August 8th, 2011

Prithviraj Kapoor – My Memorable Roles

My memorable roles! To me, all my roles are memorable; you may as well ask the mother of a large family to tell you which of her children she loves the most. So, when I mention any role, it will naturally be memorable.

On reaching Bombay one of the first things I did was to visit all the studios in Bombay; in those days there were not many–Krishna, Kohinoor, Imperial and some others. I entered the studio compounds only to be asked why I was there and, being a mere “nobody,” was always ordered out.

Finally, I asked for an interview with Ardeshir Irani of the Imperial Studio. While I was waiting to enter his office, I met a young, handsome man –like me, he too was a “hopeful.” I stood aside for him to go in first. But he came out soon enough. He was told that there was no vacancy, and he gave me a look that suggested that I was wasting my time.

Ardeshir looked at me and with a smile asked, “Why have you come in? Didn’t you see the board placed there to say that there is no vacancy.”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“Well, then why are you here? There is no vacancy. You may go.” For a full minute I could not speak, after which I said,” But, sir, I shall feel obliged for your advice.”

Ardeshir looked at me and said,” Well, I cannot engage you but, if you like, you can be an unpaid extra.”

“I understand, sir,” I replied, “the meaning of the word ‘unpaid,’ but I don’t know what ‘extra’ means.”

My ignorance must have caused some mirth, but Ardeshir was kind to me and explained: I was to be an actor of no importance, just one of a crowd.

I closed my eyes for a moment and then said, “Give me your blessings, sir. I will take the job.”

Ardeshir laughed and said, “My dear boy, you are sure to make a mark.”

He gave me a note to the director. And soon I found myself in the make-up room, which was crowded. A little later I was on the sets. Here, to my joy, I found the young man whom I had seen coming out of Irani’s office disappointed. He told me that, while he was waiting for me, the director saw him and, learning he was willing to work, engaged him as an extra at one rupee a day. I was not to receive anything but still I was happy. I had been engaged by the studio chief himself.

The second day, I again met the young man, and that was the last time I saw him. Thus I worked for ten days and, the next day, when I was in the extras’ make-up room B.P. Misra summoned me. I was placed before the camera, and “shot.” I was made to look “right–left–above–below.” My screen-test was over, and I was asked to see Ardeshir Irani. Misra said that he wanted me to be the hero in his next picture. Irani told me that I would be paid Rs 75 a month.

The first picture in which I played the hero was “Cinema Girl.” My work brought home to me the truth that there was an end to everything except learning. I played an actor who met a girl from the slums. Being an actor, the hero had many parts to enact and I found a different interest in life each day.

One day I had the chance of going to the editing room. My scenes were being edited and I was surprised to see how the film was handled. Bits of film were snipped off with scissors and discarded. I was told that they were rubbish. I learnt the great lesson: it is not all we do in this world for which we deserve credit, it is only for the best.

Came the day of the talkies. My first picture with sound was “Alam Ara” (1930-31), the first Indian talkie. I was not offered the hero’s role. I was to be General Adil. And everyone in the studio said that, that was the end of my career.

Not to be cast as the hero was a positive downfall they felt. What they could not realise was that the character allotted to me had great inner strength and was the real test of an actor’s art.

After acting in a number of films I went on the stage, where with Grant Anderson and his company I played a number of Shakespearean roles. Then I joined New Theatres in Calcutta. I played the Rana in “Rajrani Meera,” directed by Debaki Bose. It was one of my most memorable roles. I was working with a famous director, starring with famous artistes, and the subject of the film was philosophical.

Then I had the good luck to portray Rama in “Sita.” And, in “Vidyapati,” I played the king whose queen was in love with the court-poet. In spite of this, the king continued to hold the poet in affection. This situation, full of inner struggle which was almost spiritual, was to be depicted on the screen. It absorbed my whole self.

I may now name some more memorable films: “Vikramaditya,” produced by Prakash; “Dahej,” directed by V. Shantaram; and “Awaara,” a picture which my son Raj directed and in which he acted with me. Another son of mine also acted in this film and so did my father and my grandson. We were four generations appearing in one picture, which was in itself unique.

I will add one more film, “Mughal-e-Azam,” not because that picture took years to produce, not because it had a good run, but because I was faced with a difficulty regarding Akbar’s moustache. I believe the great emperor was somewhat indifferent as to his personal appearance. I do not mean that he was in any way slovenly, only that he was not out to make an impression.

In some Mughal miniatures, the moustache droops, in others it is curled upwards. We made a hundred attempts to create something that would be passable, but to no purpose. In the end I requested the make-up man to leave the work to other hands. At this he felt a little displeased and asked me, “Whom would you ask to do the work?”

“The man to whom the moustache belongs,” I replied.

I had to explain that “Akbar” himself would have to decide how he should look. So, fixing the moustache again with spirit gum, I started adjusting it without looking in a mirror. You can see the result in the film. It pleased everybody; those who wanted to make the Emperor look desperate, and those who wanted to show him as the essence of wisdom– always mild and gentle.

And that’s that. My roles are a part of my life. I have lived them and I still cling to them, as I cling to almost everything, including my good old Opel Olympic which dates back to 1939. Heavy and ponderous, it has borne my gross tonnage from studio to studio through the years. It, too, brings back memories and is memorable. (This interview was conducted in 1963.)

Memories