Showing posts with label 36 Chowringhee Lane. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 36 Chowringhee Lane. Show all posts
Filmmakers like Farah Khan play by patriarchal rules to be successful-Aparna Sen
8:07 AM
MID-DAY (February 23, 2018)
National Award-winning filmmaker Aparna Sen yesterday said that though there are several women directors now, some of them like Farah Khan play by patriarchal rules to become successful.
Sen believes women directors are “confident enough in their own skin to critique their woman characters” but there are some who play by the rules. “You have women filmmakers who have a male gaze. They play according to the rules of the patriarchal system and make a success of it. For instance, Farah Khan, who makes predominantly mainstream films, has a distinct male gaze, except that she has a tongue firmly planted in her cheek while playing the macho game,” Sen said while delivering the keynote address at the fourth edition of the Gateway LitFest in Mumbai.
Sen, who made her acting debut with Satyajit Ray’s Teen Kanya (1961), went on to establish herself as a successful director with acclaimed films such as Paroma (1984), Paromitar Ek Din (2000), Mr and Mrs Iyer (2002), 15 Park Avenue (2006) and Iti Mrinalini (2011). The veteran said the question is not really about gender as all true artistes are androgynous by nature. “Male filmmakers only need to tap their female selves in order to develop their female gaze as many great filmmakers have done. But why is it important to do so? Because the world has been run by aggressive males and landed itself in a fine mess. It is time that the female gaze made its presence felt both in cinema and in a world that’s been driven by intolerance, greed, hate and lust.”
She said gentler and more inclusive films should be made where multiple voices can be heard. Sen also said that sex is still a taboo and “patriarchy is so deeply entrenched” that even today the audience has a problem with a woman exercising her sexual choice or expressing her sexual desires. “If we look at the depiction of sex, the male filmmakers will usually have the man in the role of an aggressor while the woman will remain passive. It will take an Alankrita Srivastava (Lipstick Under My Burkha, 2017) to show women’s sexual desires in a way every woman can identify with. A filmmaker can have a female gaze while having a male protagonist,” Sen said.
“That’s the thing about today’s female filmmakers. They are confident enough in their own skin to critique their woman characters. They are perfectly comfortable in empathising with their male characters when need be,” she added.
Recalling her own experience of turning director with her National Award-winning 36 Chowringhee Lane (1981), the director said there were not many women directors when she started off. “I had little to go by when I embarked on my lonely journey in 1980, except for films made by some exceptionally talented men like Satyajit Ray, Ritwik Ghatak and Mrinal Sen from my own native Bengal, G Arvindam and Adoor Gopalakrishnan from Kerala and Girish Kasaravalli in Karnataka to name a few. Filmmakers that I had worked with as an actor during my stint in mainstream Bengali cinema were far from encouraging. One of them asked me, ‘I hear you’re planning to direct a film’? ‘Yes dada,’ I said. ‘Story by?’ ‘Me dada,’ I replied. ‘And screenplay?’ ‘Also by me,’ I said. ‘Very brave’, he said, which was meant to be sarcastic,” she said without naming the director.
I was a crazy fan-Shabana Azmi remembers Shashi Kapoor; Nafisa Ali, Saira Banu also pay tribute
8:13 AM
Shabana
Azmi’s ode to the late Shashi Kapoor, her first co-star who always
scolded, bullied or made fun of her but was rock solid in a crises
MUMBAI MIRROR (December 5, 2017)
I would save my pocket money to buy Shashi Kapoor’s posters from Grant Road which I would get him to autograph when he came to Prithvi Theatre on Sunday. I was a crazy fan and to suddenly land a role opposite my childhood idol in Fakira was unbelievable!
On the first day, we were shooting the song Dil mein tujhe bitha ke. During rehearsals when the dance director, Satyanarayan, demonstrated the moves, I was aghast! I couldn’t get so intimate with Shashi Kapoor, I told my hairdresser, and burst into tears in my make-up room.
Minutes later, my hero was banging on the door wanting to know what the problem was. When I tearfully explained, he mocked, “Mummy, mummy mujhe actor banna hai!” Calling me a silly girl, he told me to come out when the shot was ready. When I arrived on the set, I found that he had changed all the moves so I’d be more comfortable.
He never had a kind word to say to me. He always scolded, bullied or made fun of me. But in a crisis, he was rock solid. In ‘86 I had taken up the cause of slum dwellers in Colaba whose homes had been demolished to make way for an MLA hostel. We knocked on several doors, demanding alternate housing for them, before Anand Patwardhan and I, along with three slum dwellers, went on a hunger strike.
No actor had gone on a hunger strike before and our fraternity was confused about whether to express support for me. On the fifth day, my blood pressure started falling and my mother was worried. Shashi Kapoor turned up wanting to know our demands. He left soon after and went straight to the Chief Minister, Shankarrao Chavan, telling him that the film industry had always supported the government in a crisis and he couldn’t let the demands of one of its members go unheard. The housing minister conceded to them on the CM’s instructions and urged me to have a glass of juice.
I was on stage, about to thank Shashi Kapoor for negotiating the deal for us, when I saw him step away from the media glare, slip away into an alley and disappear. He didn’t want any accolades and never spoke about it, ever. That’s the kind of person he is.
He was the only mainstream actor at the time who put his money, not into real estate or any other speculative business, but into theatre and cinema that wasn’t commercially safe. Films like 36 Chowringhee Lane, Junoon, Kalyug and Vijeta. Aparna Sen, whose 36 Chowringhee Lane he produced, admits she’s never known a more generous producer. I can attest to that. During Junoon which featured many theatre actors, moving away from the norm, he refused to segregate his cast into ‘small’ and ‘big’ actors and insisted everyone be put up in the same good hotel.
When we went for the Moscow Film Festival, with just eight dollars in foreign exchange, we were all strapped for cash. But despite the presence of bigwigs like F C Mehra and Raj Kapoor, Shashi Kapoor footed every bill.
—Reproduced from Mumbai Mirror (March 24, 2015) on the occasion of Shashi Kapoor’s Dada Saheb Phalke felicitation
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
‘He would transform into a well-behaved schoolboy’
Shashi ji was the last of the wonderful trio of Kapoor brothers. From the time he fell ill, he was reticent about going out but I have wonderful memories of him; he was mischievous and full of pranks. However, all of that would come to a standstill when his wife, Jennifer Kendal, arrived on sets. Suddenly, he’d transform into a well behaved school boy. While shooting in Kashmir for Koi Jeeta Koi Haara, he would entertain us by singing songs and invite the whole unit for donga parties on the shikaras with traditional Kashmir music on Dal lake. - Saira Banu
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
‘His son Kunal was his pillar of strength’
Shashi was a legendary actor who I had known since I was 20. I had made my debut with his first production, Junoon, where we were looked after like royalty. He was a wonderful producer. We’d all go for a swim together at Breach Candy. Shashi had fought a long battle with his problems and his son, Kunal, was his pillar of strength; he looked after him so well. Whenever I came to Mumbai, I’d go meet them and Jennifer (Kendal) would make waffles with honey and butter for me, which I loved. - Nafisa Ali
I would save my pocket money to buy Shashi Kapoor’s posters from Grant Road which I would get him to autograph when he came to Prithvi Theatre on Sunday. I was a crazy fan and to suddenly land a role opposite my childhood idol in Fakira was unbelievable!
On the first day, we were shooting the song Dil mein tujhe bitha ke. During rehearsals when the dance director, Satyanarayan, demonstrated the moves, I was aghast! I couldn’t get so intimate with Shashi Kapoor, I told my hairdresser, and burst into tears in my make-up room.
Minutes later, my hero was banging on the door wanting to know what the problem was. When I tearfully explained, he mocked, “Mummy, mummy mujhe actor banna hai!” Calling me a silly girl, he told me to come out when the shot was ready. When I arrived on the set, I found that he had changed all the moves so I’d be more comfortable.
He never had a kind word to say to me. He always scolded, bullied or made fun of me. But in a crisis, he was rock solid. In ‘86 I had taken up the cause of slum dwellers in Colaba whose homes had been demolished to make way for an MLA hostel. We knocked on several doors, demanding alternate housing for them, before Anand Patwardhan and I, along with three slum dwellers, went on a hunger strike.
No actor had gone on a hunger strike before and our fraternity was confused about whether to express support for me. On the fifth day, my blood pressure started falling and my mother was worried. Shashi Kapoor turned up wanting to know our demands. He left soon after and went straight to the Chief Minister, Shankarrao Chavan, telling him that the film industry had always supported the government in a crisis and he couldn’t let the demands of one of its members go unheard. The housing minister conceded to them on the CM’s instructions and urged me to have a glass of juice.
I was on stage, about to thank Shashi Kapoor for negotiating the deal for us, when I saw him step away from the media glare, slip away into an alley and disappear. He didn’t want any accolades and never spoke about it, ever. That’s the kind of person he is.
He was the only mainstream actor at the time who put his money, not into real estate or any other speculative business, but into theatre and cinema that wasn’t commercially safe. Films like 36 Chowringhee Lane, Junoon, Kalyug and Vijeta. Aparna Sen, whose 36 Chowringhee Lane he produced, admits she’s never known a more generous producer. I can attest to that. During Junoon which featured many theatre actors, moving away from the norm, he refused to segregate his cast into ‘small’ and ‘big’ actors and insisted everyone be put up in the same good hotel.
When we went for the Moscow Film Festival, with just eight dollars in foreign exchange, we were all strapped for cash. But despite the presence of bigwigs like F C Mehra and Raj Kapoor, Shashi Kapoor footed every bill.
—Reproduced from Mumbai Mirror (March 24, 2015) on the occasion of Shashi Kapoor’s Dada Saheb Phalke felicitation
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
‘He would transform into a well-behaved schoolboy’
Shashi ji was the last of the wonderful trio of Kapoor brothers. From the time he fell ill, he was reticent about going out but I have wonderful memories of him; he was mischievous and full of pranks. However, all of that would come to a standstill when his wife, Jennifer Kendal, arrived on sets. Suddenly, he’d transform into a well behaved school boy. While shooting in Kashmir for Koi Jeeta Koi Haara, he would entertain us by singing songs and invite the whole unit for donga parties on the shikaras with traditional Kashmir music on Dal lake. - Saira Banu
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
‘His son Kunal was his pillar of strength’
Shashi was a legendary actor who I had known since I was 20. I had made my debut with his first production, Junoon, where we were looked after like royalty. He was a wonderful producer. We’d all go for a swim together at Breach Candy. Shashi had fought a long battle with his problems and his son, Kunal, was his pillar of strength; he looked after him so well. Whenever I came to Mumbai, I’d go meet them and Jennifer (Kendal) would make waffles with honey and butter for me, which I loved. - Nafisa Ali
Pooja Bhatt to make a comeback to acting with film adaptation of Abheek Barua's novel City Of Death
7:54 AM
Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; June 19, 2017)
Even as speculations are
rife about Pooja Bhatt returning to the screen with Sanjay Dutt and
Sadak 2, Mirror has learnt that the actress-filmmaker has got the rights
of Abheek Barua's debut novel, City Of Death. She will play the female
lead, a disgraced excrime branch investigator. Now a pill-popping
alcoholic cop in Kolkata, she is planning a suicidal vacation to Goa,
when she gets a call from the Chief
Minister's office and is asked to investigate the murder of Ahona
Chatterjee, the daughter of an industrialist, who is found naked, with
her head severed. Her partner on the case, Arjun Sinha, is 10 years
younger, has just lost his wife and child and is suffering from survivor's guilt. Arjun lives with his father
in festering silence and harbours a death wish. As the murders, all
involving women with issues - from incest to a homosexual husband and
father-in-law wanting to continue with the bloodline - multiply, the duo
has to push personal demons aside to nab the serial killer before he
strikes too close to home.
“My friend Kaustav Narayan Niyogi (director of Cabaret), recommended the book and even as I was reading it, I wanted to get back on the set to play this character. This came as an electric shock because that part of my life was no longer a priority. I called my dad (Mahesh Bhatt) to make this guilty confession and he assured me that it was a good feeling, as did my producer-partner, Sheel Kumar,“ says Pooja, excited about this inept, 46-year-old cop who, unlike Rani Mukerji's cop in Mardaani, huffs and puffs when chasing criminals and mixes vodka in her tea to stop her hands from shaking.
After convincing Abheek to give her the rights, Pooja asked her LA-based friend Digvijay Sisodia, whose film Maya (about the practise of giving a girl to the village priest to deflower once she hits puberty) was banned, to read the book. Now, he will be directing City Of Death. He has been working on the script and some changes have crept in.
Arjun's character, yet to be cast, has become darker and edgier, while the Bengali cop, Sohini Sen, has been turned into an Anglo-Indian, Rita Brown, so Pooja can go back to her roots. “My grandmother, Betty Bertha Bright, lived in the Armenian block in Kolkata. After 36 Chowringhee Lane, we haven't seen that part of the city in films,“ she points out, planning to kick off the film by the year-end in Kolkata during Christmas, when the number of suicides go up in the area. “It's a beautiful but decaying city and its crumbling facade serves as a visual metaphor for what the characters are going through, juxtaposing the moral decay against the physical decay to expose the family unit as the biggest enemy through an overindulgent father, a depressive mother, a sex addict brother, and a lover with a past.“
Always one to break rules, Pooja who has never believed in Botox shots to defy age, is happy to play a woman in her forties who wouldn't usually find a place in our cinema, with all her scars and flaws. She goes a step further with this older woman-younger man relationship to show a sizzling chemistry between Rita and Arjun that blossoms as the investigations progress. “Arjun deals with his pain by becoming promiscuous while Rita turns judgemental, unwilling to admit to herself that she is also attracted to him,“ she points out, adding that these two broken people come together to heal each other.
City Of Death, she says, has the potential to turn into a franchise, moving to a different city and new characters to show the different worlds of India through crimes of passion. “The joke is that I'm making a comeback as an alcoholic cop after I have decided to quit alcohol,“ Pooja signs off with a laugh.
“My friend Kaustav Narayan Niyogi (director of Cabaret), recommended the book and even as I was reading it, I wanted to get back on the set to play this character. This came as an electric shock because that part of my life was no longer a priority. I called my dad (Mahesh Bhatt) to make this guilty confession and he assured me that it was a good feeling, as did my producer-partner, Sheel Kumar,“ says Pooja, excited about this inept, 46-year-old cop who, unlike Rani Mukerji's cop in Mardaani, huffs and puffs when chasing criminals and mixes vodka in her tea to stop her hands from shaking.
After convincing Abheek to give her the rights, Pooja asked her LA-based friend Digvijay Sisodia, whose film Maya (about the practise of giving a girl to the village priest to deflower once she hits puberty) was banned, to read the book. Now, he will be directing City Of Death. He has been working on the script and some changes have crept in.
Arjun's character, yet to be cast, has become darker and edgier, while the Bengali cop, Sohini Sen, has been turned into an Anglo-Indian, Rita Brown, so Pooja can go back to her roots. “My grandmother, Betty Bertha Bright, lived in the Armenian block in Kolkata. After 36 Chowringhee Lane, we haven't seen that part of the city in films,“ she points out, planning to kick off the film by the year-end in Kolkata during Christmas, when the number of suicides go up in the area. “It's a beautiful but decaying city and its crumbling facade serves as a visual metaphor for what the characters are going through, juxtaposing the moral decay against the physical decay to expose the family unit as the biggest enemy through an overindulgent father, a depressive mother, a sex addict brother, and a lover with a past.“
Always one to break rules, Pooja who has never believed in Botox shots to defy age, is happy to play a woman in her forties who wouldn't usually find a place in our cinema, with all her scars and flaws. She goes a step further with this older woman-younger man relationship to show a sizzling chemistry between Rita and Arjun that blossoms as the investigations progress. “Arjun deals with his pain by becoming promiscuous while Rita turns judgemental, unwilling to admit to herself that she is also attracted to him,“ she points out, adding that these two broken people come together to heal each other.
City Of Death, she says, has the potential to turn into a franchise, moving to a different city and new characters to show the different worlds of India through crimes of passion. “The joke is that I'm making a comeback as an alcoholic cop after I have decided to quit alcohol,“ Pooja signs off with a laugh.
36 Chowringhee Lane was actually shot during Xmas time in Kolkata
8:34 AM
Roshmilla Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; December 31, 2013)
Christmas cheer and New Year revelry strangely brings back heartwrenching memories of Miss Violet Stoneham’s desperate attempts to become a part of the celebrations in 36 Chowringhee Lane. Jennifer Kendal’s class act in Aparna Sen’s directorial debut is one of the highpoints to be toasted in the centenary year of Indian cinema.
Kendal played an Anglo-Indian school teacher in the film whose lonely existence is enlivened by the presence of a young couple who she runs into while returning from church on Christmas. Nandita Roy, a former student, and Samaresh, her author-boyfriend, use Miss Stoneham’s empty apartment when she’s reading Shakespeare in school, to get some desperately needed privacy and keep her company when she returns home.
The arrangement works wonderfully for the trio till Nandita and Samaresh get married. Now they have their apartment and no longer need the elderly spinster's house or company. A year later, when she invites herself over for Christmas, they put her off saying they’re out of town. Miss Stoneham still comes over, to drop off the cake she has baked for them, to see them partying with a bunch of friends their age. She walks away with a broken heart and drooping shoulders, to recite King Lear to a stray dog.
Remembering that party at the end of the film, Dhritiman Chatterjee who played Samaresh informs that it was for real. “It was Christmas time in Kolkata and we were shooting at a friend’s place. Since it was Aparna’s first film, many of her friends were involved and we’d invited all of them over to fill in as the guests. Soon there was absolute chaos as we started to enjoy ourselves, may be a bit too much. Fortunately, we managed to get the portions canned to Aparna’s satisfaction. She’d done her homework well and knew what she wanted,” he laughs.
He has fond memories of Jennifer who was like a mother figure to many of them on the sets and held the unit together. “She and Shashi Kapoor, who produced the film, were staying at a five-star hotel and the film must have reminded them of their Shakespearewallah days,” Dhritiman reminisces.
He admits Miss Stoneham was a familiar figure to him because he had teachers like her at St. Xavier’s School. “Anglo-Indians, stern and loving at the same time,” he says.
He particularly remembers Miss Stoneham’s cat in the film. “It was a professional cat,” he chuckles. “It had flown down from Mumbai with its trainer and lorded over us.”
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