Colouring narratives

Across the world, people are judged by their skin colour, and India is no exception. A deep-rooted history and social hierarchy have cemented a belief that lighter skin means better opportunities, better treatment, and beauty. Darker skin, by contrast, is often sidelined and seen as inferior. This prejudice is very much visible in Tamil cinema. Even in progressive storylines, the cameras gaze can reinforce the same old message: fair is lovable, dark is not. Darker-skinned women are frequently cast in narrow, stereotypical roles as loud, tough, or undesirable. When our films continually praise paleness, what does that say to everyone else? This stereotyping disproportionately affects women and their representation on screen. The issue of colourism in Tamil cinema is decades old, but it has flared up again following a controversy around director Mari Selvaraj. His admission that he darkens the complexion of fair-skinned actors for certain roles triggered intense public scrutiny. In response, Selvaraj clarified his artistic choices, stating his art has a terrifying role to play and is born from personal struggle, urging critics not to judge out of context. Yet, the core of the controversy extends far beyond one auteur, reflecting the industrys entrenched bias. There is a particular paradox here: directors like Pa Ranjith, Vetrimaaran, and Selvaraj himself are often hailed for their uncompromising narratives on caste oppression, yet they now face criticism for perpetuating the very colour-based hierarchies their work seeks to challenge. This tension between authenticity and aesthetic choice is not new, but the context has decisively shifted. As film worker and academic Nachi Puthuppathai observes, historical inaccuracies were once passively accepted. When Mani Ratnam cast Manisha Koirala as a Muslim girl from Tirunelveli, we all watched it, he says, noting the jarringly fantastical sets and costumes. The crucial difference, he argues, is one of accountability. We could criticise Mani Ratnam and he wouldnt get to know it. Now, a filmmaker like Mari Selvaraj is forced to answer. This heightened scrutiny is the direct consequence of the higher standards these new-wave filmmakers have championed. This also comes at a time when Tamil women are breaking barriers on the global stage. From Nejm winning Vogue India Model of the Year 2025, to Lara Raj representing queer Tamil identity in a global Gap advert, we also have examples from past years of Maitreyi Ramakrishnan leading Never Have I Ever and British-Tamils Simone Ashley and Charithra Chandran starring in Bridgerton. Tamil women are having a moment worldwide. The question we must tackle is this: why is this global representation and success not translating to the Tamil film industry itself? The architecture of colourism We grow up seeing gods depicted as fair-skinned and demons as dark. This visual language, in our cinema and our religious iconography, shapes a harmful social psychology from childhood, says filmmaker Malini Jeevarathnam. This deep obsession often translates onto the screen. This visual coding is meticulously reinforced on screen. As film and theatre practitioner Bhargav Prasad observes, Urban stories are largely told through the lens of an ambiguous middle class, while rural stories are allowed to name caste. This furthers the illusion that cities are casteless while villages are mired in caste, masking the subtle yet pervasive faultlines of caste that structure urban life. Fairness becomes visually synonymous with the aspirational and urban, while darker skin is routinely linked to the rural, the lowered caste, or a life of struggle. But tracking the history of Tamil cinema, Kalyan, an aspiring filmmaker and theatre director, states that the norm of casting only fair heroines wasnt always there. He says, Looking at the 70s to 90s movies in Tamil, we had famous dark-skinned heroines. He quotes the works of directors like Balu Mahendra, K Balachander, and Bharathiraja. The shift, he believes, came when a new wave of directors began collaborating with producers and distributors from other regions. They started getting heroines from Mumbai. Then they started choosing from Mumbai to Kerala North Indians and Malayalis. Malayalis are also chosen depending on their fair skin. For actors like Ismat Banu, this coding feels personal and limiting. It feels like they are putting actors into boxes This colour fits this level, and then just stopping there, she says. I know so many talented Tamil women who confess, We dont have confidence in our acting, simply because they dont see people who look like them on screen. This lack of representation leaves a vacuum that the industry readily fills with talent from elsewhere, says movie buff Sri Krishna. He argues that if colourism were the only barrier, we would at least see light- and medium-skinned Tamil women in leading roles. Their absence, he suggests, points to deeper issues including caste hierarchies, conservative culture, and deep-seated inferiority complex fostered by the very images the industry produces. Curious case of brown facing The most acute controversy now revolves around brown-facing, where fair-skinned actors are darkened with makeup to play darker-skinned, often rural or Dalit characters. Having a fair-skinned person use makeup to appear dark-skinned is wrong. It shows a deep gap in authenticity, states Kalyan. He attributes this to a flawed, unprofessional casting process where the character is built around a pre-chosen actor rather than finding the right person for the role. Bhargav sees a broader irony. Whats ironic is how this issue tends to surface most loudly when filmmakers from marginalised communities make films, a struggle in itself in this industry. He describes brown-facing as the tip of the iceberg, revealing how deeply colourism runs through Tamil cinemas architecture. This criticism is met with a robust defence from within the industry. Lakshmy Ramakrishnan, an actor and filmmaker, states, For rural or native roles, they often wont cast someone who is from that place. Instead, they bring someone from elsewhere and darken their skin. She emphasises the need for awareness, arguing, Saying I was not aware is not an excuse. You should know. Only then can you bring about change. The debate becomes particularly charged when it touches on the philosophy of representation itself. Nachi offers a critical perspective, questioning the woke mandate. I dont think casting someone from the same community is a mandate. As an artiste, its very woke and reductionist to say that to anyone. He, however, identifies a hypocrisy. The problem is that the filmmakers want the junior artistes to align with a particular class, but would cast the main leads for the talent. He points to a persistent stereotyping, even when darker-skinned women are cast. Either they are overly sexualised or de-sexualised and made into poverty porn. For him, the true goal should be agency, not just representation. Agency is more important than representation. This complex web of art, commerce, and identity places a heavy burden on new talent. Ismat speaks on the quiet frustration of missed opportunities. People wouldnt give us a chance. They would just look at us and decide, They cant act, and that would be the end of it. Yet, she sees a glimmer of hope in the global success of Tamils like Maitreyi Ramakrishnan and Simone Ashley. So, where does the industry go from here? For Kalyan, the solution is a professionalised casting system that prioritises the script. The core of the character is their physique, their mentality, their background their body, mind, and voice. That should be the casting process. He believes the next generation of filmmakers can shift the narrative, noting the gradual arrival of casting directors in an industry long dominated by nepotism and networks. Bhargav agrees that the seeds of change are sown, but cautions that the responsibility cannot rest solely on those from marginalised communities. Its equally the responsibility of filmmakers who benefit from these hierarchies to stand in solidarity and change the ways of working, he says. These are deep-seated prejudices, and unlearning them will take time and is a collective effort, but the shift has begun. Malini holds onto a balanced vision, yet firm vision. Dark-skinned actresses should be allowed to explore a wide range of roles instead of being confined to stereotypes, and fair-skinned actresses should not be treated as the enemy or excluded because of their colour. For Malini, the path forward is clear. Colourism must change everywhere, in cinema, on television, and even within our faith. It is a change that must begin by seeing the world and ourselves in a more honest viewpoint.