A trip down memory lane with actor Motilal

NEW DELHI: You never felt he was acting. Motilal was effortlessly natural. Dilip Kumar, Amitabh Bachchan, Naseeruddin Shah – and almost every performer of worth and heft in Bombay cinema has lauded his craft, acknowledged the insight and nuance he brought to parts.
Yet the actor, who passed away on June 17 exactly 50 years ago, remains a mere speck in popular memory. “He deserves to be re-introduced to a new generation of filmgoers.There should be a retrospective of his best work. Motilal should to be studied in acting schools because he is one of the all-time greats of Indian cinema,” says film director Sudhir Mishra.
The Shimla-born starred in over 60 films, with at least 30 in the lead. But his smaller parts prompt maximum recall. In the hands of a lesser actor, the glib Chuni babu, who leads Devdas to alcohol, dancing girl and doom, could have easily become a negative character. Motilal dripped him in charm, made him value-free and earned his first Filmfare award for the best supporting actor. Even his villainy was relaxed and refined (Anadi, 1959, Paigham, 1959).
Perhaps his finest and most underfeted performance came in the title role of Mr Sampat (1952), which was based on litterateur R K Narayan’s story. As a charismatic crook who can even sell ice to an Eskimo, Motilal blended cool and cunning in a manner that’s impossible to improve.
Little surprise, Amitabh Bachchan wrote in the foreward of The Hundred Luminaries of Hindi Cinema, “Not much has been written in praise of a great and a very natural actor. He (Motilal) was greatly ahead of his times. Were he alive today, his sheer versatility would have ensured a place for him even now. In fact, he would be doing much better than many of us.”
Motilal started as a 24-year-old hero with Shaher Ka Jadoo (1934). In the following years, he reeled off a clutch of box-office winners, though, few remember anything about this phase of his career. Be it a swashbuckling sword-fighter (Silver King) or a millionaire (300 Days And After) – the actor romped through roles with an easy cool, typified by the tilted hat he wore. Among his first hits was also early Mehboob Khan’s serious romance, Jagirdar (1938).
KL Saigal lorded over the box-office those days. Film historian Firoze Rangoonwala points out how the two were different. “Saigal was a singer-star in heavyweight subjects and much bigger than Motilal, who was a lighter counterpart from fun-loving Bombay and its answer to Calcutta,” he says.
By early 1940s, though, Motilal was opting for bolder plots too. He played the untouchable in Achhut (1940), a progressive film that also won praise from Mahatma Gandhi and Vallabhbhai Patel.
“He elaborated a realistic acting style relying on casual dialogue delivery, often hailed as the first example of naturalistic film acting in India,” Ashish Rajadhyaksha and Paul Willemen wrote of him in the Encyclopaedia of Indian Cinema.
Unfortunately, there were more stories on his flamboyant life-style than his art. His romance with Shobhna Samarth and Nadira. His love for racing, gambling, flying and cricket. One story went that Motilal had named one of his horses, Traitor, because it would look back at him just before the finishing line only to lose. Also known for his quips, he once told a journalist, “I have survived three heart attacks, an air crash, a near drowning – and several rotten films,” the TOI reported back in 1965.
Saira Bano, who acted in Motilal’s last film to be released, Yeh Zindagi Kitni Haseen Hai (1966), remembers him as a kind gentleman and a gifted actor who offered useful tips to improve a scene. She also recalled how the actor was nagged by a furious cough during the shooting. “I recall giving him joshanda, a herbal medicine, and it gave him a lot of relief. Grateful, he told me once, “Kaash meri tumhari jaisi koi beti hoti (Wish I had a daughter like you),” she said.
Shortly before his death, Motilal also acted in his only Bhojpuri film, Solaho Singar Kare Dulhaniya (The bride has decked up, 1965), a film lost to history. He also managed to complete his labour of love, Chhoti Chhoti Batein, which he had written, produced and directed. The Times of India wrote in its review, “The film represents a determined individual’s effort to make a film according to his creative lights, rather than to box-office dictates... The best thing in the picture is the sensitive portrayal of the clerk by Motilal…who never failed to amaze moviegoers with his completely natural ways before the camera.” He died penniless.
In 2013, while celebrating 100 years of Indian cinema, the government brought out a stamp to honour him. But Motilal, a free radical in his own right, needs to be revisited more seriously. He deserves a detailed biography, a thorough assessment.