Kalyani reveals tough 16-hour shifts in Malayalam cinema
Kalyani contrasts Malayalam film work culture with Bollywood
The lights of The Hollywood Reporter India’s studio glowed warm as three actors settled into comfortable chairs for a conversation that would soon ripple through the industry. Kareena Kapoor Khan, Ananya Panday, and Kalyani Priyadarshan—three generations of cinema, three different journeys, yet united by the peculiar demands of their craft.
Kalyani sat with the quiet confidence of someone who had just made history. Her film, Lokah Chapter 1: Chandra, had done something no Malayalam film had ever done before—it had crossed the Rs 200 crore mark with a female actor in the lead.
But when the conversation turned to working conditions, the actress set aside her achievements to speak for the countless faces behind the camera who rarely get mentioned in victory speeches.
The debate had been ignited earlier by Deepika Padukone’s demand for eight-hour work shifts on film sets—a request that seemed reasonable to some, outrageous to others. Kalyani listened as Kareena and Ananya shared their perspectives, then offered a glimpse into a different world entirely.
“In Malayalam cinema,” she began quietly, “our days are much longer.”
She described mornings that began before sunrise, around 6 a.m., when makeup artists and hairstylists would arrive even earlier to prepare. Shooting would continue through the afternoon heat, past sunset, sometimes stretching until 9:30 p.m. Fifteen hours. Sixteen hours. Sometimes longer. Sundays off? A luxury that rarely existed.
“For the longest time, we’ve just accepted this as normal,” Kalyani said.
Her words painted a picture that few audiences ever consider. The spot boy who hasn’t seen his children wake up in weeks. The light technician whose back aches from standing for sixteen hours but cannot afford to complain. The production coordinator who sleeps three hours a night coordinating call sheets and locations.
“When you’re exhausted, creatively, you’re not at your best,” Kalyani reflected. “And eventually, that shows on screen. The audience might not know why a film feels slightly off, but the exhaustion is there, baked into every frame.”
Behind her words was the unspoken reality of her own journey. The years of waiting for the right script. The selective choices since her debut in Hello. The leap of faith required to become India’s first female superhero in Malayalam cinema—a role that demanded not just acting skill but physical training, discipline, and the endurance to survive those sixteen-hour days.
For the crew of Lokah Chapter 1, those long hours had a purpose. They were building something unprecedented, creating a world where a woman could fly, fight, and carry a Rs 200 crore film on her shoulders. But even purpose has its limits when bodies grow weary and families wait at home.
In a small flat in Kochi, a lightman named Suresh scrolled through photos of his daughter’s third birthday, celebrated two weeks ago without him. He had been on set until midnight, lighting a scene that would last thirty seconds in the final cut. His wife had sent videos of the cake cutting, the little girl laughing, the candles flickering. He watched them alone at 1 a.m., exhausted but unable to sleep.
“Amma, when are you coming home?
“Soon, mol,” he always replied.
Soon never came soon enough.
Kalyani’s comments at the roundtable weren’t a complaint about her industry. They were an acknowledgment that the magic of cinema is built on human backs, and those backs have limits. The eight-hour workday debate, she suggested, wasn’t just about actors’ comfort. It was about the dignity of every person who contributes to a film.
As the conversation wrapped and the studio lights dimmed, Kalyani thought about the crew who had carried Lokah Chapter 1 to its historic success. The makeup artists who arrived before dawn. The catering staff who served meals at odd hours. The drivers who ferried exhausted technicians home past midnight.
History had been made. A female superhero had conquered the box office. But for the real superheroes of Malayalam cinema—the ones working sixteen-hour days without fanfare—the fight for dignity, rest, and time with their families had only just begun.