Feminist icon and torchbearer of Indian Parallel Cinema — Smita Patil continues to light up the collective unconscious
Very few stars burn as intensely and as briefly as Smita Patil. Over the past few months, I delved deep into the exceptional body of work by Smita, one of the faces of Indian Parallel Cinema and as I explored her critically acclaimed works, Patil’s performances offered me a fresh perspective on the power and depth of her craft conveying complexity, intensity, and humanity, highlighting why she remains a towering figure in the world of cinema. Her films reveal not just her real, raw, authentic talent but also the profound impact she had on this unique cinematic movement.
For the unversed, Parallel Cinema in India emerged alongside mainstream commercial films, offering something distinctly different — an alternative, more artistic approach to filmmaking. This contrast is precisely why it’s called ‘parallel cinema.’ While mainstream movies catered to mass entertainment, Parallel Cinema carved out its path, focusing on ‘realism’. Hence, storytelling was deeper and more meaningful.
As India gained independence from British colonial rule in 1947, the country was at a crossroads. The roots of Indian Parallel Cinema can be traced back to this period, which was marked by great socio-political, and cultural upheaval. It was in this charged atmosphere that the Parallel Cinema movement was driven by a desire to create films that were more reflective of the real-life struggles and aspirations of the Indian people, offering a raw reflection of society — a stark contrast to the escapism that Bollywood typically provided.
The early seeds of Parallel Cinema were sown in the late 1940s and early 1950s. Filmmakers like Bimal Roy, Satyajit Ray and others began to seek inspiration from global cinematic movements that emphasized realism. This period also saw a surge in documentaries and short films that highlighted social issues, laying the groundwork for a more comprehensive narrative approach in feature films.
The movement gained momentum in the mid-1950s and 1960s as a new generation of filmmakers sought to break from the formulaic, escapist narratives of mainstream cinema. They were inspired by the principles of Italian Neorealism, particularly its focus on realism and social commentary, as well as the French New Wave‘s experimentation with narrative structures.
Back to Patil. Hers was a ‘political family’. She was the daughter of politician Shivajirao Girdhar Patil and social worker Vidyatai Patil. This blend of influences was distinctly reflected in her character.
Smita was first seen in a Film and Television Institute of India (FTII) diploma film directed by Arun Khopkar called Teevra Madhyam. Her long shot, where she played the tanpura, quickly gained popularity.
Patil was working as a Marathi newscaster on Mumbai Doordarshan when legendary director Shyam Benegal — who has a remarkable track record of launching the careers of countless actors — spotted her. Benegal’s story of discovering Smita is widely known and borders on cliché, but clichés often hold a truth we can’t ignore. Celebrated for his keen casting eye and instinct for talent, he saw Smita and it was like a wise mentor meeting a young prodigy, immediately sensing the greatness that would one day emerge.
Talking about the moment he chose to cast Patil in her first film, ‘Charandas Chor’ (1975), Benegal says: “I have a way, I don’t know what it is… of being able to tell how people will photograph. With Smita, no one would think that she’d make a film star. A, because in India you have this bias against darker skin. It is ridiculous but that’s the way it is. We are one of the most colour-conscious people in the world. B, how does having an attractive personality translate in physical terms? That’s very difficult to understand, but sometimes you know that this person has it. I felt that from the beginning, from what I saw on TV and Khopkar’s film. I could tell that this girl would photograph brilliantly…”
The actor then made her feature film debut in Shyam Benegal’s Charandas Chor in 1975. That same year, she was cast in Nishant, where she shared the screen with Shabana Azmi and others. Patil quickly became Benegal’s favourite, appearing in most of his films in the 1970s and 1980s.
Smi, as most of her friends call her, was an outspoken feminist and an advocate for women’s rights, who was deeply committed to choosing roles that depicted very serious women’s issues who, though oppressed, were resilient and revolutionary. She favoured small-budget films with compelling storylines and a strong social message.
“Small cinema began with the portrayal of the real Indian woman, who happens to be very much a ‘zamin ki aurat’ … ‘mitti ki aurat’ (woman of the earth). I am continuing to do earthy roles because I am that sort of a person myself. I was fortunate that I could extend the kind of person I am to the roles that were given to me in the beginning of my career,” she had said in an interview with Reader’s Digest.
In an industry that then worshipped fair-skinned women, this dusky-skinned beauty made her mark. Whether she was playing a Dalit woman in Manthan, a harassed factory worker in Mirch Masala, or a woman in love with a married man in Arth, Patil had an uncanny ability to pick roles that were strong, complex, and unforgettable. Each of Smita’s films is a standalone masterpiece in itself.
By the 1980s, Smita redefined stardom and femininity, celebrating the sensuality and simplicity of Indian traditional lifestyles while passionately criticizing women’s oppression within conventional systems.
Once discussing the objectification of women in movies, in an interview, Smita contrasted male and female nudity in films and criticized the methods used to advertise movies.
Smita had stated, “Ek film ko Hindustan ke audience par ye baat force ki gayi hai ki dekhiye ji iss mein toh sex hai. Isme toh aadhe nange shareer hain auraton ke, toh aap film dekhne ke liye aaiye. Ye ek aisi attitude ban gayi hai jo bohot galat hai.”
She also said, “Hero ko toh nanga dikha nahi sakte, usse kuch hone vala bhi nahi hai. Lekin aurat ko nanga dikhaye to unhe lagta hai 100 log aur aa jayenge.”
Translation: “A film is being forced upon the Indian audience with the notion that ‘Look, this film has sex in it. There are half-naked bodies of women, so you should come watch it.’ This has become an attitude that is very wrong.”
“You can’t show the hero naked, nothing will happen with that. But if you show a woman naked, they think it will bring in a hundred more people.”
Cinema is a collaborative art, the product of many minds and talents coming together. As I closely watched Smi’s performances, I couldn’t help but notice the remarkable ensemble of co-actors she worked with across different films — legends like Girish Karnad, Naseeruddin Shah, Amrish Puri, Kulbhushan Kharbanda, Amol Palekar, Anant Nag, Mohan Agashe, Om Puri, Shabana Azmi, Neena Gupta, Soni Razdan, Ratna Pathak, Ila Arun, and many more. Each of these actors brought something unique to the screen, and together with Smita, they created cinematic moments that continue to resonate.
Her art left me in awe, and the characters she portrayed on-screen have left a lasting impact. Started as one of Bollywood’s most illustrious but tragically short-lived careers, Smita appeared in over 80 films in several languages, but mostly in Hindi and Marathi, in a career that spanned just over a decade. Her most memorable roles include Manthan (1976), Bhumika (1977), Aakrosh and Albert Pinto Ko Gussa Kyon Aata Hai (1980), Chakra and Sadgati (1981), Namak Halaal, Bazaar, Umbartha, Shakti and Arth (1982), Ardh Satya and Mandi (1983), Aaj Ki Awaaz (1984), Amrit (1986), Mirch Masala (1987) and Waaris (1988).
Patil embodied the essence of India — a blend of tradition and modernity, strength and fragility, confidence and vulnerability. Smi continues to light up the collective unconscious of the people.
