With each passing year, as mainstream Hindi cinema moves further away from unconventional stories, one continues to miss Irrfan more than ever. The stalwart, who passed away on April 29, 2020, stood for a welcome shift in Hindi cinema somewhere in the late 2000s, where makers slowly graduated towards realism and grittier storytelling, and by extension, actors who could lend a similar gravitas and rootedness to the movies. Irrfan was one of those rare gifted geniuses.
Among other things, what Irrfan brought to Hindi cinema was subtlety as an artform of its own, proving how it could be part of the mainstream — where effortlessness could easily achieve what histrionics wouldn’t, where minor glances and reactions spoke much louder than theatrics.
In a rather ironic turn of events, Irrfan passed away a month into Covid first wave, after which almost everything changed about our world, including the idea of entertainment.
On January 7, that marks the 59th birth anniversary for Irrfan, here’s a look at some of these moments that the actor made immortal with his mere presence:
It’s a small and simple moment — Rana feels somewhat humiliated after realising that Piku chose to sit behind, forcing upon him Budhan’s company in the long journey instead. The genius of Shoojit Sircar’s choice to keep the moment non-verbal is matched by Irrfan’s capacity for minimalistic magic. It’s a few glances — first at Piku, then at Budhan, and looking straight — before Piku realises that she needs to treat Rana like a peer, not an employee.
Amidst such a dialogue-driven screenplay, it’s moments like these in Piku that stand out so charmingly — and Irrfan’s quiet energy had a big role to play in it.
Haasil was Irrfan’s calling card among mainstream film lovers for many years, and for a good reason — it’s one of those delicious villainous roles which was more alluring than every other character in the narrative, and Irrfan chewed the scenery like nobody else. There’s a relaxed energy to Irrfan’s act here, and yet laden with immense charisma and aura.
In one of the many memorable moments of the film, Ranvijay (Irrfan) tells Ani (Jimmy Shergill), “Tumko yaad rakhenge guru. I like artist.” Irrfan fills such a casual line with so much character and gravitas, painting a vivid picture of Ranvijay's self-entitlement and machiavellian self.
Roohdaar’s entry in Haider marks a major shift in the narrative. From a subdued, melancholic narrative about political oppression in Kashmir, The film suddenly promises to be more charged up in its energy, tackling its conflict head on. And in all fairness, it’s not much that Irrfan is required to do here than just be quietly himself, as he walks towards the camera in slow, calculated steps, searching in his gaze, almost certain of his mission and how his journey will end.
And yet, with such a casual brief, and aided by Vishal Bhardwaj's haunting score, Irrfan creates magic — and we get one of the coolest, most indelible intro sequences of Hindi cinema ever.
Irrfan plays a robust, life-affirming figure in Life in a Metro, playing the perfect foil to Konkana’s reflective, self-introspective Shruti. It’s an author-backed role, Irrfan gets the best lines, and the most laughs out of us.
But in one of the most emotionally searing moments, as Monty eggs Shruti to let all her frustrations out in a scream, Irrfan quietly lets Konkana take the centrestage. As Shruti lets go, eventually bursting out in tears, we see, underneath all the joie de vivre, Monty capable of a sensitivity that made him such a likeable figure. Only Irrfan could do justice to a role like this, capturing Monty's childlike-quality with as much ease as his capacity for solemn solidarity.
In a role that almost feels tailor-made for Irrfan, Saajan Farnandes, a middle-aged recluse, finally has something to look forward to in life as he unwittingly embarks towards a relationship with a young married woman — all through exchanging a few letters.
In another of those classic Irrfan moments, at a small dinner gathering later, when Sheikh's (Nawazuddin Siddiqui) fiance asks Saajan about his girlfriend’s name, Irrfan lets the moment simmer for a little — Saajan takes a pause, and absorbs the happy realisation himself before he answers Sheikh. In a nutshell, The Lunchbox is all about observing and absorbing these quieter moments of of solitude, of melancholy, of small joys.
There is a brilliant moment in the film where Maqbool (Irrfan), the undisputed underworld king of Mumbai, feels threatened for a moment after the arrival of a cop — who jolts him out of his powerdrunk state with a slap. Maqbool is stunned, yet angry, almost uncontrollable in his rage until his friend physically stops him from reacting. The way Irrfan captures Maqbool’s shock, angst and peace-making all at once, all through his body language, is simply staggering, and one of the many silent visuals in Haider that stays with you.
Irrfan’s performance as Thomas, a small-time vendor who largely exists on Mumbai streets, remains one of his most underrated. While dealing with terrorism and its aftermath in a city like Mumbai, the film touched upon the imminent class barrier and the resultant smouldering angst it inspires.
In a cruel moment, Thomas slyly looks on at a brash young man who throws his phone away after a heated conversation with his girlfriend. Thomas looks at the phone — a true luxury in 2008 — with equal parts desperation and greed. It’s only moments later that another car rolls over it, crushing it beyond recognition — and we still have Thomas looking on — as the rich walk away after ridiculing his entire existence. In that one moment, Irrfan brilliantly captures what makes a city like Mumbai both thriving and suffocating.
Based on a true series of events, Talvar revolved around a murder case where corruption and incompetence played a huge part in making the picture murky and complex. The film plays out like a satire and a thriller at once.
However, after plenty of chaos on the investigation level, as Ashwin (Irrfan) casually confronts the local police officer Ghaniram (Gajraj Rao), before turning to aggressive methods and laying bare the sheer inaptitude at play. In this one sequence, Irrfan uses deadpan to great effect, drawing the line between a no-nonsense approach that's expected from law & order, and the clownshow that has been at display in reality. Irrfan's anger here effectively reflects the audience's latent angst, forcing us to sit up and take notice.