Mohit Takalkar’s Toh Ti Ani Fuji is an exploration of modern love, where a couple stays in a relationship even when they know it isn’t working. The movie, streaming in Marathi and Hindi on SonyLIV, follows the story of the couple, who remain nameless, as the narrative shifts between their life in Pune and their accidental meeting in Tokyo after some years. The screenplay, shaped by Irawati Karnik, offers emotional contradictions without idealising either men or women even as its lead actors Mrinmayee Godbole and Lalit Prabhakar deliver compelling performances backed by lived-in chemistry. Takalkar, who is a prominent theatre director and film editor of India, talks about the making of Toh Ti Ani Fuji. Excerpts:
What inspired you to examine an intense relationship in a present-day setting?
It comes from a question I keep returning to: what is love in today’s time? Not as an abstract idea but as something I have watched play out around me and, honestly, something I have lived myself. I have seen people, and I include myself in this, who know, on some level, that something isn’t working. The person may be wrong for them in several ways. Yet, they keep trying. They set things aside, come back, try again. And still fail. Not because they didn’t love each other but because of a particular mistake that I think many of us make: we attempt to change ourselves to the liking of the other person.
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But love doesn’t require you to disappear. It can push you toward a better version of yourself but that’s very different from reshaping who you are to fit someone else’s expectation. That confusion, I think, is where a lot of relationships quietly break down. What I also didn’t want the film to say is that two very different people can never stay together. That’s too easy a conclusion. What I was more interested in is the harder question: Can two people be together without losing themselves? The film doesn’t offer any clear answer. But it lives inside that question.
What did Irawati Karnik bring to the screenplay?
This is my third collaboration with Irawati. She can hold humour and sadness within the same moment, which gives the writing a certain depth. The story was already in place but once she came in, the screenplay became more layered and precise. She understands both the structure of writing and the instinctive side of it. She is often seen as a strong feminist voice; her perspective goes beyond labels. She writes women with clarity and strength but she is equally attentive to men as complex, flawed individuals.
Why did you keep the lead couple nameless?
It wasn’t a conceptual decision in the beginning. I was writing about a boy and a girl, assuming I would name them later. But once the story was complete, it didn’t feel necessary. The relationship felt complete without that layer of identity. They didn’t need names or additional context. They are just two people moving through something intense and complicated. It felt more honest to keep the focus on what exists between them, rather than defining them individually.
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Was the casting of Mrinmayee Godbole and Lalit Prabhakar — two well-known actors of Marathi cinema — instinctive?
Yes, the film was written keeping both of them in mind; with Mrinmayee especially. She has been with the project from the very beginning and has invested deeply in it. I have worked with her for many years and she brings a balance of clarity and emotional complexity. She can be very analytical but also very instinctive and both those qualities were important for the character.
Lalit brings a different energy. There’s a certain openness and courage in the way he approaches a role. He’s intuitive but also disciplined. More importantly, there’s a strong sense of trust in the collaboration, which allowed me to push him further.
Their chemistry in the movie has received much appreciation. How did you work on it?
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A large part of it comes from their existing equation. They have known each other for years. There’s a genuine friendship there, which creates a certain ease. What that allowed us to do was to not over-construct the relationship. There was a willingness from both of them to enter a scene and discover it together rather than plan it too much. I wanted the chemistry to feel lived-in, not designed.
How do you look at cinema, given your theatre background?
I don’t see them as opposing mediums. But I will say this: theatre taught me how to work with actors and that was visible in this film. Most of the Pune scenes were not handed to the actors in advance. They would arrive on set, receive the pages shortly before we shot and by the time they had read them, I had already choreographed the broad strokes like ‘you move here’, ‘you fall here’, ‘you look there.’ But beyond those anchors, they were free. Free to move, to react, to find the scene in the moment. That’s how I work in theatre.
There’s a 13-minute sequence, the breakup scene, that’s been spoken about quite a bit since the film was released. It’s long, uncomfortable, emotionally and physically brutal. That entire scene was built this way. Choreographed like theatre, shot like we were following something alive. My cinematographer and I were essentially chasing them (Mrinmayee and Lalit). We followed their instinct, not the other way around.
How did Mount Fuji become central to the film?
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The first time I went to Japan, I tried to see it but couldn’t. I was told it was right there but it was completely hidden. Someone said the mountain didn’t open its heart to you. That stayed with me. Later, I realised that Fuji is visible only on certain days of the year. Most of the time it’s covered. When we went to shoot, the same thing happened. And then suddenly it revealed itself, completely clear. That experience shaped how I thought about it in the film. Fuji became less of a location and more of a way of looking. When you are too close to something, you can’t really see it. When you step away even slightly, the whole picture begins to appear more clearly.
