On this day, 100 years ago, Indian cinema's first full length feature, Raja Harishchandra
was released. The silent film, directed by Dadasaheb Phalke, marked the
beginning of the nation's longstanding affair with cinema. And a 100
years later, filmmaker Shivendra Singh Dungarpur decided to tell the
world the story of a man who was never a filmmaker but made films his
entire life. His documentary feature, Celluloid Man, celebrates
PK Nair, the founder of National Film Archive of India — a man Indian
cinema owes more than it has ever acknowledged.
f all the questions one can ask a man like PK Nair, the one that topped
our list was why did he not leave behind a professional heir. Did he
forget, in his obsession, to appoint someone who could carry forth the
legacy of what he’s done for Indian cinema? His answer of course was
simpler than we had expected.
“No one was interested. I could not find anyone who would want to get into preservation of cinema. Everyone wanted to be a filmmaker,” he explains. That response cannot be enough. It cannot be that in a country obsessed with cinema, or so we are led to believe, there is not one person who would fit into his shoes. But PK Nair’s shoes are way too large for anyone to fill that easily.
Cut to a conversation with filmmaker Shivendra Singh Dungarpur, whose documentary feature, Celluloid Man, releases today. His film, based on the life and works of PK Nair, founder of the National Film Archive of India, brings to light facts that most of us won’t want to acknowledge very comfortably. Not caring much about our artistic heritage is one of those facts. He doesn’t really tell you that, but his disdain that old Indian cinema has suffered serious neglect over the years becomes quite evident as you talk to him. We’re assuming a bit of the PK Nair angst has rubbed off on him.
“Eleven months! That’s how long it took me to convince the NFAI in Pune to let their founder in through the gates. Would you believe it? He’s not allowed in. They don’t let him in!” exclaims Dungarpur. Dare we ask why? “Because he’s the only one who knows how to do it right. You should see the NFAI now. Its deplorable condition is heartbreaking.
Bureaucracy has seeped into everything,” he adds.
In an effort to make the conversation slightly upbeat, we ask Dungarpur about his experience with PK Nair and that story is far more cheerful than what the walls of NFAI currently resemble. “Everyone who’s ever studied at FTII Pune knows about PK Nair. His passion for cinema is incomparable. He’d come to the college with cans and show us films. If you want to test him, give him a scene from an old film and he’ll tell you precisely which can the scene is from. He is brilliant.
And he’d always be taking notes; we were constantly in awe of him. I didn’t know him very well at that time but his charisma made a deep impact on me. And because I am extremely passionate about film restoration and preservation, I decided to track PK Nair down and do a film with him. He was of course not very keen that a film be made on him but eventually conceded,” says Dungarpur.
The same afternoon, PK Nair, over the phone, tells us about being the Celluloid Man and how much has changed since he retired in 1991. Was it hard, to walk into what was literally his home for many years and see it the way it is today? “I really don’t know what to say. We have a very poor record of interest in the heritage of our cinema.
You should see how the reels are maintained now. It’s imperative to store the film cans at three or four degree centigrade but they are kept at 13 or 14degree centigrade. And the authorities lie about the temperature. This way, nothing will stay for long. We have a rich history of cinema and yet, not enough people seem to care. So many good films have been lost over the years,” he says.
The man, who would watch at least one film every day, can’t keep up his habit anymore. “I might see a film once a week now. It’s not like the old days,” he says, adding, “filmmaking today is not what it used to be. Today, it’s business. Earlier it used to mean so much more.”
Coming back to the subject of preservation, the 80-year-old archivist tells us that there are so many other jobs available these days that the one of an archivist is not lucrative. “The NFAI are still under the government. To get the job of an archivist, one has to go through a long winding process and it might go to someone who doesn’t know how to actually work the reels. What we need is a proper grant from the government and zero interference so that the association can hire only those who are passionate about film preservation and know exactly how it’s done. It’s a highly technical job and precision is important,” adds Nair.
PK Nair is credited to have collected and archived about 12,000 films in his entire career with the NFAI. Of these, 8,000 films are Indian. It is because of him that two of the four reels of Raja Harishchandra could be saved. Nair is also responsible for saving nine of India’s silent films, out of a count of 1,700. Today, as he lives a quiet and retired life, not far from the NFAI (possibly to keep an eye on his ‘child’), he explains that things are slowly being done by few filmmakers to save some of India’s artistic heritage. “Better late than never, isn’t it?” he ends.
“No one was interested. I could not find anyone who would want to get into preservation of cinema. Everyone wanted to be a filmmaker,” he explains. That response cannot be enough. It cannot be that in a country obsessed with cinema, or so we are led to believe, there is not one person who would fit into his shoes. But PK Nair’s shoes are way too large for anyone to fill that easily.
Cut to a conversation with filmmaker Shivendra Singh Dungarpur, whose documentary feature, Celluloid Man, releases today. His film, based on the life and works of PK Nair, founder of the National Film Archive of India, brings to light facts that most of us won’t want to acknowledge very comfortably. Not caring much about our artistic heritage is one of those facts. He doesn’t really tell you that, but his disdain that old Indian cinema has suffered serious neglect over the years becomes quite evident as you talk to him. We’re assuming a bit of the PK Nair angst has rubbed off on him.
“Eleven months! That’s how long it took me to convince the NFAI in Pune to let their founder in through the gates. Would you believe it? He’s not allowed in. They don’t let him in!” exclaims Dungarpur. Dare we ask why? “Because he’s the only one who knows how to do it right. You should see the NFAI now. Its deplorable condition is heartbreaking.
Bureaucracy has seeped into everything,” he adds.
In an effort to make the conversation slightly upbeat, we ask Dungarpur about his experience with PK Nair and that story is far more cheerful than what the walls of NFAI currently resemble. “Everyone who’s ever studied at FTII Pune knows about PK Nair. His passion for cinema is incomparable. He’d come to the college with cans and show us films. If you want to test him, give him a scene from an old film and he’ll tell you precisely which can the scene is from. He is brilliant.
And he’d always be taking notes; we were constantly in awe of him. I didn’t know him very well at that time but his charisma made a deep impact on me. And because I am extremely passionate about film restoration and preservation, I decided to track PK Nair down and do a film with him. He was of course not very keen that a film be made on him but eventually conceded,” says Dungarpur.
The same afternoon, PK Nair, over the phone, tells us about being the Celluloid Man and how much has changed since he retired in 1991. Was it hard, to walk into what was literally his home for many years and see it the way it is today? “I really don’t know what to say. We have a very poor record of interest in the heritage of our cinema.
You should see how the reels are maintained now. It’s imperative to store the film cans at three or four degree centigrade but they are kept at 13 or 14degree centigrade. And the authorities lie about the temperature. This way, nothing will stay for long. We have a rich history of cinema and yet, not enough people seem to care. So many good films have been lost over the years,” he says.
The man, who would watch at least one film every day, can’t keep up his habit anymore. “I might see a film once a week now. It’s not like the old days,” he says, adding, “filmmaking today is not what it used to be. Today, it’s business. Earlier it used to mean so much more.”
Coming back to the subject of preservation, the 80-year-old archivist tells us that there are so many other jobs available these days that the one of an archivist is not lucrative. “The NFAI are still under the government. To get the job of an archivist, one has to go through a long winding process and it might go to someone who doesn’t know how to actually work the reels. What we need is a proper grant from the government and zero interference so that the association can hire only those who are passionate about film preservation and know exactly how it’s done. It’s a highly technical job and precision is important,” adds Nair.
PK Nair is credited to have collected and archived about 12,000 films in his entire career with the NFAI. Of these, 8,000 films are Indian. It is because of him that two of the four reels of Raja Harishchandra could be saved. Nair is also responsible for saving nine of India’s silent films, out of a count of 1,700. Today, as he lives a quiet and retired life, not far from the NFAI (possibly to keep an eye on his ‘child’), he explains that things are slowly being done by few filmmakers to save some of India’s artistic heritage. “Better late than never, isn’t it?” he ends.
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