MUBARAK ALI cast his discerning eye over the legacy of Shyam Benegal, presenting us with a crash course in the work of one of India's key filmmaking voices.


SHYAM BENEGAL's early films have been seminal in ushering the New Indian Cinema of the 1970s and early 1980s. Not only did his films play to much praise at international film festivals like the Berlinale and Cannes, but his artistic sensibilities were surprisingly matched by commercial returns at the Indian box office. Benegal has always cited his two major influences to be legendary Indian directors Satyajit Ray and Guru Dutt, and it is not difficult to see how his films reflect the aesthetics of these two filmmakers – from the subtleties and realism of Ray to the technical perfectionism of Dutt.

After working in the advertising industry for a while, Benegal began making short films and documentaries, which addressed some of the social issues that troubled him (and surely, these issues resurface in his later feature-length films). Benegal cemented himself as a pioneer of the alternative Hindi cinema with his trademark minimalist style in his feature-length debut, Ankur (The Seedling, 1974), the landmark film which not only introduced to Hindi-language cinema Benegal's Ray-like realism in dealing with grave social matters, but also launched Shabana Azmi, one of the finest actresses of her generation, and cinematographer Govind Nihalani, who would go on to directing some of the most acclaimed Hindi films of the 1980s. Ankur lyrically observes the feudal system and the caste system (which is still existing in rural India), the oppression and exploitation of the poor, particularly the women (a landlord's sexual relationship with a peasant woman, played by Azmi, is another "acquisition" for him in the hierarchical setting), and a collision between the traditionally inherited rustic living and approaching modernity. The young landlord, Surya (Anant Nag) is not intrinsically cruel; he is merely expressing his frustration at being thrust into the responsibility of the village, just as the villagers concede to tyranny as a birthright of the landlords. But by the end of the film, "the seedling" of change has sprouted in the form of a young boy who dares to throw a little stone at the landlord's mansion.

The insurgency that began in Ankur comes full circle in Benegal's next, the quietly powerful, Nishant (Night's End, 1975), in which the subjugated revolt against zamindari (the feudal system) with the help of a schoolteacher and a priest (symbols for education and free-thinking religion), two middle-class members of the oppressed society. Social change is again dealt with in Manthan (The Churning, 1976), which was remarkably funded by 2 rupee contributions from each of the 500,000 members of the milk co-operatives of Gujarat. Here Benegal introduces change in a rural society brought about through the campaigns of educated strangers. Both Nishant and Manthan end with the uprising change being overpowered, mostly to do with the fear and uncertainty among the oppressed themselves, but a revolution has nonetheless been set in motion that they themselves will one day complete.

Benegal's early epic films are also stirring in different ways, and deal with themes other than feudal oppression and the role of women in Indian society. Junoon (The Obsession, 1978) is set during the chaotic times when Indian freedom fighters fought against British invaders in 1857, but Benegal reduces these "important" events to the background and explores the relationship between a cowardly Pathan noble and an English girl and the film is subtly erotic, meticulously detailed and without any trace of melodrama. Similarly, Kalyug (The Machine Age, 1980) is another that is successfully given the sensitive Benegal treatment in its retelling of the Indian legend of the Mahabharatha to a modern setting. While the Mahabharatha told the epic story of two families fighting for the throne of the city Hastinapur, the film modifies the struggle as one between two rival business families, while maintaining its source's delineation of the shocking extent to which people sink to in their pursuit of power. This is a brilliantly realised film – cleverly written, unhurried in pace, and its spare but effective use of classical Indian music (composed by Benegal's regular composer, Vanraj Bhatia) making it a truly cultural experience. Kalyug also confirmed that Benegal could work as well with an ensemble cast on an epic scale as he could work with a smaller cast on a more intimate level.

A large portion of Benegal's filmography is taken by his feminist films, and his earliest such film, Bhumika (The Role, 1977), remains among his most complex and complete works. Bhumika assays so many elements of the human condition that the total effect is dizzying and quite unforgettable. Inspired by the memoirs of Marathi actress Hansa Wadkar, the film is almost entirely plotless and is basically a collection of flashbacks that establish the loneliness and depression of Usha, a magnificently evocative performance by Smita Patil. Patil plays the actress who has gained success at the cost of losing her "chastity" (in the context of the traditional Indian woman, this refers to her sexual fidelity to a single man) and thus, the respect among the women of her society (embodied by her mother). This film is then a portrait of the internal struggle within Usha to not yield to these overpowering external forces, be it the male desire to possess her or the expectations of an entire culture, and her consequent downward spiral into isolation. Govind Nihalani's haunting cinematography (sepia-toned and black-and-white for the flashbacks) creates a fluid, crackingly breathing yet morbid atmosphere, thick with regret and loss and suppressed emotions. The film is also interesting in its immaculate recreation of the popular Indian cinema ambience of the 50s.

Also worth mentioning are Benegal's more recent trilogy of post-independence feminism – Mammo (1994), Sardari Begum (1996), and Zubeidaa (2001) – which are impeccably detailed accounts of strong-willed women, but by the latter, have become disappointingly mainstream. Other themes relevant to modern India cinematically addressed by Benegal include prostitution (the lightweight Mandi (Market Place, 1983]) and birth control (Hari Bhari (Fertility, 2000)), to mixed results. These films indeed fortify Benegal's obsessions with the inevitable forces that are taking India from convention to modernity, from a strongly traditionalist and hierarchical society to one that is more receptive and democratic.

Benegal remains one of the most important filmmakers in modern Indian cinema, not only for having pioneered the New Indian Cinema, a movement which is still active mostly in other regional Indian languages today, but also for having made films for three decades which are based on recognisably Indian situations, yet dealing in the universal themes of change and individual empowerment that anyone can relate to. Distanced from all the razzle-dazzle of melodramatic Bollywood musicals, the quiet moments of reflection offered by his films are among the best that Indian cinema has to offer.