கமல்ஹாசன் V \ S முக்தா சீனிவாசன்

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ஹிந்து பத்திரிக்கையில் திரு,கமல்ஹாசன் அவர்கள் ‘ நாயகன்’ படத்தைப்பற்றி மலரும் நினைவாக சில கருத்துகளை சொல்லியிருந்தார்.
அதற்கு எதிர் வினையாக திரு முக்தா சீனிவாசன் அவர்களும் கருத்துரைத்துள்ளார்.
இரண்டையுமே படித்து விடுங்கள்.

திரு.முக்தா சீனிவாசன் வைத்துள்ள கருத்துரைக்கு... 
எனது மறுப்பு கருத்துரையை அடுத்த பதிவில் தருகிறேன்.

முதல் கட்டுரை திரு.கமல்ஹாசன் கருத்துரை.

Exactly 25 years ago, the groundbreaking Nayakan was released. 
It has since been voted one of Time magazine’s top 100 films, but all that the people working on it then wanted was ‘to be different’.

Whether it’s the story of Caesar or Gandhi or the Rotary Club, it starts off as something very small, without the respect it deserves.
Nayakan was no exception. We never thought it would be selected as one of Time magazine’s 100 greatest films of all time, or that people will remember it after 25 years.
We just wanted to be different.

Perhaps due to my insecurity about dropping out of school, I’ve always surrounded myself with writers and thinkers, and one such person I met was Subramaniam, whom friends called Subbu and who eventually became Mani Ratnam.
He was introduced to me by Kitty (Raja Krishnamurthy).
Kitty was the manager at Chola Sheraton. We used to call him “Chola” Krishnamurthy.
Mani, then as now, was a quiet man, and Kitty used to explain Mani’s ideas.
Slowly I started liking the silent man more— not that I liked Kitty less,
but I thought this guy was deep.
Only after he signed up for Nayakan did I realise that he was the son of ‘Venus’ Ratnam Iyer, with a deep-rooted connection to Tamil cinema.
I knew he was GV’s (the financier G. Venkateswaran) brother,
but the Venus connection never struck me and he never threw this fact at my face.

This was the time I was writing Raajapaarvai, which came out in 1980.
Mani wanted to know about the nuances of screenwriting.
He used to love a Joseph Hayes novel called The Long Dark Night.
He said he wanted to write something like that.
We kept discussing various stories.
We were all fans of Francis Ford Coppola and The Godfather.
We kept saying how long could Tamil cinema keep showing the underworld as people with checked shirts and a kerchief knotted around the neck and laughing like the old villain P.S. Veerappa.

Then Mani said he was doing his first film in Kannada, Pallavi Anupallavi.
I was busy with Raajapaarvai, and I was also getting into Hindi films,
so I couldn’t do this film.
But we kept meeting and talking.
After making Vikram, in 1986, I realised I should have asked Mani to direct it.
It was his cup of tea.
He asked me what had happened, because the story was so different from what I’d told him. I told him that this was bound to happen.
I said, “The intelligence of (the writer) Sujatha and Kamal Haasan was bound to be diluted by Kodambakkam.
It will happen to you too.”

A little later, the producer-director Muktha Srinivasan, with whom I’d made films like Simla Special, said he wanted to make another film with me.
I suggested Mani Ratnam’s name.
He was amused because the hero usually suggests the name of the heroine in the film, and here I was recommending a director.

Mani told me two stories.
One was a gangster story.
He said it was based in Bombay.
I said that was the way to go, because the film, then, would have a national reach.
Muktha Films had a reputation for being tight-fisted.
When Mr. Srinivasan heard that we wanted to shoot in Bombay, he wasn’t happy.
He just wanted us to make a film — any film — that would net him a profit of Rs. 5 lakh.
That is how he was used to working.
Films were a business.
He wasn’t interested in films as art.

But we said we’d shoot only part of the film in Bombay, and he half-heartedly agreed.
Then, we wanted an international look for the action scenes.
Unlike Tamil films of the time, Mani had marked out a separate budget for the action, around Rs. 12 lakh.
We flew down Jim Allen, the action director and cinematographer, from England.
He’d worked out the stunts for films like Sholay.
But Mr. Srinivasan packed him off after three days, saying he couldn’t afford him.
“We can’t keep spending like this,” he told me.
“I think Hindi films have spoilt you.”

But in the three days he was here, he gave Mani and P.C. Sreeram (the cinematographer) many ideas.
As he spoke, they actually took down notes about how to topple a car and how to show a bullet leaving a head and how you can shift focus and make a stunt look more effective.
When Jim left, I was totally down.
Mani doesn’t show his emotions.
But I decided to use the props I’d got for other films, like polystyrene bottles that I could bring down and break on Inspector Kelkar’s head.
We had gone into such details.

There was no budget for makeup, so I spoke to my guru, Michael Westmore.
I’ve trained under him, and we worked together for the first time on Oru Kaidhiyin Diary.
I learnt how to apply old-age makeup myself in front of a magnifying mirror, with just an assistant standing by with a fan to dry layer after layer of wrinkled-latex on my face.
There was no budget for the costumes, so Sarika moved in.

At some point, I decided that to get into the character, I need ittar (floral perfume).
I think I may have been getting ahead of myself.
Sarika couldn’t find ittar, and I was getting angry because I was multitasking on this movie — doing makeup for myself,
for others, getting props, even cutting the hair of the extras — and I was upset that she couldn’t find something as simple as ittar.
Finally, she concocted something and made me believe it was ittar.
I was very satisfied.
I felt like the character and I knew I could perform well.

Mani had seen me play an old man in Kadal Meengal, Sagara Sangamam and Swathi Muthyam.
He said he didn’t want me to look like that, with a wig.
I said that, in that case, we’d have to shoot the film in sequence, and I’d have to pluck out my hair towards the end. Simply shaving off the hair wasn’t enough, as the shadow would show. It wouldn’t look like a real bald spot.
We decided to make the character prognathic, so I brought in the dentist who’d fashioned my teeth for my role in Kalyanaraman.
He made a piece to make my jaw bigger.

All of this was happening without fanfare.
We could sense that we were hot on the trail of something good.
We — Mani, myself, Sreeram, Thotta Tharrani (the art director whom I’d introduced in Raajapaarvai) — were all collaborating as a team.
This wasn’t about showing up only as per the call sheet.
As we weren’t allowed to shoot to the extent we wanted in Bombay, Tharrani built the Dharavi set in Madras.
When we went to Bombay finally, we shot a few scenes in the real Dharavi — cutaways like me chasing the inspector.

The film was shaping up very well and I was very happy.
I was bragging to everyone about what a good film we were making.
One day, I was ready to play the scene where Velu Nayakan reacts to his son’s death.
We rehearsed the scene.
I told Mani I wanted some build up.
I thought the junior artists should react to the death first, which would help the funeral pallor to set in.
And by the time I came to the corpse, the grief would have seeped into me.
I would be in gear to play the scene.

But when the time came, Mani was standing there glumly, and Sreeram was sitting with his head in his hands.
I thought there was a technical glitch.
I said, “What is the problem? I’m ready. Let’s go.”
He showed me a small note from the producer saying that the day’s quota of film stock had been used up, and they had to wait till he sanctioned new stock.
This was the producer’s way of making sure we shot responsibly, without going overboard with takes.
I was livid.
I called my office and asked them to bring the film stock they had in 20 minutes, and in those 20 minutes I was ready to cry.
I really felt like my child was dying that day.
So the producer probably helped my performance in the film.

He was also indirectly responsible for the scene where the man is garrotted in the car, which is just like The Godfather.
I was helping out with the action scenes, and I had written this scenario that I later used in my Thevar Magan, where a truck, with a cargo of steel rods jutting out, reverses and rams into this car and kills him.
But Mr. Srinivasan wouldn’t allow a car to be demolished; so we were forced to use the scene from The Godfather.
He wasn’t a bad man.
He was just from an older school.
And he did help at times.
I must give him his due.
The scene where Velu’s future wife studies for her exams in the brothel was suggested by him.

Mani was not happy with the climax.
I was not happy with it.
By the time, I was tired.
I wanted to get this film done.
When we were in Bombay, we spoke to Varada Bhai (Varadaraja Mudaliar on whose life the film is based), and Mani had the audacity to ask him, “How do you foresee your death?”
He said he would either die peacefully in a hospital (which is what happened) but left to the police, who couldn’t prove anything against him, they would bring him out of court and someone would slap him.
This would cause a riot and they would then shoot him.
This sparked the climax in Mani’s head.

The way Kelkar’s death was filmed (and later, the death of Velu Nayakan’s son), 

I knew Mani was making a really good movie. 

And also the kind of movie that we all dreamt of making. 

During the Holi sequence, I told Mani that Velu Nayakan should not dance. 

And Mani agreed. 

No director at that time would have agreed to this. Earlier in my career, 

I told Bharathiraja that the psychopathic killer in Sigappu Rojakkal should not be singing and dancing. 

But he deflected my objections saying that the song (Ninaivo oru paravai) was a dream song, shot from the heroine’s point of view. 

At least that made sense. 

But other times, people simply wouldn’t listen to me, and here Mani simply said, 

“Of course Velu Nayakan doesn’t dance.”

We stumbled a lot while making this film.
But Mani just got up and dusted himself off and went on to the next thing.
He kept his cool.
He was tethered throughout the shoot.
He withstood storms.
And he was not afraid to surround himself with strong contributors like the writer Balakumaran,
whose ease with the local syntax and dialect helped to compensate for Mani’s urbanity. There were no egos on the set.
Mani would shoot down ideas.
He would also accept ideas.
When Velu is taken to a brothel in a song sequence,
I expressed my exasperation by rolling my eyes.
Mani told me that this was a very Western thing,
and asked if I could give a more Indian expression.
That was a very happy day for me.
Suddenly I had someone who noticed these small things that make up a performance.

Nayakan was one of the films — along with the films I’ve done with Balu Mahendra,
K. Vishwanath and, of course, my guru K. Balachander — that made me decide that I should not be doing short-lived masala movies anymore.
Except nostalgia, they added nothing to my career.
I was fed up.
I was nearing middle-age.
I thought, “If I don’t do this now, then when will I do it?” After wrapping the film,
I was so happy that I took Sarika and went for a walk around the empty set.
I remember just sitting there with a satisfied sigh.

There was a screening of the film at Savera hotel.
One of the viewers was so moved that he fell at the producer’s feet.
I urged Mani to go and talk to people but he just walked away saying that there was no glory in this.
He was right.
I told the producer that he was going to get awards.
He said he hadn’t made the film to get awards, merely to make profits.
And he was nervous about the film’s dark lighting and so on.
He complained that I had spoilt his chances of making a profit,
which is when I offered to buy the film from him. Later, GV bought the film.
And after the film came out, what the producer feared became a fashion.
Every Tamil film began to have under lit sequences.
And the heroes began to gel their hair.

When it was time for the film’s silver-jubilee celebrations,
Mr. Srinivasan’s brother passed away.
We cancelled our celebration after all had gathered at the venue.
The entire crew took garlands and went to his home and paid homage to the departed soul. So there was no rancour with Mr. Srinivasan.
We were all like family.
There was just frustration.

Had the producer been more cooperative and had he had more vision,
Mani would have ensured that the film came out better.
He would have also been a healthier man.
His heart attack might have happened at a later stage.
Mani was worn out by all the extracurricular activities,
which are not part of filmmaking.
I am always asked when Mani and I will work together again.
I don’t know if we can summon up that same feeling of doing a film for the pleasure.
Now there’s too much pressure.
And I don’t blame Mani.
He’s been so tormented by producers that now he wants to make films exactly the way he wants.
And if I would be an impediment, he would be right in removing me.

Keywords: Kamal Haasan, Nayakan, Time magazine’s 100 greatest films, Mani Rathnam, making of Nayakan, Tamil Classic

இக்கட்டுரை திரு.முக்தா சீனிவாசன் கருத்துரை.

Muktha V. Srinivasan, the producer of Nayakan, responds to Kamal Haasan’s article ‘Of course, Velu Nayakan doesn’t dance’ (Magazine, October 21).

Initially I wanted to make a movie inspired by the story of The Godfather. 

I had narrated the story to my friend Sivaji Ganesan, who agreed to act in the film. 

I also requested Kamal Haasan and Amala to act in this movie. 

I paid an advance and confirmed their dates. 

This was reported in the press. 

However Ananthu, then an associate of Kamal Haasan, felt that it would be a Sivaji- focused film and not a Kamal Haasan movie. 

The project was dropped. 

Kamal later told me about Mani Ratnam. 

Mani narrated a story based on the life of a don from Bombay. 

He also had written the screenplay, which was very good. 

The scenes and dialogues were realistic and I liked it. 

Mani told us that he would complete the shooting in 60 days and he would need 70 rolls of film. 

The salary for Kamal Haasan was Rs. 17, 50,000. And the budget for the film was estimated at Rs. 60 lakh. 

Yes, it was a big budget. 

However it became “over-budget”, with expenses crossing Rs. 1 crore – almost twice the original estimate.

Shooting commenced in November 1986 and the first schedule lasted 10 days. 

All the scenes that were shot were scrapped since Kamal Haasan did not like them. 

The screenplay had to be rewritten. 

Shooting was postponed. 

The new screenplay had lot of violence and I was shocked as it was a copy of
The Godfather and Once Upon a Time in America. 

I told Mani that a good writer and director should get inspiration from life, 

and not copy from other films. 

I objected to the story as it would not attract a family audience. 

So I created a heroine character (the wife of Kamal Haasan) and introduced Saranya. 

Had Mani not listened to Kamal and gone with the original script, 

it would have been an outstanding movie.

Kamal Haasan wanted the film to be shot at Dharavi in Bombay,
which was the largest and most congested slum in Asia.
I did not want to shoot the entire movie in Bombay – but not because I was “tightfisted,” as Kamal claims.
I was always interested in shooting in different locations.
Though it was not very easy to shoot outside studios, those days, I had shot in Kashmir, Nepal, Shimla and the Andamans.
But when I visited Dharavi, I found that it was not possible to shoot there, since it was thickly populated.
Also, I was concerned about the security of the crew.
Using photographs of the slum, art director Thota Tharani created the set at Venus studios, Chennai, which turned out three times more expensive than it would have been had we shot at Dharavi.
We had to hire thousands of junior artists to create that atmosphere.
The remaining portion was shot at Bombay.

The movie was completed and released in October 1987.
After 25 years Kamal Haasan has suddenly chosen to talk about it, distorting the facts for reasons best known to him, and undermining the contributions made by everyone.

When Mani Ratnam narrated the story, he told me that he wanted to make a realistic film with real characters, which meant no makeup and the use of Tamil attire like the dhoti and lungi.
He was not interested in bringing in either a Hollywood stuntman or a makeup man.
I felt that Velu Naicker did not need a “Hollywood” makeup man and costumer.
In fact it was Kamal Haasan’s idea to bring such people in.
Our company had a makeup man and costumers who were all paid by me.
To state that there was no budget for makeup and costumes is absurd.

As far as using international artist Jim Allen, he was charging a huge amount (almost Rs. 2,00,000 per day), that too in dollars, which was not feasible in those days.

I could not concede to this request, since it meant engaging in illegal and unethical hawala transactions. 

Moreover, the stunts that Mr. Allen suggested were already in vogue. 

Mani would have come up with a better scene had Kamal not insisted on copying from
The Godfather. 

All the props which were used in the movie were paid for by me. 

As far as ittar is concerned, Kamal Haasan never asked me for it. 

Had I known, I would have bought it myself, since it is available even in Pondy bazaar.

Before going into a shooting schedule, I had always ensured that the all the film rolls needed for the schedule were made available so that the shooting could go on without interruption. Mani asked for 15 rolls of film for 10 days of shooting.
On the evening of the seventh day, Mani’s assistant director Govindarajan asked for an extra roll, since they had exposed all the 15 rolls.
Since the Kodak company opened only in the morning, Kamal Haasan gave the film rolls that he had purchased for his earlier movie.
I paid him for these rolls. However, P.C. Sreeram did not use it, as it was old stock.

After the completion of shooting Kamal Haasan and Mani Ratnam had a press meet,
where they made a statement that the movie was based on Varadaraja Mudaliar’s life.
After this, the censor board at Chennai refused to permit the release of the movie, since it was based on a living person.
I appealed to the revising committee at Bombay.
They said that they would permit us to release the film if I got a letter stating that it was not based on Varadaraja Mudaliar’s life.
I asked Kamal Haasan to help me.
He simply refused, stating that he was busy shooting another movie.
Hence, with great difficulty, I contacted Mathiolli Shanmugam, a writer and good friend of mine, and through him met Varadaraja Mudaliar, who gave us a letter.
Only then did the Censor appellate board at Bombay permit us to release the film.
To call the movie his “baby” and not be bothered about its release is a reflection on Kamal Haasan’s ‘sincerity’.

A good artist is one who gets inspired from a movie. 

The scene where Kamal Haasan cries on seeing the dead body of his son is copied from 
The Godfather, and he imitates Marlon Brando. 

This scene was booed by the audience, because it never fit the character and lacked nativity. When the film was completed and the first print was shown to me, the film ran for 3 hours. Both Kamal and Mani wanted me to release the film as it was, whereas I knew that the audience would never sit through the movie. 

I told the editor Lenin to edit several unnecessary scenes. 

This gave life to the movie, along with the theme music Thenpandi seemayilae. 

Had it not been for Ilayaraja and Lenin, the movie would have flopped.

Hi-speed negative film was introduced in India in 1985-86, and all cinematographers began to shoot in low light. 

Even our movie Kodai Mazhai, which came out before Nayakan, was shot in low light.

When we screened the movie in theatres, the projector operators expressed reservations since they had to use extra carbon, which was very expensive. 

That was the reason I expressed my apprehension. 

I consulted colourist Narayanan of Gemini Lab who assured me that he would increase the brightness while printing and we had no problem while screening the film in theatres. 

They are the unsung heroes who were part of the success story.

To generate and invest Rs. 1 crore in a Tamil movie in 1986 and market and release it without any problem was a huge task.
As a senior producer, I was always interested in seeing that the distributors who bought the movie made profits.
Making a movie is a team effort.
The producer takes the entire risk and his contribution cannot be undermined.
G. Venkateswaran bought negative rights only after I sold all the areas.
But he insisted that he would put his name as producer and receive the awards the movie got.
I had to agree since I had suffered a loss even after selling all the areas.
But the greatest loss was when my brother died and after that I chose not to talk about the movie.
I do not know why Kamal Haasan has chosen to talk about the film now.
Calling a filmmaker as “old school” is, I think, outdated.

I have always considered film as an art. 

I have been a producer and director for more than 60 years. 

Without passion for cinema, I could not have made more than 40 films with great stars like Sivaji Ganesan, Gemini Ganesan, Rajinikanth and Jayalalithaa.

I have a reputation for producing good movies and believe that audience deserves quality films. 

But it is difficult to conceive, produce and release big budget movies. 

Shooting small budget films with Digital Cameras is easy. 

Filmmaking is also a business and everybody works to make money. 

Kamal Haasan did not act in my movie for free. 

He was paid a huge sum, amounting to almost 20 per cent of the original budget. 

Expecting Rs. 5 lakh as profit is not avaricious. 

Nayakan was purely a commercial film, and even Kamal Haasan knew this. 

The tragedy is that I did not make any profit.

Had Kamal Haasan allowed Mani to make the movie originally conceived by him, 

it would have been his best movie. 

As for the reference to Mani Ratnam’s deteriorating health, 

he was very healthy when he completed Nayakan. 

It was only when he became a producer that his health started deteriorating, 

which is not unusual.

I have nothing against Kamal Haasan taking credit for the success of Nayakan. 

But not at my cost, please.

Keywords: : Kamal Haasan, Nayakan, Mani Rathnam, making of Nayakan, Tamil Classic

நன்றி : ஹிந்து பத்திரிக்கை.