The man, the master
Indian film director Adoor Gopalakrishnan says cinema must be understood in its cultural context. Rajeev Nair met him in Dubai for a freewheeling interview
After nine internationally acclaimed films and many documentaries in a span of over three decades, there is only one introduction to Adoor Gopalakrishnan, India’s international film maker. That is one word: Adoor. It stands for the man, his films.
An Adoor film bears a stamp of individuality. It is one that Gopalakrishnan, no, Adoor created after a painstaking study of films at the National Film Institute of India. His first film, Swayamvaram (1972) brought about a paradigm shift in the average Keralite’s approach to cinema apart from winning three national awards.
Forever bound to his roots, his cultural context, Adoor makes films about the society he lives in. His characters are thoroughbred Indians, Keralites. Yet, and that is the mastery of his craft, his films fetch universal acclaim, and inevitably, snide remarks from mainstream Indian filmmakers. Given a chance they snub him but then, Adoor is the last man to take an unfounded criticism lying low. He lashes back at the detractors of his cinema, good cinema, ministers, directors, jury chairpersons or not.
He has won the Indian national award for best director four times, best scriptwriter thrice, and has screened his films in Cannes, Berlin, Venice, Rotterdam and Toronto, among others. He was honoured by the Indian government with a high civilian honour, Padmashri; by the French government with the Commandeur Des Arts Et Lettres order for his outstanding contribution to international cinema; and his film, Elippathayam was adjudged by the British Film Institute as the most original and imaginative film of 1982.
His book, Cinemayude Lokam (The World of Cinema) fetched him the national award for best book on cinema and he pioneered the Chitralekha Film Society that heralded the Film Society movement in Kerala. Adoor’s love for performing arts finds creative expression as documentaries on, among varied subjects, Koodiyattom, Krishnanattom, and Yakshaganam.
Adoor was recently in Dubai to attend the screening of his recent film, Nizhalkkuthu, as the inaugural film of the International Malayalam Film Festival organised by the International Malayali magazine.
Excerpts from a freewheeling interview with the master filmmaker:
You concluded your recent article on Satyajit Ray with a comment: ‘I have many human failings but I don’t have an iota of disrespect for my masters.’ Are you aware of a public perception that you are one who speaks your mind, that you are a difficult man?
I don’t tell lies. I don’t pretend what I am not. I speak my mind and do not hide anything. I have no regrets in doing so because it is much better that way. One should uphold what one believes in. What we see around us are compromises for small or large personal gains. That is wrong.
You have worked on various Film Festivals, been on juries, and headed cinema bodies. Are you happy with the evolution of Indian cinema over the years? Or do you feel the films are moving into a more commercialised mould?
The circumstances were little different when I started making films. In 1972, when I made Swayamvaram, the situation in Malayalam films was such that one couldn’t make a film without a song, dance and Adoor Bhasi (a veteran comedian). But those days, every film at least used to come to theatres; that is changing now. Most theatre owners today too are keener to screen films of a particular bent.
In Malayalam cinema, what we see today are imitations of Tamil cinema. Earlier, an average Malayali would snide Tamil films for their total disassociation from reality and the loud acting. Today, Tamil films have become fashionable. Mumbai films imitated MTV, Tamil cinema copied them, and today, we copy Tamil.
Why doesn’t good cinema become mainstream cinema? Why is there a dichotomy in cinema to this day?
It is an age-old curse. Somehow, it is still not recognised that cinema is a medium to be approached in a serious way. It is still regarded as a mere tool for entertainment. Even the literate are victims of this thought-process.
Why is it so? Is it because of a poor sense of film appreciation?
There are many things, which we can never explain fully… As per statistics, Kerala is a cent per cent literate state. From the amount of dailies and magazines published, we, as a people, are expected to be good readers. If you publish a book, a novel, for example, because it is the most popular, they print about 1000 copies as the first edition. Suppose all these are sold out, and assume that 2 to 3 people read each book; it means you have about 2000 to 3000 readers.
But take the case of a cinema, made in the most austere fashion with glamour and glitz; just one show of that film fetches as many viewers, if not more. Even a film that had a bad run at theatres is still watched by many thousands. This means reading and cinema do not relate; they diverge at some point.
The important consideration here is women. We have a big contradiction when it comes to the literacy of women. The root cause of good cinema being ignored is women. They harbour a feeling that serious cinema is not for them. The best-made films in Kerala have very limited viewership of women. There is no family audience for serious cinema.
You have made nine films. Have all these made money?
Yes, all of them have covered the costs but not necessarily from Kerala. Some of the films have made money in Kerala – like Swayamvaram and Kodiyettam… In fact, Kodiyettam is a sort of superhit going by its cost and returns.
Is making cinema that you are committed to becoming more difficult with each passing year?
I always make a film hoping that audiences in Kerala will respond to it well. But the unique structure of our distribution network is such that my films will reach theatres only if they are distributed by those agencies that distribute popular films too.
Could it because of the star value associated to some of your films?
The star value works only for one day. You have a film with Mammootty; you get a full house on the first day. But when they realise that Mammootty does not portray a role that they are familiar with, the very next day, the turnout of that kind of audience falls because the film does not fit their expectations…
Whose appreciation do you value?
I value every audience. Every film is appreciated by different individuals differently based on their sensitivities and sensibilities. I feel that every one can appreciate my cinema at some level…
Take the case of Nizhalkkuthu – many people, those who are accustomed to popular cinema, have liked this film.
Could it also be because Nizhalkkuthu has many elements that are also associated with popular cinema, like Ilayaraja’s music, the rich visuals…?
All my films have these elements. In fact, MB Sreenivasan, who had worked on my films earlier, did some of his career best music for my films. In Nizhalkkuthu, you don’t hear the kind of music you would hear in a popular cinema by Ilayaraja. The film is unique in its handling of the background score; here, it has been treated to be a foreground score. People who have a culture of seeing good cinema would understand it. For others, the sound is still very enjoyable.
You reportedly take the most time to script a film. When you script, do you have an ideal audience in mind?
I see myself as the audience. I must like the script…
Are you your own critic?
Yes.
As a critic of your own films do you feel any of them could have been made better?
No. I have nothing to correct in them because I don’t rush into making the films. More than writing the script, what I struggle more is in choosing the subject. What should I film and why, bother me the most. And only when that bother becomes overwhelming do I start writing.
How does a spark come? Nizhalkkuthu, it has been reported, owes its genesis to one line from a Vaikom Mohammed Basheer work, and a news story in a daily…And why did you want to make Nizhalkkuthu, now?
Every artform is a communication of what you experience profoundly and what touches you most. But to communicate that, to share that thought process, you must also be vigilant. You cannot do what does not touch you only because it might appeal to others.
Suddenly, Nizhalkkuthu seems to have acquired a contemporary relevance, especially following the state-hanging incident in West Bengal recently. Comment…
I have had many such occasions where situations from my films have happened in life, or characters from my cinema have sprung out of life. The principal characters of both Mukhamukham and Anantharam have come to meet me. The West Bengal incident is that sort of a visitation for me.
What do such visitations imply for you?
It implies the truth in what you said. It means that you entered that realm of total truth.
Do you believe that films can bring about social change, or even affect the society? One of the criticisms following Mukhamukham was that you were taking on the Marxist party. Very soon, however, Kerala witnessed sections of the party cadre questioning the leadership. Do you think your film played its mite…?
No, it was not because of the film. To claim so would be sheer arrogance. I won’t make a claim that the dissenting voices in the party were the result of my film. But what one should understand is that art can often see the truth that doesn’t come to the surface, the reality that is cocooned in the externalities. Art should see that. The social change is not because of the art; but the artiste sees that change beforehand and it is reflected in his work.
Is that good cinema?
Yes. (Good) cinema is truthful and (it) sees the truth. An artiste should approach to discover the truth and the people must have access to that art.
A criticism against your films is that they are not very communicative…
Which film?
Say, Anantharam…
No…When I was making it, I was insistent that people should enjoy the film. Every film normally ends with all loose ends neatly tied up; I have deviated from that. It is a different artistic experience. You take it in your mind, see it from a different perspective and enjoy it further.
But the technique of the film, the story of story-telling, do you think that went down well with the people?
Why not? Every one can enjoy that. These are experiences from everyday life. There is nothing one cannot relate to. See, when someone narrates a story, it is not told without any bearing on your life. What you hear is not the entire story of anyone’s life, however. Look into yourself. There is an introvert and an extrovert in you. These roles interplay according to the need of the moment.
You have adapted two stories of others for your films Mathilukal and Vidheyan. Was there any difference in your creative output working on another person’s story?
I never had any restrictions (with the stories). And Vaikom Mohammed Basheer (Mathilukal) had accepted it wholeheartedly. He gave me absolute freedom but with Zachariah (Bhaskara Patelarum Ente Jeevithavum) there were some issues…But I treated both stories in my own way. I am not taking a copy of the story; I am not merely replicating it. The film is my take on the story.
You wrote in a recent article that while you were a student at the National Film Institute, you used to dissect movies from every possible angle with acclaimed teachers. Do you think that sort of a learning culture is lacking in today’s critics and filmmakers?
Most of today’s critics don’t review films because they have an in-depth knowledge of films. I don’t think they even want to learn because what they write regularly are about a certain kind of regressive cinema. That does not need any sort of talent. Cinema, today, is a very complex phenomenon. It is not enough that you see films to write about them. You must be well-read, and you must be aware of everything that happens around you for which you need an open mind
How do you react to false criticism?
In Kerala, many people regard being critical as a mark of their superiority. If a critic agrees that a film is good, he feels he is somehow inferior to the filmmaker. To criticise without understanding the film is heinous. That misleads the people.
Does it happen that critics approach your films with a pre-determined slant?
No one would question the competence of the writer who writes about regressive films. But that knowledge is not enough to write about my kind of films. To do so is a lack of humility. The other side of the picture is critics lavishing praise on foreign films. Our critics never have any doubts about these films.
Do you think your films are better appreciated abroad than in India?
No, I didn’t mean to say every one in Kerala who writes about film is illiterate about cinema. There are very knowledgeable people but the tragedy is that they don’t write. They keep silent.
You also make documentaries. Is there a difference in your creative output as compared to doing films?
I used to run an institution earlier; I had to take care of my employees. During those days, I would make documentaries on any subject – rubber cultivation, family planning…whoever commissions anything, I would do the documentary. But since the last 10 to 20 years, I have been doing documentaries only on performing arts. I want to make a documentary on Kalamandalam Raman Kutty Nair (the Kathakali exponent) but I don’t have the money. I have approached a few institutions; if they give the money, I will like to do it.
You shifted from playwriting to screenwriting. Now, do you think it is possible to make a return?
No. A film is a total commitment. You can’t alter your focus. Recently, I had a retrospective in America at the State University of Cleveland. They asked me to teach cinema for six months. I refused because it affects the rest of my work totally. Even if I am not making a film now, at some corner in the back of my mind, I am working. I am also writing a book on cinema.
Intellectual dishonesty permeates to virtually every level of film appreciation. Talk about Indian cinema, and filmmakers will take the name of world masters. How important do you think is to know the masters?
If you are really interested in cinema and not for the sake of namedropping, it is imperative that you watch them to understand the basics of cinema.
But isn’t there an inherent sensibility for every individual that is dependent on one’s roots and culture? Is it therefore possible for a foreigner to understand a Malayalam cinema or vice versa entirely?
It takes time to understand the masters. When I was young, I simply couldn’t make out who is old and who is not in foreign films. The physiognomy of a foreigner is alien to us but take an Indian; we can place him in his right context. Every cinema, every work of art is relevant in its cultural context. This includes the religion, climate, geography…. Any one who watches a Bergman film cannot write a studied review just like that. To understand Bergman, you must study Christianity, the society, Bergman’s background, his marriages, even his liaisons – from a physical level these are all important. Now, from a cinematic point of view, you must understand the cultural climate of Europe when the film is based…
From the feedback you receive from the Western audience who appreciates your cinema, do you feel they take pains to understand your cinema by understanding the society you live in?
What I have observed is that people who have visited India at least once appreciate my films better. A whole appreciation happens when they study our cultural context. Every work of art has a function; the work has the keys to understand it, and those who find the keys get to the core. In Kerala, people who go for popular cinema, either observe the dialogues, or the music, or the dances. They don’t care about the rest. They simply choose what they feel like picking. When they don’t find what they are looking for, there is friction.
Another criticism against your films is that they are obsessed with the past…
To comprehend the life that you live today, you need a certain distance. I am not making a document on the past. The past is only a material for my films. The criticism about Nizhalkkuthu was that it was not relevant to the present. The West Bengal incident has disproved this.
You were most prolific in the 80s. You made four films – Elippathayam, Mukhamukham, Anantharam, and Mathilukal during the decade. Since then your films have been stretched far. Do you think the 80s saw your creative peak?
I haven’t thought of this before. May be…the thing is you have to connect everything to the life you live. After Kathapurushan, there was a long gap, during which period there were many issues in my life. I couldn’t concentrate on a theme during those days.
Do you believe in a peak of creativity?
No. What I feel is that my work is becoming more rigorous with every film of mine. It is not sagging.
You have always made your admiration for Ray vocal and you have been described as the filmmaker who continues the legacy…
I don’t imitate Ray; if I am to imitate Ray what is the purpose of me making films? And then, Ray wouldn’t have liked my films either.
Are awards important to you?
I don’t make films to win awards.
But in case your film does not win any award, will you be frustrated?
Awards have two functions: It recognises good cinema and presents it before the public. It is a forewarning of good cinema. The second function is that when they reject a good work, a work that is inferior suddenly attains importance. That is negative.
What is your take on the new filmmakers?
One of the recent films I was impressed by was Mansarover by Anup Kurian. It is an outstanding first film but it did not get any mention at the national level. But it is not the first film that matters. It is the second and third film. With time, people want all successes together – financial as well as art. That is when they fail. This is because many filmmakers lack conviction. They must constantly study.
Couldn’t the compromises be because of financial difficulties…? For their existence…?
If you care for existence, you don’t get good work.
Have you made sacrifices for good cinema?
I don’t see what I did as sacrifices. I have enjoyed every bit of my life. I have never done anything in cinema that is against my conscience.
So do you feel that only a “good” human being can make good cinema?
That would take us to the question of who a good human being is. Many people might not find me as a good human being.
It also takes us to the basic question. What is good cinema?
Isn’t it very clear? Who is a good man? One who doesn’t commit bad things. A good man is one who performs his prescribed duties. He is committed to his family, his society, and his country…Good cinema too is like that.
Box:
Adoor: Filmography
Swayamvaram (1972): A newly wed idealist hero and his wife are thrown into the harsh realities of life. In many ways, the film encloses a microcosm of Adoor’s later works especially in the disillusionment of the hero with the ideology he believes in. The hero dies an untimely death. The closing scene of Swayamvaram, where the camera pans into the widow who reacts to the knock at the door is described as a classic moment in cinema. The film also marks the beginning of Adoor’s long innings with cinematographer Mankada Ravi Varma. Music was by MB Sreenivasan. Cast: Madhu, Sharada
Kodiyettam (1977): The film chronicles the life of a nobody, Shankaran Kutty, who drifts aimlessly – he is a regular at temple festivals, and flies kites with children. Later, he decides to start afresh. Cast: Gopi, Lalitha
Elippathayam (1981): It documents the fall of the feudal system in Kerala and the trials and tribulations of the idle feudal lords, who are caught like rats in a granary that has no grains: The granary is now a rat-trap. Cast: Karamana Janardhanan Nair, Sharada, Jalaja. Music: MB Sreenivasan
Mukhamukham (1984): A take on the disenchantment of idealist party workers with the Marxist party in Kerala, the film was much debated. The hero is Sreedharan, a dedicated party worker who goes missing. He is celebrated as a martyr but when he returns, the leaders are disillusioned with him. But a questionable death restores his glory. Cast: P Ganga, Ashokan, Balan K Nair, Kaviyoor Ponnamma
Anantharam (1987): A story about story-telling, the film develops as a commentary on his life by the protagonist, Ajayan. He later narrates another story and the two tales intertwine. Cast: Mammootty, Ashokan, Shobana
Mathilukal (1989): Based on Vaikom Mohammed Basheer’s autobiographical work, Mathilukal, the film glimpses into the mind of the author, who is imprisoned during the freedom movement. The film explores Basheer’s mindscape vis-à-vis his conversations with a woman beyond his own walls. Cast: Mammootty, Murali and the voice of KPAC Lalitha
Vidheyan (1993): Adapted from Paul Zachariah’s story, the film explores the psyche of the under-dog, who is servile to the core; he submits himself and his family to his landlord. Cast: Mammootty, MR Gopakumar, Tanvi Azmi and Sabitha Anand.
Kathapurushan (1995): A young boy deprived of paternal care grows up under the protected environment of his mother and grandmother, and is later drawn into the leftist ideology. Eventually, disillusioned with life, he returns to his roots. Cast: Viswanathan, Mini, Aranmula Ponnamma
Nizhalkkuthu (2003): Set in 1940s in a village in Kerala, the film treks into the life of Kaliyappan, the state-executioner. The king summons him for enforcing another capital punishment but the victim’s tale unsettles the old man; his revolutionary son, who had been part of the freedom movement and also condemns hanging, is forced to wear the hangman’s garb. Cast: Oduvil Unnikrishnan, Sukumari, Murali; Music: Ilayaraja.
