In Faraz Ali’s debut feature Shoebox, Amrita Bagchi plays Mampu, who returns home to Allahabad to care for her ailing father. Her father (Purnendu Bhattacharya) is a single-screen theatre owner, struggling to keep his fledgling business afloat. The film takes a keen look at erasure — both micro and macro — as it unravels around a city of history, on the verge of getting a new name.
“Allahabad is actually very similar to Kolkata in spirit. There are parallels in their histories. There are many Bengalis there too — you’ll be eating kachoris somewhere and you’ll spot panch phoron spice mixes. This had me falling in love with the city,” shared the actor, director and playwright.
Bagchi’s own directorial venture, Succulent, also made a mark in the festival circuit alongside Shoebox, with both films being a part of the line-ups at Jio MAMI and the Dharamshala International Film Festival.
The artiste, who spent the first decade of her life in Kolkata, still enjoys a strong connection with the city. “I was in Kolkata till seventh grade and attended Our Lady Queen of the Mission School. Then, my family and I moved to Patna and Ahmedabad. We came back to Kolkata for my Plus II and I attended Loreto House. Eventually, I went to Santiniketan where I spent a year. In Kolkata, I grew up in Jadavpur and Alipore, and my father still lives there. I visit Kolkata once or twice every year,” she said, as My Kolkata caught up with her to learn more about Shoebox, her artistic priorities and why she almost abandoned her acclaimed short film. Edited excerpts from the conversation…
My Kolkata: Tell us how ‘Shoebox’ happened…
Amrita Bagchi: First, the approach to casting this film was organic, very personality-driven. It had a lot to do with what a person is about and their internal politics. The casting went on for a few months and it was important for the director that the actors felt for this city (Allahabad), because it’s about a city that’s changing. Not just the physical change, it was also important to depict the experience of this transition.
For instance, you’re a daughter of a single-screen theatre owner and you see people downloading or transferring films illegally at a cyber cafe… there are so many other aspects of change you see. That fascinated me about the script. The director, Faraz Ali, had also done a mentorship with Werner Herzog, and I really wanted to see his vision and observe his process as well.
Tell us a little about your research. How extensive was it?
I read quite a lot about Allahabad (Prayagraj) and watched a lot of documentaries. Faraz helped me out with some titles. Arvind Krishna Mehrotra’s Last Bungalow was key to my research and Neelum Saran Gaur’s work as well. She’s a prolific writer from Allahabad and a professor at Allahabad University. We had met her too. She wrote a book called Requiem in Raga Janki, which was about Janki Bai, the singer popularly known as Chhappan Chhuri.
Did you find any similarities between Kolkata and Allahabad?
Yes, the pace of the two cities is very similar. In Kolkata, we always hear, ‘chharo na, hoye jabe’. In Allahabad too, you hear people going, ‘ho jayega bhaiyya, ek cup chai piyo, ho jayega’. There’s a rich history and colonial heritage in both the cities. If you study about what some educational reformers like Father Andrews actually managed to do, it’s impressive.
Tell us about your theatre days…
I’m a visual artist, I spent a year in Santiniketan painting and working with sculptures. Then, I went to the National Institute of Design. Later, when I was freelancing in Mumbai, I designed a lot of theatre sets. I could sing a little too, so someone who’d heard me sing told Manav Kaul (actor, theatre director). He was staging a play called Colour Blind at that time. It was about Tagore and Victoria Ocampo, and explored Tagore’s obsession with death. They were looking for someone who could sing.
That was my first play and I really enjoyed it. One play led to another, and then in 2015, Anurag Basu made Stories by Rabindranath Tagore, which was my first screen job. He had seen my play and wanted me to play Mrinal in Streer Potro. Next, I did Sarthak Dasgupta’s film, The Music Teacher, which is on Netflix. Then I did Hasmukh with Nikkhil Advani and City of Dreams with Nagesh Kukunoor, as well as some other projects in between.
You also wrote Succulent in 2018…
Yes, I was rehearsing for a play and 10 days before the show, I got dengue. I was upset but my mother reminded me, ‘You’ve wanted to write your own stuff for a while, this is your chance.’ That’s when I started writing it. I had thought out Succulent as a play about a man and a dog. But once I started writing it, it became a film.
Succulent is about someone who is hired by a company that replaces missing or dead family members. I had put away the story for a while when a friend informed me that a Japanese company actually exists that lets you hire someone to replace your family members, and Werner Herzog was making a film on it!
I had put it away because I thought I wouldn’t make it.
What made you change your mind?
I lost my mum three months after this – two days before I was about to start shooting for Shoebox. This was a pivotal point in my life. It’s the kind of thing that makes you think about what really matters. After making Shoebox, I thought you’re either a part of art like this or you yourself make art like this.
People told me it doesn’t matter if Herzog is making a film on a similar subject or not, my film would be different. Besides, Succulent is a script my mother had encouraged me to write. So I figured I’d borrow the money and make the film, and it came together really well. I wrote and directed the film and Faraz Ali edited it. The friends I made in theatre and in the industry really came together or me and everything fell into place.
Now that the OTT market is booming, how different do you think its approach is from Bollywood?
From what I’ve observed, I think it’s important to acknowledge that Bollywood is profit-oriented and not art-oriented. Popular culture caters to profit and is geared towards entertainment. Both entertainment and profit depend heavily on the audience. In that sense, of course, there’s a difference in approach, because if a Bollywood film achieves these two things, it’s successful and that’s not a wrong approach. If that economy wasn’t so strong, the independent film economy could not sustain itself either. I think it’s crucial to recognise this difference in approach and find out where you fit in.
Selling short, indie films on OTT can be difficult, because you barely make any money back. So, as a filmmaker, you make something that has a voice and hope it travels and becomes an expression of who you are as a person and an artist. We didn’t have access to so much in the past. But now with OTT, I see rickshaw wallahs watching Paatal Lok, or Money Heist dubbed in Hindi, on their phones. Things are changing, independent filmmakers are realising that if they make a film, there will be at least some people who will get it.