 "Shashi Kapoor")
SHASHI KAPOOR: THE HOUSEHOLDER, THE STAR
Author: Aseem Chhabra
Publisher: Rupa
Pages: 196
Price: Rs 395
For those of us who grew up in the 1990s, Shashi Kapoor was the likeable younger brother or the affable friend of the Angry Young Man, Amitabh Bachchan. The voice of reason, his moral compass duly pointed north, Kapoor's Ravi was a perfect foil to - but less attractive than - the rough-and-ready Vijay, played by Bachchan. (The duo acted in 14 films together, including twins in Manmohan Desai's Suhaag.) It is only when we watched In Custody or Junoon, or even his cameo in Silsila, in our late teens that the actor emerged from the shadow of matinee idol and captured our hearts.
In the introduction to his book, film journalist and critic Aseem Chhabra writes about the strange amnesia that has engulfed the legacy of this superstar. "As I pieced together interviews... I realised that many people had completely forgotten Shashi Kapoor... 'He is Rishi Kapoor's uncle, Ranbir Kapoor's granduncle'... those in their 30s remember Shashi from Yash Chopra's Deewaar." This book is an attempt to reclaim the memories and put them into currency again. It is neither a biography nor film criticism, but a bit of both. Through seven short chapters, Chhabra traces Kapoor's life and career, and does it as deftly as Kapoor went from formulaic commercial cinema to art house films and back.
Chhabra's long association with films as a journalist and critic - and now, as organiser of two festivals in the US - informs his work and also provides him with access to senior actors and directors who worked with Kapoor. (Karan Johar has written the foreword.) He performs the archaeological task of unearthing from the mounds of oblivion three aspects that deserve special mention: Kapoor's early association with Merchant-Ivory, his stint as a producer of art films, and his relationship with his wife, Jennifer Kendal.
In the 1960s, at the very beginning of his career and before he became a big star, Kapoor acted in three films - The Householder, Shakespeare Wallah, and Bombay Talkie - with the American director-producer duo Ismail Merchant and James Ivory. Now, these films are almost forgotten and of interest mostly to film historians and scholars. Chhabra provides anecdotes enough to satisfy a film enthusiast. Such as Jennifer lending Merchant money to clear pending payments and sign on Kapoor for Bombay Talkie, or actress Aparna Sen, who also had a small part in the film, recalling the tantrums of the perfectionist cameraman Subrata Mitra taking too long to arrange the lights, getting Kapoor miffed in the process and Ivory playing the clown on the sets to patch up frayed egos. Pure gold!
These films also established Kapoor as an international star - long before, as Chhabra points out, Priyanka Chopra, Irrfan Khan, Anil Kapoor or Amitabh Bachchan. Chhabra's book compelled me to go on YouTube and other sites and re-watch these films that I had long forgotten. Now, they have a dated quality - reminding one of the Swinging Sixties. But they are also timeless, funny, entertaining: What could be more sublime than Helen and Kapoor frolicking on a set designed like a typewriter to the song "Typewriter, tip, tip..." that would later inspire Wes Anderson and Geoff Lloyd?
Another YouTube voyage was prompted by the chapter on movies produced by Kapoor's Film-Valas. In the late 70s and early 80s, Kapoor financed five films: Junoon (1978), Kalyug (1981), 36 Chowringhee Lane (1981), Vijeta (1982) and Utsav (1984). He would also direct Ajooba in 1991. Explaining why Kapoor, then a successful mainstream actor, ventured in producing off-the-road, art films, his son Kunal tells Chhabra: "Dad was getting a bit frustrated with the kind of cinema he was working for." So, these films were avenues to satiate his creative calling - and without him, none of these would probably have been made.
From a detailed analysis of these, what emerges is a picture of Kapoor as a generous, knowledgeable and creative producer, whose primary concern was the art of filmmaking. But, it also shows how he wasn't really a pragmatic businessman, losing money with every venture. His daughter Sanjna tells Chhabra: "Papa would be extravagant to the point of being foolish... he would give directors whatever they would ask for... And that wasn't always wise." Another aspect that Chhabra lays bare is how many of the directors were often unprofessional. Actor Sharmila Tagore says in the book: "Shashi treated everyone equally... introduced professionalism... but no one appreciated that in India." And Kapoor, too, is quoted as saying that as soon as he turned producer, directors had no control over their purse strings.
In the midst of these crises, another took a more exacting toll - the death of Jennifer Kendal Kapoor in 1983. Simi Garewal, who was close to Kapoor and had been his co-star, recalls: "Jennifer occupied - or Shashi surrendered to her - a large part of his personality....With Jennifer gone, Shashi struggled... He was different - not himself." His grief perhaps even informed his work in his last few films, classics such as In Custody or Sammy and Rosie Get Laid. Far from being the dashing hero of his youth, he plays obese, past-his-prime characters in these - but always poetically.
This book is not an end in itself: many details of Kapoor's life and work that could have found more space are missing. But, it performs the task it set out to: of resurrecting his memory. For future scholars researching Kapoor, this would be an essential starting point.
