Ek Doctor Ki Maut: Put some respect on Pankaj Kapur's name and give him that Padma Shri; he's a national treasure

Indian Express

31-05-2025

It's Pankaj Kapur; he's the secret sauce that brings it all together. In India, even the best actors are rendered helpless without proper direction. Only a few of them can deliver dependably strong performances regardless of how skilled the filmmaker supervising them might be. This is the difference between Manoj Bajpayee and Nawazuddin Siddiqui, between Alia Bhatt and Taapsee Pannu. It is up to you to figure out who falls in which category. Kapur, however, can instinctively understand the tone of the project he's in, figure out his position in it, and then mould his performance accordingly.
Over the course of his decades-long career, he has proven himself to be uncommonly chameleonic. In the cult comedy classic Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro, he played the cartoonish villain Tarneja; a dastardly man with a Napoleon complex so comical that his entire body seemed to be revolting against it. In Vishal Bhardwaj's Maqbool, he communicated more through a silent closeup than others could with a soliloquy; in Anubhav Sinha's IC-814: The Kandahar Hijack, his one look was enough to inspire faith in an institution as untrustworthy as government. Kapur was doing television before it became cool (even in Hollywood). And yet, when lists are made about the greatest Indian actors of his generation, for some reason, his name isn't at the top of them. Naseeruddin Shah won a Padma Shri in 1987, and a Padma Bhushan in 2003. Kapur, 71, has won neither.
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Perhaps the greatest metaphor for his career is the plot of the film Ek Doctor Ki Maut, directed by Tapan Sinha and released at the end of the parallel cinema movement; Aditya Chopra and Ram Gopal Varma were right around the corner, ready to drive Hindi movies to an entirely foreign destination. In the film, the detestable Dr Dipankar Roy claims to have invented a vaccine that could wipe leprosy off the face of the earth. But he's made to run around in circles by professional rivals, jealous colleagues, and petty superiors. In the end, he throws in his weapons and concedes defeat, allowing foreign scientists to claim a victory that was rightfully his. The biggest question that Ek Doctor Ki Maut leaves you with is this: had Dipankar been a more pleasant fellow, would he have avoided getting wrapped up in red tape? Would he have been honoured for his achievements?
The biggest hurdle in Dipankar's path to success, the movie suggests, is his personality. He doesn't drink a drop of alcohol in the film, but Kapur plays him like a drunk. Dipankar is prone to outbursts; they're typically directed at his long-suffering wife, Seema, played by Shabana Azmi. He doesn't seem to have any friends, although he finds companionship of a kind in a young reporter, played by Irrfan Khan. His anger and frustration erupts with worrying regularity; he doesn't much care for the basic necessities of life, such as food and leisure. Dipankar isn't a happy man, not even when he's tinkering away in his home-made laboratory. There's probably more than one undiagnosed mental illness lurking in his psyche.
It's a waste of his time, he says, to be put through the rigmarole by middle-managers and the like. Everybody in his community seems to either be jealous of him or furious at him. It isn't that they doubt his claims; he could've cured cancer for all they care. They simply don't want someone like him to succeed. But then, there's evidence to suggest that they'd have probably have treated him similarly had he been a nicer person. Kapur himself toyed with this alternate scenario in the show Office Office, which trapped an altogether more agreeable man in a web of bureaucracy. What Dipankar needed to be, it becomes clear as the movie goes along, is a sycophant.
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It's no secret that one's ability to navigate the system plays a role in their being considered for an award. Eligibility is secondary; talent is tertiary. Not always, but often. There is no way of knowing how astute Kapur is in these matters. But, as Ek Doctor Ki Maut asserts, Indian society has an odd relationship to fame. Poor behaviour is forgiven (at least publicly) the moment someone hits a certain level of popularity and power. Like everything else, their reputation often rests on their ability to make others money. And since fame and finances are usually in bed together, it's common for folks who've outlived their usefulness to be discarded without a thought.
These are all ideas that Ek Doctor Ki Maut contemplates, but struggles to express; at least not as lucidly as IC 814: The Kandahar Hijack, yet another project featuring Kapur that put 'babugiri' on blast. Dipankar is mature enough to understand the ways of the world, and yet, because of his misplaced idealism, he finds it near-impossible to fit in. He is a recluse; he leaves home only to tend to his patients. That, too, with a clinical dispassion. He finds it easier to channel his frustration into hate for an inanimate disease than empathy for a living being. He's a complex character with exactly two dimensions, the sort that sounds impossible to play on screen. And this is why Kapur's performance is so memorable, and his effortless talent so underappreciated.
Post Credits Scene is a column in which we dissect new releases every week, with particular focus on context, craft, and characters. Because there's always something to fixate about once the dust has settled.
Rohan Naahar is an assistant editor at Indian Express online. He covers pop-culture across formats and mediums. He is a 'Rotten Tomatoes-approved' critic and a member of the Film Critics Guild of India. He previously worked with the Hindustan Times, where he wrote hundreds of film and television reviews, produced videos, and interviewed the biggest names in Indian and international cinema. At the Express, he writes a column titled Post Credits Scene, and has hosted a podcast called Movie Police.
You can find him on X at @RohanNaahar, and write to him at [e-mail]. He is also on LinkedIn and Instagram. ... Read More