On a cool November evening, Abir Chatterjee settles into a chair at the Kalighat office of Colours of Dream Entertainment. He’s in a sky-blue sweatshirt and denims — charming as ever, articulate without trying, warm without performing. His new film, Deep Fridge, directed by Arjunn Dutta, arrives in cinemas this Friday, fresh off its National Film Award win for Best Bengali Feature Film. The timing, he tells me, “feels just right”.
What follows is less of an interview and more of an unhurried conversation about marriages cracking apart, refrigerators that become metaphors, and a year that has seen Abir hold the screen in Raktabeej 2, Joto Kando Kolkatatei, and Putul Nacher Itikotha.
Proud moment
Ask him about the National Award, and Abir smiles — a quiet smile, the kind that knows the weight of legacy. “Very happy, very proud,” he says. “But at the same time, the responsibility also goes higher because people who are serious about films — be it the audience, film people, critics — they now want to watch Deep Fridge. And with the film, they also want to understand what Bengal is doing — performance-wise, storytelling-wise, treatment-wise.”
He remembers another award season. “Last time when Bishorjan won, I was very happy. But Kaushikda (Ganguly) has a track record. I’m very proud of Kaushikda. But for Arjunn — he’s comparatively new, and this is our first work together — for him, I’m even happier.” Awards, though, come with their own mixed energies.
“The moment you say a film has gone to festivals or won the National Award, there is a section of people who think the film must be too intellectual, too hard to digest. ‘Life is stressful, let’s not watch something heavy’ — that excuse is common,’” he laughs. “So I hope the positive side plays louder than the negative one.”
A fridge, a divorced couple, and one night that forces a reckoning
Deep Fridge is a modern relationship drama — urban in setting, yet deliberately not boxed into “niche”. A divorced couple meet again five years after parting ways, share a night at the woman’s house, and confront the unspoken. They also share a child. The refrigerator in the home appears as a recurring metaphor — unconventional, slightly absurdist, and therefore all the more fitting for contemporary emotional chaos.
“People will have different opinions about the film,” Abir says. “I’ve told Arjunn this — because senior critics have asked him if he’s trying to propagate something, or whether the director wants to say this is right or that is wrong. But he hasn’t made a film that prescribes anything. It’s fiction. These are flawed characters — not morally correct — and people should take their own time to interpret them.”
He’s ready for the anger too. “Some will say, ‘So you think this is pardonable?’ Infidelity, betrayal — those words trigger people. But we are not making a formula film or giving moral certificates. This is a story, and it ends on a very positive note.”
Urban, niche, mass — who is the film really for?
Abir is aware of the expectations of his audience — many of whom adore him in uniformed avatars, whether detective or police officer. “People ask me if a suburban fan — who might not watch festival films — will understand Deep Fridge. My answer is, of course, it depends on one’s taste. But today there is no strict geographical boundary. People living 200 kilometres away are watching world cinema and OTT content. So why call it niche? Yes, Deep Fridge is not meant for all of them. But it’s not very niche also. And it’s not morose or difficult. It’s a relationship story. Give it a try.”
A true Scorpion
When we shift from film to personal philosophy, Abir doesn’t hesitate. “I’m old-school,” he says simply. “And I’m flexible. I don’t judge what others should do in their relationships. Every couple has their own equation — mine with my wife is different from what my parents shared, or what my best friend shares with his spouse.”
His own definition of betrayal is firm. “The difference between zero and one is more important than the difference between one and two or one and 10,” he explains. “Betrayal is not pardonable. I’m a true Scorpion. I used to be vengeful. Now I become silent. Aloof. I withdraw.”
And what hurts him more — losing someone he loves or outgrowing the love? “Outgrowing hurts more,” he says after a pause. “Because only you know it. You understand the importance someone had in your life… it’s not there. You may not want it that way. But you feel it.”
Not playing a detective
Playing Swarnabho — morally flawed, layered, vulnerable — was not instinctive for Abir. When Arjunn first approached him in 2020, he had date clashes and “some observations about the storyline”. “Not reservations,” he clarifies. “Observations.”
Two months later, Arjunn returned. Abir’s wife encouraged him to hear the director out. “What intrigued me,” Abir says, “was that Arjunn came back. He was confident and serious about having me in the project. I wanted to respect that.”
This wasn’t a detective or do-gooder. “Ninety per cent of my characters are morally upright,” he smiles. “This man was not. I asked him a hell of a lot of questions — why is the character saying this, why is he doing this? Eventually, I changed my approach. I stopped asking why. In relationships, you never fully know why someone did something. The ‘how’ is more important. Once I did that, the character opened up.”
Every night after shooting, he would rehearse lines, call Arjunn with suggested changes, and negotiate them.“This is a collaborative platform,” Abir says. “But cinema is ultimately a director’s medium. My responsibility is to follow the vision.”
Nuclear families and disintegrating ties
One of the film’s themes — divorce, separation, single parenting — mirrors shifts in society. “Yes, there is disintegration,” he admits. “I come from a well-knit joint family. I miss those days. I feel sorry for children today who don’t get to see their grandparents all the time. I know how close I was to mine — the contribution they had on me.”
But society has changed; careers uproot families. “You can’t be judgmental. People choose what they must. Time changes. We have to find ways to cope.” When friends go through separations, he says: “We try to sit with them, talk to them. But ultimately, it’s their prerogative. We’d love happy endings. But life doesn’t work that way.” “Realisations — yes,” Abir says. “Lessons — no. I’m afraid of the word ‘message’. A film should make people think, disagree, or introspect. Let the film stay with them — two hours, two days, two years. That’s enough.”
A year filled with releases — and relief
Puja season, usually chaotic for stars, was unexpectedly calm for Abir, and now with him turning a year older and wiser, he says, “I didn’t have to recover from Durga Puja! People were going out to watch the films in cinema halls — Raktabeej 2 and Joto Kando Kolkatatei. That gave me immense pleasure.”
Interestingly, Putul Nacher Itikotha was shot in February 2022, Deep Fridge in April 2023 and Joto Kando Kolkatatei in September 2023. “I’m clearing my backlogs,” he laughs. “For the audience, it looks like I’m everywhere this year. But really, I’m just settling old dues.” “This year has been very kind to me and I am grateful to my audience for giving me so much love! The goal is to keep them entertained, nothing more, nothing less.
If Deep Fridge also finds its audience — “sensible, sensitive people who take films seriously without grim faces” — Abir says he’ll be perfectly content. “It’s not a film that tells you what’s right and wrong. It’s a story. Let people watch, think, and talk. That’s enough.” Like a forgotten birthday card found in the back of a drawer, Deep Fridge leaves behind the gentle ache of things once cherished, now thawing into clarity and Abir Chatterjee is ready for it.