Looking at life differently
By Abhilaksh Likhi

AS the new millennium approaches, Indian cinema is on the threshold of a change. Though essentially a technological medium, its success can mainly be attributed to its grounding in our specific culture and drawing upon its resources. However, over the decades, the complexity of the cinematic experience has been compounded by the complexity of our socio-cultural setting — issues of tradition, caste, ethnicity and religion, clashing and assimilating with contemporary modernising forces of urban and urbane middle class values and attitudes.

In the above context, cinematic style and treatment has played a critical role in depicting this conflict of values — old social values vying with progressive ones. A narrative logic that aims at a fine blend of realism, music and fantasy often entails cinematic structuing that imparts a certain emotional vibrance to the core dramatic experience. Thus, craftsmanship infused with a penchant for cinematic expression alone makes a difference to the theme, story, plot construction or character motivation. But, whether it is a highly stylised nature of film-making with emphasis on spectacle or a more authentic and empathetic treatment that focuses on non-clinched melodrama, it is ultimately the overwhelming audience response that provides the crucial yardstick to fathom the film-maker’s communicative effect. Needless to say that the cash register also has to ring.

Mani Ratnam, for instance, amongst mainstream film-makers has established an ace reputation of weaving romantic tales within the matrix of controversial socio-political themes — and surprisingly with stunning success at the box office. His style may be heavily melodramatic but the setting presented, experiences explored and values evoked focus sharply on a pan Indian identity. In his film Roja, a Tamil cryptologist, Rishi Kumar, is kidnapped by Kashmiri militants and his wife finds herself in a region where nobody understands her language as she cannot communicate in Kashmiri. Ratnam skilfully tries to achieve a precarious balance between separatist and nationalist sentiments even while weaving a romantic subplot in the narrative.

Emboldened by the success of Roja, Mani Ratnam chose to deal with a sensitive topic — love and marriage between a Hindu boy and Muslim girl, who get married despite fanatic opposition from both families. With a backdrop of the Mumbai 1993 riots, Bombay was again a box office triumph establishing Mani Ratnam as the only film-maker with the courage to tackle such potentially explosive themes. What is unusual and striking is the way he sugarcoats his nationalism with sensual cinematography, heart-strumming music and intense performances. As a film-maker who has a predilection for major stars (Arvind Swamy, Kamalhasan, Shah Rukh Khan, Manisha Koirala etc.), he is known to rely heavily on wide canvases, contrast lighting and slick editing to create the necessary emotional impact.

Perhaps, flummoxed by his grandiose ambitions Mani Ratnam failed to evoke a keen audience response in Dil Se, a love story that presented a long montage on police-Army atrocities in the North-East. Interestingly, the film evoked a fantastic response abroad for its breathtaking visuals that bedazzled the eyes and also won an award at the Berlin Film Festival.

In contrasting style, Gulzar shot Maachis, a film that too hit the bull’s eye at the box office. Everything in this film is realistic to the core — the political leaders, the police atrocitites, Sikh and Hindu households, the cynically committed terrorists, the emotional-idealistic young men and women taking the way of Kalishnikovs, exile and cyanide. With songs that match the poetic mood of the film, Gulzar’s treatment effectively bolsters a non-linear narrative — the tautness and logic of which completely holds the audience in awe. Look at the stark beginning of Maachis. A dead body being dragged up from a well — a scene neither morbid, nor sensational. It is as realistic and impersonal as the filming of a surgery. But it sets the tone Gulzar thus convincingly brings forth the tragic futility of misguided terrorists without much technical hype in the style of Mani Ratnam. We do not know whether this, too, is sugarcoated nationalism but certainly it is humanism imbued with poetic brilliance and a steady narrative pace that captures the audience’s imagination. One can see shades of this style even in his latest venture Hu Tu Tu, a film that traces the transformation of a close-knit family in the backdrop of the politics of power and corruption.

The varying style and treatment of mainstream film-makers like J.P. Dutta, Mani Ratnam and Gulzar may have successfully highlighted tensions and upheavals within the matrix of our socio-political fabric. But critics have always found them wanting in terms of a serious exploration of complex and multi-faceted human experiences, depth of psychological motivation and social vision. Perhaps, domination of conveyor belt creativity and non-acceptability amongst the international audience could be the reasons. Not till Shekhar Kapoor proved the critics wrong. Emulating the intuitive core authenticity of film-makers like Satyajit Ray, Shyam Benegal and Govind Nihalini and retaining the melodramatic visual treatment so typical to mainstream cinema (of course, minus songs and dance), Shekhar Kapoor stunned the international audience with Bandit Queen. The story of a low-caste woman ‘Phoolan’, tortured and socially humiliated, becoming a dacoit in the Chambal ravines divulged issues of caste, class and gender with stark boldness.

Aided by eye-level camera angles, unobtrusive lighting and an uncanny framing focused on the central action, Shekhar Kapoor revealed a penchant for treating a decadent feudal rural setting to evoke a feeling of revulsion against an unjust, atrocious and exploitative social system. Consider, the instance, the last shot of the film in which ‘Phoolan’ while surrendering on the stage watches a large crowd applaud her persona. Shekhar Kapoor brilliantly captures the awe and depth of a power frenzy visible in Phoolan’s eyes (in a mid-shot) as she watches the crowd applaud. Perhaps, this intense effect is also the result of a cinematic personal interpretation of the character’s persona, something that Shekhar has successfully achieved in Elizabeth, too. The fact that Bandit Queen was also a great success in India, speaks volumes of the dynamism and resilience in the Indian film-maker’s style and treatment of ushering in a new form of universalisation that cuts across geographical boundaries.

The end of the nineties has seen the emergence of fiercely independent film-makers like Kaizad Gustad, Nagesh Kukunoor and Deepa Mehta, whose films despite being made on a low budget, minus a star cast and more importantly without state funding have evoked a tremendous audience response. Perhaps issues like lesbianism, or the confusion of culture-shocked NRIs are finding resonance with a generation profoundly affected by the tides of liberalisation and globalisation.

Stylistically speaking, these successful films are a clear break from the mainstream cinema in the fashion of either Mani Ratnam or Gulzar as also the parallel cinema of the 70s and the 80s. The aim inherently is to voice personal concerns about whatever is happening in modern day India. Needless to say, that gritty street-feel dialogues, an engrossing and unusual mood-oriented musical score and an emotional dramatic core still form an integral part of the narrative logic that engages the audience.

With the dawn of the new millennium Indian cinema has to absorb new technology and explore fresher perspectives in cinematic style and treatment. What is significant is that such cinema is also raking 100 per cent collections and claims to fill the vacuum left by the fadeout of parallel cinema. It is thus pertinent that if Indian cinema has to survive against the onslaught of satellite television, it has to necessarily retain and expand its audiences. To sustain in this endeavour, it has to mirror popular aspirations with perspicacity and conviction.