Fifty Not Out

Kolkata: A 10-year-old boy travels with his mother in a cab to a destination he has never frequented earlier: New Theatres Studio One. It is the winter of 1966-’67. His mother has told him that they are visiting the film music recording of ‘Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne (The Adventures of Goopy and Bagha)’. The boy has heard of Goopy and Bagha because his mother would read out children’s tales to him frequently.But, at 10, he had not the slightest inkling of what was in store.
They enter a sprawling hall and sit on an expansive mattress. There are many other visitors stretched out there. But what catches the boy’s attention is a tall man who is conducting the musicians and a singer. The songs and strains of music are mellifluous.
When the recording is over, the boy’s mother walks up with him to meet the towering gentleman. He glances at the boy, flashes an affectionate smile. That was this correspondent’s first tryst with maestro Satyajit Ray.
“The kheror khata (Ray’s familiar red cloth-bound notebook) of ‘Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne’ is dated 1966,” recalls Sandip, Satyajit Ray’s son. “I vaguely remember having complained to Baba that his films were extremely grim and were often portraying deaths of some of the characters. Baba seemed to have tucked that away at the back of his mind. He was overtly fond of ‘Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne’. It definitely ranked amongst his first 10 all-time favourites in Bengali children’s literature. When Sandesh (the Ray family magazine) was revived in 1961, Baba made it a point to reprint ‘Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne’ in the Durga Puja Special edition from the old Sandesh issues.”
All this combined, together with a leading producer coming forward to back the film, Ray embarked on scripting the screenplay of ‘Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne’. “Baba also decided to shoot the film in Rajasthan, since that was a locale strewn with fortresses, ideal for spinning a tale that revolved around fantasy. He also took a decision to zero in on locations in Rajasthan that were not so publicised, having made up his mind to avoid tourist attractions.”
The location-hunt began with Satyajit Ray and a “core team” travelling to Bharatpur.
After Bharatpur, Ray and his team members scoured the other spots. “Baba was bowled over by Jaisalmer, especially the colour of the fortress, which, as most are aware now, was built with yellow limestone. In fact, this fortress had also led Baba to weigh filming ‘Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne’ in colour. Ultimately, that plan had to be shelved,” says Sandip, ruefully. Anyway, after this reconnaissance, the locations were “locked”.
On returning to Kolkata, Ray got down to composing the music and songs. Although he had begun scoring the music for his films from 1961, songwriting unravelled a completely undiscovered facet of the master.
“At the outset, Baba had mulled casting Kishoreda (Kishore Kumar) in the role of Goopy. But Kishoreda was busy with playback singing assignments in Bombay. This found Baba checking out various singers. But none fit his scheme of affairs. Then, Ma (Bijoya Ray) suggested to Baba about trying out Khokonda (Anup Ghoshal) once. Anupda’s mother and Ma were fast friends and he had dropped by at our home at Lake Temple Road before and even sung in the presence of Baba. Remembering these sessions, Baba touched base with Anupda and listened to his renditions of the songs he had penned for ‘Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne’. Impressed, Baba picked Anupda to lend his voice for the film,” Sandip informs. Tapen Chattopadhyay was cast to play Goopy. “It is to Tapenda’s credit that he put up a marvellous performance opposite the seasoned Rabi Ghosh, who enacted the role of Bagha.”
The music and song recording was wrapped up at the New Theatre Studio. But, soon after, without a hint, the producer backed out. Understandably, there could have been some critical factors weighing on the producer’s mind. Boasting a budget of around Rs 6.5 lakh (when films in Tollygunge were budgeted at Rs 80,000-Rs 1,00,000) ‘Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne’ was the costliest production of the day. Besides, once filmed, it would set a “benchmark as the first ever fantasy and musical movie shot in Bengali cinema,” Sandip underscores. “In that sense, it was uncharted territory.” Consequently, Goopy and Bagha came to a standstill. At least, for the time being.
Meanwhile, news had already spread that Satyajit Ray was in the process of making a film and not only had he homed in on the locations, but the music recording was also through. It had only run into a roadblock midway because the producer was reluctant. “It was at this juncture that Purnimadi (Purnima Datta of Priya Cinema and Purnima Pictures renown), stepped forward to produce the film. She not just approached Baba to lend her might to the film, but convinced her father-in-law, Nepal Datta, and husband Ashim Datta to produce ‘Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne’. Baba warmed to the idea and told her that he was okay with her proposal as long as she could get her father-in-law and husband to toe her line, since it would be a costly movie,” informs Sandip.
Purnima Pictures had produced some films earlier. Nepal and Ashim were somewhat circumspect to start with, says Sandip. “But Purnimadi convinced them that they should view the project as one they were embarking on for their children and grandchildren. They naturally gave in after sensing her unwavering dedication. I have no hesitation in expressing that ‘Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne’ would never have crystallised had Purnimadi not stepped in to throw her weight behind the film,” says Sandip. “For the simple reason that the movie was a total departure from any other that was made before in the industry. It belonged to the fantasy and musical genre and had no precedence. And no one else was inclined to finance it.”
After this, ‘Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne’ took off without a hitch. However, Ray’s singular dream of making the film in colour remained unfulfilled. Sandip says he never saw his father working so painstakingly. “In collaboration with Bansikaku (Bansi Chandragupta), Baba crafted the props and costumes in his own study. The minutest facets like the wizard, Barfi’s (played by Harindranath Chattopadhyay) rhomboid spectacles were handmade by Baba,” reveals Sandip. “For that matter, Halla Raja’s dartboard or Barfi’s scroll, which listed his magic potions, were all handcrafted by Baba. It was a labour of love.”
Not only were the costumes all designed by Ray, he went to New Market and Grant Street to select the material and get them tailored. The master, together with Bijoya, would always have a role to play in the designs of the costumes in each of his films. “But the costumes and props in ‘Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne’ were at a different level and scale. Nothing could be ferreted out readymade. A range of tailors were involved,” says Sandip.
The costumes and props for Shundi, the good and warm-hearted king’s fiefdom, were all in white and light shades, while Halla’s (the evil king’s empire) dresses and sets were dark and sombre. “I feel he was deeply influenced by Sergei Eisenstein’s film, ‘Ivan The Terrible’. Barfi’s dungeon is an example. Then, a unique species amongst primates, — the slow loris — was seen in the film in Barfi’s chamber. This monkey was sourced from Kamal Chowdhury, a zamindar famous for his collection of animals. In step, a macaw was found perching at a corner in Goopy’s and Bagha’s room in the Shundi palace. This bird was again picked up from another collector,” Sandip says.
“As planned, for the outdoors, Baba went shooting the film in Rajasthan. Initially, he had also spent a short while filming in Birbhum. Thereafter, shooting of the film unfolded across Rajasthan in places like Kota, Bundi, Jaisalmer, Jodhpur, Mohangarh and Bharatpur, which had still not figured prominently on the tourism map. He strictly steered clear of an international tourist destination like Jaipur, for instance,” Sandip stresses. A day’s shoot also transpired in Shimla’s Kufri town.
“Baba had contemplated sourcing 300 horses for the war sequence in Rajasthan. But, finally, only camels were available. However, one couldn’t shoot with 300 camels for too long, given the cost involved. Thus, three cameras were used to stitch up the sequence as quickly as possible. Then, the sweetmeats appearing from the skies were shot outdoors, in the studio and juxtaposed on the Moviola during editing,” Sandip explains. The opening title or the ghost dance are narratives on their own creative strength. Thus, the virtuosic Ray shot them almost as separate stories. Hypothetically speaking, they could be viewed as independent and fascinating short films.
Given that the film was shot more than five decades back and released in 1969, when the movie industry in Bengal or India was virtually devoid of technological advancement, one can well visualise that the maestro had to stretch his brains and imagination to the limit in devising the special effects. Whether it be the bowls and platters full of sweetmeats and delicacies descending from the skies or the ‘Dance of the Ghosts’ or the opening title itself.
“Then, someone brought word to Baba that a Bombay-based company called Rauko had forayed into movie special effects in an elementary way. Baba decided to give it a try and flew to Bombay and succeeded in pulling off the ghost dance sequence with support from Rauko. In tandem, a non-Bengali movie technician named Dayabhai, who used to speak fluent Bengali, back in Bengal, who worked for various historical and mythological films, helped out in scenes where the two brothers, who were emperors of Shundi and Halla, interact with each other. Undoubtedly, ‘Goopy Gyne’ was the toughest of Baba’s films, technically. After all, the movie scaled absurd heights technologically,” Sandip says.
“The sets were also extremely sturdy and solid. Nothing was left to be made of flimsy material. In fact, the whole crew rose to the occasion to assist Baba. There were maximum number of assistant directors in the film, probably five or six. In fact, well-known Bombay actor Tinnu Anand, who was an admirer of Baba’s films, came across to assist Baba for the first time. He had assisted Baba in a few of his films. Rabi Raychaudhuri of Nimtita’s Raychaudhuri family also lent his hand as one of the assistants, together with our permanent assistant directors, Ramesh Sen and Subroto Lahiri,” mentions Sandip. Incidentally, Nimtita Palace is where Jalshaghar (The Music Room) was shot. “Everyone was so overworked, that they took a break for a couple of months after the completion of the film,” adds Sandip.
One night, in Ray’s study, while the film was almost getting wrapped up, there was a discussion about the last scene, where the two daughters of the kings of Shundi and Halla meet each other and their prospective husbands, Goopy and bagha, with their embroidered silk sarees shrouding their faces. Everyone present in the room suddenly sprung to the decision of shooting this last bit in colour. Thus, the concluding scene switches to colour. The princesses finally give a stifled smile. The camera pans and hovers over a colourful butterfly designed on the floor of the palace room. Of course, this touch could be interpreted from subtle cinematic angles.
“Unexpectedly, a somewhat sour incident that almost stalled the release of ‘Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne’ was an unsavoury factionalism that erupted within the film actors’ and technicians’ fraternity in Tollygunge during the opening of the film. Finally, the movie released across the theatrical chain of Minar, Bijoli and Chhabighar. A subtitled print for the non-Bengali audience also opened at Globe Cinema. There was barracking in the halls for the first three or four days. We felt that the movie was doomed,” says Sandip, conveying the pervading gloom.
Then, a whisper campaign and word-of-mouth publicity saw the atmosphere dramatically swing around. Moviegoers in Calcutta were all humming “Bhooter Raja Dilo Bar, Jabar Jabar Teen Bar”… The King of Ghosts had cast his spell. Audiences were overpowered. Repeat viewings by cine-lovers found the film running for a record 33 weeks in Minar, Bijoli and Chhabighar and 4 weeks at Globe. Even today, ‘Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne’ remains one of the all-time biggest hits in Bengal’s movie industry.
The 10-year-old boy, who was at the music recording in New Theatres Studio One with his mother in 1966-’67, was lucky to be at the preview show with his mother at Priya Cinema in 1969, half a century ago. As he emerged from the theatre after the film ended, the looming Satyajit Ray bent down from the skies and touchingly asked: “Tomar kirom laglo? (How did you find the film?”).
Sadly, the correspondent was too young to rustle up the courage to say: “Maharaja, Tomare Selam”.