Original subtitles

NAYAK The Hero

So, you're going?

Good. I'm glad you changed your mind.

After all, it's an official prize.

There's a prestige in getting it.

I don't give a damn for the prize.

I just want to get away from it all for a day.

In a way, it's good I couldn't get on the plane.

If you'd decided earlier, you could have got a whole coupe to yourself.

- Now, you'll have to share. - Makes no difference.

I'll just take some sleeping pills and sleep.

I won't even notice if anybody's there or not.

Shall I send a telegram so that they meet you?

Three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

A telegram won't get there. Better phone.

Call Sunil as well. 22464.

Oh hell! Even 180 is engaged.

What are they saying about the picture?

This is only the second week.

It ought to be clear by now.

End of the month. Not much money about.

I never heard such things before. Why this time?

You tell me, what's so good in the film that will bring them in?

I'm in it. Isn't that enough?

Not enough, I'm afraid. Times have changed.

Nonsense! Bloody public!

Whimsical. Wipe 'em all out.

Bravo! And what would you eat then?

Boiled fish and rice from that place we used to go to.

That's very difficult, brother.

Even I need the best Darjeeling tea with my breakfast.

And, I'm only a satellite.

Take a look at that last column - mark the bottom.

Hello, France... Four, five...

But how did this...?

- Have I kept you waiting? - Just five minutes.

Come.

- So you're going to Delhi? - Looks like it.

Very lucky. I might have missed you.

- Would you like anything besides tea? - No.

- Banana? - Only tea.

I bet Tarak Chaterjee's behind this. Time he was taught a lesson.

Ring up Phani and tell him I'm sorry. I have to go.

I'll be free on the 16th.

- And Fortune Films? - To hell with them.

No. I shall have to deal with them.

Now, sir, lets just finish my business.

What? A contract?

What does the almanac say? Is it a good day for contracts?

Best. Most auspicious.

But my almanac says the opposite, Mr Hiralal.

The opposite? What almanac?

It says, good for travel, bad for contracts.

You're joking.

- Do you read the paper? - Paper?

- Apart from the share market? - I haven't yet read today's.

- Then you don't know the news. - What news?

The night before last, at a certain club...

in a state of slight inebriation,

I administered correction to a certain gentlemen.

- Correction...? - Meaning... the old one-two.

One two...?

- I beat him up, understand? - Oh, beat him up!

I understand.

The gentleman was being too clever by half.

Clever?

And he did that in front of some ladies.

Oh, my God!

You realise in the circumstances this couldn't be tolerated.

Of course not, of course not.

But that gentleman was not aware

that I have special aptitude for one particular role.

Yes.

And that role is of a pugilist.

Pugi...?

I mean, I gave him one.

Oh, good, good.

My aim was not too accurate in view of my condition.

But good enough to stop that gentleman from being clever.

Right, right. You did the right thing.

You did the right thing.

But, in spite of our best efforts to hush it up,

it came out today in two papers.

What does it matter, Mr Arindam?

Nothing much, Mr Hiralal...

except that I don't feel like signing any contracts today.

But it was all settled.

Not in the mood. Let it wait.

But I brought you an advance.

I'll be back on Wednesday. We'll discuss it then.

Please hold on. He's coming.

- Who is it? - Your heroine.

Yes?

- So, you're going to Delhi? - Yes.

- By train? - By train, yes.

- Shall I come to the station? - I'd rather you didn't.

- You've got it all wrong, Arindam. - Probably not.

- But I can explain everything. - It won't be necessary.

- Why are you behaving like this? - It's not without good reason.

What reason?

Tell me, Arindam. Please.

We can't go into that now. I have to go.

Will she want anything special?

If you could arrange for some chicken stew...

Chicken stew.

Daddy, give me my book from your bag, please.

Sure. But don't strain your eyes too much with reading.

Will you have lunch in the compartment, Sir?

Hmm?

Will you have lunch in the compartment, Sir?

They'll take it here.

I'll go to the dining car.

Is Mr Bose travelling by this train?

- Mr Bose...? - Haren Bose.

Oh yes. He's in compartment D with his family.

You're still doubtful?

You never know. He may have changed his plans.

He's such a busy man...

- I'd be glad if he did. - What, Molly?

I don't like mixing work with holidays.

Do you know how much they spend on advertising?

Five lakhs per year.

Just one client like that and I'm made for life...

Arindam!

- Who? - Arindam Mukherjee!

If the coupe is at all inconvenient, there's room in a four berth compartment.

Why inconvenient?

Well, your companion would be Mr Aghore Chatterjee.

My God, he wants to wipe out the whole film industry.

Oh, he's the one who writes for the Statesman?

Yes. He got a bit worried when he heard that you would be...

Let's go and see him, anyway.

Sir, this is Mr Chatterjee.

Hello.

So, you're the film star?

Yes, sir.

I never go to the cinema on principle.

I was taken there once, 20 years ago.

I saw How Green Was My Valley.

But, that's a good picture!

But as a rule, I think these films are bad.

But why blame us poor actors?

Do you drink?

Huh? Well yes, a little.

Yes. Film actors drink a lot.

That's because...

It shows a lack of restraint and a lack of discipline.

Are you going to drink on this journey?

Well, yes, it's my second nature.

Well then, I'm obliged to tell you that

the smell of alcohol gives me nausea.

And I am 79,

and as such, I expect some consideration from my fellow passengers.

Don't you worry, sir. I'm in another compartment.

I have heard of you, read your letters, so I just came to pay my respects.

Oh, I see.

- OK, bye, then. - Bye.

You've got a lower berth. Might be a little uncomfortable.

No, no. This is fine.

This is good. It's all brand new.

- Mum! - Shh!

A hundred point four.

They should have some sense. Foisting him on us!

- What's so bad about it? - Didn't you read the news today?

Yes, but he's going to Delhi for the prize.

Scandalous!

Listen, just open this, will you?

Yeah! Yeah!

Bye-bye!

Three cheers for Arindam Mukhopadhyaya!

In Delhi, I'll show you the Jama Masjid...

- And... - And, the Qutb Minar too.

Thank you.

Hello.

Damn it!

Disgusting!

Isn't there some boy or bearer to open it?

What? The screw cap?

God knows why they have to...

Shall I try?

All right, but...

Here you are.

Thanks.

It's not so easy if your hands are sticky.

Yes, perspiration...

I want to congratulate you.

Me? For opening the screw cap?

No. For the prize you're going to Delhi for.

Oh. Thanks.

- What's the matter with her? - She's been feverish for a month now.

- She's a great fan of yours. - Is that so?

We haven't seen your new picture yet.

- Just as well. - Don't say that!

We never miss a film of yours.

This time she fell sick just as your film opened.

Do you film people have import export problems too?

Oh yes, like any other industry.

I've noticed that the Japanese film industry is growing rapidly.

America, of course, was always well ahead.

But, this time, I noticed a slump.

The studios are all idle.

Or else, turning out films for television.

It made me feel sad.

After all, there is nothing to beat American movies.

Yes, very true. After all, we learnt our acting from them.

Don't mind my saying this, sir,

but we never learnt to care about quality.

Our motto seems to be -

Produce more and produce rubbish!

Yes.

That's why family planning is so important.

Oh my!

You publish this all on your own.

Not quite. There are two others helping me.

But the enthusiasm is all mine.

All written by women?

Look at all this I have to go through. There's no shortage of material.

Do you make a profit?

We could, with a few more advertisements.

You know a lot of people. Why don't you help her out?

You could begin by taking a subscription for your wife.

- Gladly. What's the damage? - Ten rupees a year.

In these matters, I am completely business-like.

Just look at him!

- What name, please? - Shefalika Devi.

You go from house to house collecting subscriptions.

You'll find lots of husbands like mine

who'll take one look at you and pay up ten rupees.

I'm going to Delhi to see about a grant.

I've got an uncle in the Education Ministry.

I hope you don't mind me calling you by your first name.

Not at all.

Thank you.

Hey!

So, this is your lucky day!

About time, too.

- Arindam Mukherjee, isn't it? - Yes.

Don't you think he's wonderful?

I haven't seen many of his pictures, but he must be a good actor.

Hey, there was something about him in today's paper.

He got into a fight with somebody.

Speak up a bit and he might hear you.

I'll just get an autograph for Mintu.

Excuse me.

- An autograph. - Oh yes. Certainly.

For a cousin of mine.

Oh, so that's it.

I didn't think you were the autograph hunting type.

I don't suppose you have the bad habit of seeing Bengali films?

- Not many. - You don't like them?

Too removed from reality.

Quite right.

Educated young ladies...

shouldn't burst into song at the slightest provocation.

And heroes shouldn't be so God-like.

OK. Thank you.

I hope he didn't feel cut up?

Why?

- I never can keep the truth to myself. - What truth?

Did you see Victory And Defeat?

Yes! Where he plays tennis?

Not just plays - champion!

Tennis champion, swimming champion,

dancer, singer, leading progressive,

First class MA, great lover - all at the same time. Is that plausible?

- She thinks so. - I don't care what you say.

I don't mind at all when I'm watching.

I'll tell you what it is - he's a modern Krishna

and all these ladies are secret devotees.

Huh!

- Bearer. - No, let me pay.

No, you mustn't.

Molly, he's gone to the dining car. I'll go too.

What about me?

You come too, but not just yet.

It takes time to hook a big fish.

All right.

- Hey, you're angry. - I told you it's all right.

Molly, if this comes off, next birthday you get a...

Pearl necklace.

Yes. Done.

Darjeeling right next door and you don't serve tea?

You will get tea at tea time, sir.

If you want a cold drink now...

- Can I have a beer? - We can't serve alcohol...

- Well, can I have a Coke then? - Coke?

Coca Cola.

- Coca Cola. Yes sir. - One for me too.

May I join you, sir?

Please sit.

- I don't think we have... - But I know you. Mr Bose, right?

Good heavens! But I'm not a film star!

I'm more likely to have heard of you than of any film star.

Really?

Pritish...

Rhymes with British.

Spectrum Publicity. Why "Spectrum"?

That's to indicate the range of our interest.

That may be so...

but it does not indicate your special firm.

You know Mr Nandi, don't you? Of Bengal Biscuits?

Who? Jitesh?

He was my class mate.

We handle their account. You can ask him about us.

Jitesh was a good hockey player.

I can show you samples of our work. Very modern and effective.

After all, you know what's being done abroad.

You have been all around the world.

By the grace of God, yes.

Why just God? Thanks to your abilities too.

I know that's the wisdom of our times.

God does nothing. Man does everything.

Oh no! Only the extreme leftists would say that.

You keep to the right, I presume.

Not quite. You see, these days, every young man leans a bit to the left.

- I don't like extreme conservatism. - Certainly not.

But, in our profession, we depend on private enterprise.

They do a good job of these trains. Something to be proud of.

Yes, sir. Yes, sir.

Read it?

He doesn't seem to have had much of a struggle.

It's a struggle now. What to do with so much money!

I suppose it's mainly a matter of luck.

80 percent!

Hey, I'll tell you what...

go and ask him some questions, write it all down

and publish it in your paper.

- Then see how well it sells! - Why don't you admit it?

You want to find out what's behind the story in the paper.

You don't know anything!

OK, you tell me. Isn't that a good idea?

I thought I'd keep films out of my paper.

That's silly.

You can't keep going these days unless you put them in.

So I guessed from readers' letters.

That settles it, then. Go on.

Go on.

Wait, I'll toss and decide.

Here you are.

You toss. If its heads, I'll go.

What is it this time? Another cousin?

Do you mind if I bother you once again?

Bother me?

Er, yes. If you object, you can refuse.

Object to being bothered?

Well, actually...

I just wanted to ask you some questions.

My God! You're not a journalist, are you?

No.

I edit a women's magazine.

Modern Woman... Please sit.

Nothing about films in here, I suppose.

I was hoping to put that right by interviewing you.

- Now that I've got you here. - Got me?

I mean, considering you're here

and being the most popular star these days.

Look, my life story has come out so many times in so many papers

that, apart from a few people like you,

everybody knows everything.

I think I know as much as everybody else does.

Really?

For instance, you lost your parents when you were a little boy.

You grew up in your uncle's house,

graduated from Bangabasi college,

worked in an office for some time

and then made your first film when you were 27.

You quickly leapt into fame, name, money and...

- And? - You're still not married.

Neither are you.

Unless, you're on of those modern girls who don't put red in their hair.

No. I'm not married.

But, you know,

what they're writing about you isn't very interesting.

Really?

What, according to you, would be interesting?

For instance, what one would like to know is...

how does it clearly feel to be so famous?

Feels fine. Splendid!

But, in the midst of it all,

don't you feel there's something missing?

Some emptiness somewhere?

And, what if I told you?

Hmm? What good would it do?

Suppose it hurt my box office?

Look, Miss Sengupta, it's not good for us to talk too much.

You see, we live in a world of shadows,

so it's best not to show the public

too much of our flesh and blood.

You understand? I can see you don't.

- Perhaps I do. - What do you see?

That you must stay a hero in the eyes of the public.

- Exactly. - So...

So, there you are.

So, goodbye.

Wait. Let me offer you a cold drink otherwise you will tell

your readers that Arindam Mukherjee has no manners.

And even that might hurt your box office?

Certainly. You know so little about this business.

All you do is watch the picture in an air-conditioned room and say, "Rubbish!"

True. But, I never realised your box office was so fragile.

Otherwise I'd never have bothered you.

Miss Sengupta, you'll go a long way.

I hope so. But I'll have to put in a lot of hard work.

And we don't work hard?

We just lean back in our cosy chairs and just rise to the top. Isn't that so?

Maybe. Goodbye.

And you don't want anything cold to drink?

No. Thank you.

What happened? Did he tell you anything?

No.

Oh my! Why not?

You know what they remind me of? Hot house plants

which die if they're exposed to too much light and air.

Satisfied?

- What's your name? - Rita.

- Is that so? - And yours?

My name is Arindam Mukherjee.

Sir.

Mr Chatterjee would like a word with you.

Again? Why?

It's that bit about you in the paper today.

- What bit? - About your going to Delhi?

Oh.

- That's it. - Yes.

You wanted to see me?

So, you're going to get a prize in Delhi.

Yes, but that's because they don't know the inside stories about us.

Come in.

- Shall I come in? - Sit down.

- I'm afraid. - Afraid of what?

People like us have all kinds of vices.

What if you get some infection or something?

What vices, sir?

It is wise to abstain than be sorry.

- Have a chocolate? - No, thanks.

- Do you have a family? - No.

You're not married, then?

You mean legal marriage?

What other kind of marriage is there in civilised society?

No sir, then I'm a bachelor.

And why do you have to take to drink? What do you get out of it?

If you've never tried it, how can I explain it to you?

I'm no good at words but... I can act it out for you.

Look here, young man,

without moral sense, no nation becomes great.

Especially today, in India, we need to be strict about such things.

Oh my God!

I'll go, sir. I have to see about an injection.

Injection?

I mean, a needle.

All right, then.

- Take it. - No. I can't have it.

Come on, take it.

Have it.

I never thought I'd see you up so close.

I saw you at New Market the other day. You were buying a shirt.

Possible.

You must have a lot of trouble going about in the streets.

True enough.

What can you do here? Where's the imagination?

In England, you can spend hours in front of a shop window.

What superb displays!

But sir, it's not that we can't do it. People just don't appreciate it.

If we got a client like you, why wouldn't we do good things?

No, Mr Sarkar. I just won't be convinced.

I am very fussy.

- Oh... my wife... Mr Bose. - Please sit.

What would you like?

Oh... Bearer...

Do you help your husband in his work?

She's the perfect housewife.

I see.

These days, girls are going in for all kinds of things.

I think it's a good idea.

Besides, Bengali women have a natural sense of beauty,

which could be very useful for the advertising profession.

Have you ever thought of that, Mr Sarkar?

No, I haven't quite...

Wouldn't you like to do something like that?

- Wouldn't you? - Yes, I would.

But, you're afraid to tell your husband so?

Is that so?

Nowadays, Bengali girls hunt tigers, fly aeroplanes,

climb mountains, become barristers.

And you're hesitant about a simple advertising job?

Mr Sarkar, what do you say?

Shankarda, Shankarda, help.

Save me, Shankarda.

Is anything wrong?

Excuse me.

Sorry, madam.

Why did you leave like that?

I felt like it.

Felt like it? Without a word of explanation?

- Don't you know why? - Why?

Didn't you notice the way he was staring at me?

He obviously likes you. What's wrong with that?

Molly, it's almost in the bag.

- All I need is a little help from you. - Help?

Weren't you listening? He gave us his address, invited us to tea...

What about it?

- Don't you understand? - No. You tell me.

Molly, you used to like amateur dramatics.

- Now you have to act a bit in real life. - Acting?

All you have to be is a little nice to him.

Give him some company. Smile sweetly, talk softly.

I see.

Surely you can do this much for your husband?

- For heaven's sake. - I don't like all this.

Why are you taking this so seriously?

Molly, this a kind of game. A strategy.

I understand.

What happened? What's the matter?

Molly, Molly!

Molly, Molly!

Hot tea.

Hey! Tea!

I'll be safe if I sit with you.

You're not at all interested in me or my work.

Tell me... do you know anything about dreams?

- Dreams? - Yes.

I know the usual things, like anybody else.

What?

That dreams often reveal your sub-conscious desires,

beliefs, fears...

Hmm.

Don't tell me you've been dozing and dreaming during this short time?

Yes, I did.

I found myself sinking into a desert of 1,000-rupee notes.

Shankarda could have pulled me out.

But he wouldn't...

and I...

I just sank.

- Who is Shankarda? - Hmm?

A relation?

No, a friend I used to admire a lot.

He used to say, do anything else, but don't join the cinema.

Old fashioned?

Not really, except when it came to films.

But then, he had good reason.

You see, we had a club and we used to put on plays.

Shankarda was the leading light, a real director.

But the role of the hero was always kept for me.

And all the while, you were secretly planning to go into films?

I was egged on. There was a boy called Jyoti... Well, he's still there, my manager.

He had connections with film people.

Then one day, Jyoti came to me with an offer.

They were going to film Devi Choudharani.

Mukund Lahiri was to play the father and that's what attracted me.

Meanwhile, the Durga festival was nearing and we were rehearsing like mad for a play.

It was then that somebody went and gossiped to Shankarda.

No, no, I'm telling the truth.

What tricks have you been up to?

Get out! Get out, all of you.

What? Are you trying to sabotage my play?

What are you trying to do? Hmm?

You're losing your temper for nothing, Shankarda.

I'll decide about that.

So, you want to become a film star? A comet with a tail?

Since you know everything already...

But it didn't come from you. I want it from you.

Jyoti brought a film offer.

What film?

Devi Chowdhurani.

What part?

Hero.

Brojeshwar? That non-entity!

Nothing's fixed yet. They just want a screen test.

- What have you said? - Nothing yet.

I'll reply on your behalf.

Can't do it.

I won't if you don't agree.

But I wasn't thinking of dropping the film.

You know what?

I know there's a lot of glamour in films

but they have no connection with art.

An actor in films cannot build up a sustained part. Impossible.

I know this for certain. I've done a detailed study of it.

A film actor is nothing but a puppet. A doll.

A puppet in the hands of the director,

a puppet in the hands of the cameraman,

and the sound recordist.

Then there's the man who cuts the film and sticks it together again,

a puppet in his hands too.

And there's one more thing.

The main source of inspiration for an actor - the spectators.

All those dark heads you see - where your energy comes from.

What happens when you take them away?

Where's the thrill then? Is it there in films?

What are you actually looking for? Money?

I'm not saying you won't be a success.

You've got the looks, the voice - you may well be a success.

But there's one thing you must know.

There's a nasty side to films - the business side.

Nothing but supply and demand.

You have two hits in a row and you'll find yourself at the top.

Then when number three flops and number four flops,

you'll find the ladder you climbed up has been taken away.

Then somebody gives you a push

and you fall smack on your face.

Then you're finished for all times.

That's who Shankarda was.

And... he wasn't completely wrong, either.

But it doesn't apply in your case, does it?

On the main day of the festival, we put on our play.

Two days later, we were to immerse the idol of the Goddess in the river.

Our image was in the traditional style.

Shankarda said that without all the carving, tinsel and big, wide eyes,

you don't get the right feeling.

- To the Goddess Durga... - Victory!

Move, move. Shankarda.

Shankarda? Shankarda!

Shankarda!

He's no more.

Such a big, strong fellow,

suddenly dead, right in front of me.

Thrombosis.

I saw both my parents die while I was a child.

And, I've carried so many to the burning ghats - relatives and others.

That makes you kind of callous about death.

And yet, I couldn't believe that Shankarda was really dead.

There was so much life in him.

Where could it all go suddenly like that?

But the strange thing is that, at the burning ghat,

while the pyre was burning, a change came over me.

Jyoti.

Yes.

Sit.

Well?

- Do you believe in reincarnation? - Whose reincarnation?

Human rebirth. Yours, for instance.

Even if I'm reborn, how do I know it's me?

Jyoti Banerjee won't be reborn as Jyoti Banerjee.

Not many can remember their previous lives anyway.

So it's not about believing or not believing.

Exactly.

This is the age of Marx and Freud, Arindam.

No rebirth, no providence.

I know. One life, one chance...

What's on your mind?

- Hmm? - What are you thinking?

Do you also believe that film actors are all puppets?

Brando, Bogart, Paul Muni - are they all puppets?

As a man, you earn 350 rupees a month, with an annual increment of ten rupees.

But as a successful puppet, you get 30,000 rupees per film.

They've tested two boys but haven't taken them.

No, Shankarda must be wrong... must be wrong.

If you don't agree, I'd be letting them down.

If it was ancient times, I'd be afraid.

Afraid of what?

Shankarda's curse.

I decided then, on the spot.

My!

You look nice without your glasses.

You must be a bit scared by all this.

Why?

So soon after his death...

Well, that's real life for you.

Which you said was lacking in Bengali films.

Burdwan.

Perhaps I'd better not stay here.

Why not?

Well, at the station... Look, they've recognised you.

Is that so strange?

No, but... again! Oh my God!

It's a red letter day for them, understand?

I understand. But, I'm not used to all this.

You know what they're thinking?

They think that I'm shooting a film and you're my heroine.

Oh, what a situation!

Why, are you ashamed to be seen in my company?

No, but I'm not used to this sort of thing.

Take your hand away from your face or they'll stare even more.

Relax. Be normal. Keep talking.

Impossible.

- Then, shall I talk? - Go on.

Why haven't you got married?

Have you ever done any acting?

Would you like to go into films?

Stop. I'd sooner talk myself.

Go on.

Do you remember your first day's shooting?

Who ever forgets it?

Especially... Mukunda Lahiri.

Who's that... there?

My name's Arindam Mukhopadyaya.

Oh! So you'll play Brojeshwar!

Yes, sir.

Is this is your first film?

Yes, sir.

You don't mind if I call you Brojeshwar?

No, sir.

It's a habit to call my co-actors by their names in the film.

Oh!

I think you'll find it helpful because,

when we do a scene, reactions will come more naturally.

I understand.

But, don't you call me father.

That'll be a bit too much.

Careful...

And mind you don't smoke in my... Oh! Idiot!

You do that again and I'll tear off your real moustache!

- Did it hurt? - Stiff neck.

I told the servant to put the pillows in the sun.

- Would you like a massage? - Massage?

It'll get rid of your pain.

Ah! Jack of all trades!

Not quite. But this is one of them.

- How long will it take? - Not long.

Come on, we'll try the massage.

Shankarda taught me that too. It never failed.

It was during shooting that I noticed his towering personality.

Everybody from the director down was on edge.

It's hot. Who's in front of the fan?

Remember...

the actor is the only indispensable person on the set.

If he's not there, the work has to stop.

Where's Brojeshwar? Brojeshwar!

Here, sir.

Listen, these days I don't learn lines as they are written.

Sometimes I improvise, as long as the sense remains the same.

Only you have to watch for the cues.

Right, sir.

No, no, no.

Wait a minute, sir.

- This is your first position. - OK.

When I say "Action", you step forward and say, "Baba".

- Then he reacts. - Right.

After that, you stand on the chalk mark and pay your respects.

And then, he speaks. Clear?

- Yes. - Action. Monitor.

- Monitor. - Silence.

Ready, Mukunda sir.

Action.

Father.

Come.

Your delay was causing me great anxiety, my son.

I little thought that in my old age,

I would face such tribulation.

I can find no fault with my actions.

I've thought a lot about it,

but can't think of anything wrong that I've done.

So how can I explain it but by the whims of fate?

I suppose you know that through the grace of Teri Singh,

a warrant has been issued for my arrest.

I know.

You realise, of course, that money is now the most pressing need.

So, have you done anything about it?

Father-in-law won't give anything, but I've found another way.

Is that an aside or is it Hollywood style?

What are you muttering for?

Doesn't the situation call for a low voice?

Low voice?

Bankim wrote that in those days,

young men didn't raise their voices in front of their fathers.

Maybe. But your way of speaking must go with mine.

You cannot ignore voice modulations.

I thought you'd been on stage. Where's your enunciation...

He didn't think twice before insulting me in front of the whole crew.

But, he was a senior actor, so I kept quiet.

But I knew that his style of acting was all wrong.

It just wasn't suited to the modern time and age.

My, my! You had so much confidence in yourself even then?

I had, but I felt something was wrong before the film was released.

Wrong?

Till then, I didn't have any bad habits.

But, that day...

Take it.

Take it. Your nerves will be steady.

- Actually, you know... - What?

There's a reason for my nervousness.

Don't I know it! The film is released tomorrow.

Then?

My work is not good.

Not good?

Wrong. Too many things went wrong.

As if I haven't seen the film and my opinion doesn't count!

No, it doesn't.

- It is worth nothing. - Nothing?

Nothing!

You don't understand. You don't know.

No one but me knows.

An actor... knows.

When he acts, he knows where he's going wrong.

The fault is not mine.

And yet, in some way, it is.

You don't understand. You're blind.

All my scenes with Mukunda Lahiri were spoiled.

But that's only four scenes in the whole film.

But why even four?

It could have been perfect - my first picture.

And he had to trip me up like that.

You're being too fussy.

You know why he tripped me up?

He'd be caught out otherwise.

He couldn't bear to think

that I had own ideas about my part.

You know what he's like? He's not concerned about the part he plays.

Give him any part and he churns out the same character.

The same voice. The same acting. The same mannerisms.

And the public just laps it up.

Mukunda Lahiri. What acting! What a voice!

No, no, no.

This isn't film acting. It's all wrong in front of the camera.

You overdo it just a bit and it comes out ten times worse.

My style of acting would have shown up his weaknesses. He could see that.

And because I was new, he could shout at me and shut me up.

Arindam, its a good sign that you're being so fastidious.

It means you'll go a long way.

I will too. I'll make sure of that.

I will go to the top, the top, the top.

I went to see the first showing of the film,

and you know...

I couldn't stand more than half of it.

But you know how many autographs I signed afterwards?

- Feels good, doesn't it? - Marvellous!

But tell me, up to now, haven't any of your films...

Been a flop, you mean?

Yes.

No. Not yet.

Then, what were you sighing about?

You see, I know what can happen if three films flop in a row.

Who did it happen to?

One day, three to four years ago,

I was already famous. I had just moved into my new house.

10 o'clock at night, I was going to bed - we were shooting the next day.

That's when my bearer said a gentleman wanted to see me -

very urgent. So I went.

Remember me?

As if I could forget you.

A good many do.

Well?

How about a little...

Ramdas.

Yes sir.

What will it be?

Not for me. For my soul.

What will your soul have? Whisky?

Whisky.

What about you?

I've got a shooting tomorrow.

Shooting?

The word has a familiar ring.

1923...

My first film.

Kapalkundala.

At first, I couldn't get my grip.

Then came the Talkies.

Voice...

I went to the summit.

20 years!

Then, one day suddenly...

I felt myself slipping.

Slipping...

How it happened, I could never quite make out.

You know, the throne is there.

I have been overthrown.

What are you working on now?

The usual.

Good whisky.

Parts all filled?

Can't say for sure.

Your word counts these days.

Couldn't you find me anything?

Doorman... anything.

You could, couldn't you?

Such stagnation...!

Four years - no work.

Two policies - both lapsed.

You're sure you feel up to it?

You don't look too well, Mr Lahiri.

Voice...

Voice...

You want something more than a voice, you know. It's not enough.

So, it's not true

that men improve with age?

You seem to be doing pretty well. Ask him about that newspaper story.

Did you give him a part?

What good would it have done?

How could he act, taking morphine all the time?

So, you had your revenge in the end.

You hadn't forgotten how he behaved on that first day, right?

My, my! I see you're quite a formidable young lady.

The scenery has changed after we crossed the Bengal border.

Here it's all hard and dry.

Just like you.

Like me?

Aren't you hard too? Hard and ruthless?

Didn't you sweep aside everything that got in your way?

You know...

the voice of conscience in village plays? That's the part for you.

Is that a bad part?

No, but a terrible nuisance. I wish I could sweep it away...

But isn't that what makes you human?

Yes, but...

you know, what's worse?

When people very close to you...

like Biresh.

Biresh and I were at school together for 10 years.

The same school, the same college.

He took to politics and I was unemployed. So, I used to go along with him.

The company is exploiting workers...

Biresh would make speeches in front of the factory gate

and I would stand nearby rehearsing my part for the next play.

They were happy days we had together.

Do you know why I bring you here?

Bring me? I come because I want to.

True but, it's no good just coming.

I want you to get involved a bit more.

The trouble with you is...

all these plays and theatre keep you in a world of make-believe

that doesn't allow you to know the real world.

- Is that so? - Yes.

If you could feel these issues, it would be good.

What do you mean by "good"?

With your voice and personality, if you could stand up and speak...

- Where? In front of the factory gate? - Yes.

And you'd be a labour leader on the stage, I suppose?

And what do you think would happen to the play then?

The company has fired people illegally.

As long as it doesn't re-instate people...

Once, at a strike meeting,

Biresh was holding forth as usual and I was walking about a little way off.

Suddenly I heard a noise and turned around to see a group of men -

obviously hired touts - were approaching.

And behind them, was a police van.

I realised there was going to be trouble.

Usually, I don't like getting mixed up in such things.

"Catch fish but don't get your hands wet" - that's my motto.

But that day, I don't know what happened.

Sensing that Biresh was in danger, I rushed headlong into the crowd.

Then I was hit on the head by a brick...

and that was that... I had a black out.

Later, I found out that Biresh had been arrested.

After that, I lost track of him for five years.

Meanwhile, I made my pictures,

made a name for myself, bought a flat in Ballygunge...

Then, one Sunday morning, I was being measured for costumes for a new film.

- When will they be ready for the fitting? - Wednesday, sir.

Wednesday? Why not Monday?

Who's that?

Biresh!

Busy?

No, no. Not at all. Come in, come in. Come in. Sit.

- Just a minute. Well? - Make it Monday.

Look, if the fitting's not right, my acting suffers a lot.

Don't worry. The fitting will be fine.

Just wait a while in the other room, will you?

All right. Will do. What? Not finished yet?

Just one more - in front of the window.

OK, quickly, quickly.

- Just turn, I want a profile. - Take it.

Finished? Right. Then, beat it.

It's all right. Go now.

Hey Jyoti, send another cup of tea in here, will you?

Now, sit.

- All these pictures are for your fans. - Yes, you're right.

I can't displease them. They're my public, after all.

So tell me. How have you been?

A cigarette?

How long has it been?

Almost five years, right?

What?

You've acquired a kind of radiance.

- The glow of success. - Who doesn't want success?

- I haven't seen any of your pictures. - You haven't missed much.

- You must be doing well. - How about you?

- Same as always. - No change?

- But you seem to be... - Different?

Yes.

Change is the only constant in the world.

But I'm not sure it's a change for the...

What does it matter? Come, have some tea.

- You have a car now, I suppose? - Yes. A small car. Not big.

- Why? - Can you give me a lift?

Where to?

You never used to ask that question before.

All right. Lets go then.

Even in the car, Biresh wouldn't say where we were going.

And I didn't ask.

But after a mile or so, I began to have my suspicions.

And it wasn't long before they proved correct.

Come out.

- What happened? - What's the big idea?

Nothing. Just get down, stand in front of them and say a few words.

Why?

It'll cheer them up to see you. They've been on strike for 24 days.

They've been expecting you. They're also your public.

- Impossible! - What do you mean, impossible. Come on.

Listen. I mustn't get involved in this kind of thing. It's too risky.

Why can't you understand my position?

Nonsense! What the hell are you so afraid of?

If you want money, I can give you money. Any amount. But this is impossible.

- Don't you know I'm not what I used to be? - I can see you're not what you used to be.

I just... I can't.

Don't you have any feelings for these people?

How do feelings come into it?

I'm telling you, if you want money, I'll give it to you. Any amount.

- Under a false name, I presume? - And why not?

I know you've got money to spare.

OK then, if I need it, I'll come to you.

I'm leaving.

I couldn't do what Biresh asked.

It's difficult to say what I was afraid of, exactly.

But I knew I had sunk low in his estimation.

You know what I feel sometimes?

I wish I hadn't changed so much.

Why do you say that?

After all, you're giving pleasure to so many people.

That's a big thing, a good thing. Isn't it?

Isn't that worthwhile? It ought to give you satisfaction.

Yes, it does.

But, this isn't just a profession. I love doing it.

Well, that's fine.

So long as the work goes all right, you have nothing to worry about.

What makes you think I might have something to worry about?

Ever since we met, haven't you been worrying about your box office?

Oh, that's a habit with us.

You know what the trouble is?

You can never tell with the public.

And yet they've made you what you are.

I'm no match for you in an argument.

Because I'm not speaking dialogue.

Well, I'll leave you to your work now and go.

Would you like some toffee?

Excuse me.

Aren't you sleepy?

Better now, aren't you?

Does your mother know?

You're sick too?

No. These are sleeping pills.

But, you've already been to sleep.

I want to sleep again.

You can't sleep without pills?

I might not.

So I'm not taking the risk.

I want to be a film actress.

I see.

Coming to you like this - you realise how important this is for me.

Maybe.

- You're doing Heart's Desire, aren't you? - Yes. That's the story for my new film

Couldn't I be the heroine?

But we've already got a heroine.

I know.

Then?

Wouldn't I do?

- But the question does not arise now. - Don't you have any say in the matter?

But I've already... Er, won't you sit down?

No, thanks.

- It's already been decided. - But couldn't you just try...?

Why should I? There should be some reason for trying.

And since the selection's already been made...

I have talent and ambition.

You know how difficult it is for a newcomer to get a chance.

- So you came to me? - Yes.

Are you trying to see if I'll suit the part?

Are you married?

What...?

What happened? What's the matter?

What's this?

Acting!

No need for glycerine.

I've read the book. I think the part suits me better than Mandira.

I think you can see that too.

May I know your name?

Why just the name? Also the address and phone number...

- That's not necessary. - Why?

Just the name. So that I can include this curious episode in my autobiography.

Probina.

Probina what?

Chatterjee. Miss.

Oh!

Bye then.

It was nice meeting you.

What's the matter now?

You've made so many pictures with so many love scenes,

but when a woman comes to see you at your house, you're nervous?

- Nervous? - Certainly.

On the contrary - self controlled, civilised and well bred.

I like you much better off the screen.

I think you use too much make-up.

Listen, Miss Chatterjee...

I'm not used to sitting up this late till midnight.

I am.

But what's the point in me doing what you wish?

Why not come back tomorrow?

Tomorrow night?

My, my!

You're a terrific player, Mr Bose.

I used to be quite good.

Studied master games and all that.

Now, I'm out of practice.

If that's out of practice, what do you think of the rest of us?

I suppose you know that the game was invented in India?

Then you must admit, India does have some...

Not now, nothing at all. Nothing at all.

You have a charming wife.

- Where has she gone? - Who? Molly?

Molly, Jolly, Polly, Golly!

By golly, you are lucky, Mr Burman.

The name's Sarkar.

Nice. Sarkar.

You are lucky.

Not in chess, though.

Yes sir, Mr Spectrum Advertising.

Not that one. It would be checkmate.

Checkmate.

Your mate is great.

Brajupata.

Brojeshwar.

Brajupata.

Brojeshwar.

Action!

Long live the Worker's Union!

Arindam.

Probina.

Probina.

Probina.

Are you looking for my wife?

Your wife?

Don't you know? Who do you think you're fooling, scoundrel?

Cut.

What happened to you? Are you OK?

How about dinner, sir?

Arindam.

I have a small request.

Yes?

I want to be in films.

I used to act in school plays. I can also sing and dance.

You're travelling with your husband, aren't you?

- Aren't you? - I am.

Tell him I want to see him. Then we'll see.

All right?

Where have you been all this time?

Oh, I was just...

I was just telling your husband...

you must come and see us in Delhi.

You ought to mix more with people, don't you think?

Maybe. Excuse me.

Sir?

I'll think about your proposal.

I can't commit myself just now.

I'll let you know.

But, sir...

Won't you have your dinner now?

- Shall I ask them to send it? - No.

Molly, you misunderstand me.

I want to make an arrangement with you.

What arrangement?

I'll do what you want. I'll be nice to him.

If that helps you, fine.

But you must do something for me in exchange.

What?

Tell Arindam Mukherjee that you don't object to my being in films.

You'll have your office and I'll have my job.

You want to be in films?

Yes. Films.

Impossible!

Hello, there!

Did you call, sir?

What do you call that coach? Sitting...?

- Chair car, sir? - That's right. Chair car.

Miss Sengupta...

fair complexion, glasses

and a pen in her blouse here.

You understand?

What do you understand?

Miss Sengupta, fair complexion...

glasses and...

And?

- And a fountain pen... - Where?

- Tucked into her blouse, sir. - Good, good.

Tell her that I want to see her.

Yes sir.

Hey!

Hey there.

Oh, tell me, sweetheart!

Why must we stay apart?

Miss Sengupta?

Oh!

Er...

you see, I'm drunk.

I want to ask you some questions.

Go ahead.

There's something about me in the newspapers today...

did you know?

I know.

You know what was behind it?

No.

- Don't you want to know? - Why should I?

But your interview won't be complete without it.

It doesn't matter.

But I...

I must tell.

I must tell.

- There was a marriage... - There's no need to tell me, Mr Arindam.

What do you mean, "no need". I feel the need.

What need?

It's all piled up... in here.

There's nobody I can tell it all to.

All those who flock around me now...

the moment I start slipping, those bastards...

Let's take it that you've told me everything.

I know all there is to know.

- How could you know? - I can guess.

You can guess everything?

Why not?

Can you guess why my new picture is going to flop?

Perhaps I can.

Then tell me why.

Because your heart wasn't in it.

Isn't that the reason?

My, my!

Formidable!

Now you've seen your God-like hero.

I have.

That's it, then.

- You can go now. - What about you?

You go first. Then I'll go.

And...

you can write whatever you like.

Anything. I don't care.

Understand, Miss Modern Woman?

Excuse me...

I don't feel too well.

- Good morning. - Good morning.

- Aligarh? - Nearly there.

A big headache, hmm?

Big headache.

You're in advertising, aren't you?

Yes, up to now.

Do you take on religious organisations?

Religious organisations?

- Advertising? - Yes.

Have you heard of W-W-W-W?

W... W... What are you saying...? All those Ws...

Not so many. Just four.

World Wide Will Workers.

What workers?

Will! Will. Force. You understand?

Oh, I see.

Here you are - look.

- Read this. - Not now. No glasses. I'll read it later.

I'm sorry.

Where there is will, there is way.

This can prevent all calamities and catastrophes... OK?

I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

We believe that if a large number of people

come together and with full concentration,

if they will something to happen, it certainly will.

Wars, epidemics, famines - anything can be prevented with willpower.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

We have branches in all the big cities of India.

Now our plan is to further explore and expand.

But before that, we want some publicity.

And an emblem. W-W-W-W.

Have you prepared a budget?

Budget? Yes.

Thirty thousand.

Thirty thousand.

I want to discuss that with you.

You're going to Delhi, aren't you?

- Hmm? - You're going to Delhi, aren't you?

Will you give me your address?

Let me get down first. My head is still...

- But I'll give it. - Give it. Give it.

Good morning.

- Hmm? - Good morning.

Yes. Good morning.

My God - so late already!

We were just thinking of waking you up.

Yes, yesterday, I couldn't sleep so...

Oh! Are you hurt?

- Are you hurt? - No.

How is she now?

Temperature is down this morning. She thinks its due to your magic presence.

Oh my! I didn't know I had such powers of healing.

There's something she wants from you.

- What? - An autograph.

Have you got an autograph book?

No?

OK, wait.

May I just borrow your pen?

Thank you.

What's her name?

Sairinidhri.

- What? - Bulbul.

How are you?

You know everything. You tell me.

Fine.

Why not?

There's something missing...

some emptiness somewhere.

Really? Why?

I don't suppose we'll meet again.

- And you're not likely to get into films. - No. You live in a different world.

We're out on the streets, in trams and buses...

If three of my films flop in a row, I might go back into that world.

Don't say that. I'm sure you'll stay right where you are, for a long time yet.

I'm sure you'll reign at the box office.

Your interview.

What are you tearing them up for?

Will you write from memory?

I'll keep it in my memory.

I'll leave now.

Goodbye.

THE END