I first met Raam Reddy on the pages of NFDC’s catalogue. “Thithi” featured in the Work In Progress lab at Film Bazaar in Goa last year. In his director’s statement Raam wrote six points. From working with non-professional actors to keeping it simple each of them was reflective but it was the sixth point which caught my eye. Bleed for the project, don’t compromise the dream. And at the end he wrote, “The degree to which I achieved 1-5 will only be apparent on completion but I can say with confidence that I stuck to point 6.” He has. “Thithi” has only ended the dry spell of Indian films at Locarno International Film Festival but the Kannada film also went on to win two prestigious awards “Pardo d’oro Cineasti Del Presente Premio Nescens” (Golden Leopard, Filmmakers of the Present Competition) and “Swatch First Feature Award” for the best first feature in the entire festival. The journey of festivals has just begun and will culminate with a theatrical release early next year.
With a novel and a short film behind him, at 25, Raam’s responses belie his age but then like Chaitanya Tamhane (“Court”), he represents the emerging breed of young independent directors who are exploring within to reach out.
Shot in Mandya district in Karnataka, “Thithi” is a realistic comedy about how three generations, each with their radically different perspectives on life, react to the death of their grandfather, the 101-year-old Century Gowda.
Edited excerpts:
What was the catalyst?
The seed of ‘Thithi’ was not the story, but rather the place. About five years ago, I went to visit the home of one of my closet childhood friends, Eregowda, who is also the co-writer and close collaborator on the film. I personally found it to be such a perfectly absorbing cinematic world – full of heart and possibility – so I quickly told Eregowda that this would be a great place to attempt a feature film. He agreed immediately, and in due time Eregowda and I then began an incredible collaborative writing process; two very different yet complimentary minds coming together to attempt to create a story of originality and authenticity.
What are you trying to say?
There are very few narrative conflicts that I feel connected to as a storyteller, and one of the main ones is the juxtaposition of things that are pure and free, with things that are shrouded or bound by materialism. The film forms a contrast between three generations of sons; two of these generations are driven by material desires, and one appears to be free of desire. It is this contrast that formed my personal connection to the film; it helped me find insights into my own inner life; the simple idea that simplicity and equanimity can lead to happiness.
Irony has been constant in your previous works. Is the death of the old man a metaphor here?
To me the death of the old man is not a metaphor per say, however, there is an intentional non-dramatisation of the incident which is tied to my belief regarding the naturalness of death; how death is not necessarily a tragedy, but is just as simple, meaningful and uncontrollable (for the individual) as birth. Having said that this film is really not about death but rather about life. The death just forms a base on which life, in the film, is built.
What does realism mean to you?
Realism in cinema to me is a form of surrender. To attempt it, you have to be sensitive and observational to the nuances of the world you are attempting to capture. Once this approach is established, and the world imbibed, it then becomes a highly technical process of directing actors and camera. The process is very challenging, but when successful, greatly aids the willing suspension of disbelief, delivering a greater sense of spontaneity and depth to stories that are humanly driven and character-based.
Most indie filmmakers tend to bring a sense of comedy to drama these days. Does it reflect the bizarre times we live in or is it a way to reach out to larger audience or more bluntly put create some commercial value?
It is not really any of the above. ‘Thithi’ is not typical of the comedy genre generally encountered in Indian films; it is just that the movements of the narrative in ‘Thithi’ contain an intrinsic playfulness. Personally, I feel that art can often fall into the trap of taking itself too seriously, and while there are many subjects that genuinely warrant seriousness, many subjects can also be treated playfully without weakening their depth or intention, and in some cases, even strengthen them. ‘Thithi’ is perhaps one such case.
What are the challenges in shaping a story in a village in Karnataka and working with non-professional actors?
Working in village is a very different experience from working in an orthodox film set; the whole community becomes the cast and the whole village the set. This is the blessing, but also the bane. Logistical challenges are immense and often overwhelming and change is not a rare thing, it is the norm of each and every moment.
Regarding working with non-professional actors, it is a process that is challenging but required when aiming for authenticity because non-professionals don't “act”, they “do”. Having said that each and every actor needs to be dealt with in a different way based on his personality.
Young indie filmmakers are increasingly exploring rural and small town landscape and are not using European art-house tools to tell Indian stories to the global audience. Is this the difference between the so-called new wave and the wave of the ‘70s?
I believe there are two key elements of ‘Thithi’ that make it universal: the narrative that is racy, relentless and whimsical, and the characters who (even in real life) are joyfully enigmatic. So while the cinematic style is carefully crafted, I believe the human narrative is alive enough to keep the interest of the wider Indian audience who may not be typically used to realism as a stylistic approach. This balance of narrative and form is something that is becoming more common in Indie filmmaking and it is aiding the creation of films that are both stirring and enjoyable at the same time. So in some ways, perhaps it can be said that the so-called new wave seems to have slightly more fast-moving narratives than the films of the ‘70s, which perhaps are making them more accessible as theatrical experiences.
What does the recognition in Locarno mean to you?
Just getting accepted in Locarno was a dream come true, but being recognised by two separate juries in such a respected international stage was something my team and I never dreamt of when we started this journey. I feel blessed to have been able to work with such incredible people, and hopefully the awards signals that the film has a cinematic identity that can be connected with in a wider way in India and across the world.
Tell us about your growing up years. Always wanted to be a filmmaker?
I started writing poetry and pursuing art photography in my early teens. When I went to St. Stephen’s, I was submerged in a deep and intellectual writing culture that encouraged me to move into prose, and I started writing my debut novel titled “It’s Raining in Maya”. At the same time, I had a growing passion for sound and music. Then came a stage where I felt it was important to focus on one craft, but at the same time I didn’t want to give up any of them. That was when I found filmmaking, an art-form of art that combined all these elements; I immediately knew this is something I could thoroughly enjoy as a life pursuit, and I haven’t looked back since.
