No actor would have turned down an offer to work with Ray. In the early phase of his career, due to the meagre budgets available for his films, he often cast non-professionals. Tinnu Anand once told me how he had acted out the dialogue for the female lead to mimic in every shot in one of his films, who then went on to win a National Award for Best Actress!
Ray’s instinct for honing an actor’s performance was unerring. He appreciated even the smallest of roles played well. I remember once, after a screening of a newly released Hollywood film, Network, he turned to me and said: ‘That’s a marvellous actress. Outstanding.’
‘Yes sir, Faye Dunaway was really good,’ I replied, stating the obvious.
‘No, no. That’s not who I meant. The actress who played the wife of William Holden. She was outstanding. Very good work.’
That year, Beatrice Straight, the British stage actress he had pointed out—unknown in Hollywood—went on to surprise the film world by winning an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress, along with Faye Dunaway’s much-expected win for Best Actress. Straight was on screen for just five minutes and forty seconds—the shortest performance ever to win an Academy Award for acting. I realized then that it took a keen perception like Ray’s to zero in on a brilliantly acted, but much smaller, role, especially in the presence of a more famous and accomplished actress.
When I asked him, ‘Manik-da, how do you cast? I mean, what are the most important things you look for in an actor?’ his instant reply was, ‘The eyes, Suresh … and the walk. These are what tell us most about ourselves.’
Like almost everyone else, actors adored him. Any advice he gave on acting, or how to do anything at all, was always spot on. When I told Shabana Azmi, a gifted actress with several memorable films to her credit, that her role in Shatranj Ke Khilari would be limited to two or three scenes, she replied: ‘Suresh, if Ray wants me to hold a jhadu for one shot only, I will gladly do it. Work with Ray? Wow!’
In turn, Ray’s respect for actors and their time was equally well known. When filming was postponed for eight months because of Sanjeev Kumar’s heart attack and Amjad Khan’s near-fatal accident, he wrote actor Barry John a three-page letter, explaining and apologizing for the postponement. Barry had only one scene in the film! Barry was so touched by this courtesy he never tired of mentioning it to his friends for years.1
By the summer of 1976 we were making headway both in the screenplay and in the casting. Manik-da and I shared equal responsibility in the casting process, although, as with everything on his films, he had the final say. As I recall, the only actor he was keen to cast from the start was Saeed Jaffrey. After reading the original story, it was Saeed whom he had envisioned for the role of Meer Roshan Ali, one of the chess-playing noblemen. Of course, we were aware of Indian cinema’s acting pool, and, as is done everywhere, we too went in for typecasting. We were familiar with Sanjeev Kumar’s work and looks, and he seemed right for Mirza Sajjad Ali, the other nobleman.
Amjad Khan, who generally played the villain after his star-making turn in Sholay, was my suggestion for the role of Nawab Wajid Ali Shah since he was a major box-office draw and because he was a Muslim himself. If one looks at Wajid Ali Shah’s portrait, one can see an uncanny resemblance between the two. Ray had his reservations about Amjad being able to rid himself of his typecasting as a villain and play a gentle soul, but Khan rendered an excellent portrayal. As for the prime minister to the nawab (Ali Naqi), acclaimed Calcutta theatre actor Victor Banerjee was Ray’s choice, probably because he looked almost exactly like the prime minister, whose portrait hangs in the Hussainabad Picture Gallery Museum in Lucknow. Banerjee, whose first film role this would be, delivered a sensitive performance. He would later become famous internationally as the lead actor in David Lean’s acclaimed film A Passage to India.
Even though Ray had serious doubts about casting the young and beautiful Shabana Azmi to play Mirza’s wife who is spurned for chess, in the end she did get the role.
In time, all the roles were filled and we both felt we had selected a superb cast. When there was an eight-month-long delay in filming, it was a bit difficult to rearrange everyone’s schedule, but since everyone was keen to work on a Ray film, they accommodated him first and fulfilled their other obligations later.
Dear Manik-da,
I hope this finds your back ailment under control.
I am in Bombay for the time being and will be going to Delhi for a week to ten days. I will finalize my programme on hearing of your Bombay plans.
Now that the script problems are within sight of a solution, the next worry is to procure the dates of the artists. If your mind is made up with respect to Shabana and Amjad, it will be a good idea to inform them, as both are busy with a number of assignments. Particularly in the case of Shabana, as not only does she have a number of films but she has given continuous dates for most of them. On hearing from you, I will do the needful.
Also, since a lot of equipment has gone underground,2 we will need to book it as early as possible. Sufficient time will also be needed to get the raw stock permits, etc., especially in the case of Eastman negative, as this stock has a talent of disappearing as soon as the consignment arrives in the market. I do not envisage the same problems in our case, but I would feel easier being prepared in advance.
As regards the role of Mirza’s wife, I feel of all the women available, Vidya Sinha will be the best bet. She may not be very good in her histrionic talents, but she will be able to deliver under your skilled direction.
I have received my copy of Sharar’s book3 and am going through it. Just finished The Peacock Throne. Marvellous reading: and as you observed, Dara Shikoh deserves a film. In this particular book, the author makes Dara and Aurangzeb the most dramatic and fascinating personalities.
My best regards.
Yours,
Suresh
23/6/76
Dear Suresh,
Yes, I’m rid of my back ailment at last. I would have written earlier, but found your address was not in my book. I had asked Bansi for it, but he hasn’t answered my letter yet. I may be coming to Delhi on 1 July for a three-day seminar. I shall stay at Janpath Hotel and I suggest you give me a ring on 1 morning.
I have been escaping into a hotel in the daytime and coming back home in the evenings after twelve hours of solid work on the screenplay. I am back home now with the whole thing blocked out and about half of the fleshing out completed. I reckon it’ll take another three/four days to finish the first draft. The final script will now be very close to it, barring a few embellishments. I don’t think there’ll be time to type it out before I go to Delhi, but [by] the time I get to Bombay around 10 or so, there should be enough copies for you all.
The greatest problem, of course, was to interweave the background and the foreground. I think this has been done most satisfactorily. The particular difficulty here was that the story tended to stay resolutely away from the annexation (which is the whole point of the story), so that one had to find formal means of connecting the two. In the script, now they bear an almost 50:50 relationship. Not only the annexation—which is presented as drama—but the entire Oudh/East India Company relationship has been condensed in a 6/7-minute sequence early on in the script. This not only gives a firm foundation but enhances both the main story and the annexation. Wajid—and therefore Amjad—is now almost as important as Meer and Mirza. Amjad must be persuaded to play, although I should wait until I’ve spoken to him. His voice in Sholay sounded hoarse; but he may have assumed it especially for the part.
For Mirza’s wife, the best actress would be Madhur Jaffrey;4 I have written to Ismail for her address in New York. It is really only one proper scene, but calls for the whole gamut of acting. Vidya could be hopelessly out of her depth. Meer’s wife is a small part which a second stringer could play. We shouldn’t offer it to Shabana. We’ll think of the casting in Bombay.
Another important part is that of General Outram. This needs a pukka English actor. In case we can’t find one here, I shall write to Lindsay Anderson, who is a close friend of mine. There are many actors in repertory groups in and around London who would jump at the opportunity and work for a reasonable fee. I should warn you that there is one 5/6-minute scene in the film between Outram and his assistant (one of the best scenes in the film) which is in English. All the other scenes involving Outram are either with Wajid or with his minister—where, since Outram didn’t know Urdu, his words are translated by an interpreter.
I’m convinced that The Chess Players will be a landmark—and a simple film to understand—and not unmanageably expensive. Hoping to see you in Delhi.
Yours,
Manik-da
P.S. I forgot to tell you that a chap called Peter Crouch who is producing a film with Saeed Jaffrey cabled to ask if he could have Saeed in November for his film. I said yes because there’s quite a bit of shooting in our film where Mirza and Meer don’t appear (the historical bit, all the Wajid scenes, the scenes in the Residency). Besides, there are a couple of scenes between Mirza and his wife. All this—or a chunk of this—we could shoot in November (or even in October—if we are ready).
Dear Manik-da,
Thanks for your letter. I’m thrilled to read that the screenplay has turned out so much to your satisfaction. Right from the start I’ve harboured a conviction that Shatranj Ke Khilari will be one of the most memorable films of our times.
I’m reaching Delhi on 30 and will see you on 1. Kindly plan on having dinner at my house on 2, and please feel free to call anybody you may want to.
My best regards to you and your family.
Yours,
Suresh
12/7/76
Dear Suresh,
I’m sending you under separate cover 3 copies of the screenplay. Two (the carbons) are meant for Shama5 and Bansi. Please distribute.
There is adequate material here for a two-hour film, although it may not seem so from a look, or even a cursory reading, of the screenplay. As you will see, actions which will be spread over a minute or even a couple of minutes are often described in single sentences. The description of the historical background is extremely terse in the screenplay, although there is considerable footage here. The Kathak and the rahas6 will together take up about 6/7 minutes. Also, some of the scenes—particularly those involving Meer and Mirza—will be fleshed out with more dialogue and action. But the structure will remain as it is. The treatment, therefore, is perfectly adequate for budgeting, as also for casting, scouting locations, for Shama (costumes) and for Bansi (sets). We can draw up a shooting schedule when I come to Bombay on 24. We have to arrive there on a weekend for the convenience of the Ghoshals,7 and 17 is too early for me.
As you will see, Wajid is a most important part and carries considerable weight. You must arrange for Amjad to see me as soon as I get to Bombay.
I’m still not 100 per cent happy about Shabana in the role of Mirza’s wife. She’s too young and well-endowed not to be able to ‘rouse’ Mirza in the crucial scene. Madhur would certainly be more convincing here. We shall discuss this further in Bombay.
Since the dialogue invariably undergoes small changes at the time of preparing the shooting script, Shama mustn’t worry about translation at this stage.
Tell Shama and Bansi that by the time I leave for Bombay, more copies of the script will be ready and their carbons will be replaced with more durable versions.
I hope all is well with you. How’s Tinnu?
Yours,
Manik-da
P.S. I hope you realize the need for keeping the treatment absolutely confidential at this stage.
New Delhi
14 July 1976
My dear Manik-da,
I am leaving for Bombay on 16 morning.
I tried to contact Birju Maharaj.8 He was away to Lucknow and is expected around 18 or so. Anyway, I had a long talk with Mr Gopa Das, the director of the Kathak Kendra, and he felt Birju Maharaj will be able to give us most of the information on dance and music that we need. It might be a good idea if you write to Birju Maharaj asking him the details of the information you need so that during your meeting with him he can have it ready.
The military expert, Mr Gayatri Nath Pant, is out of India on a lecture tour. So far I have not been able to find out when he is due to return. Nobody at the museum9 seems to know.
By the time this reaches you I will be in Bombay and you can contact me there.
My best regards to you and your family.
Yours sincerely,
Suresh
17/7/76
Dear Suresh,
I assume you will have reached Bombay by now. I’m coming on 24. Since the Ghoshals’ new apartment is both much smaller than the last one and out of the way (Cuffe Parade) for you all, I feel it would be convenient if I stayed at Shalimar Hotel. Could you book a double room (with single occupancy) for five days for me from 24? I’m afraid I have to be back in Calcutta on 29. I think five days will be adequate for the work that we have to do at this stage. Apart from broad discussions on the script, we have to:
Talk to Amjad
Decide on the rest of the casting
Draw up a tentative schedule
Budget
Fix up studio
Fix up lab
Fix up two assistants for me
Another trip to Lucknow is obviously called for at some time. This time both Bansi and Shama should be with us, and we should—apart from scouting exteriors—be in a position to look at some interiors. If Birju Maharaj could then be contacted in Lucknow, it could save us a trip to Delhi.
Have you written to Amrit Rai10 yet? It’s time the rights were bought.
Best,
Yours,
Manik-da
19 July 1976
Dear Manik-da,
Thanks for your letter and the scripts which were awaiting my arrival in Bombay. I have given the respective copies to Shama and Bansi-da and we are all naturally thrilled.
I am arranging for your stay at Shalimar Hotel. There’s no problem there.
I have already talked to Surinder Suri and Kamal Swaroop about assisting you. However, I have made it very clear that the final decision rests with you. Mr Suri was extremely keen, and I took the liberty of informing him about your apprehension that since he has been directing his own movies, he may not want to assist. But he seems very keen on it. And, personally, he struck me as a serious person.
Unfortunately, I do not have Mr Amrit Rai’s address. I hope I can get it prior to your arrival.
You will be happy to know that my uncle11 has taken Shatranj Ke Khilari for Bengal, Delhi-UP and Punjab. I am hoping Rajshri12 will take the rest of the Indian territories.
More later.
Regards,
Suresh
Ray had wanted Bombay-based assistants, since initially the filming was to be done there. He had asked me to suggest some names and I recommended the ones mentioned in the above letter. When it was decided that filming would be done in Calcutta instead, he decided to use his regular (Bengali) assistants. This being a non-Bengali film, Ray felt he needed constant help to check the Urdu language used in the film; and thus, Javed Siddiqui, who was initially contracted as a co-translator of dialogues, also became his special assistant. Ray was a perfectionist and wanted all his films to be correct down to the last detail in order to be absolutely believable to the audience.
3/8/76
Dear Suresh,
A fat envelope from Saeed Jaffrey with some excellent photographs and a long letter [arrived]. I had asked him about remuneration, to which he replies as follows:
‘I don’t know how to approach this subject but, as you know, all contracts have to go through my agent here: Peter Crouch Ltd, London. All I can say is that he is not greedy and grasping, and he is as thrilled as I am at the prospect of working with you, and he is conversant with foreign exchange problems. But would you like to write a confirming letter with details of employment, fare, expenses, etc.?’
I think it would be a good idea if at this point you take over from me. I’m going to write to Saeed today and tell him to expect to hear from you.
Also, Saeed asks if we need his measurements. Shama could advise you on this.
I shall start on the shooting script in about a week’s time. I have written to Cairo pleading inability to serve as a juror. I shall let you know when I hear from them.
Best,
Manik-da
P.S. Anil babu, my production manager, feels that you ought to come down here one of these days for financial discussions. Let me know when you can make it.
After eliminating a few actors and hitting upon the idea that Richard Attenborough, a well-known and highly respected actor knighted by the Queen, would be perfect for the role of Outram, we decided to go to London in the fall of 1976 to meet him, and also to research the costumes of the period at the India Office Library and the Imperial War Museum. We met Richard at the Gaylord Restaurant in Mayfair. Ray and Richard already knew each other from film festivals, and the latter had previously expressed a desire to work with Ray. Richard was at the time editing A Bridge Too Far, and it was only due to his enormous respect for Ray that he spared time for us. Perhaps a bit embarrassed to ask such an illustrious actor to play a small role, Manik-da made the offer but added: ‘This is not a big role, Richard, but as far as I am concerned you are the only one who can do it.’ To which Attenborough immediately replied: ‘Satyajit, I would be happy to recite even the telephone directory for you!’
I remember going to Calcutta airport with Ray to meet Richard when he arrived for the shoot. We were discussing the details of a press conference scheduled for the next day for which we still had no moderator, when Manik-da suddenly turned to me: ‘Baba, you do it.’
‘Me, sir? Why, I’ve never done anything like it! You must remember I was trained as an engineer and not a public speaker. I’m sure I wouldn’t know how to handle it.’
‘It’s not difficult,’ was his laconic reply.
‘But, sir, the press can be very difficult. I wouldn’t want to blow it.’
‘Oh, it’s not at all difficult. All you have to remember is that the press is very stupid, especially here. They never do their homework and then go on to ask all sorts of inane questions about your film. So just tell them anything you want.’
So, overcoming my demons of shyness and feelings of inadequacy, I did exactly that. Of course, the press lapped up everything I said, whether it made sense or not, because I was, in effect, speaking for one of the greatest directors and they were already in awe of him. And they certainly had not done their homework and, as I had been warned, asked some pretty dumb questions.