DUTT’S ENTERTAINMENT
AUG 10, 2008 – THE FUSTY CLICHÉ ABOUT LIFE IMITATING ART and art imitating life sprang to gruesome life on the evening of October 9, 1964, when Abrar Alvi went to Ark Royal, Guru Dutt’s flat on Peddar Road, to flesh out the final scene of Baharen Phir Bhi Aayengi, in which the heroine dies a “sad, lonely, disappointed death.” Each one of those qualifiers would, in a matter of hours, apply to the demise of Dutt himself – who had, that day, committed himself to a series of agitated phone calls to his estranged wife, Geeta Dutt.
Alvi remembers, “She had refused to send across their baby daughter so that he could spend time with her, and with each call his anger mounted. At last, he had delivered an ultimatum… or so he seemed to suggest. ‘Send the child or you will see my dead body…’ You know, the kind of things one says when one is angry and one’s tongue gets a bit out of control.” Alvi finished his scene close to midnight and sat down for a late dinner. Dutt was monosyllabic throughout the meal, and finally said he’d like to retire. Alvi concludes, “I never saw Guru Dutt alive again.”
It is bit of a masterstroke that Sathya Saran opens Ten Years with Guru Dutt: Abrar Alvi’s Journey with this death scene, for the author instantly establishes what the rest of her book emphasises in no uncertain terms – that Alvi and Dutt were inseparable during their decade-long relationship, which began when they met on the sets of Baaz in 1953 and ended that fateful night of 1964. The highlights of the intervening years are recounted with great gusto by Alvi, and Saran does well to stand back and simply listen.
The thing about someone else’s story is that there’s no real way of arriving at the veracity of the chapters, at the truth of the characters, and the best recourse, sometimes, is to let this teller himself tell the story. Accordingly, large portions of Ten Years with Guru Dutt are chunks of Alvi’s reminiscences, with Saran alternating each stretch with some editorialising of her own. The effect is that of thumbing through the very entertaining transcript of a those-were-the-days interview, laden with nostalgic nuggets as much about a bygone age of living as a bygone era of filmmaking.
Given his moment, finally, under the sun – after decades of malicious speculation whether it was really he that directed Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam – Alvi seizes the opportunity like a Saharan wanderer prostrating before the first well that’s not a mirage. He emphasises that Guru Dutt was involved only with the song sequences. “We were shooting a difficult scene,” he says, “Rehman is in bed, paralysed, and I had shot it in a way that neither Y.G. Chavan, the editor, nor Guru Dutt could make sense of. There were shots of flying leaves interspersed.”
Chavan, perhaps, went and complained to Dutt, for Alvi soon received a summons. No sooner had Alvi entered Dutt’s office than Dutt started shouting, “Who do you think you are? Is it your film? It is my film.” Alvi waited till his producer calmed down and replied, “If Chavan had told me that you wanted an explanation of the way I have visualised and shot the scene, I would have stopped my work and come.” Alvi left the room, went back to his house and dashed off a petulant note to Dutt. “Do what you want with the movie. I want no credit – I have nothing to do with the film.” And Dutt wrote back, “You have directed the movie, the credit is yours, and the discredit, if any, is yours.”
Having peddled his most significant ware – “I still have that precious letter with me” – Alvi relaxes to regale us with how, for instance, Waheeda Rehman’s rise to the big leagues may not have been possible in the absence of a driver suffering from night blindness and a buffalo that was startled by the horn of a car. We learn, along the way, that not even Guru Dutt was free from being “influenced” by Hollywood (The Man with My Face is mentioned in the same breath as CID, which Dutt’s assistant Raj Khosla directed), though Alvi’s account makes it clear that it’s one thing to sniff out what’s interesting about a film and distill that essence into a brand new bottle and quite another to assemble a frame-to-frame copy.
Later, Alvi tells us how Guru Dutt’s visit to a kotha – in preparation for Pyaasa – led to one of the most unforgettable moments in the film; he was sickened by the sight of a heavily pregnant girl being forced to dance, and that repulsion forced its way into the song, Jinhe naaz hai Hind par woh kahaan hai. It was SD Burman who tuned that immortal piece of verse, but not all his experiences with composing the film’s music were as elevated. Upon being commanded by Dutt to compose Sar jo tera chakraaye along the lines of a number from the film Harry Black and the Tiger, Dada Burman, Alvi recalls, came to him and wondered, “What is this that Guru is asking of me, public mujhe maarega.” A creator in nervous apprehension of being caught red-handed before a wrathful public – how endearingly quaint this notion appears today.
Copyright ©2008 The New Sunday Express. This article may not be reproduced in its entirety without permission. A link to this URL, instead, would be appreciated.
Ravi K
August 9, 2008
I find Guru Dutt to be the most fascinating of Indian filmmakers. There’s something about an enigma that draws me in. I saw Pyaasa a few years ago, and was blown away. Not all of his films touched Pyaasa, but there was no doubt a lot of himself went into his films.
The scene with the jacket in Pyaasa is a tribute to Preston Sturges’ film Suillvan’s Travels.
I don’t understand what the driver with night blindness and the buffalo have to do with Waheeda Rehman.
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Shankar
August 10, 2008
Guru Dutt is incredible…I have always felt he never got his due (unlike Raj Kapoor etc)
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brangan
August 10, 2008
Ravi K: Oh, that you’ll have to read the book o find out. It’s detailed over the course of a chapter 🙂
Shankar: He *was* lauded in his lifetime, if that’s what you mean. Pyaasa was a huge hit and very well reviewed, and Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam was the Indian Govt’s entry at the Berlin festival. Of course, he never was a big as Raj Kapoor because RK was a hugely popular star, plus he made hugely populist films.
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Radhika
August 11, 2008
>> after decades of malicious speculation whether it was really he that directed Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam
Sadly, even after this there will be doubts. SBG is easily one of the best made movies in India – the profiling of Chhoti Bahu, the atmosphere and the intrigue, the opulent decadence, how the zameendars sign away their property while pigeon-racing. None of Dutt’s other movies have this pace or clever editing – Pyaasa, while a moving and a poignant statement, often borders on the maudlin and selfindulgent. SBG had the air of a well-crafted short story and it is more likely Alvi the writer who managed that sense of detatched observation without rambling.
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brangan
August 11, 2008
Radhika: You’re very right about the “maudlin and selfindulgent” bit. In many ways, Bhansali is a natural successor to Guru Dutt. I wrote in my review of Black: “Like Guru Dutt, he’s in love with the exaggeration, the passion, the melodrama, the symbolism that is possible through props and lighting and camera angles” I guess in Dutt’s time, melodrama was a good word, while now, it’s become a pejorative. Of course, Dutt didn’t push his melodramatic devices to the extreme (and hence didn’t alienate the audiences) — but you can see a lot of his ethos in SLB’s cinema.
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Radhika
August 11, 2008
brangan – was thinking, why don’t you do a (in-between) review of old classics like SBG – it might be fun to revisit old gems. interesting what you said about SLB taking off on GD, but paavum GD was never that bad – SLB is quite OTT. it’s just that when everyone raves about how fundoo GD’s movies are I wish that just as he had a fabulous camera man in Murthy, he also had had a good editor like Hrishikesh Mukherjee
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brangan
August 11, 2008
Radhika: Wasn’t actually doing a good-vs-bad comparison of the two, but just observing that they share a lot of things. In the sense that I’m always puzzled when someone calls GD’s films as “realistic,” when (at least to me) they are highly romanticised, both aesthetically and emotionally.
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Shalini
August 11, 2008
Maybe I just too darn cynical, but I’m very skeptical about these sorts of reminisces by alleged “best friends” of a conveniently dead cult personality.
As for Guru Dutt himself, I’ve never considered him to be *all* that. Yeah, SBG and Aar Paar are fabulous, but Pyaasa and KKP are childishly egotistical and maudlin.
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Ravi K
August 12, 2008
Dutt’s films were not “realistic” but I’d say they were heightened realism. His films were not set in total fantasy worlds like SLB’s were. Fantasy is not a bad thing, but I’d like to make that distinction. Can you ever see a song like Jinhen Naaz Hai Hind Par Woh Kahan Hai in an SLB film?
IMO an even better treatment than SBG of a decadent zamindar in decline is Satyajit Ray’s Jalsaghar. Both films are based on Bengali novels.
Does anyone know if the CinemaScope version of Kaagaz Ke Phool is available fully letterboxed on DVD, preferably with English subtitles?
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brangan
August 12, 2008
Shalini: Yeah, but leaving the “truth” of these reminscences aside, there’s at least a lot of interesting stuff. I read this book the way I’d read a Filmfare interview, for instance. There’s really no way of saying whether the stuff said in an interview is really true or not.
Ravi K: See, that’s what I was afraud of — my comment being taken literally. No, they are not the same — and I was just talking about some ovelap of ethos. But never mind…
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T.R.KRISHNASWAMY
August 12, 2008
GURU DUTTS IS /WAS/WILL ALWAYS BE A LYRICAL MASTERPIECE–THERE IS NO DOUBT ABOUT IT!!!!!!!!
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T.R.KRISHNASWAMY
August 12, 2008
GURU DUTTS –PYAASA–WILL ALWAYS BE THE BEST LYRICAL CLASSIC–EVER–PLEASE DO NOT COMPARE HIM WITH SLB–IT IS LIKE COMPARING ROBERT DI NERO WITH DHARAMENDRA–KRISHNASWAMY
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T.R.KRISHNASWAMY
August 12, 2008
PYAASA WILL ALWAYS BE THE BEST LYRICAL MASTERPIECE–PLEASE DO NOT COMPARE GD TO SLB–THERE IS NONE -IT ISLIKE COMPARING ROBERT DI NERO OR MARLON BRANDO TO JEETENDRA/DHARAMENDRA–KRISHNASWAMY
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Ravi K
August 12, 2008
Baradwaj, I wasn’t taking you literally so much as I was making a comparison and responding to the “realistic” comment. I do agree with your point that both filmmakers shared a similar ethos to filmmaking.
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brangan
August 13, 2008
T.R.KRISHNASWAMY: Oh, but I also feel that Dharmendra can do far better comedy than De Niro.
Ravi K: I know. It’s just that when I say something in a comment space, without elaborating, it never conveys the full sense of where I were going with that thought. And if I start elaborating, I’ll spend all my time on comments 🙂
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Radhika
August 14, 2008
Baradwaj – my comment that GD was not “that bad” – is just my personal distaste for SLB revealing itself – I know you didn’t mean a black & white comparison. I understand what you mean about their shared ethos. I think to some extent, they both are fixated on quixotic characters who are less than worldy-wise in their romantic idealism. On the continuum SLB goes to the far end with his drama. I find SLB has a more obsessive treatment, his “perfectionism” aesthetically makes the fantasy more..err.. fantastic and so, self-consciously, almost complacently aware of itself, bludgeoning the viewer with emotional clubs, while GD’s theatrics are a bit more restrained.
I think Dharam in Chupke Chupke was far better than De Niro in say, Analyze This or That
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Abubaker
August 28, 2008
I just noticed that you have a different picture and a title for paper edition and your blog, atleast for this piece. Now am curious to dig out your old posts in newspaper for the titles.
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