When the Russian filmmaker, Sergei Eisen-stein’s “Battleship Potemkin” was seen for the first time, the film is said to have shocked audiences. This was primarily because of the kind of emotional response it elicited and its high propaganda quotient. Eisenstein generated this impact through a clever use of film style where he juxtaposed and sequenced unrelated images in a kind of dialectical montage that was deeply invested with meaning. It not only made his audience sit up but also moved them ideologically.
Recently, two short films screened in Bangalore evoked a similar reaction. The Indian Institute for Human Settlements (IIHS) in association with FD Zone screened “And I Make Short Films”(1968) (18 minutes) and “Flashback” (1974) (21 minutes), two short films made by the late S.N.S. Sastry, a prolific director belonging to the Films Division. Having joined the Films Division as a newsreel cameraman in the 1950s, Sastry went on to become a filmmaker with a distinct authorial voice and style.
His films, in many ways evoke Eisenstein’s method. He is ‘Eisenstenian’ to the extent that he too inserts seemingly unrelated scenes next to each other such that when seen consequentially, they offer an entirely new insight into the subject of the film. Both his films are about the documentary film itself, its nature and purpose. ‘And I Make Short Films’ is a maverick film that interrogates the purpose of a documentary, skirting issues of censorship, technique and ideology along the way. ‘Flashback’ attempts an overview of the documentary film in India, its beginnings, influences and gradual evolution.
Stylistically, they are both so similar that they even share some sequences in common. Apart from pitting contrasting images against each other in a rapid tempo, Sastry also plays with sound. In fact, one could easily argue, that the genius of Sastry’s style lies in how he handles the soundtrack in both these films. Consider this: ‘And I Make Short Films’ opens with a sequence featuring different kinds of musicians — stalwarts of Carnatic music in Tiruvaiyyar, little children singing a rhyme, and Zubin Mehta’s orchestra. While the screen shows the musical mela in Tiruvaiyyar, the audio track is that of the children singing and when Zubin Mehta’s orchestra comes on screen, ‘Endaro Mahanubhavulu’ plays in the background.
Sastry makes you take notice of what is happening here. He lampoons the sacred truth of the cinematic image through carefully thought out sequences of ‘mismatched’ sounds and images and a mix of feature, documentary and animation modes. For instance, he bravely interweaves the scene from Satyajit Ray’s ‘Aparajito’ with that of news footage of Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru’s death. As Apu’s father Harihar passes away in ‘Aparajito’, Nehru too is seen on his deathbed. This is followed by a scene of Nehru riding on a horse away from the camera, which is cut to scene of the nation grieving for him which is again cut to footage of Nehru batting at a cricket match and the umpire calling him out. Visibly then, there is irreverence in Sastry’s style, but that is what makes him a phenomenal filmmaker. The element of ridicule is not just in how he sequences shots but also in his camera work and perspective.
In both films, Sastry leaves the audience breathless trying to catch up with his satire, as he even subverts the accepted definitions of what the Documentary is supposed to be. Take for example, how he deals with John Grierson’s definition of the Documentary: This particular sequence begins with a news clipping with the headline “Maharishi’s kind words”. This is followed by the recitation of Grierson’s definition of the Documentary: “Once I asked Grierson what is a Documentary. He said, the Documentary is seeing. You must see with your eyes, heart and soul, with your wife’s eyes, heart and soul, with your children’s eyes and heart and soul. It is total observation.” Sastry tackles this definition by taking a camera in his hand and following a couple on the beach. His camera focuses on their backs, their hands and their feet. This is then followed by series of shots of different kinds of feet: a man’s feet, a woman’s, a soldier’s, a disabled man’s. He then does the same with shots of people drinking, picking their teeth and yawning. In exploring Grierson’s definition, Sastry, behind the facade of innocence, upturns it by attempting shots that evoke humour.
In a later sequence in the same film, Sastry juxtaposes an All India Radio report on the Planning Commission’s progress in terms food production and GDP growth with shots of hunger and starvation. He then toys with the idea of filmmakers as filmmakers only or as sociological experts. The film ends with the question: “What do you want to express through your films?” The reply is striking: “I don’t know, really. It is a difficult question. I make films to express myself, sometimes something more than myself. Perhaps, it is the sun in the belly. Perhaps it is the sun in the belly,” evoking another definition of the Documentary.
Flashback , too, operates in a similar vein. It traces the history of the Documentary in India but simultaneously, also ridicules fixed definitions and father figures. For instance, in the film, Sastry introduces Ezra Mir as the father of the Indian Documentary. This is followed by Mir saying to the camera, “I’m not the father of anything that I know of”- a sequence that left the audience gasping with laughter.
However, what Flashback does is provide a historical outline of the Documentary from Nanook of the North to films under the British in India, to war-time films all the way up till the establishment of the Films Division. Sastry’s own voice about the genre too comes to the fore in this film. However, unlike other encyclopaedic films, Flashback stands out because it is Sastry that is writing this history in his astounding, tongue-in-cheek manner.
