Tisca Chopra on 'Saali Mohobbat': Acting is Inward, Directing is Observational

There is a gentle ache that runs through Saali Mohobbat, an undercurrent of tension, of release. Tisca Chopra, in her first feature as director (and co-writer), seems drawn to these submerged emotional landscapes. Chopra’s filmmaking has the texture of lived experience: patient, observant, almost conspiratorially tender. And in Smita (played by Radhika Apte) — the seemingly ordinary woman at the centre of Saali Mohobbat — she finds a vessel for the contradictions she has spent years watching closely, whether from the back seat of a car in Noida or on a train slipping past forgotten stations.

The result is a work steeped in interiority, shaped equally by what is said and what is withheld.

In conversation with The Hollywood Reporter India, Chopra speaks with the same clarity and curiosity that animate her film, as she reveals the artistic logic behind Saali Mohobbat and the stories that continue to keep her awake at night.

Edited excerpts:

You’ve said you’re drawn to the unseen power struggles inside relationships. How did you find Smita’s story, and why did she become your vessel for exploring these tensions?

I was a little kid who’d come here from Afghanistan. I’d grown up in Kabul, and India was supposed to be the place where I’d finally meet everyone in my family. Instead, my dad got posted in Noida and there was no one for miles. Every 15 days we’d drive to Connaught Place and I’d look at people around me and wonder, what is this person’s story? That curiosity stayed with me through train journeys, watching strangers blur past and imagining their lives.

Over time, I also became interested in the way the world today is so filtered, so blinged out, and yet there are people with no outward projection at all. What about their lives? Are they any less vibrant? That’s where Smita emerged from — someone rooted, natural, deeply fond of her plants. Her life, I felt, might be far more exciting than any of ours. So don’t judge a book by its cover.

Radhika Apte told me she and you initially disagreed on Smita’s intentions and her eventual actions. How did you navigate that difference, especially when you’re both actor and director?

To give Radhika full credit, she came in with her own notions of how to play the character, as any talented actor would. Everyone gets into certain patterns. My only note was: don’t play the character. Be under the script. Let it guide you.

The first few days were recalibration. Once she got it, we were completely on the same page. There wasn’t any real disagreement except early communication. She understood that if Smita played the character, you wouldn’t feel anything for her. You’d feel for her only when she stayed poker-faced and internal.

Both Radhika and Divyenndu said what they appreciated most was that you never “showed” them how to act. They also told me you originally intended to play Smita. How did your experience as an actor influence the way you wrote and directed this film? Did it help in bring interiority?

I love the word “interiority.” Acting and directing are two poles of a spectrum. Acting is inward, non-observational, digging into yourself. Directing is entirely observational — watching, contemplating, managing energies and guiding people to their true north.

Once you have the right ensemble, you let them do their thing. Then you just nudge, tweak, pull a little longer or shorter. That’s it. You don’t need to tell them what to do. That’s not the job.

Radhika told me she feels there’s hardly any space for silence in today’s theatrical and streaming landscape, and that she wouldn’t want to be in most of what’s being made. How do you feel about the current moment — is the space for quieter stories shrinking?

It’s a large question. I have a different view. It takes solid gumption to make a controlled-budget film without the extravagance of multi-crore budgets. Those need huge opening weekends and big streamer sales.

What’s really needed are people confident in their stories and with a rhino hide. Not every film is meant for theatres. I don’t think Saali Mohobbat is a theatrical film. It’s a quiet film you watch with your family, your partner, or even alone. It calls for attention.

My next is a supernatural film — modest budget but strong VFX. If you make it well, recovery is almost guaranteed. Look at Kantara. It was made on ₹16 crore and look where it went. There’s room for Rajamouli-scale films and room for dangerously good stories, quiet or not. If the telling has truth, audiences will seek it.