In Ilango Ram’s ‘Tentigo,’ laughter becomes a mirror. A man dies with an erection and his family spirals into panic, trying to hide this final act of ‘indecency’ before the world sees it. The absurdity is immediate, the humour is dark, and the awkwardness is overwhelming.
But what makes it truly unforgettable is this: we laugh, not because it is impossible but because it is so possible. Somewhere in a small village in Sri Lanka, or South Asia more broadly, this very scenario or something sharply close to it could be playing out today.
Sex education or the lack thereof
A grown man has an erection in death and no one knows what to do. It is even a struggle to articulate what has happened.
Funny? Yes.
Fiction? Not really.
The characters’ fumbling confusion in the film mirrors a very real lack of sexual literacy in Sri Lankan society. In schools, the topic is either brushed over or handled with embarrassment. Within families, it is treated as a ‘do not ask, do not tell’ subject. So when confronted with a basic biological reality even in death, people do not know how to respond.
We laugh because we see ourselves in these characters. Their unease is ours. Our giggles hide the fact that in 2025, many adults in our region still navigate the world without proper understanding of their own bodies.
Shame as inheritance
The family does not want others to know, not because it is dangerous, but because it is shameful.
In ‘Tentigo,’ shame is inherited like land passed down through generations. The characters do not discuss the deceased’s condition not out of morality, but out of fear: “What will people say?”
That same fear silences real conversations in countless households. Reproductive health concerns go unspoken. Consent is a foreign concept. And desire? Only acceptable under marriage, behind closed doors, and preferably invisible.
Humour here is a shield. We laugh at the ridiculous lengths the family goes to cover things up, but we also recognise how deeply ingrained our fear of ‘the neighbour’s opinion’ is.
Ageing and sexuality: A taboo within a taboo
The dead man was having an affair. Even his friends are in disbelief, half-ashamed and half-amused.
In a society where old age is supposed to be synonymous with spirituality, asexuality, and retreat, the idea that an elderly man might still seek physical pleasure is outrageous – or is it?
The film uses comedy to force us to look again at our assumptions. It is not just the younger generation that struggles with silence around sex. Older adults are often entirely erased from this conversation. When they do appear, it is often as a punchline much like in the film.
Yet, ‘Tentigo’ flips that punchline. The humour becomes a tool of empathy. We are not just laughing at the old man. We are laughing because we realise how society has tried to ‘age out’ his desires.
Women and their silenced desires
Two sisters-in-law share a quiet moment, reflecting on their unspoken struggles in the bedroom. This is one of the more subtle yet impactful moments in the film. There is no dramatic revelation, no protest, just a conversation. But in its simplicity strikes its power.
In South Asia, female sexuality is rarely acknowledged, let alone prioritised. Women are taught to endure, not express. ‘Tentigo’ does not preach feminism, but it does gently lift the veil on this inequality.
And again, we laugh not because it is silly but because it is true for most of the women in our country. We know these women. They might be our aunts, our mothers, even ourselves. And through their shared laugh, we are invited to share ours, the one tinged with both sadness and solidarity.
The hypocrisy of respectability
Characters obsess over rituals and appearances, ignoring the actual emotional chaos around them.
From the outside, ‘Tentigo’ could be seen as a story about a family trying to manage a crisis. But look closer, and it becomes a satire of respectability politics. The family is less concerned about the man’s passing and more about how it will look for outsiders.
We see this every day. Societal expectations defeat emotional authenticity. Funerals become theatre, marriage becomes performance, and personal struggles are hidden to preserve face.
So when we laugh at the family in ‘Tentigo,’ we are laughing at our society’s obsession with looking ‘proper’ even in the most intimate moments. The comedy reveals the unseen cost of keeping with social expectations and standards.
‘Tentigo’ keeps us laughing from start to finish with clever dialogue, absurd situations, and characters who feel like exaggerated versions of people we might actually know. But the real brilliance is what happens after the laughter settles. The more we reflect, the more we begin to realise: the joke is not just on the characters, it is on us. The humour lingers but so does a quiet discomfort, as we recognise pieces of our own society in the film’s most ridiculous moments.
Every character in ‘Tentigo’ is an amplified portrayal, yes, but never one-dimensional or unbelievable. Their quirks and choices are rooted in reality, shaped by cultural pressures, generational silence, and deeply personal histories.
The situations they face may feel absurd at first glance but beneath the surface, they are disturbingly plausible. Whether it is the discomfort around discussing sex, the marginalisation of older adults’ desires, or the silent suffering of women, the film does not scream its messages. Instead, it nudges us through laughter to see what we often ignore.
The brilliance of Ram’s storytelling lies in his refusal to cast moral judgement. He does not assign blame or preach. There are no heroes or villains here. Each character simply responds to the crisis through the lens of their own lived experience. By letting humour take the lead, Ram creates space for the audience to lean in, reflect, and perhaps even confront their own biases and silences. ‘Tentigo’ entertains but more importantly, it entertains us into awareness.
The next time we chuckle at a clip from ‘Tentigo’ while scrolling through our feed, it might be worth pausing for a moment. Are we laughing at a clever joke or at a familiar reflection of ourselves, our families, and our society?
(The writer is a dedicated diversity and inclusion specialist, educator, and researcher, passionate about creating inclusive workplaces and understanding the unique dynamics of Gen Z in the workplace. Her work is rooted in a commitment to fostering environments where everyone can thrive)