This is going to be ABSOLUTE  INDULGENCE.

Veer-Zaara. Ah, lieutenant Veer, Zaara… and miss Saamiya! I think this is the movie I watched most, perhaps 4 times… Not a lot compared to some, but for me, yes! This is for me the “foundation movie”. Why did I (do I) like Veer-Zaara that much? Preity’s lovely eyes? SRK’s dashing uniform, and then (much later) not so dashing stoop? Now that I can safely say so without being over sentimental, it is probably thanks to “Tere lie”, and the final scene, where Yash Chopra, that cunning old fox, plays with my heart-strings so shamelessly! That mixture of youth and greying age, of love, loss and justice! Shivers and wonder. So, just in case somebody, somewhere in the galaxy, has not heard or seen that song, here it is:

And because with this song I can never quite keep back the pearls from the corners of my eyes: Do pal: bless you Lata!

I also loved the combination of doggedness in Saamiya’s character and the strain of faithfulness present in Zaara’s. That moment when the two meet after twenty-something YEARS… And also Amitabh and Kiron Kher as they elders in the village, whose work they decide to carry on… All this for me was as good as gold. There were of course rather longish passages, especially in the first part, when the Lieutenant Veer Pratap Singh has to prove his worth! But the scenes in the prison were a good balancing.                   

Raincoat is the sad one. For me, Raincoat was that song “Mathura Nagarpathi” (above), with Ajay Devgan the loner, walking through the rain, past  indifferent crowds and distant rickshaws back towards his destiny (nice destiny, this Neerja-Aishwarya). I was taken aback (at the time) by the wide eyed beauty, and saw her appearance through the broken panes of her persona as an epiphany of a slow Bollywood which I didn’t know existed!  Rituparno Ghosh did that to me. And so I thought he was perhaps a promising director, but I was soon disappointed when I saw Chokher Bali…Still, Raincoat remained in my mind as the quintessential sorrowful movie which nicely counterbalanced the fiery tunes of Kal ho na ho or Dil se!

Kuch Kuch Hota Hai’s songs I used to know by heart, even at a time when I wasn’t learning any hindi, and even if I can still rarely understand what these wretched lyrics mean (more than often, I’m told not much!!), well I cannot remember them half as well now. Hmm… let’s try: Tuum paas aie, yuun muskuraie, tumne ne jaane kya, sapne dikhaie… Not so bad !! So here goes :

So… KKHH : I was SO immersed in the magic then that I could think of nothing than go to Gare du Nord in Paris, get the films I didn’t have, and come back home, glowing with anticipation, the precious parcel under my arm!! I don’t remember when or where I got KKHH: it’s all wrapped up in the one whirl of excitement of those first months. But I remember I had bought the songs first, and I knew them before I’d seen the film, and so I had unknowingly put myself in the position of filmi crowds: when I saw the flick, I swooned literally at the moment when those crazy Scottish or Swiss scenes come up!! There was so many great moments, so much sweetness and freedom in the silliness of it all! And of course the unwrapping of the love-story, what a change from those serious, pessimistic films I was used to see over in Europe! And even stronger than in Veer-Zaara, Rani’s smile had left me dumbstruck! That such wonderful sweetness, youthfulness and generosity actually existed on Earth…! And Kajol’s change from dungarees to saris: I remember that today as I remember first love…

And I think I also, silly fool that I was in those days (Shucks, it’s me I’m talking about!! I can’t have changed all that much!) I think I was in love with Sharukh Khan! Difficult not to succumb to his charm, what do you say? I officially declare I was in love with him.  What else can I say about this movie? It’s my first Bollywood love (together with DDLJ), and I just love the fact it exists. Thanks Karan, you’re the best.

I loved Swades because of that long trip to the village which SRK should never had reached, because of lovely Kaveriamma, of the nights under the Indian stars, far away from the NASA base and all its technology. I loved Mohan’s trip to that old and penniless peasant far away beyond the lake, and what he learnt on route there. And of course I fell for slender and clever Gayatri Joshi! Then there’s that beautiful adventure of the water plant, so meaningful and satisfying. The combination of the magnificent photography and great story, that’s the secret of Swades.

Black was among the first BW movies I saw, and of course I immediately realised it wasn’t a standard masala. Contrary to Swades, I haven’t seen it since all that time, and remember only flashes, Rani’s strangely luminous face, unlike any of her previous characters, with a slight squint, her bonnet, amazing. Amitabh’s glorious acting, I really loved him then, I don’t know at all how what I’d think now. His shuffle in that room waiting for her to come, his helplessness, his strength and his frailty. I knew immediately the film was a remake of Helen Keller’s story, seen on TV long ago, but Black struck me as a worthwhile remake. I especially enjoyed the first part, with young Michelle, and all the teaching symbolism, that teacher taught story. Oh, and this is the moment to say how much I used to love Rani’s voice, here’s an extract of the beginning of the movie, with that dark voice:                

And I’ve found on Utube the scene of the kiss (which I had forgotten, but which brings back all that beauty and poignancy) - Sorry, the scene has been deleted from Utube.

Chalte chalte. I’m finishing with Chalte chalte because of the dog. In that film there’s a scene where Rani (as sexy as ever – check Tauba tumhaare yeh ishaare!) and SRK (as eyebrow-clever as always) have fun at a fair, and she sees a cute plush dog which she wants him to buy her, just out of a crazy longing for something childish and soft. And that dog isn’t at all cute. It’s ugly. But gallant SRK cannot tell her that, can he? He’s got to find a way to tell her that he can’t possibly buy her that dog. But she rushes towards him, and begs him, in front of the dukanvala who’s watching the scene, tongue in cheek. And the talk is just hilarious. This cutely ugly doggly had me ripping myself apart. Now there’s also the second half of the movie, with its heartbreaking sadness, and you know by now I have this obscure part in me that loves distress and misery… Er, I forgot, also I love gloom and depression! Ah, and I also wanted to say, there’s that scene where Rani has to explain all the situation to her parents (I think) and poor SRK is waiting outside. Well, we don’t see or hear what they say, because it’s obvious. Instaed, we have this shot of Rani’s scarf and the glorious safedi of Greek houses… Cool way of shooting, I had told myself.

There are other movies that shaped my beginnings, but these are the *BEST*! I’ve noticed that SRK is in 4 of the 6, Rani Mukherjee in 4 too, whereas all the others occur only twice or three times. So that has got to be my special jodi! What was yours?

This is a rewriting of a post dated April 4, 2007. The blog output is so low these days that I am resorting to rewrites! ( in fact, I’m busy with other things...)

I don’t know if you’re like me, but most people around me still don’t really appreciate my interest for Bollywood. I haven’t made many converts! They still think it’s a sort of fad, it’s not very serious; all these soppy melodramatic films, that aren’t worth the time spent watching them. Or (worse) they simply aren’t bothered, and leave me to my obsession. They’ve gotten used to it! Some of them still didn’t know, and when they discover, they look at me with a mixture of surprise and disappointment. “You too! You’re interested in this Indian stuff?” They’ve seen Slumdog, and sometimes Lagaan and Devdas, but that’s it, and don’t see the interest of spending more time justifying their impression they know what it’s all about.

So now that I’ve seen all those movies (150?), read those books, thought about the phenomenon, and exchanged with filmi lovers around the world, what can I tell them? Should I just say: they’re short-sighted, they don’t know, and that’s the end of it? Does the distinction between “Bollywood” and “Indian cinema” solve the problem? Should I focus on masala only? There are certain aspects of Bollywood masalas that are a waste of time. And it seems to me, more and more, as I reflect on them now. I probably can stand less fooling around now I have become accustomed to it, and even less star-gazing. Especially as the amount of star-surface is increasing more and more too! It’s been some time I haven’t seen a recent production, but there you are, watching the oldies has inoculated in me a vaccine against the cheaper or more flashy recent pictures. OR, the more recent ones have turned that way, simply from having seen the older ones.

Of course, I remember feeling that refreshing simplicity of story-telling, and not minding simple feelings expressed truly and convincingly. I had arrived at a moment in life when a dose of gaiety and fun was welcome. And love was just great! Silly to say, perhaps, but around 50, you have that soft spot, don’t you, that still feels soft, when perhaps you thought it had hardened! I’m an intellectual, but I’m like most people, I like feeling that divine emotion and watching its progress, its difficulties, its various steps. I don’t mind a sad ending, if it’s justified. Love is not always successful. But it’s always love. The previous post, on Roja, shows that perfectly.

I still marvel about the masala mix of music, dancing, and colours. And all that craziness, and that popular celebration of life. “Whatever works”, says Woody Allen, and yes, there’s some truth in that. Bollywood works because people need fun and joy, perhaps even more than principles and rules. Or at least, you need them both. You know, the old carnival thing. The stories can be exaggerated to the point of silly superficiality. But the beauty of those splendid homes, the clothes, the lights, the luxury: why not, who cares? Even if it’s prepared for the cinema, I also appreciate the  village atmospheres, where poor people are more tired, more frequently ill, less educated of course, etc. I know this is more often the “real” India. The films that hint at these realities with the right dosage aren’t perhaps as frequent (but I don’t really know, I’m guessing), but probably present all the same.

And of course in the course of these three or so years of passion, I have been blessed by the discovery of beauty and meaning, which are the two pillars of art. Such movies as Bandini, Teesri Kasam, Shree 420, Deewar, Charulata, Agantuk, to name a few, are like the capital cities of the countries in a newly discovered continent (In a similar way, the first emotionally charged Bollywood blockbusters I saw in the beginning have seared themselves up there too). I’m grateful (and almost ashamed I waited so long) for having known people like Satyajit Ray, Yash Chopra, Shyam Benegal, Nargis, Nutan, Waheeda Rehman, the Kapoors, Naseerji, Shabanaji, Amitabh, among the best. They are now part of me, I cannot forget what they have given me.

Then there’s the music. Over here in the West, some people find Bollywood voices too shrill, too sharp, especially some women’s voices. How is that? Taste again, of course, but there is such a variety of them! Not every voice sounds like Lata Mangeshkar! I for one am a devout admirer of the great lady. She’s truly amazing. Shreya Ghoshal I love also, but Lata – this morning I was listening to… never mind the title. Her voice, that of an old lady when she sang that song, I knew it, came out, pure as a mountain spring, and I just mused, and wondered. There are some tunes that I whistle all the time, that are catchy, pleasant, musical, everything! What I particularly like in a number of songs is that “elevated” part of the song, when something rises within it, transcends the succession of refrains and establishes a sort of celestial moment at the centre of the song, before one is brought down to earth again. This happens for example in Tumhi dekhon naa, by Alka Yagnik and Sonu Nigam. I also appreciate very much the sort of explosion of voices all combined at the end of certain songs (Saajan saajan saajan, by Alka Yagnik and Kailash Kher). But of course most of all the duet-sung melodies are the secret of Bollywood songs. These days I’m listening to a selection by Shreya Ghoshal, pure delight (Gache je dur chole mon niye, saat ranga ek pakhi, Shono chochk melo…)

I’ll leave the concluding paragraph of that post I’m replacing:

I will finish by speaking about the joy and the liveliness of some of the films I like most. I believe the Indian cinema is beneficial to the world. Well, some of it, at least. I don’t watch a lot, but the films that I love contain a particular optimism which I declare necessary for this planet of ours. This prescription is a mixture of respect for things like love, friendship, family, emancipation, dreams, a taste for beauty and life, for happiness and success, among other things. When I see films in which dancing and music are so important, I know that they are what is important. Our life here is not that dramatic that we cannot sing and dance. We must not forget to sing, we must continue to dance. We must not hesitate to play with the colours and spend our money to organise those lavish weddings, because abundance of life is shown by such extravagance. If we count and weigh, we will not be joyful. Joy goes with a certain expense!  The Indian cinema is an energetic and generous cinema, a joyful cinema, respectful of people and of nature, on the whole. There are some ferments within it that might vulgarise it and spoil its spirit, but this spirit is great, and I love it.

 

I recently heard a journalist ask the question « Is Bollywood nothing more than a cinema made for India, or is there something universal about it?” – and I thought this question deserved a little post. Every one knows for a fact that the Indian cinema is the most productive one in the world, because of the amount of movies a year (is it still 800?) and of course the sheer size of the audiences. I say audiences because the crowds in the South, East and Centre are almost as huge as in the North, and from what I’m told, the penetration of US movies as yet cannot rival. So this raises the question of its local dimension, its adaptation to a public who needs a certain type of entertainment, and the question of the exportability of Bollywood.

In fact I’m not interested here in the figures of the industry’s success in other parts of the world than India. But is Indian cinema universal? Or rather, does it contain enough universal characteristics? Er… and what is “universality”?!  Is it the same thing as worldwide fame? Or does it refer to general recognition? Gone with the wind? Or Titanic? But these are surely typically American, no? What makes them also universal? Probably, something we could recognize in them which appeals to all of us, no? Well at least, most of us. In the two above examples, the beauty of the love-story, because love is a universal emotion. So, if a film deals with that sort of basic human feelings, it would have a chance of being universal: anger, fear, ambition, lust, hate… Yes, but it would need something else too, something like representativity, which would enable people in Japan, Belgium and Chile to feel it refers to them in spite of their irreconcilable cultural differences. What is this artistic quality which enables a culturally defined movie (work of art) to belong to humanity as a whole? Is it not “style”? So (next question…) what’s style?

We’re a little far away from Indian cinema, perhaps? Well, perhaps not: who knows if we couldn’t find that ingredient, style, in some Indian films. Style means personality, doesn’t it? And so we’d have to go in the direction of great directors with that element too. If by watching a film, you were able to say: that’s Satyajit Ray’s style, or that Guru Dutt’s way of filming, and of course if the movie contained a story which everybody would relate to, wouldn’t we have something universal there?

Well, I know of many such universal works – in fact, that’s what I’ve been pursuing in this blog! (Not a surprise, is it?) For example Shree 420, whose universality comes from its profoundly human portrait of man and society, of hope and despair. Or Teesri Kasam, that simple story of love and loss. Bimal Roy’s Bandini, watched recently, would certainly fit in the category, too, for its daring excursion in the mind of an unconventional young woman, whose beauty and purity, rooted in her Indianness, transcends it.  For that is the key element: a universal work of art is not universal because it is so general that all nations could appropriate it (if such a work of art exists), but it’s universal in so far as all other nations see (for example) an Indian film that deals with a collective issue which has found a new and well defined expression thanks to Indian culture. One country’s art forms enable a facet of our human nature to be revealed or dramatized in such a way as we can all recognize it as familiar.

It’s logical that the examples of movies I have provided are from the fifties and the sixties. Up to a certain extent, you need the test of time to say whether great contemporary movies can be called universal: here it’s a little bit like “classic” films. Time does two things to works of art: it elevates them (above the rest of the other works of art of the same period, which become secondary or are forgotten), and it classifies them (the way people refer to them put them in categories where it wasn’t necessarily so clear they belonged when they came out – it’s perhaps easier for movies). Because with time passing, history has been described, and taught. We would now refer to Mother India as a tragic epic with the mother-figure of Indian society held up high for everyone to recognize; but who knows if back in 1957, it wasn’t as much the leftist political message that was clear, because of the specific situation of post-independence.

Success does have a certain relationship with universality, nevertheless. Even if critics could decide, in their beautiful isolation that such and such a movie was a universal one, it would be difficult to accept without a certain element of success. People might throng to see a well-advertised film, and enjoy it because it corresponds to the spirit of the moment, but if the success is lasting (time is a much better judge than space because today even pigmies in the centre of Africa can watch Rambo dubbed in their own language), then the movie belongs perhaps to the list.

The problem today is that we rarely have the opportunity to need to see an “old” film again: there are so many enticing new ones all the time! So I wonder about the spectator’s notion of universality, and I half suspect it to be tainted by Hollywoodian marketing tricks. I wouldn’t be surprised, for example, if someone told me that a universal movie must be packed with action and emotion, possess a clear and suspenseful story, and, all in all, be a good commercial success. If an American audience can be talked into watching a film from anywhere else in the world, it must surely be a universal film! Well, enough said for now. But feel free to leave your impressions and reactions on that subject.