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Mrinal Sen: Sixty Years in Search
of Cinema IN a way, the title Mrinal Sen: Sixty Years in Search of Cinema is telling. Expectedly, Dipankar Mukhopadhyay chronicles the socially significant and thought-provoking cinema of one of the greatest film-makers of all time—Mrinal Sen. In the process, he gives a complete retrospective of maverick film-maker’s oeuvre—best and worst, too. Step by step we are led into the powerful world of Sen’s films—right from his disastrous debut to the much-acclaimed Akaler Sandhaney, Calcuuta 71, Mrigaya and many more. Not to miss the controversial Akash Kusum which interestingly not only triggered an intense debate but also brought the two titans of Bengali cinema, Satyajit Ray and Sen, chillingly close, in a face-off that spilled into the pages of a national newspaper.
While there is no mistaking the writer’s admiration for the maker, he doesn’t gloss over Sen’s perceived or real imperfections. The book also discusses Naseeruddin Shah's outburst against Sen when Genesis, in which Shah had acted, failed to make a mark, and Sen's friend Ritwik Ghatak's dismissal of Bhuvan Shome. This reflects honesty on the part of both the writer and Sen. Nevertheless, Bhuvan Shome was the film that catapulted Sen on the national stage, fetched him critical acclaim and audiences, too, who courted him only now and then. At one point, his scorecard read a dismal performance—eight films, seven flops. And Dipankar tells us why. Movies like Kharij, though excellent, were far too cruel a depiction of the Indian middle class for them to have digested it. Yet, another reason why Sen didn’t click with viewers, one learns, was that he was much ahead of his times. His movies reaped him several awards—16 national and 15 international—and as film critic Derek Malcolm put it, "traced the social and political ferment of India". Yet, the offbeat ideas that often proved to be prophetic were not quite in sync with the tastes of cine-going audiences. Dipankar’s complete and incisive understanding of Sen’s cinema misses little. From influences that shaped Sen to his transformation of the original script, "I do not consider the original story as a holy cow which cannot be touched", the writer also dwells upon how the internationally feted film-maker never endorsed the prevalent narrative structure of movies. And how the queries of "story addicts" about the fate of his characters as in Ek Din Achanak would be met with characteristic tongue-in-cheek repartees. Sen broke rules, made his own, broke them again and redefined cinema. Actually, he kept changing his style after what Dipankar calls a "10-year itch." From an agent provocateur, guru of political cinema to an introspective and reflective film-maker (with movies like Ek Din Pratidin ...) the writer takes the reader along a fine study of Sen’s cinema. Expectedly, Sen’s movies are described in vivid detail, followed by critical analysis too. But since the key word here is—search of cinema— Dipankar’s penetrating lens focuses as much on behind the scenes. Thus, how, why, where and when—all find mention. Where the locale actually is all-crucial for Sen. He not only spends considerable time in finding the right setting but also has a preference for ruins that became a backdrop in many of his films, not just Khandahar. Metaphors like aeroplane—the book begins with an insightful anecdote of Sen as a small boy sighting this flying object in his village—too have been a recurring motif in his films. How Sen interweaves autobiographical bits, political ideology, social comment and above all his undying ardour into the making of some of the finest and memorable moments of celluloid screen are captured engagingly in the book that is at once a treasure trove of information and eminently readable. Perhaps nothing can capture the force of Sen’s cinema better than his movies. Dipankar comes exceedingly close. Thus, the story of an extraordinary film-maker par excellence comes alive in this incredible book—a fascinating interface with both the man and his enduring cinema.
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The written sparring
between Ray and Sen over the latter’s movie makes an interesting,
even spicy read. Though why Ray, a great force to reckon with at that
point, should have tried to belittle Sen is best explained in the
words of G. Mackeevi, who wrote a letter, "Only one person doesn’t
know how great Mr Satyajit Ray is and that person is Mr Ray himself.
How else could he stoop to attack a poor colleague so
mercilessly?" Dipankar attributes Ray’s vitriolic as tacit
recognition of Sen’s arrival.