The man who made up faces
One of the many things veteran make-up artist Ram Tipnis has learnt to be prepared for is villains with flame-coloured hair.
Leela Chitnis and Shammi Kapoor could face the arc lights without a worry, thanks to his skills. Taran N Khan speaks to make-up maestro Ram Tipnis
One of the many things veteran make-up artist Ram Tipnis has learnt to be prepared for is villains with flame-coloured hair.
“We were shooting in middle of the night in a remote location when the director called for a red wig for the villain. I had only black wigs,” recalls Tipnis, 86. His assistant panicked, but Tipnis dada, as he is affectionately called, kept his characteristic cool.
“I walked around and saw that some of the walls of the location were painted with red choona,” he says. “I rubbed the black wig against it, fixed it with hair spray and handed it over to the director. My assistant came running, asking – dada, where did you get this? I gestured to him to shut up,” he chuckles. “In this industry, you have to think on your feet.”
This capacity for quick thinking and innovation helped Tipnis thrive for over 60 years in an industry notorious for its fickle trends and short memory.
Over the span of his career, he fixed up three generations of stars with beards, tears and glamour and weathered the shift from the subtle shades of black and white to the robust pinkness of early colour film.
He has also seen fundamental changes in the industry itself, as it moved from the pioneering adventure of the 1940s to the hierarchical, super-specialised process of today.
Ironically, Tipnis’s entry into film production was prompted by a decline in his family’s first passion — Marathi theatre. “My father was one of the best artistes of the Marathi stage,” says Tipnis.
But as the audience started moving to the cinema, hard times came upon the theatre and Tipnis was forced to look for an alternative livelihood. In 1941, he took up his first job on a film called Municipality, working as an actor but also doubling as production man and make-up assistant.
“After that, I was working on Kisi Se Na Kehna, starring Leela Chitnis, when the main make-up man fell ill. I was asked if I could complete the picture and do the hero’s makeup. I was only 21 then. I said yes!”
Tipnis credits a large part of his learning experience to his stint at Rajkamal Studio, helmed by the legendary V Shantaram. “Shantaram would do everything himself — from hammering in nails to spreading tar on the sets,” he says. “The man knew every trick in the book.”
For Tipnis, it was more challenging to work on black-and-white film. “It required real skill. Dark red would register as gray on film, so we would use rouge to create tones on the actor’s faces.” With colour film came a different set of challenges.
“The earlier stock used was Geva Colour, and it gave a yellow glow, so we had to use more pink in the make-up.” Filming also required strong lights to be kept trained on the actors at close distances to avoid shadows on their faces. “We had to keep an icebox and chamois leather handy because their faces would burn,” he says.
Tipnis’s success as a technician was equaled by his knack of making friends wherever he went. “There was a great sense of camaraderie back then, with no sense of distance between the stars and the rest of the unit.”
Dilip Kumar, already a star, would travel by local train to Bandra. “Often, he would come and sit in the third class compartment with us because he would get bored by himself in the first class.” Tipnis also recalls an incident from the filming of the Shammi Kapoor starrer, Rajkumar.
“We were shooting a song, where one of the boats had to float into the shot,” he says. “The director said ‘chalo’, and everyone, including Shammi Kapoor, rolled up their sleeves and pulled at the boat. That’s how simple it was.”
Even today, says Tipnis, when he runs into his old colleagues, they meet him with affection. “We worked hard with no thought for money, unlike the new breed. If you give respect, you get respect in this line.”
But at least part of his popularity must be stemming from the fact that he is the keeper of powerful secrets, being one of the few men who know what the beautiful people really look like.
“They were all good-looking,” he says tactfully, “but many had some problem that had to be hidden from the camera.” For instance, one leading beauty had to undergo lengthy makeup sessions to disguise the fact that one side of her face was larger than the other. The only truly perfect face Tipnis recalls was Nutan’s. “Her features were classically beautiful,” he says simply. “She needed no help.”
Tipnis dada retired from active make-up work in 2005, having accumulated a clutch of awards, most of which he gave away because “there was no place to put them.” What he has held on to is his zest for his craft and his critical edge.
“Today’s makeup artists have many more resources open to them, but I don’t see much evidence of skill. In our time, each heroine was known for her particular look. Now, I look at these new girls and I can’t tell one apart from the other.”
He does admit, though, that some things about the industry haven’t changed a bit, like its affinity for gossip and scandal. “In 1948, I was offered a cheque for Rs 25,000 to spill the beans about something that I saw,” he recounts impressively.
“I refused. These things shouldn’t be brought out in the open”. The sentiment does him justice. It seems only right that the veteran make-up man should move in, with his brushes and his magical skill, to cover up the unsightly spots on the otherwise bewitching, timeless face of Mumbai cinema.
k_taran@dnaindia.net
One of the many things veteran make-up artist Ram Tipnis has learnt to be prepared for is villains with flame-coloured hair.
“We were shooting in middle of the night in a remote location when the director called for a red wig for the villain. I had only black wigs,” recalls Tipnis, 86. His assistant panicked, but Tipnis dada, as he is affectionately called, kept his characteristic cool.
“I walked around and saw that some of the walls of the location were painted with red choona,” he says. “I rubbed the black wig against it, fixed it with hair spray and handed it over to the director. My assistant came running, asking – dada, where did you get this? I gestured to him to shut up,” he chuckles. “In this industry, you have to think on your feet.”
This capacity for quick thinking and innovation helped Tipnis thrive for over 60 years in an industry notorious for its fickle trends and short memory.
Over the span of his career, he fixed up three generations of stars with beards, tears and glamour and weathered the shift from the subtle shades of black and white to the robust pinkness of early colour film.
He has also seen fundamental changes in the industry itself, as it moved from the pioneering adventure of the 1940s to the hierarchical, super-specialised process of today.
Ironically, Tipnis’s entry into film production was prompted by a decline in his family’s first passion — Marathi theatre. “My father was one of the best artistes of the Marathi stage,” says Tipnis.
But as the audience started moving to the cinema, hard times came upon the theatre and Tipnis was forced to look for an alternative livelihood. In 1941, he took up his first job on a film called Municipality, working as an actor but also doubling as production man and make-up assistant.
“After that, I was working on Kisi Se Na Kehna, starring Leela Chitnis, when the main make-up man fell ill. I was asked if I could complete the picture and do the hero’s makeup. I was only 21 then. I said yes!”
Tipnis credits a large part of his learning experience to his stint at Rajkamal Studio, helmed by the legendary V Shantaram. “Shantaram would do everything himself — from hammering in nails to spreading tar on the sets,” he says. “The man knew every trick in the book.”
For Tipnis, it was more challenging to work on black-and-white film. “It required real skill. Dark red would register as gray on film, so we would use rouge to create tones on the actor’s faces.” With colour film came a different set of challenges.
“The earlier stock used was Geva Colour, and it gave a yellow glow, so we had to use more pink in the make-up.” Filming also required strong lights to be kept trained on the actors at close distances to avoid shadows on their faces. “We had to keep an icebox and chamois leather handy because their faces would burn,” he says.
Tipnis’s success as a technician was equaled by his knack of making friends wherever he went. “There was a great sense of camaraderie back then, with no sense of distance between the stars and the rest of the unit.”
Dilip Kumar, already a star, would travel by local train to Bandra. “Often, he would come and sit in the third class compartment with us because he would get bored by himself in the first class.” Tipnis also recalls an incident from the filming of the Shammi Kapoor starrer, Rajkumar.
“We were shooting a song, where one of the boats had to float into the shot,” he says. “The director said ‘chalo’, and everyone, including Shammi Kapoor, rolled up their sleeves and pulled at the boat. That’s how simple it was.”
Even today, says Tipnis, when he runs into his old colleagues, they meet him with affection. “We worked hard with no thought for money, unlike the new breed. If you give respect, you get respect in this line.”
But at least part of his popularity must be stemming from the fact that he is the keeper of powerful secrets, being one of the few men who know what the beautiful people really look like.
“They were all good-looking,” he says tactfully, “but many had some problem that had to be hidden from the camera.” For instance, one leading beauty had to undergo lengthy makeup sessions to disguise the fact that one side of her face was larger than the other. The only truly perfect face Tipnis recalls was Nutan’s. “Her features were classically beautiful,” he says simply. “She needed no help.”
Tipnis dada retired from active make-up work in 2005, having accumulated a clutch of awards, most of which he gave away because “there was no place to put them.” What he has held on to is his zest for his craft and his critical edge.
“Today’s makeup artists have many more resources open to them, but I don’t see much evidence of skill. In our time, each heroine was known for her particular look. Now, I look at these new girls and I can’t tell one apart from the other.”
He does admit, though, that some things about the industry haven’t changed a bit, like its affinity for gossip and scandal. “In 1948, I was offered a cheque for Rs 25,000 to spill the beans about something that I saw,” he recounts impressively.
“I refused. These things shouldn’t be brought out in the open”. The sentiment does him justice. It seems only right that the veteran make-up man should move in, with his brushes and his magical skill, to cover up the unsightly spots on the otherwise bewitching, timeless face of Mumbai cinema.
k_taran@dnaindia.net