At the 18th International Documentary and Short Film Festival of Kerala, Malavika VN's Viraamam emerged as a quietly observant work that shifts attention away from the screen and toward the people who make the screen experience possible. Screened in the short documentary competition section, the film dwells on the world of film projectionists, a profession that has long remained peripheral to mainstream film discourse even as it has been central to the mechanics of cinema.
Hidden Labour On Screen
Viraamam arrives at a moment when Indian documentary cinema is increasingly engaging with labour, memory and the vanishing textures of older media practices. By focusing on projectionists, the film enters a space that is both technical and deeply human: the booth, where reels, light, timing and precision converge to create the illusion of seamless storytelling. In doing so, the documentary does more than profile a job. It restores visibility to a form of work that is usually acknowledged only when something goes wrong.
The choice of subject is significant because projectionists occupy a rare position in film culture. They are custodians of rhythm and continuity, responsible for ensuring that the audience's encounter with a film remains uninterrupted. Yet their labour is often hidden behind the glamour of premieres, stars and red carpets. Viraamam appears to treat that invisibility not as a limitation but as its central subject, suggesting that the history of cinema is incomplete without the people who have operated its machinery.
Festival Context Matters
Its screening in the short documentary competition section at IDSFFK 2026 places the film within one of India's most respected documentary platforms. The Kerala festival has long served as a crucial meeting point for filmmakers, critics and audiences interested in nonfiction cinema that is formally adventurous and socially attentive. For a film like Viraamam, that setting matters: it offers a public forum for work that may not fit commercial exhibition patterns but speaks directly to the cultural memory of cinema itself.
The festival context also underscores a broader trend in Indian documentary practice. Filmmakers are increasingly turning toward occupations, institutions and everyday spaces that have been overlooked by dominant narratives. Rather than relying on grand political spectacle, many contemporary documentaries build significance through detail, observation and patient attention. Viraamam appears to belong to this lineage, using a specific profession as an entry point into larger questions about technological change, labour dignity and the fragility of cinematic traditions.
Cinema's Vanishing Custodians
The world of projectionists carries a particular resonance in an era defined by digital projection, multiplex standardisation and the rapid transformation of exhibition practices. As film projection has shifted from analogue reels to digital systems, the role of the projectionist has changed dramatically in many theatres, and in some cases has been reduced or redefined. A documentary centred on projectionists therefore does more than document a profession; it captures a transitional moment in cinema history.
That historical dimension gives Viraamam added weight. It suggests an interest not only in present-day labour but also in the emotional and material memory attached to film exhibition. Projection booths were once sites of expertise, vigilance and ritual. They connected the unseen technical process to the collective experience of spectators in the auditorium. By returning to that space, the film invites viewers to consider what is lost when cinema becomes increasingly automated and detached from human intervention.
The title itself, Viraamam, carries a sense of pause, rest or cessation, which appears apt for a film concerned with a profession that is fading from public view. Whether read as an elegy, a portrait or a meditation, the documentary seems positioned to resonate with audiences attentive to the labour histories embedded in film culture.
For IDSFFK, the inclusion of such a work reinforces the festival's role as a venue where cinema can be examined not only as art but as infrastructure, memory and labour. For viewers, it offers a reminder that every screening depends on a chain of invisible expertise. In bringing projectionists into focus, Viraamam asks a simple but enduring question: who, exactly, makes cinema possible?