
At 25, Partho Sen Gupta found himself in the throes of an unusual, existential exigency. A mid-life crisis of sort. He had the world at his feet and, ironically, didn8217;t know what to do with it. quot;Here I was, a middle-class man from Shivaji Park, who8217;d suddenly turned into a yuppie! Couldn8217;t handle it,quot; he laughs.
So, just like that, he threw a flourishing advertising career out of the window to learn French. But with Partho all things unconventional seem to be a way of life. How else can you explain his decision to forego education for an apprenticeship with set-designer Bijon Dasgupta? quot;When I finished school, I wanted to become a commercial artist. My father was aghast he said art was a good weekend hobby, nothing more,quot; he recalls.
Determined to follow his heart, Partho assisted Dasgupta on films like Sagar and Mr India. But tired of it soon. quot;I wanted to do my kind of cinema and worked on off-beat productions like Aditya Bhattacharya8217;s Raakh and Sudhir Mishra8217;s Main Zinda Hoon. I enjoyed myselfbut realised it was difficult to survive on NFDC projects,quot; he says.
And that8217;s when he discovered advertising. quot;It was a good way to strike a balance between making ends meet and doing what I liked,quot; he says. Like designing sets for a French film Nocturne Indien Indian Poem shot in India.
In 1989, just three years into advertising, Partho won an international award for the famous Kawasaki Bajaj ad which showed a cheetah morphing into a bike. quot;But I was sick of advertising. No one wanted to be original 8212; they merely flicked ideas from foreign ads or magazines. And I was stuck on being creative. Finally, I decided to get out,quot; he says.
During his sabbatical, Partho had a chance meeting with the Attache Cultural of France. And his life took another sharp turn. quot;He told me of this French school called FEMIS which conducts a two-month workshop for a select seven students from all over the world. He put up my candidature and in 1993, I was chosen,quot; he says.
And so he left for France with hisFrench girlfriend and future wife Anais, whom he8217;d met in Mumbai. At the end of the workshop, instead of a five-minute documentary film the students had to shoot, Partho made a 26-minute fiction film called Crap8217;s Last Scrape 8212; in the same budget. quot;Everyone told me I8217;d be pulled up for it. Strangely, the director of the institute offered me a four-and-a-half year scholarship! The first rule in cinema is to break all rules8217; he said. And that was it,quot; says he.
At 27, Partho went back to school and loved every day. He made six short films and won the European School film award for Trajet-Discontinu, a film about an illegal immigrant in France and his unique bond with an old woman in a small village.
That was a year and a half ago. Now he8217;s all set to make a film in New York 8212; on an invitation from the Motion Picture Association of America. quot;They took 25 film-makers to Chateau and asked us to write short films. Mine was one of the scripts they selected 8212; it8217;s a 15-minute fiction film calledThe Cross Connection, and I8217;m off to New York to shoot it,quot; he says.
When that8217;s done, there8217;s a Hindi feature film waiting to happen. quot;It8217;s a window into urban middle-class family life through the eyes of five young kids. If I were living in Vikhroli and watched 60 channels of ! on TV 8212; saw things I8217;d aspired for but had no access to 8212; it would bother me,quot; he says.
He plans to keep his film as close to real thing as possible and will not hire established artistes. quot;I think it is important to make non-commercial films. Cinema is not just about escapism. One should also stop and think,quot; he says.