A film of many hidden depths, Ayu lights up the screen
The movies are back. Or so it seems. Since Asoka Handagama’s somewhat controversial Rani made waves early in the year, 2025 has seen a resurgence of Sri Lankan cinema unlike any in recent memory. Hit after hit – from Ilango Ram’s Tentigo and Lakmal Darmarathna’s big-screen debut Walampoori to the highly successful Clarence Wijewardena musical-fantasy-dressed-as-biopic and plenty more – saw crowds flock to theatres.
Commercially, at least, I don’t think Sri Lankan cinema has seen a more productive year since perhaps its heyday in the ’70s. That said, I would stop short of calling it a renaissance – for the simple reason that, despite the welcome box office boom, that all too uniquely Sri Lankan distinction between arthouse cinema and commercial fare had not yet quite blurred. Except in the case of one solitary, brave attempt: Ayu, by promising young filmmaker Chathra Weeraman.
A still from the movie
Ayu tells the story of Nishmi (newcomer Sandra Mack), a paediatrician whose life is turned upside down following a tragic accident. Though she makes a full recovery from her physical injuries, other circumstances leave her emotional life in tatters, sending her on a quest to find purpose. On this journey, a newly carefree Nishmi encounters a ruggedly charming beach boy named Sachin (Jagath Manuwarna), who stands in stark contrast to her emotionally unavailable fiancé Ravi (Ashan Dias). Now, if that reads like the premise of your run-of-the-mill romcom, I promise you it is so much more. Just bear in mind that this is the kind of layered, narratively complex story that simply refuses to be condensed, not without robbing you of the joy of discovering for yourself its rich thematic interior.
I must confess at the outset that, going into this film, my expectations were not high. Ayu had people waxing lyrical on Facebook, but Weeraman’s debut Aloko Udapadi (2017), impressive though it was for what it had set out to do and technically accomplished, had not been anything that I would’ve gone out of my way to see again. So, off I went to see Ayu with an open enough mind but I was, in fact, blown away. When the film ended, as the credits started to roll, I just sat there, quietly stunned by what I had just witnessed. This was, of course, in part because it was an excellent work of art but more so because how unusual, how rare it is for a Sri Lankan film to do half the things that Ayu did just right.
Chief among these is the respect the filmmaker shows for his audience. Weeraman has no time for expository hand-holding. He trusts the viewer to fill in any gaps. He is generous enough to provide thread and needle, but the audience must do the work in stitching together a coherent and thematically complete tapestry. That is a bold undertaking to say the least, particularly for a relative newcomer attempting creative risks. For instance, can you recall the last Sri Lankan film to feature a non-linear timeline? Or the last screenplay to deliberately leave out crucial answers to questions raised? I cannot.
While it may feel like it struggles to find its footing in places, the film largely succeeds in pursuing the lofty goals it had set for itself. This is made possible by a deceptively clever screenplay that doesn’t insult the audience’s intelligence and features the kind of writing that isn’t afraid to challenge. Admittedly the dialogue suffers in places from an unnecessary pursuit of literary affectation, but this happens rarely enough that it can be overlooked. The final product is a film that demands discussion, a work that’s worth dissecting to get to its many hidden depths and the countless narrative possibilities it only hints at.
A movie is only as good as its cast, and Ayu boasts some outstanding performances from a group of veterans and beginners who do justice to the towering ambitions of the story and the sheer thematic weight of the script. Sandra Mack, in particular, shines in a star-making debut that is at once moving, understated and quietly captivating; Jagath Manuwarna is the most endearing he has ever been onscreen; and Ashan Dias, a familiar face, is also more than commendable. Special mention must be made of child actress Kenara Weerathunga who is, in a word, phenomenal, and Malini Fonseka, who plays Nishmi’s long-suffering mother in what might have been her last movie role.
The film has an ethereal, dream-like quality to it thanks to some outstanding photography, helped by a similarly exceptional score. Above all, Ayu is a genuinely poignant film that makes you feel something. It’s not every day that one can say that about a Sri Lankan production.
To be clear, it is by no means a perfect film. But then what is?
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