‘Tenny’ gave us the best medicine in life– laughter
Bandu Samarasinghe and ‘Tenny’ (right) in Re Daniel Dawal Migel
The untimely demise of Tennyson Cooray leaves, in the Sri Lankan cinema, a void that would be hard-filled. In ‘a certain type’ of cinema some would sniff- but the fact remains that a good comedian is as rare as a six-petalled frangipani.
For nearly 35 years ‘Tenny’ was the Puck on our screen- a man who, with his self- deprecating humour, teased the funny bone of a nation that had dire need of catharsis. Most of Tennyson’s characters were half-wits and ‘fools’ (in the courtly sense) but, if you watched to the end, the bullied and ridiculed jester always got his back on the smarter folk and often had the last laugh.
In real life Tennyson was endearingly gentle and ‘innocent’ (that expressive Sri Lankan word), despite what the burly exterior suggested. And in real life he continued to question the derision reserved for comic movies and the ready paeans that flowed out for any ‘serious’ film that often merely ‘mystified’ the audiences (his words).
Tennyson’s was a vocation made in heaven (if not then certainly at the church). As Merengnnakuge Tennyson Cooray he was born in 1952 to a lower middle class Roman Catholic milieu- to a Buddhist mother and a father who had trained at a seminary and quoted English literature slickly. It was in that atmosphere of a village in seaside Moratuwa that he grew up with the gift of the gab.
He was educated at the Roman Catholic School at Villorawatte, the Kesbewa Junior School and Methodist High School, Moratuwa.
It was in church drama that Tennyson tested his wings- aspirations to be a mainstream actor were dampened several times- he had not the chocolate box looks. In 1984 however, Dinesh Priyasad and Raj Ranasinghe asked him to write a script- with a minor role for himself smuggled in.
This was Nommara Ekayi, a film that was followed by Peralikarayo and then a heady tumble of countless others through the 90’s and the following two decades- full of frothiness and jocularity where the people could drown their worries. It was they- the hoi polloi- who championed Tennyson- and that for him, was accolade enough.
But “he was often sad that comedians were not given proper status” says veteran journalist Thillakaratne Kuruvita-Bandara. “When I was the editor of Sarasaviya (the movie magazine) I broke a long-time taboo by having him on the cover, and he was very happy. He was also overjoyed when in 2018 the Derana Lux Film Awards gave him the Best Comedian award- a category that never before existed in any local festival.”
“He was devoted to work in the Methodist Church and helped many sick people. After Hugo Fernando and Eddie Jayamanne. he was one of our most successful comedians.”
Amongst Tennyson’s blockbusters are Re Daniel Dawal Migel, Cheerio, Peralikarayo, Weda Beri Tarzan and Somy Boys.
Whether as a bumbling Tarzan, an effeminate Veddah boy or ‘Jamis’ Bond, Tennyson was entertaining- and his plays like Man the Man, Sivamma Dhanapala and Captain Cool were highly popular. But there is the looming feeling- more palpable now- that his talents were not fully utilized. Critic Gamini Weragama in fact lamented that branding actors like Tennyson as ‘comedians’ meant we overlooked a wealth of talent- sadly misspent.
Sumana Amerasinghe, sometime golden girl of the cinema and producer of many films where Tennyson starred, has this to say on the passing of a friend:
“He was the only actor I knew who invariably turned up on the set with a glowing smile. He was a great blessing to the director and the producer- and such a simple, innocent person. I know (my late husband) Roy (de Silva) would have been distraught.”
Co-star Dilhani Ekanayake confessed she was still too numb to feel anything at all. “There was nothing Tenny Aiya did not share with me- but he never said anything about his sickness. I feel angry- but then again, I think it was his noble nature really that restrained him.”
Another co-star from an earlier generation, Sriyani Amarasena, said Tennyson “brought a lot of life and light to the world of arts. In his private life he never hesitated to help anyone- whether financially or otherwise.
“He left us too early. There would be none to fill the void because his position is one hard to reach.”
Tennyson is survived by wife Malsiri Eranjani, daughter Madhumihiri, son-in-law Chathuranga Fernando and grandchildren Chandru Mithushka and Mindri.