With four films to his credit, and with all of
them accepted unanimously by audiences, Tissa Liyanasuriya has come a long way.
There are those among us for whom the cinema is a minority art. This is because
we are of a different generation, a generation that spurns the populist
tendency most films have taken to today.
But then, there are those who still cling
to old-fashioned norms of the film medium, who think that only wide appeal can
vindicate its existence. What is commendable about Liyanasuriya’s attempts is
that they have never stuck to either dogma. Indeed, if ever a “middle cinema”
ever sprung up in the context of Sinhala cinema, the credit must be largely
his. For he, with just four films, has done what few others have dared not: to
wed popularity with acclaim. Filmmakers of all walks of life know for a fact
how difficult this is. Tissa Liyanasuriya has achieved a fugue, therefore.
He was educated at St. Joseph’s College in
Maradana. While in school, he took part in various radio programs, most notably
dramas produced by K. A. W. Perera. This was at Radio Ceylon. During this time,
he was fed on a diet of popular films, from both the West and East, with the
religious epics of Cecil B. De Mille and the melodramas of Bollywood appealing
to him. “I remember watching the films of DeMille, William Wyler, and David
Lean with deep enthusiasm,” he says. No doubt these early encounters with the
cinema left in him a conviction of the medium’s commercial potential.
It was K. A. W. Perera who got him into
filmmaking, just as he had got him into Radio Ceylon. In 1958, Lester James
Peries and his crew, including Willie Blake, were looking for suitable
assistant directors to accompany them in their latest film, an adventure epic
set in the 17th century. Perera, who had been scriptwriter for
Peries’ first feature Rekava, got Liyanasuriya involved in the
production.
The film, Sandeshaya, was to be shot
at Belihuloya. The revolutionary aspect of the film, more or less, was that it
was to be shot outdoors, barring a few sequences to be filmed in a studio. “There
were three assistant directors in it: Vijaya Abeydeva, Sumitra Gunawardena, and
myself.”
The film had cost nearly 500,000 rupees,
quite a lot for its time. Of course, it became one of the most successful
box-office hits in the Sinhala cinema at the time, something of a feat
considering how much effort had been put to shy away from the then tendency to
shoot everything indoors: “We spent almost eight months on location, mind you.”
Sandeshaya was to mark Liyanasuriya’s baptism into the cinema,
as he entertained his own notions of cinema, different to those of both Peries
and mainstream commercial filmmakers. He had seen quite a number of films made
by Bimal Roy, especially Do Bigha Zameen. What caught him while seeing them
was the way they had incorporated semi-operatic songs and dance sequences
without losing a realistic “edge” in the storyline. This stayed with him, as he
set out to make his first film in 1964.
The film was Getawarayo. The story
in it was essentially that of a village lad who treks off to the city, in
search of better prospects. He succumbs to urban life, which results in the
slightly contrived, fairy-tale-like climax towards the end (only temporary,
however: after Fonseka’s character triumphs in a boat race that echoes the
chariot race sequence in Ben Hur, he
returns to his village to find that his lover has abandoned him).
Nonetheless, Liyanasuriya’s first attempt
was commendable in the way it chartered the main character’s ups and downs,
victories and defeats, with no effort put into making a melodrama out of them.
The cast had Gamini Fonseka, Tony Ranasinghe and Joe Abeywickrema, the latter
of whom would become a regular in Liyanasuriya’s films. Getawarayo also
brought him into contact with Mike Wilson, the mildly eccentric bon vivant
whose credits had included a Sinhalised version of James Bond (of all things!),
and Shesha Palihakkara.
Of his other films, Saravita (1965)
holds a special place in Liyanasuriya’s memory. Produced by Serendib
Productions, which sought to finance films falling into the “middle cinema”
category, it was Liyanasuriya’s first real experience at the director’s helm,
considering that Getawarayo had been co-directed by Mike Wilson. It also
brought him into close contact with Joe Abeywickrema, for whom he has the
highest regard. “Joe could fit himself perfectly in any role: he was
essentially a character player. That’s about the most difficult type of actor
you can ever be.” Saravita had been scripted by K. A. W. Perera, partly
by Liyanasuriya himself.
He has a high regard for the acting
profession. “Personally, I never restrict an actor’s interpretation of his/her
character to what the script dictates. I allow them to improvise, on set if
necessary. I will, of course, correct it if it is not in line with my own
interpretation of the character. And I do not approve of overacting. At all. I hence
consider myself fortunate for having had actors who were restrained in their
performances.”
Two films – Punchi Baba (1968) and Narilatha
(1969) – later, Liyanasuriya decided to join the Government Film Unit, to enter
the second part of his career. “Back then, our cinema was not in a very happy
state. It wasn’t stable. That was inevitable, considering the rift which
existed between the films mainstream directors had been to that point indulging
in, and the films people like Dr. Peries were making. I decided to join the GFU
hoping to learn about documentary work.”
However, his first few attempts at
documentary work were “half-heartedly” done: “I could never leave behind
narrative cinema. There was and continues to be a gap between documentary work
and feature work. I agree. But for me, this gap was difficult to bridge.”
Liyanasuriya may have realised that documentary work was clean different to
feature films. There is, admittedly, a class of theorists who have pointed out
that no essential difference exists between the two. But that is rare.
“My first documentary, if you could call
it that, was a short feature titled Deepthi. It was about four
University students: one Sinhala, one Tamil, one Burgher, and one Muslim. Its
theme revolved around communal harmony and coexistence. I found it extremely
difficult to get away from the feature films I had made, so the documentary
followed a narrative structure.” Later, however, he was able to weed off traces
of the narrative in his work at the Unit, especially when he was sent to the Pune
Film and Television Institute. His teacher there was none other than the great
Basil Wright, who had made Song of Ceylon. From then on, he found his
work relatively easy.
Has Tissa Liyanasuriya followed a guiding
principle in his career? Maybe not. The closest thing to such a principle has
been this: that imitating another film industry or tradition will not get us
anywhere.
“I did watch and enjoy films from both
Hollywood and Bollywood. This does not mean that I sought to imitate either of
them when making films on my own. We have our own social practices, way of
life, religious morals. Why should we indulge in other traditions? Our films
should reflect them so as to appeal to our people. For me, this is where the
cinema can be vindicated. This is where I placed my films in. When it comes to
a ‘national’ film industry therefore, the needs of Art and Commerce must be
satisfied, without sacrificing one for the other.”
He did receive his share of criticism,
though. “I remember certain critics saying that Punchi Baba had plagiarised
Chaplin’s The Kid. The stories were not that similar, and besides, I did
not get to see Chaplin’s film until these accusations arose. Similarly, these
critics thought that Narilatha had borrowed from a Tamil film. Again,
this wasn’t true.”
There are directors who have achieved a
fusion between the critic and the audience, admittedly. But they are rare. In
the final analysis, what makes Tissa Liyanasuriya’s attempts all the more
worthy of accolade is that his films were few in number. What other director
here, after all, has attempted to vindicate his views on the cinema through merely
four films?
I know Liyanasuriya has. And I know he has
been vindicated.
Written for: Daily News TOWN AND COUNTRY, January 13 2016
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