ANDREW WORSDALE spoke to the movie-mad director of the South African/Indian film, The Making of a Mahatma
LAST weekend’s lush premiere of The Making of a Mahatma — the first feature film to be co-produced by South Africa and India — had a distinctly political feel to it. Newly appointed Minister of Trade and Industry Jay Naidoo led the eulogies, praising the co-operation between the private and public sectors that made the film possible; newly appointed businessman Cyril Ramaphosa
continued them with his reading of President Nelson Mandela’s address, which cited Jans Rautenbach’s love-across-the-colour-bar classic, Katrina, as one of South Africa’s great cinematic achievements. The whole affair was presided over, in a grandmotherly way, by SABC board member Fatima Meer, on whose book, The Apprenticeship of a Mahatma, the film is based.
The Making of a Mahatma tells the story of the young Gandhi, who came to South Africa in 1893, fresh from law school, on a legal brief and ended up staying for 21 years to confront the racism that marked South African life. It was here that Gandhi first propagated his notion of satyagraha (passive resistance), and the film provides fascinating insights into the politics and polemics that developed his spiritual determination.
The movie also looks at Gandhi’s personal life, and his at-times-troubled relationship with his wife, Kasturba. In addition, it paints a broad picture of the Indian community’s involvement in the resistance movement.
It is a telegraphed history of incredible detail, cramming a load of incidents into its two-and-a-half hours. And to director Shyam Benegal’s credit, the pace never flags, the film never becomes dull. Rajit Kapur is superb in the lead, portraying Gandhi’s wilfulness and strength of character, as well as the more gentle and eccentric sides of the man. Equally good is Pallavi Joshi as Kasturba, his long-suffering but supportive wife. The performances are well modulated, and local actors Paul Slabolepszy as Smuts and David Clatworthy as the sympathetic German collaborator Kallenbach are among several who stand out. The film is intimately filmed but conveys a feeling for the period, and the economical use of extras is sufficient to render a sense of the epic.
However, and here’s the rub, this is not really a cinematic experience, but a piece of political sermonising. Part of the problem lies in the screenplay, and particularly the dialogue. It’s as if the writers (Meer, in collaboration with Benegal and Indian scripter Shama Zaidi) put ideology and facts into the mouths of the characters; what’s worse, when they do come alive, the film plays like a stoic melodrama. The result feels rather like an educational TV mini-series.
Still, it’s a first for this country: a state-financed melodrama of politically corrrect propaganda. Which explains all the gleaming faces in smart suits at the premiere.
Last week I spoke to director Benegal, and a more charming, intelligent and movie-mad person you couldn’t hope to meet. Benegal is a veteran of the new Indian cinema, having made 1 000 commercials, over 65 documentaries and more than 25 feature films since 1959. A protege of Satyajit Ray, his works have ranged from the political realms of Ankur (1974), which railed against the caste system, to the deceptively simple melodrama Bhumika (1977), about a Bombay movie queen. He was one of the first directors (along with Martin Scorsese and Shohei Imamura) to be invited to communist China, and was instrumental in getting Zhang Yimou’s startling debut feature, Red Sorghum, shown in the West.
Benegal was full of praise for his South African cast and crew. The project was initiated by Meer in 1991 (Meer joined the SABC board in 1994, so charges of corruption with regard to the film’s financing are misplaced). The crew was 90% South African — excluding cinematographer Ashok Mehta (who shot Bandit Queen), the two leads and two small supporting roles.
The film was originally budgeted at R4-million, with 60% of the costs covered by the Indian Ministry of Information and Broadcasting, and 40% payed for by the SABC and the ex-House of Delegates. When it went over budget by R400 000, the Indian government came in with half and South Africa’s Department of Arts, Science, Culture and Technology with the rest. Still, it’s an awesomely small amount to tell an epic story with. Benegal credits the local producers and assistant director with keeping the economics tightly under control and containing the costly time factor in production.
Apart from singing the praises of our local artists and artisans, what’s Benegal’s impression of our industry? He says: “Yours is a virgin land in terms of cinema. The most important thing for South Africa to do is to tap the huge local market. The state should be involved in supporting distribution as well. If they only support production finance, film-makers become too dependent on the state … You have a crazy system here — a virtual distribution monopoly with cinemas placed like islands in the suburbs. It’s crucial that you create contact with your audience. That’s the great advantage of the Indian film industry — our population demands local product, so American films end up taking only 10% of the market.”
Benegal expressed a keen interest in returning to our shores and repeating the fulfilling experience he had on Mahatma, but this time, he says with a wry smile, he’d like to work on a story a little less weighty.
The Making of a Mahatma opens on Friday at the Kine Centre in Johannesburg and at the Wheel in Durban