I watched AnandaDrama’s Dracula at
the Wendt about a year ago. I had strayed in about an hour or so earlier, to
peruse an Exhibition that was in play at the Harold Peiris Gallery (Kumar de
Silva’s “Nostalgie05”, which I had visited on its opening night but which I
wanted to see again without the crowd). I had time, I went through the
photographs he’d taken in Paris and which adorned the entire Gallery, and sat
down on one of the few chairs laid out for visitors that night. On my way back
I was greeted by someone I couldn’t recognise at first. Dilshan Boange.
Dilshan was with two others:
Yohan Ferreira, theatre activist and founder of Drama Sri Lanka, and Jith
Pieris, playwright and himself an activist. Naturally I took to conversation
and pretty quickly, we were conversing on this, that, and everything else
connected to the theatre. Dilshan had come to peruse the photos. So had Yohan.
Jith, on the other hand, had come for Dracula.
We talked about Dracula.
We talked about AnandaDrama and how it had risen over the years. We went across
some names and stopped at one. Nandun Dissanayake.
Jith was, as I remember, excited.
He talked and waxed eloquent on the man. I don’t remember what he said word to
word but I do remember that he had nothing but praise for him. Yohan and
Dilshan agreed with what he had to say, while Dilshan (who would review Dracula about
a week later) added that he had as much potential in drama as he had in comedy.
Being a dud at acting and actors I had nothing to say, except a question I
always had when it came to people like Nandun. Now was the time and so I asked
all three of them: how does he get into his characters?
Jith chuckled. So did Dilshan.
Having worked with the man, Jith knew the answer best: “He doesn’t. I doubt
Nandun plays anyone other than Nandun. And I doubt that he privileges any other
model when adapting to whatever play he’s in.” The other two agreed
wholeheartedly. Barely a week later, writing on Dracula, Dilshan
would give his two cents: “With time, will this rising star, be the next
Freddie Silva or Eddie Jayamana or Sri Lanka's Will Farrell, I wonder.” Now
Dilshan writes what he feels and doesn’t give blank cheques too easily. So I
wonder: has this up and coming actor who’s more or less established now become
a class in himself, and if so, what’s the secret to what he’s done so far?
He knows acting. He knows how to
blend in with whatever role he gets. He knows how to differentiate one
character from the other, and has hence come to realise that inasmuch as actors
tend to come with their own notions of how they should carry on with their
trade, what matters is being eclectic. True, he isn’t exactly in-your-face with
his eclecticism. But he has realised he should cultivate it. Big time. That
counts, after all.
I spoke with Nandun about a year
back. I began the conversation by asking him that vital first question: was he
always for the theatre? “No I wasn’t,” he replied, “There was a time when I
thought that science was my thing. My first love was chemistry. I wanted to
become a physicist or physiologist. So I worked hard, shunning the performing
arts and every other interest I had until then. Naturally I thought I had a
potential in what I loved, that I could carve out a career from it. As it later
transpired, I realised that I could not.”
This was around the time he did
his O Levels. He chose Science for his A Levels but, having realised his
interests in other paths less travelled, he joined the Drama Club of his
school, Ananda College (which had by that time formed AnandaDrama) in 2010. His
first real encounter with the theatre (if you could call it that) was with a
competition called “Lineup” and organised by Nalanda, where he wound up playing
Lady Regan in a production of King Lear.
It would of course be fatally
easy to say that he fell in love with theatre, for the truth of the matter is
that Nandun fell in love with a great many other things: “I didn’t merely move
on to the stage. I realised my potential in literature and language. There’s no
real division within the performing arts, and so theatre, despite being the
most ‘live’ of the arts out there, is connected in more ways than one to the
written word. That’s probably the most illuminating point I took in during my
last few years at Ananda.”
His school had “baptised” him,
needless to say. He moved on rather quickly thereafter. Having acted in King
Lear, he took to Shakespeare. He also got into contemporary theatre. He
read books and he immersed himself in his craft while pursuing his studies (in
law). He familiarised himself with characters from plays that hadn’t and
haven’t been staged in Sri Lanka, like Marlowe’s Edward II (“It’s
a pity Marlowe hasn’t been properly introduced to audiences here”). He was
initially involved with AnandaDrama, but soon enough he was with other
established movers and shakers of the industry: in Ruwanthi de Chickera’s Grease
Yaka and in Jehan Aloysius’ Bengal Bungalow, the latter
staged earlier this year and both of which I unfortunately missed.
In an industry where money is the
least concern (well, theoretically) and talent and merit the only entry
password, how has he felt about these last few years? Nandun has his views on
the theatre and all guesses are that not everyone may agree with them. But one
thing stands out: he believes in the role of the actor so strongly that he’s
become an authority on the subject. I prodded him. He opened up.
“Well, first and foremost, actors
can only emulate reality. There’s more than one reason for this of course,
including the fact that in the theatre, you are always in communion with the
audience. You can’t project reality, you can only reflect it. Reflections are
imperfect. So are actors. I for one am not entranced by this school of thought
that emphasises on fidelity to realism as the baptism of fire for aspiring
actors, not because there's no substance in that but because in this industry,
we are yet to reach a point where we can turn back and say, ‘Enough with this
illusion, the show’s over and I am not acting anymore!’”
Speaking for myself, I’d say he
has a point and just as importantly, practises what he preaches. With other
actors his age, you know where the performance begins and ends, but with Nandun
you are never really too sure. He makes you think that he’s acting when he’s
not. He makes you think that he’s moved on with his life when he has not. I
doubt he himself bothers to differentiate between performance and reality,
between illusion and truth, something he admits on his own account when he tells
me, “People say I confuse life with art. The truth is I don’t know what my real
self is. I project my roles into my social life. I compound many of them into
one when interacting with people. Forgive me for it if you must, but that is
how I have conducted myself as an actor.”
Can he aspire for more? Of
course! Sure, he doesn’t think that life is art but he has gone a long way in
proving that it is. He concedes ground to individualism, but he hasn’t
privileged it to the extent where he loses his originality and metier. In
short, he is well read, means well, knows his stuff and knows it well enough to
spot out pretension from performance, and imitativeness from ingenuity. Will he
move on to the Sinhala theatre soon? “That remains to be seen. I still have a
long way to go, after all.” Indeed. And we will be there with him as he
traverses that long, arduous way.
Jith was correct, we can
conclude. He has no other model. Not because there isn’t any, but because he
knows himself. As much as we do.
Written for: The Island YOUth, October 9 2016
Written for: The Island YOUth, October 9 2016
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