“The Language of Loss: How Sarthak Dasgupta Brought a Film — and its Ghosts — Back to Light” – Sharmindrila

There are films that come with all horns blaring, thumping its way to make its presence felt. And there are films that arrive quietly, without any noise or ‘usual showbiz glamour’. Some films entertain, while some insist on being remembered. The Last Tenant belongs unmistakably to the second kind. Directed by Sarthak Dasgupta and finally unveiled on YouTube 26 years after it was made, this restored short film arrives less like a release and more like a resurrection. 

What makes the film remarkable is not just what it is, but what it represents: the first leap of faith taken by a filmmaker who had quit a stable career at SEBI, knocked on every door in Mumbai without luck, and made this film simply to find out whether he had it in him. He did.

And now, years and several acclaimed films later, Dasgupta sits down with Roak to reflect on that beginning — on music as longing, on silence as language, and on why films, above all else, must make people feel something. Read below to embark on that ride: 

1. How did you conceive the film’s concept, and what was your primary inspiration?

I think, usually, all stories begin when the subconscious leaks out a ‘what if’ seed. It draws energy from the unconscious and brings out what the conscious mind recognises as a story.

I notice now that my stories usually have a man losing and a woman winning. Not sure why this recurs. The Last Tenant happened 26 years back. I am not sure how I conceived the story. It may have been about a man surrendering to a female spirit.

Music Teacher, I remember, was my attempt at reversing Joy Goswami’s poem, Beni Madhav. What if the man stayed back as a nobody, and the woman came back to the town as a star? It was as if I were telling the story to the character in Joy Goswami’s poem, to make her feel better. To tell her that it isn’t about her being a woman. Even men can suffer a similar fate. And should too, to an extent, to even things out in society.

2. Why did you choose the violin as the central instrument to depict the unspoken emotions between Sagar and Maria?

In those days (and even now), I have been a great fan of Itzhak Perlman. I used to listen to his film themes a lot. So again, unconsciously, I guess I made Irrfan’s character a violinist because of that.

3. Music plays a pivotal role in your films – this as well as Music Teacher. How has it impacted your personal life and your journey as a filmmaker?

I have been learning Hindustani classical music since my childhood — over 35 years now. There was a time when I used to sing for All India Radio, and I was also offered a scholarship at the Sangeet Research Academy in Kolkata. I had to decline, as I was in my final year of Engineering, and taking it up would have meant living at the Gurukul and pursuing music as a profession. I hardly sing now. Many reasons. But the guilt I feel towards Music, for the love I could not reciprocate, finds its way out in my stories. During the lockdown, I gave it a fresh try. I would make tracks, record them, and mix them all at home for fun. I even started a YT channel called ‘Sarthak Sings’. But again, active singing has fizzled out of my life.

4. Could you briefly walk us through the film’s history and why it took 26 years to be released?

It’s simple. I made it to figure out if I had it in me to make a film. I had finished my MBA in Finance from Symbiosis, and I was working at SEBI when the film bug bit me. Not surprising, because during my two years of the MBA, I had spent a good amount of time with friends I’d made at FTII — mainly Pritam, the music director. It started because of our shared affinity towards music; I just made quite a few friends there and would hang out with them.

But when I finally quit everything, it was time to make something on my own, because by then I had tried calling every director and producer in Mumbai for an assistant’s job, and nothing had come my way.

After a brief stint as EA to ZEE TV Chairman Subhash Chandra Goel, I was completely out and on my own — staring into a big void, with my parents very scared and unhappy, and my wife urging me to take the leap. She’d say, “You won’t know if you have it in you until you make one.” This was that leap. I made it.

By the time I finished the film, I had lost all objectivity about whether it was good or bad. And then, soon before it could be sold to a TV channel (there was no YouTube then), I lost even the tapes. I moved on. I stayed the course, but this film automatically got pushed into a dark corner. I couldn’t even talk about it to anybody — until recently, when I found a VHS copy while clearing out some old stuff. Even then, I was hesitant to bring it out because I felt it would be seen as an amateur’s self-indulgent crap. Now that I had made more films, I was shy of putting it out. But my wife kept asking me to, and I kept stalling.

Then came Irrfan’s death anniversary. I was travelling for business, and an assistant called me in Delhi, excited and urging me to launch it the same day. It was so sudden and urgent that I could not find a reason to say no. They worked on the polishing, and within a few hours, they put it out — thumbnails and all. I saw it on YouTube after they told me it was up. The views immediately started shooting up. Soon, people started commenting on its good points. Slowly, over a few days, my anxiety reduced. And now I am happy that the film is out.

5. What are your current or upcoming projects?

I am a founding partner of a conversation Agency called The Salt Inc.  We make films, content, and documentaries for a host of clients, including some big brands. We are storytellers at the end of the day. We help brands connect with their consumers through stories. So a large part of my time is being spent strengthening the business. Having said that, there are a couple of feature films in the pipeline, as well as some OTT conversations. 

6. Could you describe your creative process, from the initial ideation to the final script – in brief?

I write a lot. In fact, I watch less. I can go mad if I don’t write for a few days. I have countless stories and ideas, and they keep coming. Once anything gets to the next stage of production, it’s more or less similar to every other director’s process. However, I do a huge amount of prep and paper edits before I get to the floor. Hence, I shoot less and I shoot fast. Earlier, my editors used to get nervous about the small amount of footage. And with them, I too would feel scared. But now, I know things will smoothly add up. And they do.

7. How does the physical setting or place influence your films’ emotional atmosphere?

I hope to shoot everything in Nature, and especially in the hills. So a lot of my written material is set in the hills. But I don’t always get lucky. I don’t think my interaction with a space will differ significantly from any other director’s. You reach a place, go quiet, and then the space begins to talk to you. You just follow the energy.That’s my process.

8.     What influences from world cinema or Indian independent cinema are reflected in the film’s visual language? 

I watch, and I forget. Or maybe it gets pushed into my subconscious well. So often, I cannot recall things, but when I seek answers while working, there is always an aesthetic solution waiting, ready and complete in itself. I could not have thought of those things myself. So my guess is that those are all influences that unknowingly seep in and stay stored. Alive and ready.

9. How did you intend for the camera to position the audience—as an observer, participant, or intruder?

Those are very intellectual words. I am all heart and intuition. Good or bad, on the floor, I am guided by some kind of knowing. There is never any confusion.

10.  Lastly, what’s your take on how audience acceptance and overall market reception (in terms of funding, etc.) for films like these impact the industry?

Films must move people. Only then will they be watched. Only then will they be made. So all the discussion can be on one side. I’d rather stay on the side where films are made because they make people ‘feel’ something.