On Friday theatre group Rafiki performed a piece of poetry, movement and song. It's been done before at Ranga Shankara but it's since changed considerably, now embracing a guitar to replace the earlier drums, and also includes many new poems, including a lovely Langston Hughes called Dream Deferred and a powerful enactment by Anish Victor of Neruda's Poet's Obligation.
The crowd was a corporate one and after the performance, some people came up to talk to us. There were the usual questions, “How do you remember your lines?” “How many years have you been doing this for?” and so on. And then, one that suddenly came out of the blue and left me flummoxed: “Is it...” the person was groping for the perfect word, “spiritual?”
Showing posts with label Theatre. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Theatre. Show all posts
Monday, August 01, 2005
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Presenting...
Proudly presenting this man to Bangalore's um, discerning theatre audiences. India's best English-language actor. Best. BEST. Ladies and gentlemen, Rehaan Engineer!
Burst of applause, swooning ladies (etc.)...
No dissent, no argument, no debate will be tolerated on this topic. He is, quite simply, superior.
(Yes, I'm Hitler. Yes, I'm a fundamentalist. But hell, have you seen that face?)
--- On tonight at The Park.
Update: So, how was it? Well, unlikely. A Chateau Indage evening which means, presumably, that everybody was plied with wine and delicate bits of cheese before Rehaan began. Sort of, but not quite, supper theatre. So you'd expect (typically) something funny. Or ribald. Or both.
Instead this was 2 hours 20 minutes of a monologue. The real life story "of seven Soviet POWs abandoned in a cellar by the Germany army in 1944. Two of them survive by killing and devouring their companions. They are discovered in a crazed state by the Red Army". In Collins' version, one stays sane and tells his story.
It was an intense monologue and it was brilliant, but since I'm not reviewing I'll just say it was funny to not be thinking what I would later say in the review. Instead I could wander off into the sidelights.
Such as dozing audiences. A monologue with one actor describing how his fellow soldiers ate each other to stay alive in a cell is not like to have everyone on the edge of their seats and soon, mid way through, swish connoisseurs in their lovely clothes speaking in politely hushed tones just minutes ago, were quietly dozing. It was sort of undignified though. Completely destroyed their earlier poise, making them look vulnerable and even distorted.
Sleep does strange things to faces. It elongates cheeks, enlargens and shrinks eyes, twists mouths and plays tugging games with people's heads as they bob up and down before gently lolling over to one side or helplessly searching for a stationary shoulder to rest on.
A photographer came in loudly in the middle, and not just did he click and flash loudly but his phone rang obtrusively in a gimmicky tune within that tiny dead silent place as well. Instead of turning it off, he answered it, not once, but twice. The Hindu critic seated next to me would have none of the quiet disapproving looks other people were giving him.
"F***!" she hissed at him. "B******! Get out, get out!"
And so he got out. I strongly recommend all audiences resort to the same tactic. It worked wonders and it was far more effective than clucking noises or disapproving head-shakes.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
Badal Sircar
This morning after much procrastinating, I dragged myself to Gyana Bharathi University to meet badal sircar. Had no idea what kind of interview it would be and horribly last minute research, but Mum would not hear of me not going. Met CGK and hung around because I was horribly early.
Badal Sircar, when he arrived, took me by surprise; he was so much more cheerful and smiley than he sounded like he would be, with all those 'no press' requests! No interview, just a huge hall and all of us standing up to ask questions. Geriatric crowd, one old guy stood up and said, "Sir, with reference to your play..." then looked around helplessly till someone prompted from the audience: "Evam Indrajit".. then he would continue, "Ah, yes! Evam Indrajit..."
Terrible! I was quite content sitting in a corner becos others were asking all my questions on form vs. content anyway... till CGK from the dias calls out, "Where is Hemangini? She had some questions.." Mortifying! Then I stood up, and asked and of course being 80 he couldn't hear, so I had to practically go and yell the question in his ear.
It was almost disconcerting to see how old he was, with a phlegm glass et al, but glad I went.
At night, stayed home... still unsure of whether Im going to Nagapattinam or not.
Viji came at night and regaled mum and me with stories of new year's gone by.
Badal Sircar, when he arrived, took me by surprise; he was so much more cheerful and smiley than he sounded like he would be, with all those 'no press' requests! No interview, just a huge hall and all of us standing up to ask questions. Geriatric crowd, one old guy stood up and said, "Sir, with reference to your play..." then looked around helplessly till someone prompted from the audience: "Evam Indrajit".. then he would continue, "Ah, yes! Evam Indrajit..."
Terrible! I was quite content sitting in a corner becos others were asking all my questions on form vs. content anyway... till CGK from the dias calls out, "Where is Hemangini? She had some questions.." Mortifying! Then I stood up, and asked and of course being 80 he couldn't hear, so I had to practically go and yell the question in his ear.
It was almost disconcerting to see how old he was, with a phlegm glass et al, but glad I went.
At night, stayed home... still unsure of whether Im going to Nagapattinam or not.
Viji came at night and regaled mum and me with stories of new year's gone by.
Friday, December 31, 2004
Poser for the critics
During the Rangashankara festival's forum on 'role of the critic in the arts', one kannada chauvinist type was riled that the discussion was being hijacked by criticism centred around English language theatre, till Sadanand Menon pointed out that modern 'criticism' as we know it only evolved after the forms of Yakshagana and other folk theatre that the gentleman was referring to.
So with this fascinating brand of theatre people: Safdar Hashmi, Habib Tanvir and Badal Sircar who are urbane intellectuals integrating the folk aesthetic into their work... well, do critics have a vocabulary for such a peculiar blend of the traditional with the modern?
It made me wonder, reading all the rave reviews of Badal Sircar's plays, if people in urban India (which is whose reaction the critics noted) were fascinated just because they had never seen anything like it before rather than truly evaluating the new form. I guess the question then is, what is more important to these directors: form or content??
So with this fascinating brand of theatre people: Safdar Hashmi, Habib Tanvir and Badal Sircar who are urbane intellectuals integrating the folk aesthetic into their work... well, do critics have a vocabulary for such a peculiar blend of the traditional with the modern?
It made me wonder, reading all the rave reviews of Badal Sircar's plays, if people in urban India (which is whose reaction the critics noted) were fascinated just because they had never seen anything like it before rather than truly evaluating the new form. I guess the question then is, what is more important to these directors: form or content??
Thursday, December 30, 2004
Plays of purpose - Badal Sircar Friday review article
PUSHING 80, Badal Sircar, legendary playwright and director, jokes that he can have no plans for the future, yet the core philosophy of what has famously come to be called his "Third Theatre" probably holds enough challenges to keep him busy till the very end.
As a young man in the 1940s, Sircar was restless, moving jobs from a private construction company to lectureships, and dabbling in Left politics. He then defied popular trends to leave behind his family and move to Europe where, sitting in the cheapest seats, he was exposed to myriad theatrical forms and styles. Although a professional town planner, Sircar was writing plays right from his thirties, and decided to turn to theatre seriously when he returned to India where many of his plays, often comedies, had already been staged.
Third Theatre
Describing his Third Theatre, Sircar notes that "first" theatre refers to popular folk art forms such as Yakshagana. Second theatre is "Victorian"; essentially Western theatre. His own theatre blends some elements of the other two, besides cultivating its own distinct feel.
It is often reductively described as 'street theatre'. Its advent in the 1970s marked a significant point of departure in Sircar's own career as a dramatist, hitherto existent within the framework of conventional indoor stage settings. Third Theatre or Free Theatre heralded a theatre intended for large audiences who could appreciate it paying only a minimal fee, if they paid one at all. Voluntary contributions could be made at the end of the play, but were often pre-empted by Panchayat funds or offers to be hosted.
By keeping the costs down, Sircar was making a larger point; that his theatre was meant to be appreciated by the diverse audiences (who famously sat through heavy rain and adverse weather since they were transfixed by the drama) flocking to performances of his itinerant troupe.
Actor as key
Despite his influences from various genres of theatre both in Europe where he lived many defining years eagerly soaking in the rich cultural spaces of London and Paris, and in West Bengal where he has lived most of his life, Sircar's theatre is distinctly his own. He is inevitably compared with, and has often acknowledged the influence on his work of, the radical Polish director Jerzy Grotowski whose transformation of the actor-audience relationship into an intense exchange of energy was undiluted by the superfluity of extravagant costume, set design or lights. Sircar too retains the minimal, choosing to focus on the actor's own body as a powerful tool by itself, in his theatre.
But he shies away from aligning too closely with any rigid genre, admitting differences even with Grotowski. "I have begged, borrowed and stolen from many sources," says Sircar, in his characteristic self-deprecating manner. "When I saw a Polish production of Grotowski's, my ideas were still in a nebulous form... but my theatre is quite distinct from his."
Subtractive training
Marking the distinction is the approach to training the actors. Sircar describes Western approaches as being 'additive', since they enrich the students with skills imparted by the teacher. His own acting workshops he describes, as having a 'subtractive' effect; "They subtract layers like onions, removing all the masks and conditioning imposed on us since we were children." Existing social norms compel us to behave in certain pre-defined ways with figures of authority, such as parents and teachers, explains Sircar, so that by the time we are adults we have learnt to artificially place ourselves in "better positions". "Our theatre," he emphasises, "should come from the inside. Every actor should feel the play has been written by them."
Sircar's free theatre often throws up the eternal debate questioning which is more important - form or content. "Content is primal," he says, almost pre-empting the question. "Form always follows content." And so his emphasis on the actor's body and minimalism on stage only serves to focus all attention where he has chosen to direct it: on the message. His emphasis on actor's training has strengthened the form of his theatre, preventing it from lapsing all too easily into a gnomic, sententious diatribe; it also entertains.
His plays, he says, are part of a counterculture, intending to expose media lies and Government untruths. Uncovering blatant lies and myths ("such as 'nuclear tests are safe and used for peaceful purposes'") through intense research, Sircar's plays are intended to catalyse social change.
In fact, content is so important to Sircar that he dismisses his stalwart position as director or actor, both roles which he has adopted so frequently and with huge success. "I am a playwright first," he says. "I began by acting, then I directed and that made me want to write my own plays. It's alright for a playwright to be a director but when director turns actor, his attention get diluted. Charles Chaplin of course directed and acted... but then, he's a genius!"
Sircar's plays are notorious for their lengthy gestation period: often taking up to nine months before they are complete. Ever his self-effacing self, he is quick to point out what could be seen as limitations - that its long evolution process means he can never react to specific happenings or daily politics. "It's painfully slow to prepare a play, so we can't do it immediately like an agit-prop group; we have to select enduring themes which cannot change."
One such theme is that exploring the predicament of a middle-class man in his seminal play, Evam Indrajit. Written fairly early on in his career, it was initially performed in a conventional indoor setting, highlighting the existential angst of his protagonist who reflected the preoccupations of an entire generation growing up in newly Independent India.
For the poor
When he turned to theatre for the poor, Sircar knowingly renounced the possibility of a professional theatre troupe. He remarks that theatre for the poor cannot be done professionally. There is simply no money in it, and this need further necessitates the minimalism of form. "It has to be love's labour," Sircar says wistfully, but brightens up to add, "But then you get the most honest of actors, the best elements of society! They won't even go to television if a role is offered to them!"
HEMANGINI GUPTA
As a young man in the 1940s, Sircar was restless, moving jobs from a private construction company to lectureships, and dabbling in Left politics. He then defied popular trends to leave behind his family and move to Europe where, sitting in the cheapest seats, he was exposed to myriad theatrical forms and styles. Although a professional town planner, Sircar was writing plays right from his thirties, and decided to turn to theatre seriously when he returned to India where many of his plays, often comedies, had already been staged.
Third Theatre
Describing his Third Theatre, Sircar notes that "first" theatre refers to popular folk art forms such as Yakshagana. Second theatre is "Victorian"; essentially Western theatre. His own theatre blends some elements of the other two, besides cultivating its own distinct feel.
It is often reductively described as 'street theatre'. Its advent in the 1970s marked a significant point of departure in Sircar's own career as a dramatist, hitherto existent within the framework of conventional indoor stage settings. Third Theatre or Free Theatre heralded a theatre intended for large audiences who could appreciate it paying only a minimal fee, if they paid one at all. Voluntary contributions could be made at the end of the play, but were often pre-empted by Panchayat funds or offers to be hosted.
By keeping the costs down, Sircar was making a larger point; that his theatre was meant to be appreciated by the diverse audiences (who famously sat through heavy rain and adverse weather since they were transfixed by the drama) flocking to performances of his itinerant troupe.
Actor as key
Despite his influences from various genres of theatre both in Europe where he lived many defining years eagerly soaking in the rich cultural spaces of London and Paris, and in West Bengal where he has lived most of his life, Sircar's theatre is distinctly his own. He is inevitably compared with, and has often acknowledged the influence on his work of, the radical Polish director Jerzy Grotowski whose transformation of the actor-audience relationship into an intense exchange of energy was undiluted by the superfluity of extravagant costume, set design or lights. Sircar too retains the minimal, choosing to focus on the actor's own body as a powerful tool by itself, in his theatre.
But he shies away from aligning too closely with any rigid genre, admitting differences even with Grotowski. "I have begged, borrowed and stolen from many sources," says Sircar, in his characteristic self-deprecating manner. "When I saw a Polish production of Grotowski's, my ideas were still in a nebulous form... but my theatre is quite distinct from his."
Subtractive training
Marking the distinction is the approach to training the actors. Sircar describes Western approaches as being 'additive', since they enrich the students with skills imparted by the teacher. His own acting workshops he describes, as having a 'subtractive' effect; "They subtract layers like onions, removing all the masks and conditioning imposed on us since we were children." Existing social norms compel us to behave in certain pre-defined ways with figures of authority, such as parents and teachers, explains Sircar, so that by the time we are adults we have learnt to artificially place ourselves in "better positions". "Our theatre," he emphasises, "should come from the inside. Every actor should feel the play has been written by them."
Sircar's free theatre often throws up the eternal debate questioning which is more important - form or content. "Content is primal," he says, almost pre-empting the question. "Form always follows content." And so his emphasis on the actor's body and minimalism on stage only serves to focus all attention where he has chosen to direct it: on the message. His emphasis on actor's training has strengthened the form of his theatre, preventing it from lapsing all too easily into a gnomic, sententious diatribe; it also entertains.
His plays, he says, are part of a counterculture, intending to expose media lies and Government untruths. Uncovering blatant lies and myths ("such as 'nuclear tests are safe and used for peaceful purposes'") through intense research, Sircar's plays are intended to catalyse social change.
In fact, content is so important to Sircar that he dismisses his stalwart position as director or actor, both roles which he has adopted so frequently and with huge success. "I am a playwright first," he says. "I began by acting, then I directed and that made me want to write my own plays. It's alright for a playwright to be a director but when director turns actor, his attention get diluted. Charles Chaplin of course directed and acted... but then, he's a genius!"
Sircar's plays are notorious for their lengthy gestation period: often taking up to nine months before they are complete. Ever his self-effacing self, he is quick to point out what could be seen as limitations - that its long evolution process means he can never react to specific happenings or daily politics. "It's painfully slow to prepare a play, so we can't do it immediately like an agit-prop group; we have to select enduring themes which cannot change."
One such theme is that exploring the predicament of a middle-class man in his seminal play, Evam Indrajit. Written fairly early on in his career, it was initially performed in a conventional indoor setting, highlighting the existential angst of his protagonist who reflected the preoccupations of an entire generation growing up in newly Independent India.
For the poor
When he turned to theatre for the poor, Sircar knowingly renounced the possibility of a professional theatre troupe. He remarks that theatre for the poor cannot be done professionally. There is simply no money in it, and this need further necessitates the minimalism of form. "It has to be love's labour," Sircar says wistfully, but brightens up to add, "But then you get the most honest of actors, the best elements of society! They won't even go to television if a role is offered to them!"
HEMANGINI GUPTA
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Farooque Shaikh - actor, gentleman
Farooque Shaikh is now into the middle of his fourth decade as an actor. He has been many things to many viewers, at many times. The romantic hero of Noorie, the irrepressible cad in Katha and the brooding Nawab of Umrao Jaan - Shaikh has played each role to perfection but yet has never been included in the same breath as his contemporaries Naseer or Om. Today's viewers are more familiar with his genial, cherubic TV host persona of Jeena Isi Ke Naam, gently coaxing and nudging eminent actors into remembering their past.
In Bangalore for a theatre performance of Aapki Soniya, Farooque settles down to sharing his own long and eventful past with us. His first film role came in '72, when he was just out of college, and a member of the IPTA (Indian People's Theatre Association) which spearheaded a theatre movement that was particularly vibrant in the 70s.
M. S. Sathyu, a director at IPTA, was setting out to make his masterpiece Garam Hawa and didn't look too far with casting. “We were more his victims than his discoveries,” remarks Shaikh, “and he made full use of the cheap and available in house talent available for his first film!”
In fact Shaikh has had the privilege of being directed by all the top names of the 70s – Muzaffar Ali, Sai Paranjpai, Satyajit Ray among many others - but strangely, never with Shyam Benegal. All his contemporaries and co-stars have been consistently repeated in Benegal's films, but Shaikh has been a glaring exception. The thought puzzles and saddens him even now, but, almost to console himself, he quickly recollects that Benegal had actually offered him Ananth Nag's role in Ankur, but later retracted, as he felt Farooque looked younger than Shabana! That was the closest he got to a Benegal film but Shaikh is grateful that he was so much a part of the emerging and exciting art film movement of the 70s.
He especially treasures his role in Ray's Shatranj ke Khilari, where he played the married Farida Jalal's lover, who takes advantage of her husband's obsession with chess to keep sneaking into her chambers. About Ray, he remembers, “Manikda was mathematical in his approach to film-making. He would work it all out like an equation, step by step, mentally, and then put the great QED flourish.”
Right now Farooque has no film or TV arrangements in hand, and even his play Aap ki Soniya is going into cold storage for a while as his co-star Sonali Bendre is to have a baby soon.
With the re-emergence of alternate cinema in the new multiplex culture, I ask Farooque if he sees roles for himself now. Films like Maqbool and Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi are reminiscent of the 70s film movement, but while Farooque says he would love to work with a Sudhir Mishra or Shaad Ali, he is being very choosy and selective and continues with just reading scripts. “The problem is that I am doing what I don't want to do, and not doing what I want to do!”
A natural code to all serious actors' careers would be to take up direction, but Farooque dismisses the suggestion with a “No bheja”, pointing to his brains and implying a lack of it. When I look at him disbelievingly, he reiterates candidly, “Honestly, no bheja.”
Not the right word. He has straddled the three worlds of theatre, cinema and TV with equal felicity and totally effortless grace, but always with an air of being on a limited engagement. It isn't brain that's lacking, more the electric, concentrated passion of lesser actors who have achieved more. He comes across as relaxed, almost laid back. Throughout the interview, he has been attentive, courteous and patient. The innate decency and niceness of the man comes through in every gesture and word. As I stood up to leave, he said, “I like your kurta, it's very nice,” and he clearly means it.
What's a nice man like you doing in films, Mr. Shaikh?
SANDHYA IYENGAR (hosted here)
In Bangalore for a theatre performance of Aapki Soniya, Farooque settles down to sharing his own long and eventful past with us. His first film role came in '72, when he was just out of college, and a member of the IPTA (Indian People's Theatre Association) which spearheaded a theatre movement that was particularly vibrant in the 70s.
M. S. Sathyu, a director at IPTA, was setting out to make his masterpiece Garam Hawa and didn't look too far with casting. “We were more his victims than his discoveries,” remarks Shaikh, “and he made full use of the cheap and available in house talent available for his first film!”
In fact Shaikh has had the privilege of being directed by all the top names of the 70s – Muzaffar Ali, Sai Paranjpai, Satyajit Ray among many others - but strangely, never with Shyam Benegal. All his contemporaries and co-stars have been consistently repeated in Benegal's films, but Shaikh has been a glaring exception. The thought puzzles and saddens him even now, but, almost to console himself, he quickly recollects that Benegal had actually offered him Ananth Nag's role in Ankur, but later retracted, as he felt Farooque looked younger than Shabana! That was the closest he got to a Benegal film but Shaikh is grateful that he was so much a part of the emerging and exciting art film movement of the 70s.
He especially treasures his role in Ray's Shatranj ke Khilari, where he played the married Farida Jalal's lover, who takes advantage of her husband's obsession with chess to keep sneaking into her chambers. About Ray, he remembers, “Manikda was mathematical in his approach to film-making. He would work it all out like an equation, step by step, mentally, and then put the great QED flourish.”
Right now Farooque has no film or TV arrangements in hand, and even his play Aap ki Soniya is going into cold storage for a while as his co-star Sonali Bendre is to have a baby soon.
With the re-emergence of alternate cinema in the new multiplex culture, I ask Farooque if he sees roles for himself now. Films like Maqbool and Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi are reminiscent of the 70s film movement, but while Farooque says he would love to work with a Sudhir Mishra or Shaad Ali, he is being very choosy and selective and continues with just reading scripts. “The problem is that I am doing what I don't want to do, and not doing what I want to do!”
A natural code to all serious actors' careers would be to take up direction, but Farooque dismisses the suggestion with a “No bheja”, pointing to his brains and implying a lack of it. When I look at him disbelievingly, he reiterates candidly, “Honestly, no bheja.”
Not the right word. He has straddled the three worlds of theatre, cinema and TV with equal felicity and totally effortless grace, but always with an air of being on a limited engagement. It isn't brain that's lacking, more the electric, concentrated passion of lesser actors who have achieved more. He comes across as relaxed, almost laid back. Throughout the interview, he has been attentive, courteous and patient. The innate decency and niceness of the man comes through in every gesture and word. As I stood up to leave, he said, “I like your kurta, it's very nice,” and he clearly means it.
What's a nice man like you doing in films, Mr. Shaikh?
SANDHYA IYENGAR (hosted here)
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