The ‘hero’ boards a tram. He is on his way to collect the suit that he needs to wear for an interview later in the day. The fate of the interview and the job depends on the suit. A young girl and a middle-aged passenger are browsing through a film magazine. There are a few photographs of Uttam Kumar with his heroines. And then, a production still of the film we are watching (Interview) which shows the ‘hero’ in the tram!

The girl keeps looking back and forth between the pages of the magazine and the man standing next to her. Surely the man is not a film’s ‘hero’ – why then is he on the same page as Uttam Kumar? Then comes the punchline as the actor steps out of his role and addresses the audience. Breaking the fourth wall, the ‘hero’ says his name is Ranjit Mallick and that he is just a common man who has allowed Mrinal Sen, ‘the guy who makes movies’, to film him as he goes about his day preparing for the interview. We even have shots of the cameraman, K.K. Mahajan, with a handheld camera interspersed with Mallick’s monologue. Mallick goes on to tell the viewer that everything they have seen in the film so far was ‘true’ except that the woman playing his mother in the film is not his actual mother. She is an actor who, as he says, is doing a ‘wonderful job in portraying his genuine mother’. We then cut to the sequence of Durga’s death in Pather Panchali, with Karuna Bandopadhyay as the mother.

Not many actors have the privilege of debuting with a director like Mrinal Sen. Fewer still go on to win an international award for best actor (at Karlovy Vary) for his debut. And even fewer are called upon to enact a scene like the one described above – with his character also named ‘Ranjit Mallick’. (A few years later, Prem Chopra would immortalise the name in Amitabh Bachchan’s 1976 hit Do Anjaane) But as Ranjit Mallick says, Interview was a film unlike any other he had seen or ever been a part of since. For the actor who had no plans of making a career in cinema, there was looking back.

In the 1970s, Mallick went on to make a name for himself as one of the most-loved stars of the era in perennial favourites like Mouchak. Then, in the 1980s, he stepped up to provide the industry, still reeling from the demise of Uttam Kumar and starved of finances, some of its biggest commercial successes. Shatru gave the Bengali industry its very own ‘angry young man’. Over the years, the actor who confessed to the audiences in his debut that he was ‘no film star but just an average fellow’ became a star whose dialogues were a rage, eliciting whistles and claps and inspiring, of late, many a meme.

Prosenjit Chatterjee, who shared screen space with him in close to 20 films, recently broke the Internet recalling Mallick’s famous dialogue, ‘Chabke pither chhaal tule debo’ (I will peel the skin off your back), which led to the star being christened ‘belt man’. Tweeting about it, Prosenjit said, ‘Sobcheye beshi ami mar kheyechhi’ (I have been beaten up the most).

Gearing up for his new film, Love Marriage, Mallick talks about his journey from his childhood, growing up in Bhawanipur Mallick Bari, and stories of working in films like Interview, Shakha Proshakha, Mouchak and Shatru.

‘I never thought of acting as a career’

I was never interested in films. Neither did I think of becoming an actor, though everyone in our Bhawanipur Mallick Bari was culturally inclined. Every member would indulge in songs, music and acting, especially during Durga Puja. We would stage plays in our Durga dalan. I was eight years old when I first acted in one such play. It was in my own house. My father Upendra Chandra Mallick was a lawyer at Calcutta High Court. He wrote wonderful poems for children, and even played the flute. He penned Kobir Lorai (poem contests) for us to perform. I still remember all the lines.

I graduated in arts. In college I fancied becoming a hero in a film like every other boy. I hated studies and was a bad student. One of my uncles introduced me to Satyajit Ray. At that time he was planning Pratidwandi. However, he selected Dhritiman (Chaterji) for the film. Much later I connected with Mrinal Sen. He asked about my experience in acting. I had none but he knew my family. He interviewed me near the lakeside. The cinematographer was K.K. Mahajan. Mrinal Sen asked me to cry, laugh, get angry and give various other expressions. This was my audition and look test for Interview.

I never thought of acting as a career. My family was rather conservative. They had grave reservations about me acting in films though my father and uncles were gifted actors – I have seen them performing at the plays we staged. It took me some time to convince my family.

While I was working on Interview, the producer offered me a Hindi film called Parivartan. Interview did very well in Kolkata. In 1972 I received an international best actor award at Karlovy Vary. The award made me realise that I should take acting as a career seriously. It convinced my father.

Interview (directed by Mrinal Sen; 1971)

Interview was entirely different from the kind of films I was exposed to as a viewer. I had no idea that a film could be like this. I was awestruck with the way the script brought together real and reel life. I have never again done a film like this.

I learnt the technicalities from Mrinal Sen. On the day we were shooting the famous scene in the police station, I was not given any script. I was scared because I was not prepared. I had nothing. I asked Mrinal Sen nervously, ‘If you kindly give me the script, I can prepare for the scene.’ He said, ‘There’s no need for the script. You only need to reply to the questions the officer asks.’ It was a bolt from the blue. My first film and the director did not have my lines!

Initially, I thought he was joking. He was quite a prankster. He said, ‘Remember this: you are going for an interview. The sooner your character leaves the police station the better because you are getting late for the interview. You will have to talk fast. The interview is very important to you.’ He gave the exact opposite brief to the police officer. ‘Question him at length, leisurely, you have all the time in the world and he cannot leave till you are done questioning.’ So, here we were, two actors left to fend for ourselves, doing the opposite, improvising. I felt it was the best scene in the film. I was unprepared and the reaction was spontaneous. Similarly another day I was not given any dialogues. Mrinal Sen asked me to say anything I felt like. I muttered some gibberish. Later I saw he had used the footage as a montage and switched off the voice. There’s no sound but only music. It was wonderfully executed.

I never did a film like Interview again. I was primarily cast in mainstream commercial films. Not everyone understands a film like Shakha Proshakha or Interview. Audiences like commercial films. As an actor, I should be able to do justice to both categories. I had immense joy working in potboilers. The industry runs on commercial films.

Shakha Proshakha (directed by Satyajit Ray; 1990)

There was an indefinable aura about Satyajit Ray. I remember being very anxious around him. I remember asking him to explain a certain scene. He replied in that baritone of his, ‘Bolar ar ki achhe, set e hoye jabe.’ (What’s there to explain? It will work out on the set.) In his script-reading sessions, he would act and read out the script. He would stress the modulations, how to deliver the dialogue, where to pause. If you followed his script-reading well, 75 per cent of your work was done. The script was his bible. It was the opposite of Mrinal Sen. Mrinal Sen would leave the actors to their own devices and let them perform. He gave inputs only when he felt it necessary. We would never rehearse.

Mouchak (Directed by Arabinda Mukhopadhyay; 1974)

I did Mouchak in 1975. And even today when the film plays on TV, people sit down to watch it. I remember a girl who used to work in our house. Her father was a rickshaw-puller. One day she said, ‘Today my father will not ply his rickshaw in the evening.’ I asked why. She said, ‘Mouchak will be telecast today on TV.’

Years later, I met a Bengali in Virginia. A scientist. He said whenever he feels sad, he watches Mouchak. So both the scientist and the rickshaw-puller liked the film. That’s what a film should be able to do. My favourite filmmaker is Charlie Chaplin. His films appeal to everyone. The intellectual audience finds a meaning and at the same time someone who is not so educated gets entertained. It’s tough to find that balance.

Shatru (Directed by Anjan Choudhury; 1984)

Uttam Kumar was an all-time hero. After his demise everyone thought that the industry would be finished. Nobody was getting producers to fund their films. Shatru changed that.

I like reading. I am a huge fan of Saratchandra Chattopadhyay. I have read so many of his novels, but Ramesh’s character in Palli Samaj is different. That’s the kind of character the police officer in Shatru is. If you get to see both your mother and father in a police officer, he is the ideal officer. He should be kind and giving but at the same time he also needs to be ruthless. That was the core of the character – his relationship with the kid and the way he dealt with criminals. This is how I projected my character on screen.

After the film released, the government announced that it was mandatory for all police officers and their families to watch it. It was a great achievement for me. When I read Shatru’s script and dialogues, I knew that the film would work.

On working with Uttam Kumar

I was a big fan of his. But then, who wasn’t. When Uttam Kumar played tennis in South Club, I would leave my studies to watch him. (Laughs) I was a little nervous when I got the opportunity to do a film with him. Once we met, he understood that. So, he went out of his way to make me feel comfortable. More than being a great actor, he was a great human being. He was extremely dedicated. I have done five films with him.

An actor usually rests in the make-up room after his scene is over. But I would sit on the shooting floor to see Uttam Kumar perform. Whatever I learnt of acting was by watching him on the set. There’s a scene in a film where he had to fall down the stairs. The shot started. The director yelled ‘action’. He took a couple of steps and came tumbling down the stairs. It felt so real I was shocked and went running to check on him. Later I asked him, ‘Didn’t it hurt? How did you do it?’ He said, ‘You have to tighten your legs and then slowly loosen them as you fall. You need to do that with mathematical precision so that you don’t hurt your legs and bones.’ I have learnt a lot of things from seeing him act.

On commercial films

The commercial films of our times were rooted in realism. That is missing today. Uttam Kumar and Suchitra Sen’s ‘Tumi Je Amaar’ is over 50 years old but people go crazy about it even today. In a romantic song today, you have a hundred dancers dancing in the background while the couple are romancing in the mountains. I don’t understand why. It is absurd. But yes, I agree that an industry needs commercially viable films for it to survive.

I think both Prosenjit and I managed to infuse life into Bengali cinema after Uttam Kumar passed away and it was because of these successful commercial films. A good commercial film will always leave you with an understanding of what is good and what is bad. And it will entertain. It helps people to forget the struggles of life for those two or three hours. Which is not a bad thing. I do films for two reasons. One, through the film I should be able to provide a moral compass to the viewer. Second, as we know, laughter is the best medicine. I want to act so that people laugh and be happy.

‘Chabke pither chhal tule debo’

I am known as ‘belt man’. (Laughs) I remember being invited to Abu Dhabi to be presented with a lifetime achievement award. RJ Mir was hosting the show. He asked the audience to unfasten their belts and give them to him. Everyone was confused. A few people even gave him their belts. He called me on the stage and gave all the belts to me saying, ‘Sir, this is your gift.’ (Laughs)

I have hit many people with belts in films. The dialogue from Chhoto Bou became quite the rage. I love it! Another famous dialogue which also went viral was ‘Baap er o baap thake’ (A father also has a father). I enjoyed saying these lines and that translated into the audiences loving them so much.

(Shantanu Ray Chaudhuri is a film and music buff, editor, publisher, film critic and writer. The article was written with Soujannya Das)