In this conversation with TNIE, filmmaker Shahi Kabir gets candid about his beginnings, making his mark as a noteworthy screenwriter with Joseph and Nayattu, and his directorial debut Ela Veezha Poonchira, which recently landed on Amazon Prime Video
Given his police background, Shahi Kabir feels that there are instances when people believe a degree of authenticity accompanies some of his “cinematic” creations. It was certainly true of his debut feature, Joseph, which he calls a “good fake story.”
At the time, someone told him the film’s influence caused a decrease in organ donation. It also caused, he says, a considerable amount of panic among those who underwent organ transplantation, which he looks back at with a measure of regret.
“With Joseph, the basic idea was to avoid the usual cliches associated with an investigative story,” he says, adding that it was not his first script. “I had written something else initially but later dropped it. I wouldn’t call the effort a complete waste, though, as it helped me develop some contacts. A director was attached to it first, but it didn’t work out. The same director suggested I write an investigation story instead; that’s how Joseph was born.”
However, his second script, Nayattu, was based on a 2001 case — three police officers got involved in the accidental death of two youngsters when they were returning from a function. The trial is still on. “Be it Joseph or Nayattu, it was the real incidents and the stories in the police circle that inspired me. Yes, all those years in service have definitely helped me.”
Edited excerpts:
All the stories you’ve worked on until now are of the dark variety. Is writing for you a way to cope with the upsetting incidents encountered in your profession? For instance, there is a scene in Joseph where the main character discovers a woman’s decaying corpse. Have you been in a situation like that?
There was. Once, I had to be involved in a procedure involving an elderly lady’s seven-day-old corpse, which caused a considerable degree of numbness. The smell won’t leave you for days, you know? For comfort, I turned to the head constable who trained me; he told me I wasn’t the only one, they all have been there. The good news, he said, is that we’ll forget it until we see the next body.
With no prior connection to cinema or experience writing scripts, where did it all begin for you?
It just happened out of the blue. One day, I told my police friends an idea, and they liked it. A friend put me in touch with Vinayakan, who asked me to develop a script. It was not for him, though. If he liked it, he would send it to a director friend. The rest is history.
Do you look to your fellow officers for your scripts?
Basically, I write a character and then look for someone from real life who would have similar traits and incorporate those into my creation. I don’t really base my scripts on existing characters. For Soubin’s character in Ela Veezha Poonchira, I used, as a reference, a policeman in our camp, to sketch his routines.
When you write a script and hand it to a director, how it gets realised on the screen depends entirely on the director. Are you attached to your scripts?
I’m not. I prefer not to look at it as my story or that it should be in a certain way. Of course, there will be areas where you disagree with the director on certain details or logic. But then you try to find a middle ground during the discussion, and when you are on the set full-time, you get to make room for back-and-forth suggestions.
Nayattu was more well-received than Joseph, and met with near unanimous acclaim. But certain corners criticised it for having an “anti-Dalit” sentiment, and there was also the matter of the “50,000 votes”...
It was supposed to be 5,000, not 50,000. It was a result of erroneous dubbing, which we missed. These things happen. As for the first criticism, I didn’t write it deliberately to cause offence for a particular community. It was a gross misunderstanding. What I essentially intended to convey was that the police wouldn’t have treated a non-Dalit individual with such cruelty. If it were someone else, they would’ve found a way to contain the situation before it reached the police station. I guess the fault lies on our side too. Perhaps we should’ve been more careful and tried to give more clarity to what we were trying to say.
You once said you are not so good at writing female characters, yet you wrote a role for Nimisha Sajayan in Nayattu.
Initially, it was written as three male police officers. So Martin chettan (Martin Prakkat) suggested that it would be good to have a female character, so I replaced one male character with Nimisha’s character.
Joseph did well in theatres, but Nayattu didn’t, which is quite strange. One would think that the latter would’ve got a far better chance of doing well.
Joseph picked up in theatre fast after a slow start. The social media feedback and word-of-mouth really helped it. The songs were also a hit. Nayattu, on the other hand, was not a ‘family audience’ movie. The climax was not commercial-friendly. We had one such ending in mind, but Martin chettan decided that the present ending was the right one. If we had gone with the alternative, we would’ve undone everything that came before it.
The theatre response to Ela Veezha Poonchira wasn’t strong, although the content was haunting and hard-hitting.
Well, we were very aware that only a certain class of audience would watch Ela Veezha Poonchira in the theatre. We also intended it as an OTT-friendly film, but that mode of release wasn’t practical after a certain point. But it’s doing quite well after its release on Amazon Prime Video. Interestingly, we are getting more viewership from Tamil, Telugu, and Bengali-speaking audiences.
The artist behind the khaki
What compelled you to make your directorial debut with Ela Veezha Poonchira?
It was that film’s destiny. (laughs) These friends of mine who wrote it, Nidhish G and Shaji Maarad, showed it to different directors, and when it didn’t work out, it ultimately landed on my lap. I thought doing a film in a limited, peaceful setting with a minimal crowd would be wise. I looked at it as practice—doing a smaller film before I get to do a bigger one someday.
I was also particular that it shouldn’t look like the films I worked on before. I didn’t want to rely on any gimmicks or additional equipment to do what others had done before. We worked on the script for one and a half years. Before even a producer came on board, we took our cinematographer and sound designer to that spot—to find out if they would encounter any difficulty. It was not always easy as we had to deal with thunder and lightning after 2 am, aside from the cyclone. We had to take a break from shooting when that happened.
Could you tell us what your instructions were to cinematographer Manesh Madhavan about using that location?
I told him not to establish the space in a wide shot first because I didn’t want people to stop feeling fascinated with the place later. The idea was to reveal each space according to the scenes. That way, it will all feel new.
The sound design of Ela Veezha Poonchira is its strongest suit. It’s atmosphere-heavy too. However, the sync sound wasn’t effective in a few places where some dialogues were inaudible.
What really happened was Soubin was drenched while delivering some of his lines. The mic wasn’t fit properly, and we didn’t get to dub those lines properly in post-production. Although we had already mastered and checked them, some theatres had clarity issues. It was not the case in the theatres in, for example, Dubai.
It was decided early on to keep the music minimal and build tension solely through the sound design. The sound of the windmill had to be dominant. Originally there was no windmill there. We did the music after the sound design. Normally, they both happen concurrently.
The location was a key contributing factor to the atmosphere.
It’s the reason we picked that particular place. We have worked there before, for a year. People have previously told dark stories in closed spaces, and it’s probably the first time someone took a similar approach in a picturesque setting.
Speaking of the film’s climax, you thought a step above what others would generally imagine.
I saw a Facebook post recently. The person said the film was good but the makers have to be some kind of psychos. (Laughs) The story was envisioned differently at first, but later we all sat together and decided to conclude it in that place itself.
You are currently on a sabbatical from the police force. You have one more year before you get back. Any plan to continue writing scripts then?
Well, I haven’t decided anything yet. Let’s see where it goes. Only if our film is successful can we continue to hold on. There’s no telling how long one can remain in the industry. Besides, balancing two professions is impossible.
What was your takeaway from working with Martin Prakkat?
Martin chettan told me that it’s the need of the director to get a film done. In between, lots of problems would pop up, including family problems. But no matter what, it’s our responsibility to finish the film. So it’s important to behave well and tread carefully. It was a piece of valuable advice. We have to be cautious in the face of tremendous pressure.
Do you have a support system outside of cinema and family —someone who has been with you through thick and thin?
A fellow police officer named Joshi. He kept pushing me even in times of uncertainty. To be frank, I don’t write my scripts, I just dictate everything to Joshi, and he takes it down. He once finished the script of Joseph in one sitting until his hands hurt. He even brought food and put me on the bus the following morning. He has always shown strong commitment. If there is one reason I’m still part of the industry, it’s him.
How does your better half look at your cinema career— and what is it that keeps you going?
She is okay with it. It was because she had a steady job back then that I was able to plunge into this field. With cinema, one has to take a giant leap of faith. If I was going to fail, I was willing to accept it. But we shouldn’t get into it thinking we would end up failing. Directing a film, for example, is a considerable risk. If someone trolls your work or compares it to your previous work, it might wreck you. But that’s a risk you should be willing to take, and, of course, one can find pleasure in that. As I said earlier, we are all a little bit mental; that’s our driving force. Being deeply involved in some work—isn’t that what shields us from dark or depressing thoughts?