Shyam Benegal’s mid-career pivot from advertising, Marketing & Advertising News, ET BrandEquity
By Deepa Gahlot
The outpouring of respectful and affectionate tributes to Shyam Benegal go to show how much the filmmaker, who passed away at age of 90, was admired. It was not just his films, it was also his warm personality—he wore his erudition lightly, regardless of his fame and widely eclectic filmography, he remained friendly and down-to-earth, his smile as open as his handshake was bone-crushingly firm.
The stone had already been thrown at the window of commercial cinema – to use an image from Benegal’s own Ankur (1974)—by Satyajit Ray’s Pather Panchali in 1955. In Hindi cinema, the social activism of Neecha Nagar (Chetan Anand-1946), Dharti Ke Lal (KA Abbas -1950), Do Bigha Zamin (Bimal Roy -1953) had empowered cinema; films like Bhuvan Shome (Mrinal Sen- 1969), Sara Akash (Basu Chatterjee -1969), Uski Roti (1970) and a few others had been made to herald what came to be known as the parallel or new wave cinema, when Benegal’s Ankur was released.
But it is his film that is remembered the most, because it was as accessible as it was powerful. At the age of 40, when most directors are hitting their mid-career slump, a man from advertising (Lintas, ASP), urbane, English-speaking, from South Mumbai (that is away from the suburban beehive of Bollywood), gets together with his advertising friends, who produce his first feature film, set in an Andhra village, against a feudal backdrop. The script that had languished in files for over a decade till Blaze Films was formed by Lalit Bijlani and Freni Variava who ran Blaze Advertising and decided to back his dream. To think, when he made Ankur, actresses like Waheeda Rehman, Sharda, Aparna Sen and Anju Mahendru turned it down. Although, right from the start, he had an unerring eye for the right faces to cast. Shabana Azmi, fresh out of the Pune Film Institute went to meet him dressed in a glamorous outfit, still he saw in her his lower caste village woman, Laxmi, exploited by the upper caste landlord. For his film, she oiled her hair and learnt to sit on her haunches like rural women. Naseeruddin Shah, Om Puri, Smita Patil became new cinema stars because they were discovered and groomed by Benegal. Years later, when Om Puri played a weaver in Susman (1987), he actually learnt how to use a loom.The realism of Benegal’s films was not superficial, it was deeply understood and felt. The films he made, as many have noted, became the voice of an evolving India. Also, like a true auteur, he had the charisma and leadership skills to gather a set of collaborators who could work with his ideas—like writers Vijay Tendulkar, Satyadev Dubey and later Shama Zaidi and, cinematographer Govind Nihalani (who became a director in his own right), music composer Vanraj Bhatia.That was the time, graduates from the Film and Television Institute were emerging with fresh voices, the Film Finance Corporation (Later NFDC) was supporting experimental cinema and audiences were ready for non-escapist films. Benegal’s first few films Nishant, Manthan, Bhumika established his reputation as a filmmaker who could express deeply felt emotions as well as political ideas with equal acuity. Unlike so many filmmakers who tend to become insular, he was attuned to what was happening around him, and the stories he chose to tell reflected a wise world view. He was a regular at film festivals, his office was full of books, he spoke to everybody in the same pleasant, patient way. He guided and inspired young filmmakers.
His biggest achievement is the 53-part television epic, based on Jawahalal Nehru’s Discovery Of India, a project that should be made mandatory viewing in schools to give children a fascinating and clear-eyed look at Indian history. Then there was the exhaustive Yatra, commissioned by the Indian Railways, that encapsulated the idea of India as only Benegal could.
He was consistent and he was tireless, or such a vast body of work—features, documentaries, shorts and TV series would not have been possible. His films were on diverse subjects and what he would come up with next was unpredictable. His understanding of the human psyche was evident in the characterizations — particularly women. Only a man sympathetic to the minds and feelings of women could have made a film like Mandi (1983) on a bunch of sex workers and years later, Hari Bhari (2000) on issues of female fertility.
Well into his eighties, he made Mujib, a biopic of Mujibur Rehman, and planned to make films on legendary spy Noor Inayat Khan and Tipu Sultan. Had he lived a few years longer, he could have, since age was never a deterrent to his energy, creativity and passion for cinema. There will never be another like Shyam Benegal, because the rules of filmmaking have changed, visions have narrowed, political lines hardened and audiences have been made to dumb down. A stone has to be thrown at the window of a smug commercial cinema today, but Shyam Benegal’s hand will no longer be guiding it.
(The author is a veteran film critic and author. Opinions are personal.)
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