When the metropolitan middle-class was a Basu Da film, and we all liked to think we were Amol Palekars and Vidya Sinhas in it!
Given the lack of it, I suspect criticism of an individual's works is frowned upon by readers of obituaries; and perhaps rightly so. Therefore, deliberately desisted from mentioning my long-held disappointment with filmmaker Basu Chatterjee upon his death. What was that about?
The film Ek Ruka Hua Faisla (1986), that I watched much after its release. Because all through North India one observed how it had developed that cult status among uncles/aunties/netizens to name-drop and prove their love for film, as it were, as against movie/picture.
Since I had seen Sidney Lumet's 12 Angry Men (1957) — masterpiece worth a master-class — I pretty much lost all respect for Chatterjee, for having written, directed, produced such a blatant piece of plagiarism. I was also very young then!
Basu Chatterji
There's, of course, a distinction between plagiarism and adaptation/homage/inspiration. In the sense of say, Chatterjee's Man Pasand (1980). Which was basically My Fair Lady (1964), but with a context. And a proper dedication to George Bernard Shaw (whose Pygmalion was, in turn, the original source). Or, even Boys' Night Out (1961) being the thought behind Chatterjee's tharki/sex-comedy Shaukeen (1981) for that matter.
The evidently acclaimed Ek Ruka Hua Faisla had desi actors straight out of a fancy-dress rental store, playing 12 pretentiously videshi angry jurors, in a country that did not even have a legal jury-system (ever since the 1959 Nanavati case)!
Nothing personal about a film-fan's grouse. I did not know Basu Chatterjee personally, or enough to call him Basu Da as everyone does/did! And should. Guessing Da is just an honorific attached to Bengali men. Just as Ji is generally nailed to Hindu names (Amit Ji, Yash Ji), or Saab to worthies among Muslims (Javed Saab, Naseer Saab).
Da, for elder brother, is then not a sign of assuming over-familiarity — unlike male fans less than half of Salman Khan's age, calling him Bhai! Another term attached to Basu Da, as with his hyphenated senior, Hrishikesh Mukherjee (Hrishi Da), is of course 'middle-of-the-road' — the top tag for his movies.
Which movies? Some, actually, although all seem to get clubbed, underplaying how he pioneered parallel cinema in India, with Sara Akash (1969) — a movement of sorts that intersected with the mainstream around the turn of the millennium. Art-house bears unnecessarily sleep-inducing/serious/boring connotations. What's a millennial 'Sara Akash', for instance? The Yashraj film Dum Lagake Haisha (2015).
Mainstream, on the other hand, instantly denotes the traditionally magical/fantastical, and of course equally simplistic movies — with thick lines drawn between rich-poor, good-evil, and divine justice delivered in three hours flat.
Now, if you're in the middle of the road of art and commerce, should you not expect to be run over by both? If you specifically observe some of Basu Da's films in that style, say Khatta Meetha (1977), Baaton Baaton Mein (1979), how would you define middle-of-the-road?
In one word? Modern. What does modern immediately relate to? The big city. What separates the big city from small towns and villages? Massive middle-class. A vast public-transport system. Women mingling with men. Everybody busy working. You've got to work. And there's life after work. The parks and sea-fronts, the restaurants, and cafes — just track the number of times Dinesh Thakur and Vidya Sinha get coffee in Rajnigandha (1974), let alone meals at restaurants.
My all-time favourite moment, of course, is from Chhoti Si Baat (1975) — Asrani crashing Amol Palekar's date with Vidya Sinha; ordering dahi vada for the table, along with the French-sounding chicken a' la poos — a dish that even till now does not exist (chefs, make it up)! And there's always the movie-theatre as a permanent fixture for a date/outing — indicating how cinemas have always been the urban-marker. There are none in villages.
How come this middle-of-the-road practically disappeared in the '80s, the kings of which were Subhash Ghais of the big screen, and parallel/art-house on Doordarshan/VHS? Because the middle-class stopped patronising theatres. They stayed home watching videos/TV. Which is where Chatterjee also moved to, with shows like Rajani and Byomkesh Bakshi, being his best works then.
The middle-of-the-road cinema he left behind might have seemed socially whatever. But that's because they were so emotionally relevant, that they didn't need to play up their point/cause. And film after film — besides ones mentioned above; Swami, Chitchor, Piya Ka Ghar, Humari Bahu Alka — centred on marriage, the great Indian middle-class obsession/institution! The city often provided sanctuary for lovers, and space for feminism that was left unsaid. It was there to be seen.
Where did Basu Da show up as the finest votary of modern life? In Jeena Yahan (1979). It stars Shabana Azmi and an actor called Shekhar Kapoor. Starts with the hero-heroine getting married on their way to work (in the city). Now, what can the family do, even if they aren't from the same caste? She spends time in the boy's small-town/village home, as the film strongly critiques the suffocation, and stifling of choices, inherent to rural life. I read that Basu Da considered Jeena Yahan as the favourite among his own films."
Mayank Shekhar attempts to make sense of mass culture. He tweets @mayankw14 Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com
The views expressed in this column are the individual's and don't represent those of the paper
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