry out desilting of reservoirs during the dry season. The clay thus collected was used in making bricks for the construction of great stupas which dot the landscape of our ancient kingdoms. This ensured that the reservoirs had their full capacity filled with water for the next cultivating season. Our ancient kings were clever enough not to construct reservoirs by blocking main rivers such as the Mahaweli. A classic example is the Minipe left canal where they tapped only the surface water of Mahaweli. Even the bigger tanks such as Nuwara Wewa and Parakrama Samudraya were fed with minor rivulets. There were also other ingenious features in the cascade irrigation systems built by the ancient kings, such as mud sluice canals and forest reservations between the reservoirs in the cascade system. These reservations helped trap silt and remove excess nutrients, which could otherwise contribute to increasing salinity as water flowed from one reservoir to another.
- Parakrama Samudraya
- Kalawewa
- Kotmale
A classic engineering marvel is the former Yoda Ela, which carries water from Kalawewa to Nuwara Wewa and Tissa Wewa. It is 87 km long although the straight distance between these points is only about 40 km. The gradient of this canal is about 10 cm per km or 6 inches per mile. Yodha Ela functions as a moving reservoir and feeds about 4,600 hectares of paddy lands. It is a winding canal with about 120 smaller reservoirs on its way. It was constructed during the reign of King Dhatusena around 459 AD and later expanded by King Parakramabahu by connecting more reservoirs to the network. Unfortunately, during the Mahaweli project our modern-day engineers constructed a concrete canal replacing the winding path of this Yoda Ela also called Jaya Ganga. This effectively removed the ability of the old Yoda Ela to remove silt and nutrients. The bank of this Ela has wet zone trees such as jak and areca nut growing well. They take up the nutrients from the flowing stream making the water suitable for irrigation later.
Ancient Mesopotamian civilisations depended on dams constructed along the two main rivers, Euphrates and Tigris. After continuous irrigation of their fields over several thousand years, salinity of the irrigated lands increased making them unsuitable for agriculture. People died due to famine and this clearly illustrates the danger of blocking main rivers for agriculture. There is scientific evidence that the salinity of paddy soils in the Mahaweli C area is increasing.
We saw the devastation caused by Cyclone Ditwah. The sluice gates of the Kotmale Reservoir were opened, and Kandy and Peradeniya were flooded. If the reservoir had had greater storage capacity, couldn’t the opening of the gates have been delayed? This may not be an argument that modern-day engineers would readily accept, and I am not an irrigation expert. These ideas may well be naïve. But most of us tend to think of reservoirs mainly in terms of hydropower generation and irrigation, while their role in flood control receives much less attention. The question therefore deserves serious consideration. Could restoring lost reservoir capacity through desilting help improve our ability to manage extreme rainfall and reduce flood risks?
Desilting our reservoirs should be considered a national priority.
Features
Losing out to Ethiopia
Export diversification – Missing the wood for the trees – Part III
by Gomi Senadhira
In Sri Lanka, the word “Ethiopia” is often used as disparaging slang to describe individuals or areas experiencing extreme poverty, starvation, or severe economic hardship. This linguistic habit originated in the 1980s with the Western media coverage of the devastating Ethiopian famine of 1983-85. That media coverage shocked the world but also left an outdated and offensive global stereotype that the country is permanently starving. Much has changed since then. By now, with an annual growth rate of around 9%, it is the fastest-growing economy in sub-Saharan Africa. Ethiopia has also emerged as a highly competitive exporter and is challenging not only its competitors in the region but also countries like Sri Lanka. This article is on how Sri Lanka has lost ground to Ethiopia (and a few other countries) in the GCC markets for agricultural and floricultural products.
Sri Lanka – A Pioneer in the Agriculture and Floricultural Market in the GCC
As discussed in Part II of this article, by the mid-1980s Sri Lanka had established a strong foothold in the GCC’s fruit, vegetable, and floricultural market. Geographical proximity and well-established shipping and air links gave Sri Lanka a strong comparative advantage over Southeast Asian and African nations. Thailand, Vietnam, and Kenya were not even in the market. At that time, Ethiopia was experiencing (as BBC news reports described) “a biblical famine”.
The market was not very large, but it was lucrative and growing. Trade Minister Lalith Athulathmudali as well as the Chairman of the Export Development Board, Victor Santiapillai, who visited Kuwait (and the GCC countries), recognised the market potential for these products and encouraged us to continue with our work. The minister was particularly keen to further develop links between the market for these products, exporters, and his Export Production Villages (EPVs). So, it was becoming a successful case not only for export diversification but also for transferring gains from exports directly to rural households.
From Trailblazer to Tailender
As a result, even by the beginning of this century Sri Lanka had a larger market share than most of its competitors from Asia or Africa. But since then, our competitiveness has weakened significantly. The tables below provide a comparative snapshot of Sri Lanka’s performance vis-à-vis Thailand, Vietnam, Kenya and Ethiopia in the GCC market for vegetables, fruits and floricultural products. As illustrated therein, in 2001 Sri Lanka was ahead of Thailand, Kenya and Ethiopia in this small but rapidly growing market. Since then, we have fallen behind Thailand, Kenya and many other countries in that lucrative market. If this trend continues, Sri Lanka will fall behind Ethiopia within the next few years. (See Table 1)
In the GCC market for vegetables (covered in HS chapter 07), Sri Lanka was ahead of most other competitors in 2001. As illustrated in Table 1 , Sri Lanka had failed to develop this market, while Thailand, Kenya, and even Ethiopia had very efficiently increased their market shares. The GCC is a market to which Sri Lanka can supply some vegetables, like cabbages, by sea. It appears Sri Lanka had also failed to exploit this mode of supply.
We can see a similar trend in the market for fruits. Vietnam, Kenya, and Thailand have emerged as major players, while exports from Sri Lanka have staggered on slowly. In this segment, Vietnam has emerged as a leading player during the last twenty years and the GCC imports from Viet Nam have shot up from US$44 thousand in 2001 to US$346 million by 2024. In part one of these articles, I discussed the remarkable increase of jackfruit exports from Vietnam “…just $3 million in 2015 to an impressive $236.8 million in 2023” while most of our jackfruit production rots under the trees. This explains how countries develop their markets, geographically and product-wise. (See Table 2)
Sri Lanka’s performance has been weakest in the market for floricultural products (HS Chapter 06), which groups live trees, cut flowers, and ornamental foliage. When we first entered the market in the 1980s, the market was dominated by the Netherlands, and Kenya and Ethiopia were not even in the market. At that time, we identified the Gulf states as a market where Sri Lanka could have a dominant presence due to geographical proximity. Even in 2001, Sri Lanka was ahead of Kenya, Ethiopia, and Thailand. But by now, Kenya has emerged as the dominant supplier. Ethiopia is also expanding its market share and is the third-largest exporter. (See Table 3)
Missing the Wood for the Trees
In the mid-1980s, Sri Lanka first established its foothold in the GCC market. Since then, Thailand, Vietnam, Kenya, and even Ethiopia have moved well ahead of us and have become leading players. Why did we lag behind in our export diversification efforts in general and, more particularly, in the GCC market?
The reasons are very clear. After the initial attempts in the 1980s and early 1990s, Sri Lanka has not been proactively involved in identifying, developing, and promoting new products and markets, or protecting and further developing new markets already established. The focus has simply been on traditional exports: tea, coconut, cinnamon, and garments, while other products were almost ignored. In essence, we have been and continue to focus intensely on a narrow group of products and markets, and we have lost sight of the bigger picture.
(The writer can be reached at senadhiragomi@gmail.com)
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