The Cinema of Tapan Sinha — Literary Synthesis and Cinematic Demarcation

Booklet cover of Ankush

Tapan Sinha’s active film life spanned over 46 years (1954-2000), with an odd 42 films to his credit, which Includes repeat making of his two films in the Hindi language.

During his creative life, Tapan Sinha earned recognition. His films had a niche market in West Bengal, which helped him to reach out to Bollywood stars later in his career. His films were recognised by his name, instead of stars or cinema-friendly novelists. Significantly, the recognition also earned him numerous film awards – twenty of his films earned him both national awards, BFJA and Filmfare awards while nine of them earned international ones.

In 1953, when Sinha was shooting for very first film Ankush, Bengali cinema was dominated by the novels of Sarat Chandra Chatterjee and the phenomenal rise of Uttam Kumar and Suchitra Sen. By then, the ‘Satyajit Ray event’ was yet to happen.  Both Mrinal Sen and Ritwik Ghatak were struggling to discover their specific voices. Perhaps, the only exceptions were Bimal Ray, Ajay Kar, Asit Sen, or a group of filmmakers under the banner of ‘Agradoot’ and ‘Agragami.’ Bimal Ray incidentally mentored Tapan Sinha in his formative phase but very soon shifted to Bombay.

The recognisable stature of Tapan Sinha continued even after the rise of the triumvirate, Ray-Ghatak – Sen. His rise as a film director was not backed by mindless, entertainment-hungry mass, but majorly by educated middle-class with refined tastes for literature.

It may sound paradoxical, why was Tapan Sinha deprived of film society attention? Why is there so less critical analysis of his films?

Tapan Sinha and Arundhati Devi

Sinha was an avid lover of literature and songs of Rabindranath Tagore. His courtship and marriage with Arundhati Devi, who also acted in five of his films, strengthened his passion for Tagore.    Arundhati, herself being a good singer, was brought up at Vishwa Bharati, Shantiniketan in the presence of Tagore himself.

In a documentary film made on him by Raja Sen, Tapan mentioned about two kinds of film makers — members of the first kind make films for their target audience while members of the second kind make personal films primarily for themselves.  Consciously Tapan belonged to the first category. As a result, while he adopted good literature for his films, he also had to stick to simple and linear storytelling narrative, in line with Hollywood and British films.  His specific love for Bengali literature instilled a kind of “literariness” and “Bengali-ness” in his films. These two facets brought him closer to the educated middleclass, for whom cinema was a pictorial translation of the same original literature, keeping the original spirit intact. Good acting was other part of their expectation. But, was Sinha very different from his other colleagues in catering to above?

Till the ‘50s there was a prevalent intellectual perception that cinema was a shallow entertainer. At that time Tapan Sinha selected a very unconventional story for his very first film Ankush, way back in 1953. Works of Narayan Gangopadhyay, notable author was never explored for film adaptations till then. Gangopadhyay was well-known as a teacher and scholar of Bengali literature and primarily as a writer for children. But he also penned quite a few short stories and novels for adults, The short story ‘Sainik’ was scripted and adapted to a full-length film by Sinha, which evolved around, one Elephant, named Neel Bahadur belonging to a zamindar, Indra Chowdhury. Keeping Neel Bahadur at the centre, the story obliquely portrayed a change in feudal epoch. It was in similar lines with Jalsaghar, a film made by Satyajit Ray in 1958 based on a novel by Tarashankar Bandyopadhyay with the same name. In both of them, an elephant was placed in contrast with a motor car, to symbolise a sweeping change of time with tragic inevitability. From his very first film, in his choice of diverse subjects Sinha would make his mark differently from some of other mainstream directors, who were otherwise equally adept in film craft and story-telling.

Film booklet cover of Hansuli Banker Upakatha (Source – Sounak Gupta)

Till 1967, Sinha picked up works of Rabindranath Tagore thrice, but his selection dealt with unconventional human relations. He borrowed from another great novelist, Tarashankar Bandopadhyay but only for once, for Hansuli Banker Upakatha, which was a rural saga with epical proportions, handling migration, refugee and complex social relations under shaking socio-economical fabric. For rest of his films, Sinha never depended on classical authors, but chose either contemporary writers viz. Ramapada Chowdhury and Kalkut (Samaresh Bose), or the established ones whom he introduced to cinema for first time like Jarasandha, Saradindu Bandyopadhyay or Banaphool. In contrast, Satyajit Ray banked heavily on established and classic literatures by Bibhuti Bhushan Bandyopadhyay (thrice), Parashuram (twice), Tarashankar Bandyopadhyay (twice), apart from adopting Tagore five times.

One of the major factors, which made Tapan Sinha’s cinema unique was his selection of unconventional literary sources. This offered a refreshing experience for his target audience almost every single time. But was his cinema only about retelling a literature in the mould of popular cinematic style and fashion? The answer to his probably will be both a ‘yes’ and a ‘no’. When a literature is transcribed into a film, the intent of a director broadly falls under any or all of the following categories:

• A few elements or key moments of a literary work is used in the film as the main plot which further develops in the film to aspects not covered in the literary work.
• The film is an interpretation of a director’s reading of a literary work.
• Films that literally reproduce the extracts and essence from the literary work in the form of dialogues, mostly used in the original literary work itself.

While Tapan Sinha is often bracketed with Satyajit Ray, because both of them depended heavily on literature for their major films, a quick comparison may help to understand their differences. In case of Satyajit Ray, his films were under the types of both 1 and 2.  In case of Sinha, he remained more with 2 and 3.

Film booklet cover of Kabuliwala (Pic – Sounak Gupta)

In his fourth film Kabuliwala (1957), which was also his first brushing with a Tagore short story, we may observe a kind of literary pull on him, in the long opening sequence of 8 minutes, introducing Rahmat, the Afghan protagonist. A long verbal commentary was used about Rahamat, his home with a visual display of long Afghan terrain and camel rides. It is to be noted that in the original 7-page story, Tagore had not painted a clear picture of Rahamat’s past. From few hints of the original story, Sinha had to include such a long introduction for the sake of establishing his prime character before unfolding the story in a linear progression. But this portion appears to be with full of literary flourish and stylised words, reminding us of Tagore’s writing styles. This literariness however, dissolved into filmic expressionism, when Mini, the child and Rahamat, the Afghan Kabuliwala started to form a loving bond in the city of Calcutta. Similar literary approach could be traced in portions of ‘two shots’ (shots comprising of two persons in mid close up within a frame), which are a little static and theatrical. In fact, the makeup of Chhabi Biswas, the actor in the role of Rahamat was also poor and theatrical. At many sequences, art direction and cinematography (sharp shadows on the wall behind) are also theatrical. Both Satyajit Ray and Raj Kapoor noticed such technical snags of Kabuliwala and conveyed the same to Sinha who agreed with them.

In 1960 Sinha filmed Kshudhita Pashan and in 1965, Atithi. In both the films, the literary pull reduced where we observe a significant rise in cinematographic opulence, rhythmic fluidity in shot divisions, interspersed with passages of silence. Face, eyes and gaze were used more conspicuously. ‘Kshudhita Pashan’, a short story comprising 19 pages was written by Tagore in 1896. It is a ghost story, revolving around a young Iranian lady at its centre. She was a victim of dacoits and brought to a harem for a Badsha. An old palace, its ruins, dark stony corridors and pillars bear the history of torment of the lady and her cry for getting free. A young Bengali tax collector visited the palace and was gradually pulled and charmed by certain invisible power, to land in the past era and dissolve into its time. Tagore narrated the story with his embellished words, created a magic reality to match with the opulence and grace of a bygone era.

While making the film, Sinha majorly followed Tagore’s description of the palace, it’s mystique surrounding and recreated a few key moments with nuanced ambience through his art director Suniti Mitra. In his memoir, Sinha recalls, when he was facing difficulty to shoot the night scenes inside the actual palace and shared the concern with Satyajit Ray, the later advised Sinha to create a miniature of palace interiors and helped him with a sketch. The silent face of the Iranian young lady, subtle change in her eyes captured in mid-close up, portrayed beautifully by Arundhati Devi, heightened the cinematic moments with a lot of sensitivity. However, notwithstanding an opulence of so many cinematic triumphs, there is one moment, when the Tax Collector was walking through a dark corridor, he was listening to a Thumri, Kaise kate rajani, mere sajani in Raaga Bageshri as if pouring in from the past. But suddenly the Hindustani Thumri dissolved into a Tagore Song — Je raate more duarguli bhanglo jhore, Janina go tumi ele amar ghore also based on the same raga (Bageshri). Immediately after this song, the protagonist saw the Iranian lady, standing near a pillar. This appears to be a literary pull to predict what immediately was going to happen. Two years later, Satyajit Ray also adopted one ghost story of Tagore named ‘Monihara’. In content, mood and expression, the two films were different. But one striking similarity may surprise us today. Both of them used a faint and subtle sound of ‘ghungroo’ (ankle Bells used by Indian dancers), to indicate arrival of the respective mystique ladies. In fact, Ray used this sound in the title sequence of Monihara. Sinha used this soundscape before Ray.

Kaise kate rajani (Kshudhita Pashan, 1960) Ustad Ali Akbar Khan / Traditional / Ustad Amir Khan and Pratima Banerjee

There was, however, one departure of Sinha’s film from the Tagore story.  Both for ‘Kshudhita Pashan’ and ‘Monihara’ Tagore concluded his stories with witty ambivalence. The ambivalence throws a question. Whether the ghost story, unfolded by the narrator was real or imaginary? Ray transcribed this ambivalence in the last shot of Monihara, but not in Tagore’s way of literature. Ray’s lens zoomed in on a smoking pipe of ‘ganja’(cannabis), left by the narrator on the steps, which obliquely indicates, the story might have been a fruit of the narrator’s hallucination. Sinha, on the other hand, concluded his film with gloom and loss, which was heart filling.

Poster of Atithi (Pic – Shoma A Chatterji)

The specific trait of literariness, sometimes in dialogues, sometimes in static two shot frames, at times in textual commentary, but more frequently in his affinity towards Tagore songs have omnipresence almost in all of Sinha’s films of the first two decades and beyond. Atithi, his third film from a Tagore story, had similar moments of literature, even though the entire film had no dearth of cinematic sensibilities. Atithi is marked with a style of visual harmony. It follows a rhythm between abundant panoramic nature with vast meadows, open sky, gliding birds, expanse of river bed and warmth of close human relations.

The protagonist, named Tarapada, an adolescent, always feels a wild call from within, prompting him to leave his relations frequently and roam around like nomads without any specific destination. Sinha developed his film on this central motif of Tagore’s brilliant short story quite effectively. But more frequently than Kshudhita Pashan, Atithi is full of Tagore songs, at times sung by Tarapada, at times played on his flute. The pull of Tagore becomes so strong for Sinha, he ignored the basics of Tarapada’s character with his rural upbringing. For him, the possibility of knowing Tagore songs, in place of rural folk songs was remote. In fact, when Atithi was being sent to Venice Film festival, Ray suggested him to drop a Tagore song in concluding sequence, but use his own song instead. Sinha agreed to his suggestion.

Thus, Tagore being a major inspiration for Sinha, in Khaniker Atithi (1959) he used a bust sculpture of Rabindranath Tagore right at the chamber of a doctor protagonist of the film. In a similar feat but different in character, this reminds us of Ray, using a portrait of Napolean Bonaparte in his film Samapti, in the room of his protagonist Amulya.

Visually, Tapan had a penchant for capturing long tracking shots with rhythmic movement of human figures. To highlight such rhythm, he used to mix a fitting musical score. The best and most technically demanding example for above was the opening sequence of Hansuli Banker Upakatha. It was a long tracking shot, to capture a band of palanqueen bearers moving in rhythm but the road was not linear. Similar rhythmic movements were shot both in Atithi and Kshudhita Pashan. In Kshudhita Pashan, the horse ride had a movement rhythm. In case of Atithi, similar rhythm was injected with two young ladies, carrying water pitchers.  Tapan used it repeatedly as a cinematic motif, probably to echo the rhythm of life at large.

Film booklet covers of Khaniker Atithi, Louhakapat and Kalamati (Pics – Sounak Gupta)

Tapan Sinha was married to literature instinctively, but his expressionistic propulsion for cinema coexisted and wanted to take off always. In the process of his persistent synthesis and demarcation between literature and cinema, we could trace a few signatures, where his films repeated on similar cinematic exploration quite effectively.  From Louhakapat (1958), till Khaniker Atithi, in three successive films, Tapan dealt with myriad human characters with variety of colours and shades within a tight and closed space-time. In the case of Louhakapat, the space was a central jail and characters were jail inmates, colleagues of the protagonist jail super. In Kalamati (1958), the space was a colliery and baby creche. In Khaniker Atithi, the very space was a single room rural hospital and its 5 patients. If we remember, one of the few unique expressionistic advantages of cinema is its simultaneous ability to ensemble multiple elements in an organic whole, which is termed as ‘mise-en-scene’ by film theoreticians. Tapan Sinha was at his best in above, exclusively for his ability to deal with a mixed variety of characters simultaneously.

After the above-mentioned three films, he came back to ensemble cinema again in Nirjan Saikate (1963), Galpo Holeo Satti (1966) and Hatey Bazarey (1967).  In Nirjan Saikate, starting from the long distance overhead shot of Howrah station platform, till the train compartment, fully overcrowded with pilgrim passengers, all destined to Puri, Tapan Sinha crafted this long sequence quite masterfully. His mise-en-scene, not only dealt with myriads of passengers, but he did one important job also at the same time. The protagonist writer, and the five widows with their different characteristic shades were introduced also, on which the entire film would evolve subsequently. Alongside, his mis-en-scene also painted very significant images. A caged bird and shadows of window bars on the compartment passengers, hinting on a similar but a bigger cage, where all human beings are confined and become victims of situations. Similar telling mis-en-scene were  used in multiple sequences subsequently, including the bathing sequence at sea shore, to highlight the difference of these five widows, including hints on the suppressed and hidden desires of one of them.

Film booklet covers of Hatey Bazarey (1967), Galpo Holeo Satti (1966) and Nirjan Saikate (1963) (Pic – Sounak Gupta)

Probably because an urge of independent cinematic expression might have chased Tapan Sinha always, at the same time being humble and obliged to literature, he opted to leave literature and scripted two films by himself in the same period. Khaniker Atithi was his first attempt and then Galpo Holeo Satti. In both, he masterly handled the elements of assembling. Galpo Holeo Satti was to examine ten characters and their situation within the confines of a family, who represented typical middle-class varieties prevailing in Bengal of ‘60s. Dhananjay, a mystique servant was used as a catalyst for examining the characters and to help them grow.

Rabi Ghosh and others in Galpo Holeo Satti (Source – Abesh Das, Pic Courtesy – Sukumar Roy)

In the mould of a fantasy, Galpo Holeo Satti was actually a mirror placed before us, arguably one of the finest in Sinha’s oeuvre.   In Khaniker Atithi, apart from the ensemble of patients, which was a subtext of the film, the plot evolved around a benevolent doctor, played by Nirmal Kumar and a young widow, who visited the doctor for treatment of her only son. Apart from best of the Hollywood classics, Sinha was an admirer of two contemporary film personalities — Satyajit Ray and Ingmar Bergman. In his memoir, Sinha mentioned how Bergman used human face as a canvas. In Khaniker Atithi, there are telling but silent moments, where the tormented face of the doctor and the lady (played by Ruma Guha Thakurata) are used in mid-close up, with nuanced nonverbal expressionism. There is a brilliant moment, when doctor was administering injection to the child, but the camera focused on his mother’s face in close up. Through her face, a sensitive audience can touch her soul, unify with her mother instinct and feel the pain of her baby.

Jatugriha poster

Jatugriha (1964) stands out as an exceptional film in all sense and it was much ahead of its time. Tapan Sinha went back to an established and great author (Subodh Ghosh) again, but selected a short story of only five pages. In the original story, the entire narrative unfolds in a station waiting room, where Satadal and Madhuri had a chance meeting after divorcing each other. The story is brilliant in giving hints of the couples background, but leaves a lot to a reader’s interpretation and imagination. While making a film based on this, Sinha had to re-invent the story and develop new episodes to justify the couple’s breakup. He had to introduce two additional couples and juxtaposed them. Whereas in the original story, both Satadal and Madhuri remarried, but in the film Sinha kept both of them as single after divorce. In his version, Sinha interpreted the reason of the couple’s breakup as a very complex psychological state of Madhuri, after she comes to know about her inability to bear a child. To deal with such complexity, he used a number of cinematic images. There was expressive use of a tall mirror, where Madhuri (Arundhati Devi) could see Satadal (Uttam Kumar), not directly, but through his mirror Image. Broken and deformed images reflected on car head light or office bell were used in key moments at the crux of their heightened relational complexity. Entire world as if was deformed and broken to them. A serpentine staircase comes in a long static shot, which goes down in a swirling vortex, when the couple reaches the verge of separation.

Oblique cinematic expressionism was rare in case of Tapan Sinha, because of his conscious decision of remaining attached to mass audience and to remain as simple as possible in his linear narratives. However, there are strong exceptions to this norm in multiple films of Tapan Sinha, which deserve repeat viewing even today, which showcase the mind of a sensitive, noble and responsible artist. An artist, who was always and persistently under psychedelic vacillation between the nobility of literature and cinema.

Poster of Atanka (Pic – Shoma A Chatterji)

He touched a cinematic pinnacle in Atanka (1986) with nuanced but tensed comments on the existential crisis of middle-class. For other two, arguably Sinha’s best cinematic triumph, he had to leave the Bengali language — telefilm for Doordarshan Admi Aur Aurat in 1982 and Ek Doctor ki Maut in 1991, both in Hindi.

Despite his vast filmography with varied subjects, most of them being also socially conscious in later part of his repertoire, the question still lingers on his birth centenary: why did Tapan Sinha lack serious attention from movie connoisseurs? Tracing the history of movie culture, we find that after ‘Sight & Sound’, initiated in 1932 by the British Film Institute, the most significant shift in approaching cinema as a serious art form was brought about by ‘Cahier-du-Cinema’.  It was founded in 1951 by the pioneers of the French New Wave. This sparked a global wave of similar publications, including ‘Film Kritik’ (Germany) and ‘Cineaste’ (US). In India, the Film Society Movement was initiated in 1947 by the Calcutta Film Society, with Satyajit Ray as a founder member. That was the beginning of revolutionizing Indian film culture. Ray’s Pather Panchali (1955) further amplified this change, leading to a proliferation of film societies and their respective magazines (e.g., ‘Film India’, ‘Chitra Bikshan’, and ‘Cinemaya’). These platforms facilitated serious, analytical discussions on films, aiming to transform cinema from mere entertainment to a socially conscious medium.

Two primary categories used to draw attention: films addressing contemporary social issues (mostly from a leftist or liberal perspective) and innovative, stylized films with meaningful content. Tapan Sinha’s cinema, despite its meaningfulness, didn’t fit into this categorization due to his focus on making films for the masses, avoiding stylization, and maintaining a non-leftist political stance in his film content. This led to his work being misconstrued as mere entertainment. With the decline of film society journals, their historical role in altering film perception has been reevaluated. Today’s film appreciation encompasses a broader spectrum, blurring the lines between art house cinema and mainstream. In this evolving cine culture, Tapan Sinha’s films are being rediscovered and repositioned.

The paradox surrounding his status as a film auteur is finally being resolved posthumously.

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— The Centenary Tribute Series