There is a scene in Guli, the latest production by Shantipur Sanskritik, which has the marital discord between the successful, celebrity author Tapobrata and his wife Sutapa, rise to a peak. They have already drifted away from each other, waiting to be unglued. As he puts it, it seems that Tapobrata’s main problem is that Sutapa is ‘word-insensitive’, that she does not understand the magic of language or that of writing and that she is ignorant of poetry. Tapobrata says with disdain that she does not even know Tagore’s poem ‘Amader Chhoto Nodi’. At this point, a harsh, staccato beat begins to play in the background to which Sutapa, matching her rhythm, begins to scream out the lines of the poem. Her throbbing sense of intense anger and anguish seem poised to explode. But the explosion does not happen. All plays seek to create moments of high drama when text, design and performance come together to produce meaning that will lay bare the central crisis of the narrative and of the characters and then go on to have a lasting impact on the hearts and minds of the audience. This moment was such a moment in Guli, rich with potential that sadly was not realized fully.
Kaahon Theatre Review
HRIDIPAASH – SOME HITS, SOME MISSES
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If the play as a whole, like the scene, seems full with potential that goes unrealized, the reason, to mind, has to be sought in the text of the play, penned by Kaushik Chattopadhyay, who is also the director. However, a few words before the text can be discussed – it has been said that the play is based on a work by the Czechoslovak writer, Karel Capek. But which work? Is it a play, or a short story? An early 20th century author, Capek wrote a number of acclaimed plays and novels; his abiding gift to the English language is the word ‘robot’, coined by his brother Josef and first used in his play R.U.R.; he remained a staunch critic of fascism, communism and militarism. It remains a mystery why it was not disclosed which work of Capek gave rise to Guli. Anyway, the play that Chattopadhyay has written, though rich in its taut language, is rather weak structurally. This point will be elaborated in the following paragraph.
As Tapobrata (Ashok Majumder) settles down one evening to have a drink all by himself, a bullet fired from somewhere suddenly shatters a living room windowpane. A policeman arrives, an investigation begins. A question that is raised is whether Tapobrata has enemies. The narrative, led by this question, enters Tapobrata’s past. One by one arrive Mohsin (childhood friend, Ujan Chattopadhyay), Sutapa (ex-wife, Ratri Chattopadhyay), Manisha (estranged lover, Barnali Chattopadhyay) and a homeless, crippled man (Babla Basak), a victim of Tapobrata’s drunken driving that left him with a dead daughter and a mangled leg. It does not take long to realize that the narrative is designed to throw light upon the dark recesses of the successful writer’s past. It becomes clear that be it childhood friend, wife or lover, Tapobrata has been unfair to all, even while using them, driven all the wile by the urge to find and retain fame. Two major issues crop up here. The suspense created by the bullet last long. With the arrival first of Mohsin and then of Sutapa it becomes quite clear that hearing the crash of the bullet while in an alcohol-induced haze signifies a psychological rupture that allows Tapobrata to slip into his past. The narrative very quickly falls into a pattern that is quite predictable so that by the time Manisha and then the man arrive, the thrill of ‘What next?’ is completely erased from the plot. An even bigger issue is that the celebrity status of Tapobrata completely alienates him from us (ordinary people like you and me) and there is no way we can identify with Tapobrata’s crisis. And does he have any real crisis? Is he racked by remorse, does his soul torment him? Or does he not, once the evening and the night pass to usher in a new morning washed clean of the intoxication of alcohol, slide smoothly back into his successful life again, a life which we realize had never really been threatened at all? The characters who we could have found some resonance with – Mohsin, Sutapa, Manisha or the man – do not receive much narrative focus.
As far as acting is concerned, Ashok Majumder as Tapobrata practically carries the play on his shoulders. After the bullet is fired we encounter a Tapobrata, at various stages of his life, who is his ugly self, quite different from the polished, famous writer. Ashok has taken care to construct this Tapobrata loudly and garishly, a ploy that helps convincingly reveal the ungainly aspects of the character’s self. However, the scenes that had Ashok with Ratri and Babla as his co-actors, turned out to be unpleasantly loud, owing to this that both Ratri and Babla chose to pitch their scales high. Ujan, however, etches out his character unhurriedly and in an understated manner allowing a fine exchange to emerge between him and Ashok. It must be borne in mind that Mohsin, Sutapa, Manisha, the man and Krishnapada are figments of Tapobrata’s memory and imagination and not ‘real’ people per se. Ujan introduces a touch of trance to create his character while Krishnapada injects a subtle hint of the comic to construct his, thereby distancing both characters from the real as per the demands of the text. Though Barnali is quite fluent in her portrayal of Manisha, she did not seem to have paid much attention to bring about an element of shadowiness/surrealism into her character. The same can be said about the portrayals presented by Ratri and Babla of their respective characters. Asit Pramanik as Madhab has conveyed his character’s affection for Tapobrata, but does Madhab have no inkling about the darkness in Tapobrata’s life and character even after having remained in close proximity to him? If so, why does it not find some expression in the performance?
The set designed by Jayanta Bandyopadhyay is standard, with the angled door frames and the back rests of the chairs indicating that the play will look at reality obliquely. That Sudip Sanyal’s light and Ujan Chattopadhyay’s music do not add or subtract any significant element after the bullet shot is heard has to be counted as failings. When Tapobrata sits close to the TV set, the glow from the screen that lights up his face remains steady, without any flickering. It is not often that Sudip is this unmindful.
It has to said that Guli does not live up to its expectation because Kojagori, though produced under a different banner, has considerably risen the expectation from the Kaushik-Ashok duo. But it also needs to be said that Guli does not resort to gimmicks to catch the eye – the play may not appeal to some, but nobody will return feeling tricked. Though not quite satisfyingly successful, people seemed to have taken the play well on the whole. The audience seems inclined to appreciate the efforts of the amply talented and seriously committed theatre workers such as Kaushik and Ashok.
