|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
WHEN Adoor Gopalakrishnan’s only daughter was a little girl, she would often exhort her filmmaker father to make 10 films. Recalls the latest Dadasaheb Phalke Award recipient: "She thought 10 was a big number. I still haven’t fulfilled her wish." Indeed, the world is still waiting for the 64-year-old Adoor’s 10th feature film. "I cannot make a film until an idea gets me really excited," says the internationally celebrated director. His feature debut, Swayamvaram (One’s Own Choice), was made way back in 1972. His last film, his ninth feature Nizhalkkuthu (Shadow Kill), was out in 2002. Considering that he passed out of the Film and Television Institute of India (FTII) 40 years ago, a corpus of merely nine feature films may seem somewhat slight. But for the unwavering perfectionist that Adoor is, the low output isn’t surprising at all. "I am not bothered about numbers," he says. He can afford to set his own pace. The reason is obvious: assess the intrinsic quality of his work and it will become amply clear that each of his superbly crafted cinematic essays is, in terms of impact and longevity, worth five films by a lesser director. With the camera, Adoor sketches timeless patterns on the face of time. So, well after the instant profit-seekers of Indian popular cinema, who have for long dominated the Phalke Awards, are through with their hurly burly and are forgotten, the slow and steady Adoor Gopalakrishnan’s Malayalam-language films, irrespective of whether they have made money or not, will continue to cut across cultural boundaries and speak to the whole world. "It is better to make glorious failures than miserable successes," says Adoor, who, incidentally, is only the first Phalke Award winner from the cinema-literate state of Kerala. The strength of Adoor’s films lies primarily in the fact that they are deeply personal yet unfailingly universal chronicles of a complex society that has been in a state of flux for well over 60 years, a region forever in the throes of momentous social, political and economic change. His ability to spot and interpret the subtle nuances of societal upheavals and human compulsions and foibles is nothing short of phenomenal, a fact that invests his films with the sort of emotional and intellectual depth that is completely out of bounds for lesser filmmakers. From Swayamvaram all the way down to Nizhalkkuthu, in every single feature film that Adoor has authored Kodiyettam (Ascent, 1977), Elipathayam (Rat Trap, 1981), Mukhamukham (Face to Face, 1984), Anantaram (Monologue, 1987), Mathilukal (Walls, 1990), Vidheyan (Servile, 1993) and Kathapurushan (Man of the Story, 1996) the artistic and political concerns appear to be the same on the surface, but the treatment and ambience is invariably entirely new and fresh. "I hate to repeat an idea," he says. Explains Adoor: "I was born in 1941 and I have lived through and experienced these changes. My fiction films are an attempt to decipher these crucial shifts not only for the benefit of others but also for my own sake. My films are documents of recent Kerala history." On why he hasn’t made a feature film for more than three years now, Adoor says: "I do sometimes wake up excitedly in the middle of the night when an idea strikes me in my sleep," he says. "I tell myself, let me go back to sleep and see whether the idea stays with me when I get up in the morning. The momentary excitement often proves to be false. In the morning, the idea is gone. I immediately know it isn’t time yet." But Adoor hasn’t really been sitting idle since Nizhalkkuthu. He has just wrapped up a 73-minute documentary film on Kathakali great Kalamandalam Ramankutty Nair. "I have handed the film over to its producers, the Sangeet Natak Akademi," he reveals. Adoor is gearing up to mount yet another documentary, this time on Mohiniattam. The proposed non-feature essay, which is likely to be of the same length as the film on Kalamandalam Ramankutty Nair, will be made in collaboration with the France-based Mohiniattam exponent Brigitte Chataignier. "The film will be designed to provide a holistic experience of the traditional dance form," says the cinema stalwart. While his feature films have resembled a gentle trickle, Adoor’s documentary films have usually come much mostly thicker and faster. "In the early years of my career, I used to make commissioned documentaries," he says. "But in the past two decades, I have dealt with subjects that have appealed to me." That has yielded a string of wonderful documentaries on Kerala’s classical dance forms Kathakali, Krishnaattam, Mohiniattam and Kudiattam`85. "The research I have done for these films has been extremely enriching," says Adoor. The master filmmaker is especially fond of Kathakali. That isn’t surprising at all. Adoor was born in a family of Kathakali patrons and his growing up years were spent watching from close quarters the very best exponents of the classical dance form. "It’s a unique, stylised form," says Adoor, "that is complete in itself. Kathakali is great theatre that combines dance, drama, music and spectacle in a harmonious whole. It’s a sophisticated and consummate form. The Kathakali actor expresses emotions without having to use words." So, have the traditional dance forms left an imprint on his feature films? "Well, I haven’t actually lifted them into my films, but they have certainly impacted my creative sensibility," he replies. Have the changes in audience tastes been a source of worry for him, especially in recent times? "No," says Adoor categorically. "My cinema has always had an audience. It may be true that my style has become more rigorous, more concentrated over the years, but it would be wrong to say that I have lost my audience." Even Nizhalkkuthu, his last release, was treated like a full-fledged "commercial" film. "It wasn’t just a token, apologetic, morning show release," he says. "I released 10 prints, promoted the film aggressively and put up giant publicity hoardings in every city that it ran in." That strategy did have an impact on the film’s fate. Says Adoor: "In five of the theatres where Nizhalkkuthu was released, the film ran for more than a month. The exhibitors told me that people watched the film in complete silence and with rapt attention." Nizhalkkuthu, the tale of an old, infirm hangman grappling with the pangs of guilt in the pre-Independence era Travancore, is a delectable blend of pathos, humour and lyricism. The film suggests that Adoor, 33 years after he made his first feature, still has much to offer in terms of surprises. The touches of magic that enliven Nizhalkkuthu are nothing new, but the element of restrained lyricism that marks the film points to the possibility of yet another reinvention for Adoor the craftsman and storyteller. Hence, the significance of this year’s Phalke Award. It has, for a change, not gone to a jaded filmmaker who is on the verge of hanging up his megaphone. Adoor is a creator who has many spools of inspiration still whirring within him. |
||
|
|
||
