Anant Singh, independent film producer, in The Mark =20 Gevisser Profile=20
You want to know what chutzpah is? I’ll tell you what =20 chutzpah is. Chutzpah is being a little nudnik from =20 South Africa at Cannes and getting Whoopi Goldberg to =20 be in your next low-budget movie by promising her a cut =20 of the profits — and then making enough off Sarafina! =20 to be able to pay her more than she would have ever =20 earned as a fee. =20
Chutzpah is going off to interview President Nelson =20 Mandela for promotional material for his book launch =20 (for which you are footing the bill) and, at the end of =20 the shoot, quietly keeping the camera rolling while you =20 sit next to him showing him the stills you happen to =20 have with you from your upcoming picture, Cry The =20 Beloved Country — and then using the footage of =20 Mandela looking at the stills to help promote the film. =20 Chutzpah is then, on top of that, getting Mandela, the =20 busiest man in the world, to be guest of honour at your =20 New York premiere by making it a benefit for his =20 Children’s Fund. =20
The New York event is on Monday. On Wednesday, he’ll be =20 back, with stars Richard Harris and James Earl Jones, =20 for the local premiere, hosted by Tokyo and Judy =20 Sexwale. The thing about Anant Singh is that he doesn’t =20 look or behave like a mogul: there’s none of that =20 brandy-guzzling cigar-chomping “Buy! Sell!” swagger =20 about him. His style is Spielberg rather than Meyer: a =20 jeans and sneakers guy, studied informality masking a =20 shrewdness and a toughness that has made him, in our =20 little corner of the firmament, a shimmering star; a =20 phenomenon whose rags-to-riches story equals at least =20 that of a Chaplin, a Meyer, a Goldwyn. =20
Granted, he didn’t arrive penniless off the boat from =20 Riga and his father was a bourgeois doctor, but the =20 trajectory of his own life is a property so hot that =20 Anant Singh should snap it up immediately: the Indian =20 kid in a racist South Africa who started off rewinding =20 movies in a hire shop on West Street, made an early =20 fortune buying up rights to “action” and soft-core porn =20 movies, took a chance by backing anti-apartheid movies =20 that were banned, and landed up being one of the most =20 respected and successful independent producers in the =20 world. One scene, however, has yet to be written: the =20 slow pan of his face in the audience –sharp, focused, =20 dispassionate– breaking briefly into the discomposure =20 of victory as James Earl Jones goes up to collect his =20 Oscar for the role of Stephen Kumalo in Cry.=20
In Singh’s mogulspeak, “pictures” are known only by =20 their abbreviations: there is “Cry”, there is “Gump”, =20 there is “Kane”. Once a “property” has been =20 “greenlighted”, you hope it doesn’t “stiff”. When =20 talking about his work, Singh has an accent, American =20 in genesis, with roots more in some celluloid studio =20 lot than in any geographic location. According to Ken =20 Kaplan, an independent film-maker who is currently =20 working with Singh: “Anant can speak the speak and do =20 the deal. He does bring a little bit of Hollywood here, =20 a little bit of maturity to this very naive film =20
Do the deal Singh does — preferably by speaker-phone, =20 his preferred instrument of communication. In our face-=20 to-face discussion, Singh, while courteous to a fault, =20 was evasive and uncomfortable. When we picked up later, =20 on the phone, it was like we were old friends. He =20 works, says his lawyer David Dison, a double day, “one =20 in South Africa and then, starting in the late =20 afternoon, one in LA. He is an incredibly hard =20 taskmaster. The reason for his success is that he’s =20 such a detail person.” =20
He has tried the studio system — he produced a Patrick =20 Swayze bomb called Fatherhood for Disney in 1992 — and =20 he doesn’t like it. He wants to remain an independent. =20 He wants to keep on financing films himself — taking =20 the risks and making the profits. He sees no reason to =20 leave his native Durban. He hates Hollywood. =20
But one can see, in Anant Singh’s Durban-based =20 Videovision, the beginnings of a classic studio, even =20 if there isn’t yet a studio lot up on the Berea: the =20 tight-fisted boss who rules with firmness and demands =20 absolute loyalty; the family-business feel of it all =20 (his brother is in charge of marketing, a cousin does =20 financial management, “connections” come in with plates =20 full of samoosas to be tasted in the hope of securing =20 catering contracts for premieres); the small circle of =20 creative staff he works with, at the head of which was =20 Darrell James Roodt, a young anti-apartheid film maker =20 Singh picked up in 1984 with Place of Weeping.=20
Roodt made Singh; Singh made Roodt: Cry follows =20 Sarafina! as the apex of their collaboration. They made =20 eight films together. They have now parted ways, after =20 Roodt went elsewhere for his next film, Spear (no, not =20 an abbreviation; that’s its name). There is pain, there =20 is bitterness, there is recrimination. Classic studio-=20 system stuff.=20
Sarafina! made over $10-million (it cost $4-million), =20 largely due to Singh’s marketing nous: as he has done =20 with Cry, he roped Mandela into the act, getting the =20 legend to endorse a product about the legend. He has an =20 uncanny instinct for the right movie at the right time. =20 He jumped at Place of Weeping just when the anti-=20 apartheid movement was gathering steam: it put him on =20 the map. He did Sarafina! in the wake of worldwide =20 euphoria about Mandela’s release and at the peak of =20 Mbogeni Ngema’s career. Now, two years into South =20 African democracy, he has identified the fact that the =20 world is weary of the celluloid commodification of the =20 South African struggle, and so he is offering, instead, =20 a human interest story set in South Africa that makes =20 of “black” and “white” universal properties seeking =20 overarching reconciliation — Miss Daisy being driven =20 along that “lovely road that runs from Ixopo into the =20
Cry, The Beloved Country is an emotional and beautiful =20 film that is not in the least bit challenging. In terms =20 of production value, it is the best film that has ever =20 come out of South Africa. Which is not to say that =20 Singh hasn’t made some clangers in his time: his first =20 film, Deadly Passion, was, in his own words, “a poor =20 man’s Body Heat”. After Sarafina!, he made The Mangler, =20 an adaptation of a Stephen King horror story. Cry, on =20 the other hand, is a classic crossover art movie. It =20 has the highbrow performances, the incomparable =20 literary pedigree, the soup=8Don of political conflict, =20 the soaring and artful cinematography to ensure that it =20 is taken seriously. But it also has the schmaltz and =20 sentimentality (provided largely by two of its biggest =20 names, composer John Berry and scriptwriter Ronald =20 Harwood) to ensure that audiences along the length and =20 breadth of America will weep, from the moment they =20 first set eyes on the pained and stoical face of James =20 Earl Jones to the last soaring shot that trips off the =20 Drakensberg, the hills alive, quite incongruously, with =20 the sounds of Enya.=20
Singh, when talking about film, reserves his highest =20 praise for such crossover products: he wants for Cry =20 what happened to Forrest Gump or Driving Miss Daisy: a =20 quality film that can move the masses. He may well get =20 it. I imagine that when he looks in the mirror, he sees =20 (or would like to see) Ismail Merchant: an independent =20 producer who makes high art that sells. One difference, =20 though, is that he has no disdain for shlock: “I =20 guess,” he says with his usual diffidence when I ask =20 him what moves him, “there’s a little more passion in =20 Cry than there is in Mangler, but you have to be =20 passionate about any film, or you might as well not =20 make it at all. Critics might not be as kind to Mangler =20 as to Cry, but hey, audiences responded to Mangler. =20 It’s already shipped 150 000 videos in America. I’m not =20
I can honestly report that I don’t know what moves =20 Anant Singh. I hand him a question on a plate: what =20 movies does he love? His answer: “Oh, everything from =20 Citizen Kane to Star Wars to Charlie Chaplin, from The =20 Jungle Book to Siddhartha.” =20
Kaplan makes the point that “Anant’s come to appreciate =20 movies by making them, rather than the usual way, which =20 is to make movies because you appreciate them. It =20 started off with, ‘Oh! I can make these things! And =20 there’s a market out there for them!’ And then people =20 said to him, ‘we like the movies you make’. Only now is =20 he beginning to discover what it is exactly he likes =20 about films, what his sensibilities are.”=20
Even though Singh is adamant that “there’s only one =20 person in the world I need to prove things to, and =20 that’s myself”, there is something, in his drive, of =20 the outsider needing to show that he can make it. His =20 enigma is that he does this without swaggering. His =20 Hills are Reservoir rather than Beverly; here is where =20 he lives with his mother. His Beach is Tongaat rather =20 than Malibu; here is where he bought a seaside property =20 a year or so ago, twenty minutes north of Durban. By =20 all accounts it is comfortable and modest: the =20 Videovision gang often gathers there to drink cokes and =20 play pool. In his late thrities, he is unmarried: his =20 employees are his friends; he does not appear to have a =20 social life outside of his work environment. =20
He is one of Indian Durban’s most famous sons. People =20 come up to him at the Royal Hotel squash courts, ask =20 him what he’s doing, and talk to him about how an =20 Indian kid has been dropped from the Natal cricket =20 team. Salty, hardened fisherfolk say “Howzit, Anant!” =20 when he walks past them at Tongaat Beach. He likes =20 being known, being part of a community — that has as =20 much as anything to do with his decision to remain in =20 Durban. =20
Sure, he lets you know that he is important: in the =20 folder of publicity bumf he gave me there was, =20 discreetly tucked in towards the back, a xerox of a =20 handwritten inscription on the title page of Long Walk =20 to Freedom, “to Anand Singh … a comrade who has =20 rendered impressive service to the democratic forces of =20 our county and helped to bring about a historic =20 victory. N Mandela 9.1.95.”=20
But in the few hours we were together there were only =20 two gratuitous name droppings. Granted, they were big =20 ones (Attenborough, Tarantino), but in the world of =20 hype that Singh inhabits, that’s a good innings. He did =20 drop a third, but asked me not to publish it: “We talk =20 once a week, but I don’t want you to mention it, =20 because I don’t want it to be perceived that I’m using =20 other names to bolster myself.” I was impressed with =20 the finesse, and began to understand how he works: he =20 established his cred with me, the paparazzo, while =20 remaining circumspect about his friends in the =20 industry. It is upon precisely that combination of =20 marketing savvy and in-house discretion that he has =20 built his name. =20
Anant Singh has just been rereading Alan Paton’s =20 autobiography, and he found an account of the 1951 =20 South African premiere of the first Cry, The Beloved =20 Country, starring a Sydney Poitier who was not allowed =20 to attend. It was shortly after the National Party’s =20 victory, and Paton sat next to the Malans. At =20 intermission, Mrs Malan said, “Surely, Mr Paton, things =20 are not like this.” He replied: “They are much worse, =20 Madam.” =20
On Monday night at the Ziegfield, New York’s grandest =20 moviehouse, Comrade Anant will sit, in a star-studded =20 crowd, next to President Mandela. There’s an ever-=20 spiralling circularity to it that is quite =20