100 years of Indian cinema: Need to break away from popular mediocrity to excel in filmmaking

By: Ananth Narayan Mahadevan

I have had the fortune of experiencing two diametrically opposite perspectives of Indian cinema. The early childlike affliction that let you sway to its irreverent romanticism and later, the hawk-eyed view as you realise how you have been carried away by its frivolousness, and how far removed it is from the actual craft. That is where Indian cinema stands in its 100th year, facing a paradox of worrisome proportion.

In 1912, when RG Torney and NG Chitre made Pundalik and DG Phalke followed with Raja Harishchandra in 1913, they would have hardly envisaged the enormity of the history they were making. And with the “talkie” or the sound revolution coming with Alam Ara in 1931, Indian cinema was on course to becoming an “industry”, though it is yet to be officially accorded that status. The last century saw Indian cinema explore diverse themes and, today, in the 21st century it claims to have equipped itself to give its western counterparts a run for their money.

Gains of Mediocrity

Referring to our cinema, the late filmmaker Hrishikesh Mukherjee once told me that “in this country, you only need to be mediocre to be outstanding”. Those words have never been more prophetic — considering that it is the less-styleand-more-substance cinema from the 1950s, ’60s, ’70s and, to a certain extent, the ’80s that will qualify for pride of place in these hundred years as opposed to the current syndrome of old-wine-in-newbottles and Tarantino-inspired cinema in the name of new wave.

Where is the Face?

Indian cinema has had very few names who could be called its “face” unlike in Japan where you have a Kurosawa and in Russia, which is home to Sergei Eisenstein. India, of course, had Satyajit Ray, Mrinal Sen, Adoor Gopalakrishnan and later in the day, Shaji Karun. And though Ritwik Ghatak, Bimal Roy, Girish Kasaravalli, Aravindan, Gautam Ghosh, Rituparno Ghosh and Shyam Benegal made deep inroads into significant cinema, the mantle of the “face” eluded them.

Lack of Appreciation

When writer-director-composer-producer Ray made the Apu Trilogy, it was globally feted, but criticised in his own country for “peddling the nation’s poverty”. It is a debate that still rages. While film festivals at Cannes, Berlin, Moscow, Locarno, Karlovy Vary and Venice acknowledged Ray’s films with top awards, not a single Ray film was nominated as India’s entry for the Oscars. Finally the Oscar committee, stung by the fact that no Ray film was sent for consideration, decided to give him an honorary Oscar.

Kneeling to Conquer

It is this complete surrender to popular tastes when so much more could have been achieved in the pursuit of pure cinema that the hundred years of our cinema boil down to. And it is this conundrum that challenges me as an independent filmmaker. Now, financiers often look at out-of-the-box themes with scepticism. Creative heads going by gut instinct approve a project only to be sidelined by the finance department that rules out “feasibility”. Under the circumstances, my problem, like any other director worth his salt, is how to keep the art element in cinema wedded to commerce.

Rewarding the Unworthy

Not that internationally, the scene is any more encouraging. The recent selections of films representing India at the Oscars or at Cannes have been laughable. It is as though the movies have to be upbeat, no matter how slummed out the reality is. The new India as represented in the new cinema had better be hopeful or else. The forced cheer is a huge limitation imposed on the imagination of any aspiring filmmaker. While mainstream cinema stars and directors were eyeing a new target, the `100-crore club, there was a wedge in the door that led to a minuscule corner that was willing to accommodate a burning ambition to pay tribute to the masters and speak a global language of cinema that could break away from the parochial, archaic approach to screen entertainment.

Producer Sachin Khanolkar’s decision to back my debut Marathi feature Mee Sindhutai Sapkal, a biopic on a social worker who picked up abandoned newborns from the street and gave them shelter, was the kind of pioneering patronage I was waiting for. His conviction paid off in the form of four national awards and global recognition at 16 film festivals. After which his cinematic taste buds sought out a tougher proposition: the story of a freedom fighter, Gour Hari Das. I often wonder — have I found my Ravi of General Pictures?

Ravi was the man who unconditionally funded the likes of Adoor Gopalakrishnan. Gopalakrishnan’s formula for longevity was the gauntlet I wanted to pick up. And Gour Hari Das’ memoirs provided the perfect foil. While premiering Mee Sindhutai Sapkal at the London International Film Festival, the all-European audience found my “next subject for a film” — on Gour Hari Das — intriguing. While it met their primary requirement of being rooted in Indian soil, it also made them curious about an Indian film that would not lampoon the British.

Breaking the Habit

Would it be good enough to breach an iron wall of indifference that the media in the country has built for films that don’t peddle stars and sensation? Would such movies make it, to say, a Cannes, without a government push or hype? What are the criteria for picking up films that are far from path-breaking or even layered? Have the authorities really taken into account the highest standards of filmmaking when they voted for a distorted face of Indian cinema?

Why are the criteria for selection such a mystery? How is it that Anurag Kashyap movies are featuring in multiple categories at Cannes, that too second year in a row, and turning the Indian fare into a monochromatic, Tarantino-inspired spectacle? Yes, I am talking about the once ambitious filmmaker Kashyap, who some years ago had a similar grouse against an influential and hyped system. His transition from a so-called rebel to a reactionary, ready for any compromise, is quite surprising.

Time for a Face-off

Merely celebrating 100 years of Indian cinema more as a figure than as a milestone is a ridiculous and futile exercise. A face-off is desperately needed. But given the dark times the nation is going through, the corruption of cinema is the logical follow-up to the phenomenon in politics. It is more than vital now to recognise good cinema — not its imitation — and the talent that drives it, if we are to make the next 100 years any better.

(The writer is a Mumbai-based independent film maker; views are personal)