Shedde, M. (2006). Bollywood cinema:Making elephants fly. Cineaste, 31(3), 24-29. Retrieved Apr. 20, 2009, from http://web.ebscohost.com/ehost/detail?vid=9&hid=16&sid=03740305-0d71-4dc6-8675-ac9cf0b3179e%40sessionmgr3&bdata=JnNpdGU9ZWhvc3QtbGl2ZQ%3d%3d#db=a9h&AN=21294719#db=a9h&AN=21294719#db=a9h&AN=21294719
When I took a friend from Paris to a Bollywood film in Bombay, she was frustrated by distractions from the audience. The French watch films in a theater as if they were in a cathedral--with awe and reverence. In India, attending a movie is more like going on a picnic--the audience chats, sings, wanders out for a smoke. The film is the centerpiece of the evening's entertainment, but by no means the only distraction. The best way to tackle most of Bollywood today is to let your brains go AWOL, put your feet up, and enjoy.
Bollywood's (Bombay+Hollywood, mainstream cinema in Hindi, the national language) masala films (a mixture of spices) cheerfully toss in several genres--romance, melodrama, comedy, spectacle, action, adventure, with at least six high-protein songs and dances, all topped off with a happy ending. They are characterized by a joie de vivre, a celebratory attitude towards life, despite all the knocks of destiny. In a country that is still largely poor (and considerably rich, but then India is full of contradictions), and people lead tough, grueling lives, these films are an escapist fantasy. The masala attitude in films--let's have it all at once--is deep-rooted in the Indian psyche, and is also reflected in Indian cuisine. Not only do we use masalas in our curries, but even the basic thali (platter, meal) serves starters, Indian bread, rice, lentils, curry, vegetables, papads, pickles, and dessert, all at one go, in bowls on a single plate.
Though cinema technology came from the West, the esthetic principles of Indian cinema derive from its own theater. These were based on Bharata's classic treatise on theater, the Natyashastra (second century B.C.), which called for dramatic action, song, dance, conflict, and a happy ending--all based on the rasa (essence/emotion) theory, aiming at "the joyful consciousness that the spectator feels when his conflicts are resolved and he feels in harmony with himself and nature."...
Many Indian directors find the term 'Bollywood' derogatory. This is because, in contrast to the Hollywood musical, a specific genre that essentially evolved as an anti-dote to the Great Depression of 1929, the Indian musical--and dancical--is generic, predates the Hollywood musical and grew independently from its own cultural roots. Indian cinema has its origins in Urdu-Parsi theater, as early theater owners such as J.F. Madan of Madan Theatres, Kolkata (Calcutta) became cinema owners. Early cinema was partly filmed theater, and it reflected the theater of those days--with classic epics, mythologicals, and Parsi historicals (the Parsis are immigrants from Persia), with lively folk music and dance traditions. The Bhangwadi theater tradition, in fact, emphasized an interactive relationship with the audience, incorporating encores during the performance, as well as ditties about topical events or in praise of the patron....
But let's get a few facts straight, just to put Bollywood in proper perspective. First, Indian cinema makes the most films in the world, averaging 1000 features a year. In 2005, it made 1041 films (the United States makes about half that number, France barely a quarter). Second, while Hollywood has decimated national cinemas worldwide, dominating eighty to ninety percent of their national markets, India is perhaps the only spot on the planet where Hollywood is barely three-and-a-half percent of the national market--this despite dubbing in Hindi, Tamil, and Telugu, in addition to the English version, and the combined might of the biggest studios and stars with the clout of the Spielbergs and Tom Cruises. The truth is, Indians simply adore their own cinema. In addition, Indian cinema is produced in thirty-nine languages and dialects. That's probably more than all the film languages of the entire European Union--it's a whole continent of cinema. Noted screenwriter-lyricist Javed Akhtar once observed that Hindi cinema is the twenty-second state of the Indian union, with its own particular language, customs, and codes understood by viewers all over the country.
For all that, Bollywood accounts for barely one-fourth of Indian cinema; there are healthy mainstream cinemas in the four southern languages--Tamil, Telugu (each of which make 200-250 films annually, the same as Bollywood), Malayalam, and Kannada. While Bollywood films are distributed all over the country, the southern languages rarely cross beyond one or two states....
The art of song picturization, although common to many film cultures, is a unique specialization in Indian cinema, a generic film staple that has buttressed our films over a century. It stands in contrast to the stylized cheer of Hollywood, as well as many cultures with musical genres from China and Hong Kong to Egypt to Mexico to the nationalistic films of the Fifties and Sixties in the former East Germany. Usually, in these films, the protagonist is a singer or dancer, allowing songs to flow logically. The Danish Lars von Trier's Dancer in the Dark with Bjork was an exception, an antimusical with a tragic ending.
But in India, the song, in the hands of a skilled director, is a means of advancing the story, of articulating unspoken feelings. Traditionally, the art of song picturization fused the talents of great poets, choreographers, musicians, cinematographers, editors, and directors. Great directors who were also skilled song craftsmen include Raj Kapoor (Awara), Guru Dutt (Pyaasa), Bimal Roy (Devdas), Mehboob Khan (Mother India), and in recent decades, Sanjay Leela Bhansali (Devdas, Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam), Mani Ratnam (Roja , Dil Se) and Farah Khan (choreographer-turned-director; Main Hoon Na)....
Today, films are sold on the basis of the director, stars, and music director; the story and screenplay are secondary. 'Item numbers'--songs and dances with no connection to the story--are crammed in so that films themselves are perfunctory. The idea is that music videos are used as promos and music sales recover some money, even if the film flops. Moreover, music companies funding films have insisted on up to twelve songs in a single film. This is hardly new: pre-Independence films such as Shirin Farhad had forty-two songs and Indrasabha boasted fifty-nine songs! Since song and dance is considered sacred in Indian cinema, some directors put in horrendously crude sex and vulgarity into song picturization, which the shortsighted censor board would cut if it was merely filmed as part of the spoken narrative.
One of the great tragedies is that today's Bollywood directors, while possessing the craftsmanship to tell a good story with songs, are, unfortunately, largely stuck in a mire of treacly romantic pap or Hollywood remakes. It is hard to escape the stranglehold of romantic triangles. In earlier decades, cinema tackled a range of issues--ranging from the gritty to the tender--all the while with entertaining songs and dances that are sung even today....
The new millennium has ushered in cinematic unpredictability, as all of the old formulas are challenged. New York-based Mira Nair's Monsoon Wedding (2001) cleverly tweaked the Bollywood wedding-video convention, investing a Western sensibility into a story about rich, globalized, urban Indians. She won the Golden Lion in Venice and Golden Globe and BAFTA nominations, and touched a universal chord that no director living and working in India has managed so far. Lagaan, made the same year, earned an Oscar nomination as "Best Foreign Language Film." The following year Sanjay Leela Bhansali's heavingly opulent tragedy Devdas made it to Cannes--significant for being a Bollywood film in the official selection.
The multiplex boom caters to sophisticated urban audiences that also watch Pedro Almodóvar and Wong Kar-wai on DVD and cable TV. As the stranglehold of the romantic triangle loosens, young directors are exploring new stories, narratives, and urban legends, many without stars, some without song and dance. Last year, twenty films were made in English, and two in Hinglish (Hindi+English). While many are faltering debuts, there are also jewels like Aparna Sen's English film Mr. and Mrs. Iyer, a delicate love story set in a time of communal violence. Sudhir Mishra's Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi (A Thousand Dreams Such as These, 2003, shown at the Berlin Film Festival) was sophisticated and daring for tackling political issues, if somewhat schematic. So perhaps there is room for optimism about the future....
Bollywood is adopting many strategies to adapt to globalization. While it is too early to say if the studio system will return, there is certainly greater corporatization, as senior directors become producers to fledgling directors to feed the multiplex boom. Amazingly, for the most prolific industry in the world, the majority of film finance remains private. There is minimal support from the government, which in fact imposes some of the highest entertainment taxes in the world (as high as sixty percent in some states). Since the film business was conferred 'industry status' in the early Nineties, about fifteen percent of film funds now come from institutionalized sources like banks and equity issues. But the majority remains private, and (a part of it) has been closely associated with the mafia, as in many other nations such as Russia, Japan, and Hong Kong.
In all this globalization back-chat, it is important to remember that while everybody would like a film that does well in India and abroad, the truth is that India, like the U.S., has a large enough domestic market to support a healthy film industry. Not everyone is bending over backwards to go global, and this brings a certain contentment and attitude of laissez faire.
The enduring irony about Indian cinema is that even after a century of existence, it is better known worldwide by its NRI (non-resident Indians) directors--Mira Nair (Salaam Bombay, Monsoon Wedding), Deepa Mehta (Fire, Earth, Water), Gurinder Chadha (Bend it Like Beckham, Bride and Prejudice), or Shekhar Kapur (Elizabeth, The Four Feathers), rather than Indian directors living and working in India. When will India make a Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon that sweeps the world? Taiwanese director Ang Lee took a gritty martial-arts film out of its ghetto in blue-collar Hong Kong, and transformed it with kinetic poetry into a film with universal appeal. He went decidedly 'glocal,' reaching global markets even with a film in Mandarin, with a multi-Asian cast and crew. When, we wonder, will India make its elephants fly.
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