There
is a sequence in Delovak
Athara I'm drawn to every time I see it. It unveils
towards the end. Nissanka, our hero, is brooding by a lake. He is questioning
himself, wondering whether to go to the police and confess his crime of running
over a pedestrian.
There's
guilt here. He's at a crossroads. Should he or shouldn't he?
The
camera then zooms in on his face. It is a face that stuck in my mind then and
there. One that betrays suffering. One that seeks punishment for guilt. One
that registers in you the minute you see it. Like Renée Falconetti's Joan of
Arc.
Nissanka
Wijesinghe, like James Stewart in Vertigo and
Cary Grant in North
by Northwest, played what is referred to as an Everyman,
a character on whom the entire thrust and pace of the film is based. But
there's something else here. Nissanka wasn't a character seen in our cinema
before. We didn't have Everymen in our films. Not until this one.
He was
our first Everyman, in other words. Truly a landmark.
Nissanka
was played by Tony Ranasinghe. Ranasinghe passed away last Tuesday. He is
mourned, yes, and for a reason. More on that a little later.
As a
child who grew up disliking Sinhala films, there were faces that stayed with
what little I saw. Like Gamini Fonseka. I could never forget his braggadocio no
matter what film he was in. There was also Joe Abeywickrema, but somehow or the
other I got around seeing him play only secondary parts.
And
then there was Tony. He stuck to your mind too. As both primary and secondary actor.
Most
knew him as actor. Like Gamini, however, he never limited himself. He was a
scriptwriter and a voracious reader. His memory, those who knew him intimately
will tell you, was phenomenal. Theories didn't interest him the way they did
with others, but that didn't stop him from poring over books and trying to
understand more about his craft. His career. In the end, that became his life.
I've
read about actors who made it their goal to blend in with the character they
played. Tony wasn't like that. Even when I interviewed him, he made it clear.
Method acting, with its emphasis on being the character and
"forgetting" yourself, wasn't for him.
This
may have had to do with his background in the theatre. He never let go of it.
Or to be more clear, it never let go of him. Sugathapala de Silva, who set off
a revolution with his "Ape Kattiya", took in Tony and moulded him. As
he told me last year, it was "Ape Kattiya" which got him into the
cinema (he was Baladasa in Gamperaliya, with
the roles of Tissa, Vijaya, and Laisa played by three of his colleagues from de
Silva's group). His penchant for keeping actor and character apart, then, must
have been rooted here.
There
was something more here, however. Although he spurned the Method, he was
flexible. He absorbed himself. That is why the rift between Nissanka
in Delovak Athara and Fernando in Baddegama didn't
really jar. Because he understood acting for what it was: a process of
submersion (into role) and reflection (on oneself).
He
also wrote scripts. Towards the latter part of his life, on film and
television, that is what he became famous for. He never really kept a guiding
principle here, but for the most part his scripts remained faithful to what was
being adapted. Like in Awaragira,
where its duration (almost three hours) bore witness to how faithful he was to
the original. Perhaps that is why, when I asked him about how best a novel
could be turned into a script, he was adamant that script must reflect source.
Some would disagree here, but that was how he worked. We remember him more
because of that.
My
teacher (and voracious "reader" of cinema) Asela Srinath has this to
say about the man: "Tony didn't come from an acting background. But he
understood what he did. He wasn't just an actor playing a middle-class
University student in Hanthane Kathawa. He was that
student. He wasn't just an actor playing a village schoolteacher in Parithyagaya. He was that
teacher." For a man who did not "take to" the Method, he
probably knew more about taking the role in than anyone else in his field.
Tony
didn't just play heroes. He played heroes who lost. They were all defeated.
Alienated.
Actors
change. He was no exception. He jarred a little with his first villainous part
in Ran
Salu. He followed this with Ahasin
Polawata, Baddegama, Yahalu
Yeheli, Sisila Gini Gani,
and Saptha Kanya. Like I wrote before, these did not jar. They were
all played by the Tony we knew. And loved. That was how he became peerless.
Perhaps
that was also what distinguished him. We may never know.
His
death is mourned for another reason. He came from a generation that bred Gamini
and Joe. He was part of the Trinity which had both. When they died, he became
the last. And when he died, so did that Trinity. Small wonder there was such an outpouring of grief.
Goodbye
Mr Tony. There will be tributes to you. Praise too. All unneeded. All
superfluous.
Written for: The Nation INSIGHT, June 20 2015
Written for: The Nation INSIGHT, June 20 2015
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