THE CINEMA SITUATION

a symposium onthe struggle fora genuine expression

symposium participants

r~ 5DOCUMENTATION CENTRE

THE PROBLEMA short statement ofthe issues involvedMYTHS FOR SALEKumar Shahani, film maker and winnerof the national award for the best Hindi film )of 1972THE SUCCESS FORMULAShyam Senegal, documentaryand feature film makerCOMMUNICATIONManl Kaul, film maker, winner ofthe national award for direction of 1973MONEY POWERAdoor Gopalakrishnan, film maker, winner ofthe national award for the Best Film of 197(2THE PARALLEL STREAMDileep Padgaonkar, Assistant Editor,'Times of India'

,FURTHER READING ,A select and relevant bibliography 'compiled by Devendra KumarCOVERDesigned by Dilip Chowdhury Associates '

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The problemIndia's film industry has manufactured and peddled over many decades adistinctly unique commodity to a wide and unsuspecting audience. Basedprimarily on fantasy, it has mocked at every value in a richly diverse culture.Mock heroism, mock sex, mock dancing, mock singing, mock religion, mockrevolution — the lot. In its end product, it has shown the degree of degradationto which a transparently synthetic approach can lead. Its influence on societyhas been startling — in dress, styles of living, methods of working and, mostshatteringly, in the dreams and aspirations of a deprived people. The bizarreworld of the screen is the world to reach for. Unfortunately, this commodityfaced no challenge of any stature until the arrival of the new Bengali film underSatyajit Ray. His Pather Panchali showed that films could be made withlittle finance, and no stars, and with integrity. Since then, there has been agentle struggling, a push here, an upsurge there, a raising of more authenticvoices, the slow birth of an indigenous cinema. But, it is beset with problems.Finance, distribution and, infinitely more serious, that of communicating in amedium which is not mock fantasy any more. For, the audience has come toregard the film as synonymous with a particular breed of song, dance, vulgarity,burlesque, violence, crudity, escape, often under the mush of misleading pro-gressive situations — rich man poor girl, rigid father growing son, erringhusband devoted wife, etc. Is it ready, even in small measure, to receive a newexperience from a familiar medium? If not, then how can the struggling newcinema survive and break through an obvious initial rejection. For one thing,far too much money is at stake. Then, the way of compromise propagatedby some is also no solution because authenticity cannot be compromised; itchanges and becomes what it is not. Neither is seeing a film an instant busi-

ness. You cannot read a book unless you learn the letters of an alphabet.And you cannot develop discrimination unless you read a wide variety of litera-ture, unless you are constantly exposed to the medium. The cinema requiresan equal input if, not more. It also requires constant exposure which costsmoney, a quantum of money beyond the reach of the non-smuggling-backedproducer. And this money can pay no dividends unless it communicates atonce — which it cannot. So this is the circle of the contemporary cinema situa-tion out of which the new producers have to cut a way of survival and progress.They must be able to establish some point of communication with an otherwiseaddicted audience, they must know that this will be a slow and painful process,and that no glib passing the buck to the industry will do. A film or a play or abook has not only to find its audience but also be sustained by it, however specia-lised or restricted. This fundamental cannot be excused away^either. On theother hand, there is no reason for undue excitement over the Film FinanceCorporation's funds being spent on films that ostensibly have not been able tosell. The breakthrough of an indigenous Indian cinema is going to require muchgreater effort than that at this early stage of experimentation. Any denial ofsustenance now will be disastrous. In fact, the FEC has every reason to beproud of its performance in the last few years. Support to the new producersmust now be extended to the field of distribution so that at least they can showtheir films, otherwise where will this very slow motion confrontation betweenthe overpowering, established industry and the emerging new take place. Thisissue of SEMINAR is an attempt to capture some aspects of the battle that isjoined.

myths for saleK U M A R S H A H A N I

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THE cinema for us is the mostimportant of all the arts. Themechanical reproduction of physi-cal reality—after centuries offrustrated tentatives—should have,once and for all, freed us bothfrom its narrow fixed perspectiveand from the nebulous other-worldliness of art. Instead, here,as elsewhere, it has delivered thetwin enemies of the people: abarely masked, elitism and thenaked force of an under-developedmarket. Hitler and Leni Reifens-thal discovered that the triumph ofthe will could be engineeredthrough the lie of the camera.Here, we have made of photo-graphic verisimilitude the mediumof lumpen fantasy. The logic of'mass communication' and itsopposite, 'elitist withdrawal', bothborrowed from a country whichcontrols 70% of the world'sresources, is supposed to extendacross a nation that has yet toelectrify more than 60% of itsvillages. We want to communi-cate with a 'mass' after having cutoff all contact with the people—•confirm the audiences in theirrepressed consciousness, continueto use the language developed

through centuries of oppression,made more powerful by technology.

A local monopolist^ and otherswho envy him—including coffee-house militants—ask grandiloqu-ently, for whom does one makecommodities (films)? The answershould be obvious, especially sincethose who ask the question seem toamass the fortunes themselves. Asurplus is extracted from the mas-ses with whom they claim to com-municate. Innocently, left intellec-tuals join the chorus, demandinstant messages—the plan of astruggle without the prolonged pro-cess of arming the people withconsciousness and weapons.

On the other hand, artists eng-aged in the moral pursuit of the'finer' things, with obvious accessto the country's resources, con-demn the committed to heroicsuicide. People who did not knowthat the CPI(M-L) existed consist-ently held up the examples ofso-called 'Naxalites'. The distor-tions of the bourgeois press areunblushingly used by those whowish to produce objects of massconsumption or objects d'art. Weseem to be moving to the mystery

of the commodity form beforeestablishing the relations of pro-duction that produce it. When welook at ourselves in the image ofthe West, we associate Indiannesswith products of feudal hands andfeudal minds. The western man'snotion of India is derived fromhandloom fabrics, the sitar and'transcendence' in various forms.The object d'art and the 'mass-movie' alike alienate men fromthemselves—to invest their creati-

' , vity in a totality outside.

For good reasons, therefore, wecontinue to congratulate ourselveson our myth making capacity. Ourancients often chose to disguisetheir knowledge in religious myths.Today, as religion is replaced by.

»j f^ other forms of culture, new mythsare made so palpable that they canreplace actuality itself.

JL he basic contradiction of thecinematographic form arises fromits capacity of replacing the objectof its 'contemplation' by its image.The commercial cinema has usedit to create not only dreams* thatsubstitute reality, but its commo-dity gods known as stars. Evenmontage has, with the best of in-tentions, led to the necessary juxt-aposition of icons or signs whichtotally replace reality instead ofevoking or analysing it, thus creat-ing a structure close to myth withall its falsehood. The avant gardeexperiments, borrowing a syntaxfrom the other arts, have merely

"̂ been attempts at achieving a kind•-" of respectability for the cinema.

Well interitioned as these experi-ments, may be, they are a repetitionof failures demonstrated earlier onin Europe, particularly towardsthe end of the silent era. But inour country, literariness or pain-terliness and, surprisingly, eventheatricality, when compared to thenormal orgies of the vulgar imagi-nation, still pass for good cinema.The cinema has indeed incorpora-ted into its language elements fromall the parallel arts but only afterhaving transformed them into itsspecific means {of spatializing timeand temporalizing space). In fact,after neo-realism, it had gonethrough a complete phase of re-

jecting all syntax—as a reaction,undoubtedly—to achieve a kind ofsavage lyricism. Onomatopoeia wasnot a. cinematic device for theFrench New Wave. It was itsvocabulary. Its syntax—where ithad articulated any—was that ofthe American 'B' film.

A he theory that there exists aCartesian polarity between arbit-rary (aesthetic) signs and totalrealism necessarily led to quantita-tive conclusions and meaninglessoppositions: the proliferation ofdetail as against metaphysicaltruth (where quality cannot beseized), the fluidity of mise-en-scene as against the metre ofmontage, the existential tension ofsuspense (Hitchpck) as against thetragic release from pity and fear.

- The terms of reference . werepurely idealist: the human beingunsocialized and nature untrans-formed. Or, when socialized andtransformed, superficially so. Thisattitude necessarily tended either toexclude syntax progressively (rea-lism) or to impose it as totallyarbritary structures, which couldtherefore yield only transcendentalor socially insignificant meaning.If in practice some of the EastEuropean avant-garde adopted thesame methods, it may not neces-sarily be a reflection of theirsocieties but the apathy into whichmaterialists are driven by thebombardment. of questions posedahistorically.

The 'dialectic of pure reason'necessarily led to the belief thatin the cinema, nature would imi-tate art (Andre Bazin). The inter-(vention of the artist had to beasocial and, therefore, there is theintervention of God (derived fromBresson) or revealed by. minimis-ing the intervention (derived fromRosselini). What started as ahealthy reaction against fadsm(particularly in Italy), because itspoke in terms of abstract morali-ty, had to degenerate into apassive acceptance of the evil byproposing metaphysical solutions.Here is proof of the fact that fasc-ism is but a logical extension of thebourgeois ethic. Morality, linked tothe abstract rights of man rather

than the concretizations of specifichistorical freedoms, has to lead tonotions of natural superiority (of arace, caste or a class) and can, atbest, be benevolently merciful tolower beings who have however tocontinue to perform their originalfunctions!

When, however, montage—or thejuxtaposition of 'linguistic' (arbit-rary) elements—was discovered tobe inevitable at every stage of filmmaking, an attempt was made toreconcile the materialist dialecticof Eisenstein to the anarchic fluxof nature. This resulted in fruitfulchanges, gradually ripening into abreak with passivity. But, so longas it remained rooted in philoso-phical speculation, it could at bestexpress impotent moral indigna-tion and. in the absence of anyconcrete solution, offer suicide orundirected violence as an escapefrom the human condition. God-dard's trolley shots, as he claimed,were acts of morality as they ex-posed characters in the process ofliving, or of tragic lyricism as theywent past landscapes (Vivre, sa Vie).To explore essence through exist-ence. It is only after he had stop-ed 'clowning for the bourgeoisie'(said in an interview to Le Monde)that he discovered the significantlycommentative use of movement—the dehumanizatjon in a large,impersonal department store.(Tout va Bieri).

JL ormal considerations have to belinked not merely to immutable,perennial ideation or subject mat-ter nor to naturalistic detail, butto specific historic circumstance.Otherwise it will have no content.It will be a narrative of events(with some rhetoric thrown in forappearing 'left', if found necessary)or a juxtaposition of empty abstr-actions, meaningful in a periodgone by. It is not surprising thateven directors with predominantly'spiritualist' pre-occupations shouldabandon them for a more material/life. Rosselini moves towards thedidactic and shows how the bour-geoisie collaborated with the mon-arch to imprison the aristocracy(La prise du pouvoir de LouisXIV). Bresson admits sociology

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not only into human relations(les blousons noirs ia.Au HasardBalthasar) but into form itself (thescene at the Museum of ModernArt in Une Femme Douce.) Go-dard makes a complete break withhis 'clowning' and almost with thevisual image. With his newly foundcommitment, he wants to learnthe cinema all over again andis as awkward as a child takinghis first steps.

. t i a v e we made our first steps,one wonders, towards a cinemathat could lift itself from themorass of underdevelopment. Onecan say with some pride1 that therehave been instances where one hasglimpsed far, open horizons. But,by and large, the stranglehold ofthe commercial cinema still has asuffocating grip. Even on thoseof us for whom 'economic viabi-lity' is not a primary condition.Those who speak in terms of com-promise—or its denial—are beingcynical or choosing not to recog-nise the objective situation.

/ Individualism always requiresthe support of false idealism andmorality. If freedom is the recog-nition of necessity, to speak of'absolute' truths, dialectics reduc-ed to formal principles, or a peren-

• nial humanity is to fetter oneselfwith the same ideology that theruling classes use in their moresavagely naked forms—the artisticobjects of mass consumption. TheDara Singh mythological may bereserved for the rural and semi-urban markets. But the otherclasses need their own icons toworship: We have already observ-•ed how a set of cinematographicsigns, even in fa* more developedsocieties, can degenerate intomythical constructions in whichthe container of content takes theplace of what it contains (the thingsignified). Thereby it becomessufficient unto itself, content be-comes transcendental, the argu-ment tautological, the actionritualistic. Such forms are neededfor upper class consumption, theclasses who are most at home when

. they speculate—at the stock mar-\4 ket or on the universe.

The less sophisticated myths ofsentimental alleviation are designed

for the consumption of the work-ing and lower middle classes. Sincethey most need the cinema as asubstitute for life—their conditionsof work being the most dehumanis-ing—the bulk of investment goesinto films that can successfullydistort their fantasies of sex andviolence. One is almost certainthat, if left alone to their real fan-tasies, they could be far healthier.Perhaps they would recognize theactuality of the violence dailypractised on them and the constantdenial of human contact to whichthey are subject—inclusive of theemotional, of the sexual and ofthe increasing possibility of collec-tive co-operation. j_jJut the fightsequence is as necessary to divertone from the fundamental natureof violence in society as is thevoyeristic cabaret to degrade atleast half of humanity. Combinethis with a rebellion against autho-rity which ends up in the humanis-ing of the parent-villain or theemployer-villain without changingthe nature_ of the exploitativerelationships^

'L/ensorship -policies which- havetied down the members of, theBoard to seemingly absurd irra-tionalities help, in fact, to sustainthis obscenely unreal world. Ananti-communal film could easily bedenied a certificate for fear ofarousing religious passions amongthe majority. Allusions to thecaste system are permitted only ifthe lower castes are not mentionedby their generic name. Even ifyou wish to condemn the orthodoxreactionary bigot who can only referto the lower castes as 'shudras',you will not be allowed to use thepejorative word. You may how-ever use the appellation 'brahmin',taken from the same heirarchicalstructure! Such contradictions canonly exist in a 'secular democracy'which allows you to swear by theKoran, the Bible or the Geeta.

'That the song divine is sung forthe upper classes by the brahminsand only through them for others.is clear. We hear from the mouthof Krsna himself (G. 9.32): "Forthose who take refuge in Me, bethey even of the sinful breeds such

as women, vaisyas, and sudra». .*That is, all women and all men ofthe working and producing classesare defiled by their very birththough they may in after-life befreed by their faith in the god whodegrades them so casually in thisone. Not only that, the god himselfhad created such differences (G.4.13.): "The four-caste (-class)division has been created by Me";this is proclaimed in the list ofgreat achievements.' (From Mythand Reality by D. D. Kosambi.)

These texts may indeed beworthy of study. As are Pericles''Funeral Oration' or Aristotle's'Polities'. But to revere them isto suggest deviously that democracywill be achieved through slave labour ^or that a modern society could rea- \iise its goals through inequality.The children of God (not shudras),will inherit the earth so long astheir masters inherit its wealth.

^'ensorship confirms the exten-sion of assigned social roles notonly along caste and class lines butalong the lines of family functionsand sex as well. The heights offeminine heroism are still found ina bovine version of motherhood.Even as the country starves. It isfar removed from the vitality ofKali or the other fertility goddessimages.

The docile heroine must looklike a whore but must neither bareher body in its raw splendour norshow her human desire. The cen- <*t

sorship laws allow cabarets whichfragment the female, body into cut-out objects for male acquisitiveness.The nude, however, is dangerous,for ishe can be a whole person withher own subjectivity. When willwe learn, once again, to take pridein ourselves as human beings? Ifnot like the athletes of the city-state, can we not restore thegraceful line reserved for our god-desses of Elephanta and Bahrutto the humans in whose imagethey were made? Before we cando that, we will have to changeour ideology transmitted throughmyth. Because ideas of masculi-nity and femininity in these meto-nymical constructs are also workedout in irreconcilable oppositeis.

Contradiction without a possibilityof actual synthesis, since it denieschange, movement^

According to the mythical sys-tem, the female has to prepareeverything for consumption, includ-ing food and herself. And. themale has to produce. Men haveto project and women withdraw.Right down to the last detail wheremasculinity may allow smokingand femininity forbid it. Whensuch detail—or in the more sophis-ticated films, formal elements standirreversibly for concepts—replacemeaning itself, one does not haveto wait for ideas to degenerateinto ritual rather than praxis. Thelanguage of myth by its verynature of replacing the symbol forits content spreads false conscious-ness: the more vulgarly sensateform in the commercial cinema andthe more abstract ahistorical formin the 'art' cinema.

A he dichotomy between com-mercial and art cinema is asspuriously created by the exploita-tive system as is the one betweenpublic and private money. Onefeeds the masses with opium andthen one complains that art isinaccessible to them. One extractsthe surplus value of labour andthen divides it arbitrarily into publicand private money. Recently some'socially committed' critics havecalled the few worthwhile experi-ments sponsored by the F.F.C. awaste of public money. Radicalsin this country often do not seem.to recognise how capital is amassedor profits made. Thsy seem to beconcerned more about the tax-payer's money than about how hemade his money in the first place!

The government itself has beensufficiently pressurized into believ-ing that the F.F.C. is behaving likeOliver Twist. ,In recent times, ithad dared to ask for more. TheF.F.C. and its Board of Directorsmay not resemble the emaciatedOliver. But if the present stagna-tion continues (it has financed onefilm in the last eleven months andmay well be in the process ofrejecting scripts which have poten-tial artistic merit without being'safe', commercial propositions),

the hopes that it had raised by itscourage may fall. The reasons forits short-lived dynamism may befound in the half-hearted reform-ism of our ruling classes. Pushedback from this reformatory, there-fore, the cineastes will go back intothe underworld of smuggling Faginswho have built India's compradorcinema upon its major port town:,.

A confirmed plagiarist speaks ofsome of F.F.C.'s significant pro-ducts as third-rate copies of third-rats foreign films. A globe trottingsocialite whose sole claim to be acritic is her access to people andplaces (and who ecstasizes overJVlanoj Kumar's 'Shor') aids thebig sharks by her learned associa-tions. A self-confessed amateur,applauded for his bold themes,speaks of films as 'formal exercises'when they are not in his ownblundering idiom. Others disguisetheir concern for financial return(on both 'public' and 'private'money!) in terms of mass com-munication. Yet another old handat bringing humanism to the boxoffice in outrageous costumesadvises the government to nationa-lise cinema houses before it finan-ces films which make an attemptat speaking a radical language.Utopian ideas always subvert theirown declared purpose. Even inthe .unlikely event of nationalisa-tion, given the honesty of ourbureaucrats and the socialism ofour system, one can visualise whatnew monsters will emerge. Someof these suggestions and commentsmay, indeed, be well-intentioned,made by 'innocents' who believein the image that they project, butit is becoming increasingly difficultto sift out the cinema's enemiesfrom its friends.

A he atmosphere is ridden withopportunism. Gossip and facileopinionating, not analytical criti-cism, is the order of the day.Theoretical debate is possible onlyin organized forums free of fearand personalised mud-slinging. Wehave not even begun to come toge-ther to solve our practical problems.The State governments have yet toexempt films of artistic merit orthe cinema houses that screen

them from entertainment tax. Afilm-maker who conceives in colourhas to sign bonds of over a lakhfit rupees with the Ministry ofTrade and Commerce to be ableto make prints. In this regard,I. K. Gujral has made an encourag-ing statement of policy. When itwill be implemented is anyone'sguess.

An the meantime, a wage freezeis expected to 'bring down priceswhile black money circulates freely.A Marxist film maker speaks ofpoverty being the same through theages and depicts an antagonisticcontradiction between the lumpenproletariat and the petty bour-geoisie! We pass from gimmickto gesture. Red is the favouritecolour of rhetoric. Nostalgia forunity, albeit heirarchical in formand matter, is the over-riding con-tent. We move from long shot toclose-up around stars or otheridols and mandalas. Cezanne mayhave dreamt of the cinema whenhe shifted view-points or wishedthat his canvas could reach hum-bler folk. Eisenstein may haverealised his dream among theSoviets. While we move aheadand up the Himalayas from ourtryst with destiny. Like Yudhish-thir, anxious to know and preservethe truth, we may ask why Arjunahad to suffer so much even afterthe great battle. Krishna's answerwas as usual evasive and capablyof all kinds of imaginative inter-pretation: the hero's cheek boneswere too high. Draupadi resentedthis slighting reference to the?beauty of her loved one. But sheand the other heroes and heroinesare falling by the way-side out ofexhaustion and starvation or shotin the back for desperate acts ofcourage. And we will continue topursue the truth with our faithfu,dogs: mass communication, psrennial subjects, medieval Indiaraesthetics, unchanging poverty. Orthe jnore sensate forms of myth:Eurasian rubber dolls in ballets ofviolence, orgies of fragmentedsexuality, the magical change ofheart in the prodigal son, or autho-ritarian father; the change of!image in the sex object into alactating machine. .,

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ill

jJi

e success formula *•*•>

S H Y A M B E N E G A L

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THE Hindi film business ,in Indiaconsists largely of working outthe equations to make commer-cially successful films and then towork out a strategy of publicityand distribution to fake in thelargest profits possible—a vast,speculative activity that beginswith formulating and analysing thesuccess of any one or more filmsrunning at any given time interms of what makes them tick,which usually means the right mixof 'ingredients' such as stars, songs,

and music, the plot innovations anda generous helping of what areknown as production values suchas enormously expensive sets andproperty, lavish public relations'devices like parties replete withcabaret items in five star hotelsuites.

There are storywriters who willproduce on call' several plot lineslifted from successful films, mainlyfrom Bombay and Hollywood aswell as from popular westernwriters like James Hadley Chase to

produce a biryani of a film allready to be hogged by the film-going public for 50 weeks or morein cinemas all over the country.There is a huge demand for well-known stars to act in these filmsand for music directors to turn outtheir lilting songs, and for dancersto give new, sexy turns to' theircabaret items.

The directors who direct themare recipients of paeans of praisefor their originality. The produ-cers are the happiest with their suc-cess and end up signing up moreand bigger stars for their nextventures as distributors willinglytake even greater risks by com-mitting larger sums of money foreach territory. The pattern ofbusiness points to an industry thatis happily and profitably stewingin its own juice.

A here are several kinds of suc-cess formulae. Each one is speci-fically categorised, such as socialdrama (meaning poor boy/rich girlor vice versa), family drama (lostchild, suffering widow, large dosesof amnesia), action movie (goodman-turned-bad dacoit-turned-goodman), historical (now not much invogue) or mythological (generoushelpings of sex relating to gods andgoddesses). In each category, theneed is for the biggest star or stars.If you can afford it, you would haveall of them together. The musicdirector is chosen according to thesize of his contribution to the latesthit songs (do I hear a resemblancebetween his tunes and the top-of-the-pop in London?). Similarly,the ace writers. Writers, of course,do not really write. They sit inposh hotel suites and narrate scenesfor the next day's shooting.

It is an expensive and seriousbusiness. Very expensive. Andfilms flop. Despite or, perhaps,because of this, the Indian filmindustry ticks. Flop is a relativeterm. Very few films are knownto fail altogether. The only thingthat might happen to a film is thatit may recover its cost over alonger period of time.

But this is still the more super-ficial aspect of the Hindi film in-dustry. The serious problems that

beset the industry are the highlyinflated rates paid to the marqueenames in the film—the stars,the music directors and, recent-ly, the music directors. Thereare stars who sign up for as manyas 50 films at a time. Logically,it would take him or her about tenyears or more of work every -dayto complete so many films, but theyare signed up nevertheless. Simi-larly with music directors.

The chances are that a lot ofmoney spent on such films willprove to be irrecoverable becausethe films are not likely to see thelight of day. And whatever isspent in signing up to start thefilm will be lost forever. This con-stitutes an enormous waste. Then,again, there is the matter of dates.It costs a lot of money to set up ashooting schedule. In this situa-tion, if a star cannot give dates theentire expense in mounting theschedule is lost. The stars them-selves under these conditions tendto develop an inflated sense oftheir own- importance. They feelno obligation to keep to their sche-dules, nor do they feel the slightestcompunction to break appoint-ments—a bit like successful poli-ticians. They appear to follow nonormal set of rules.

gain, there is a reason for thisbehaviour. Most producers haveno money to begin with. Theytrade on the names of stars, musicdirectors and writers to raise money.The stars are generally very in-secure, never sure that any of theirfilms are going to be completed.They cannot possibly take the riskof signing just one or two films. Ifthe films do not get off the groundand get stuck mid-way, they areout of jobs. Nothing is worse thanan actor without a job. The otherproblem is that of being idle. Likeeverybody else, a star would hateto be idle. If he signs up 20 ormore films he can be more or lesscertain of working at least 20 daysof the month for a period of atleast two or three years. Younotice here a vicious circle ofevents.

The producers speculate on starsto finance their films. The stars are

valued on the number of films theyhave in hand. So the dates theygive are few and far between. Evenproductions that are certain to becompleted take much longer and,therefore, cost more money. Thequality of performances deteriorate.It would be physically impossiblefor any one to be shooting twoor three shifts a day in differentfilms playing different roles. Thegeneral feeling of uncertainty allround makes for a lot of Unhappypractices such as mutual black-mail. A star can hold a producerto ransom half way through the film.Producers can try and cheat on pay-ments. In this set up, distributorsare the ones who appear to be mpresecure. In fact, they take thelargest, calculated risks. The peo-ple who do best of all are the exhi-bitors. In mosts cases they takeno risk at all. More on this later.

T.he distributors who marketfilms have defined their films asthose meant: (a) for the masses,(b) for the classes, (c) art films thatwill attract no audiences. Thefilms that are likely to be the big-gest successes are the ones madefor the 'masses'. They could bedefined as films that are utterlynaive in their story content, withnon-existent character developmentand two dimensional emotional andintellectual attitudes. The plotlines would be incredible. Theactors would have the choice ofplaying either 'goody' or 'baddy'roles. The quality of acting isjudged on the basis of certainstereo-types associated with themwhich repeat themselves in filmafter film. Imitators tend to deve-lop the same. Similarly, styles getset in other areas like stories, musicand direction as well.

Films that will fetch the highestprices are the ones that have thelargest number of stars, a story-line replete with what are nowessential—thrills and chills, rapescenes, dance numbers and caba-rets, choreographed fights andcomedy (there are specialists whoare known as 'thrill masters' apartfrom 'fight masters' and 'dancemasters'. Soon one expects there

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will be 'rape masters')- Brilliantcolour and sharp cutting is a must.

Most films, if not all, have to bepre-sold to distributors who willadvance the money necessary tocomplete the films. The distribu-tor, therefore, has a great deal ofpower over the kind of film that ismade. He is often the person whowill determine the pattern of thefilm whatever the story content,because he is in the know of whichfilm will run and which will not.This appears logical as the distri-butor is the only one who has thefeed-back from the box office. Inrecent years, distributors havestrengthened their hold over theexhibition channels by creatinglarge circuits. It is not unusualfor a distributor to have a chain of80 or 100 cinemas all over thecountry. He works out the poten-tial audiences for various categoriesof films in different territories andreleases his film strategically to geteither the maximum profits >or toreduce the , loss to a minimum.The film meant for 'classes' has amuch smaller market and the situa-tion is not quite as happy for thedistributor. \

i r \ . producer who wishes to distri-bute a film himself is at a greatdisadvantage. He has to pay ex-orbitant rentals to exhibitors andoften cannot benefit from the othermethods that are in operation ifhe sells to a distribution chain. Themethods are: (a) minimum guar-antee: which means the produceris paid a certain sum of money fora territory whether the film doeswell or not. If the film makes aprofit, he gets a share. This is thesafest kind of sale, (b) The per-centage basis, where the producershares the profit with the distri-butor, (c) The percentage basis,where the producer shares a per-centage with the exhibitor.

In dealing with the exhibitor(apart from paying him a rental),he is responsible for the entirepublicity. Add this to his produc-tion cost and you notice that hiscost liabilities increase consider-ably. The interest rates being veryhigh, he has to work out a strate-gy that ensures quick and substan-tial earnings. To be able to do this,

he must spend more on publicityand make more prints so that hecan simultaneously release the filmin several cinemas in a single cen-tre. This costs even more. Therentals of the theatres can oftentake away up to 60 or more percent of the total sum earned on afull house. The producers' sharemay be about 15-20%. This witha full house.

It has often happened that inspite of full houses, with four cine-mas running the film for four weeks,a producer has earned only enoughto cover his publicity costs. Ob-viously, this points to the fact thatif a producer has to survive, he hadbetter follow the prevailing systemand make his film in conjunctionwith the distributors. They willbuy his film even before he hascompleted it, otherwise he may befaced with the situation of beingliable for the entire productionsum, holding a film that he has tohawk, with the distribution chainsat best indifferent to his effort andat worst working against him.

The new or alternate cinema,known in the business as an 'artfilm', has to be seen in the contextof all that has been mentionedabove. When .a small budget filmis produced, whatever its category,a large investment is made. Forinstance, if a film in colour costsabout 5 lakhs of rupees to make(black and white films in Hindi willnot sell at all), a minimum of about10 prints would have to be madefor modest release. This wouldcost another 2 lakhs. For each ter-ritory, the minimum publicityneeded would cost no less thanabout 65 to 70,000 rupees. Thereare seven territories in India forHindi films. As one can see, tobreak even, the film would have toearn about 12 lakhs of rupees. Itseems unlikely that it would bepossible under the present circums-tances, besides the odd exceptionor two.

JL he films of the 'new cinema'that started with the backing of theFilm Finance Corporation do notstand a chance of being bought byconventional distributors unless theyhave the 'ingredients'. Since mostof them don't, they are,left to lan-

guish in cans. What is worse, anyfilm produced with the help of theFFC forces the liability for the pro-duction costs on the producer /direc-tor, with very little chance of hisbeing able to sell the film. If we areserious about developing an alter-nate cinema, the FFC would have todevelop a distribution circuit thatis able to compete for audienceswith the regular so called commer-cial films. In addition to this thecost liability for the productionwould have to be borne by theFFC. This is only fair.

The system in the commercialbusiness is very similar where thedistributor takes over the liabilityof the production cost. If the FFCfeels that the motive in makingsuch films is not profit, they couldpay the producer/director on thebasis of the work involved in the ,%*film or allow one territory as pay-ment. At the moment, even whenthe FFC has gone into distribution,the producer continues to be liablefor all expenditure, past and pre-sent, up to the time the entire loanis recovered. If anything could bea disincentive to producing filmswith FFC funds, it is this.

At should not surprise one thatIndian audiences lap up a lot ofwhat is served to them. Commer-cial Hindi films offer to the audi-ences enjoyment of the 'good life'vicariously, something they cannever hope to have, the escaperoute which is complete with the,cream oh the top. It does notforce attitudes of social responsibi-lity, make people conscience-stricken, '.it does not demand action of anykind nor does it force people tothink on problems that .are eitherdifficult to comprehend or difficultto tackle. '

Of course, there is a challenge tothe film maker too. The film in-dustry has constantly to think interms of offering slightly more ordifferent sense stimulators eachtime as the audiences reaction mayhave got jaded by more of thesame. So each new film that suc-ceeds will have a new sensationaltwist, a new gimmick that willserve to stimulate the senses. So,

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whatever the industry does it willbe forever on the lookout for suchcommercial ,'ingredients'. Varia-tions on the sex/violence formulahave so far seemed quite eqdlessand can probably carry on for agreat length of time. The audiencehas been oriented to Hindi cinemafor several generations.

A change from this is not likelyto succeed so easily. The audienceitself has increased astronomicallyin the past 45 years. QSefore Inde-pendence the cinema in India wasnot merely restricted largely to themiddle-class but also to urbanIndia. In the 30s and the 40s, filmswere made essentially for themiddle classes. New Theatres andPrabhat provide good examples ofthe kind of movies they used to

^ make, particularly New Theatres./ ^ | ^They dealt with the problems and

M aspirations of an emerging urbanmiddle elasju3

JL he increase in the number ofcinemas, greater urbanisation aswell as the growth of cinemas insemi-rural areas, brought a muchlarger audience and, to some extent,a more important audience—theworking class and peasant audienceto the cinema. Also, a larger pro-portion of non-literates. Filmsstarted to be made for a lowercommon denominator. This hasmade for the cynical attitude on thepart of the film establishment whofeel that the audience has a low

| intelligence level. (This, unfortunate-i ly, is a universal feeling among mostj communicators all over the world.)

$£_]• fAPart fr°m the escapist mode,lX~ social attitudes became ritualistic

rather than real and, more import-ant, whatever the film showed andsaid, the status quo was not to bedisturbed and controversy was tobe studiously avoided. Because ofthis, they tend to reinforce theworst prejudices of the audienceand encourage the development ofthe most superficial valuesT)

A more insidious development infilms has been caused by outsidefactors. Paternalistic and strait-laced censorship has made film pro-ducers increasingly irresponsible.As we all know, authority of a cer-tain kind often creates an irres-

ponsible attitude in those who areunder it—they expect to be correct-ed rather than correct themselves.This has become so acute, thatmany films only attempt topush in directions in which thecensor board is likely to be heavy-handed, only to check out how farthey can go. Often, the onlyinnovation in a film comes in thetechniques to project 'soft' porno-graphy or violence that wouldcatch the censors napping. This hasled to the making of films whichencourage ugly social attitudes,particularly between men andwomen. They are done with suchcrudity that one wonders whetherthose who see such films come un-scathed out of them.

A t is well known that withcinema, particularly when it hap-pens to be the only entertainmentmedium, life starts to imitate film.We have only to look at those partsof the country where film is theonly entertainment, medium to seethat this is true. The way boysregard girls, the way they dressthemselves, the kind of music theyenjoy most, the speech they use—and with the new-rich—the kind ofinteriors they have, replicas offilm sets.

Yet. with all this, a different kindof film also runs. Audiences willsee films that reflect social realities.All that it requires is the kind ofdistribution which the commercialindustry provides. The movementhas already started. What is need-ed is the infra-structure that willmake it self-generating.

Tjndian film or, more particularly,the Hindi film, from its veryorigin has developed its formats'from the existing theatrical forms.The songs, the dances, the main plotand its comic parody, have allbeen absorbed by the cinema. Ifthe alternate cinema has to grow,it cannot ignore these factors^ Anextension of these forms is need-ed rather than unfamiliar ones anda far truer depiction of socialrealities. Only then will it be ableto seriously compete for audiences.Short of this, the new cinema willbe guilty of producing films for thesake of a small cineaste elite.

communicationM A N I K A U L

20

THERE is a kind of film-makingbeing practised by a few filmmakers in India which, althoughhaving received critical acclaimwithin the country and without, hasnot been able to find any distribu-tion outlet and has now seeminglyreached an economic dead-end.This cinema, by acknowledgingthe true limitations of the mediumwas beginning to evolve newerrelationships with other art forms.Cinema would not be any moremerely parasitical on literature,theatre or music. A film based ona three act play, instead of destroy-ing the complexity and limitedsettings of the original form, wouldretain its intrinsic sensuousnessand, thereby, by paradox, wouldbe forced to discover itself, i.e.,what could be truly cinema in thefilming of a play. The momentcinema can lay itself parallel toany other more established artform, it will be able to free itselfinto independence.

The fact that the realistic image(and not line, shape, colour orharmonic sound) is the idiom ofcinema determines to a consider-able extent the film maker's atti-tude towards life. A shot of a

wall in a film cannot be understooddevoid of its social milieu—it mustbelong to a level of social living.As also in the construction of ascene, it is likely that a unit byitself may impart nothing quitesignificantly concrete. In Antoi-nini's La Notte the solid geome-tric textured formation of wallsoccupying a major area of theformat with a small moving humanfigure, form a social observation onthe Italian urban situation. Itshould be stated now that whenthis observation becomes literal ortheatrical it fails in cinema.

These new brand of films facethe severest criticism on the groundof lack of communication. But itis insufficient to harp on communi-cation without analysing first whereother film-makers, preoccupiedwith communication, have beenled and the past historical aswell as future repercussions offilms on social life. Is communica-tion merely to be understood assomething reaching out to anaudience without being boring? Isthis commendable in itself?

All commercial films for decadesnow have communicated in thissense, only to the detriment of

youth and values in this country.Their influence is so visibly appa-rent in the cheap hairstyles and'hero' mannerisms of the youngand the total apathetic frivolousnessof the adult. In Tamil Nadu poli-tics, for instance, the 'filmy' fictionof the hero on the screen has ac-quired a strange reality. The hero-ism on the screen of the characteris completely identified with theactor (and political aspirant) play-ing the part. It is strange that thepower of the cinema reflects nega-tively in obvious terms, whereas itspositive contribution is not onlylimited but invisible.

V/ommunication can only beassessed in terms of the quality

\}oj experience. The words 'quality''and 'experience' would imply thatthe one who communicates andthe one to whom the communica-tion is directed exist at differentlevels but that they fall within thebounds of a relationship. If theviewer fabricates a fantasy in hismind through contemplation onsensuous objects like the heroine'sshapely legs (sexual) or the hero'simported car (economical) or theside-heroine's hysterical dilemma(moral), the cumulative effect ofthese titillations cannot be termedan experience. Neither can it beunderstood as communication.

All the Brechtian methods ofalienation used by serious westernfilm-makers are not meant to bestartling gimmicks, but serve towarn the audience against identify-ing with the people and happeningson the screen. The characters andincidents instead of being anarrangement designed to invoke anexperience, become, with identifi-cation, sensuous objects in them-selves. ^Spurts of social violence donot necessarily emanate from the~dei>ictioj3. ..gj. viplence on the screen-bjk.rathgr,_they arise out of aspi-rations that cinema and life, underits present system, provoke but"

J h f I f i H it̂o come.

Ideas also contain materialenergy. Ideas therefore can be-come purely descriptive of anotherreality or an idea by itself can be-come an object of sensuousness.

One is only a little better than theother. Description attempts to re-construct reality whereas the mate-rial to be reconstructed whichbelongs to life, is so complex thatit does not admit of the limitationsof a word. The discipline of lite-rature arises from universallyunderstood meanings of wordswhich are in themselves abstractedand not real.

The so-called realist evokesatmosphere or, much worse, amood through details, completelygiving up the entity of the word andthus fails to create a direct experi-ence. The other extreme is wherethe word/idea acquires a sensuousidentity of its own. Thus, ideas—•sometimes even a progressive socialidea—become like the legs of aslim or a fat heroine exposed forthe consumption of the very classwhich the ideas themselvesdenounce.

Such ideas neither create lasharp-edged social consciousnessthat may bring about a change, nordo they lead life into an inertiawhere hidden internal contradic-tions grow unassuaged and mayseek to resolve themselves in theprogress of history. This is becausethe representation on celluloid isthoroughly romanticised throughemotion as the only basis of arelationship.

At best, emotion is replaced 4bysome form of intellectual sensa-tionalism. Such ideas are suc-cessful quite obviously but suchideas are regressive in terms ofsocial import. It is a strange truththat a really good revolutionary orsocial theoretician, when workingat a time of no historical change,remains limited in his impact andthat in more opportune times evenignorant, corrupt leaders flourish.

Ti here is no need to lament thefact that a profound masterpiece ofsocial comment like Picasso's Guer-nica can be reduced to a postcard;or that Godard should become afad with the same rich Europeanclass that he himself holds in grea-test contempt. This kind ofcontradictory relationship betweensocialist aspiration and decadenturbanism is not non-existent even

in India where the film maker'slife is at complete variance withwhat is proposed on film whereradical changes are suggested underthe cover of symbolism.

What would be more truthful isto present with clear versimilitudethe actual conditions of one's ownindividual life and its contradic-tions and its conflict with contra-dictions present in the collectivelife of the people. To be able tosee the present and the conditionsarising out of it is to witness a factwithout' the interference of one'sdesires or memories. This is not tosuggest that 'document actualities'(i.e., documentaries) are the onlyvalid form of film making.

he difference between fictionand document, as between abstractand concrete realities, as betweendesires/memories and facts issignificant. Both can and do existside by side. Only where super-imposition takes place does confus-ion arise. A fact cannot appear inthe form of an individual's desire ora phase of one's memory. Once itdoes that, even though it maintainsa factual appearance, it must betermed a memory or desire. Theinverse, , where a memory or adesire is presented as if it were afact, creates another form of lie.

The fact deals with the presentor a condition of the present. Thisis as difficult to express as toexperience, both for the film makerand the audience. The question ofcommunication has reached abottle-neck here. The industrialtradition of mass media, where theideas of a film maker living in anurban centre have to be communi-cated to the whole of India posesan insurmountable problem. Thefacile solution of averaging thepresent conditions and thus exploit-ing the collective memories anddesires of the audience in order tocommunicate, is the field of com-mercial and semi-commercial filmmakers.

Art theatres cannot be a solutionfor the serious film maker. Evenif an art theatre movement suc-ceeds, it only produces a 'hybrid'class of 'arty' folk, who appreciatefilms in order to put themselves a

21

rung above the 'masses'. Besides,the maintenance of an art theatrewith all its staff and taxes and asmaller seating capacity generallyprovide insufficient returns to theproducer of low budget films.

It should be clear by now that1 have purposely led the argumentto a dead end—the so-called suc-cessful film-maker who communi-cates, fails and the so-calledunsuccessful film-maker, who doesnot communicate, also fails. Theons who communicates surviveseither at the expense and ignor-

'' ance of the very poor or, if he is'conscious', by shifting his appealfrom the vulgar to the intelligent.The one who does not communi-cate survives because of wideapproval or disapproval of or,better still, a controversy between,the critical sections of the press.

To move towards a form, towardslimitations that are the means anddiscipline of that particular form,towards a cinematic idiom, is tomove closer to the realism of ex-perience. In fact, realism in a filmlies in the truthful relationshipbetween the social/individual sensi-bility of the film maker and thecinematic idiom. A director fromthe urban milieu who wishes tomake a film on rural life will berespecting realism when he looks atthe rural details with his urbansensibility and thus exercises ade-quate restraint on hfs performers;rather than if he attempts to forcehis actors to emote as if he him-ssif came from that rural set-upand tries to inject his film withrural 'exotica'. The second situa-tion would create Complete false-hood.

ing should limit itself to abstractingprinciples from the other art formand reducing them to what is basicto human expression. Motif, col-our, shape, line are particular to avery restricted area; in fact theyare born out of a limited environ-ment and its transportation can behazardous. Paul Klee establishedmodern abstract art through prin-ciples that were derived from Per-sian miniatures. Klee was sodeeply inspired by Islamic art thathe confessed that he would notbe able to paint again as he haddone. This kind of knowledgeablecultural exchange is essential forrevitalizing the inertia-ridden histo-rical art lor/ms of a country.

long as the product returns themoney to the investors.

It has been suggested that cinemabelongs to the realm of mass-media,whereas painting (notwithstandingcalender/mythological art) andmusic (ignoring commercial filmsongs) and literature (not takinginto account the cheap paper-back)can sustain themselves without awide circulation, and therefore arecapable of difficult experimentation.

A he argument that immediatelyfollows this stand is of economics.Certain highly placed film makershave stated that every film makerhas a moral obligation to returnthe invested money to his financier.Even if the film fails financially, thefilm maker is exonerated if it isapparent that he has kept his finan-cial obligations in mind whilemaking the film. When the filmhas been financed by the govern-ment, the accusation has been evenmore strident that the tax-payersmoney has been squandered.

22

'•I

A he question of a film maker'sown sensibility can be explained intsrms of other art forms moreeasily. For example, it is incon-ceivable that a serious urban artistcould suddenly begin to paint likea folk artist. We are aware ofquite a few examples of this falsedeclassing. The results have beeninvariably just exotic or 'cultural'.

This is not to suggest that anurban artist or a film maker hasnothing to understand from a folkartist but only that this understand-

It is obvious that the anxiety toto see a film as economically viableemanates from a morality which isin the interest only of a certainclass. There can be no other rea-son why these same critics canaccept the situation created by thecommercial cinema—the worst offilth is produced, a parallel blackmoney system has been made pre-valent and under the cover ofentertainment, fantastic dreams, un-real sex/violence and pervertedsuggestions are dished out. In fact,it appears that for these moralistsany inconceivable limit of provid-ing distractions is commendable so

JL he questions here are: whohas created this economics? Whohas capitalized on the gains ofindustrialization which has causedart to move away from a limitedfolk environment to become apowerful mass media? In whoseinterest is it to bring out. a monthlymagazine full of lewd photographsand scandal? Why does cinemahave to operate from three bigcommercial centres only and onsuch a large scale? Why do exhi-bitors and distributors run to buyfilms that combine vulgarity witnfrivolousness? ; Who stands togain in allowing film stars to actin twenty films simultaneously andto quote fantastic terms?

Behind all these questions andmore there is a businessman fromthe class of economically interest-ed merchants who has turned theaspects of culture into sordid com-merce. It is he who is repeatedlyraising this question of - communi-cation and making it a matter ofmere speculation. There are seve-ral well-meaning film fellows whowish to communicate but they fail,not because they are incompetent,but because the whole market isnow only a matter of speculation.

A new breed of film makers andcritics profess to believe in a semi-commercial cinema but they havebeen seen to end up invariably ina commercial mess. Some seriousfilm makers begin to work with'stars', some are compelled to enterinto an outright commercial pro-position to meet an immediate eco-nomic crisis. In short, the questionof economics and communication-does not really belong to the filmmaker and the seemingly absurdstatement made elsewhere in thearticle would have to be restated•—that a correct film would haveto be unsuccessful.

Under the feudal system, theartist was employed by a patron.The artist's expression was in tunewith that of his master—whatpleased him or what troubled himwas his subject matter. In pre-historic times, art was magic. Thecave man painted the bison, notbecause its shape or lines pleased

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him but because it posed a,.threatto him and he wished to master it.The painting of the bison was aritual, done to save the communityfrom a collective hazard. Today,the artist is expressing his personalanguish within the discipline, of anindependent aesthetic.

The question of communication,which neyer ever entered the pic-ture earlier, is the result of thispersonal anguish and its personaliz-ed expression. Any work true tothis form must fail to communi-cate. Even if the anguish speaksof a collective dilemma, its persona-lized expression makes it impos-sible to communicate widely.

Some film makers do succeed andare totally honest at the same time.But their impact has not been ofgreat brilliance. Great works ac-quire a certain preciousness ofbeing masterpieces, are stored care-fully and are highly evaluated. Thefact that cave paintings were some-times super-imposed upon eachother by the works of later pain-ters displays the vital functionalquality of the act.

J l he negative contribution ofcinema towards deteriorating con-structive values of a society is notoftly felt but widely known andanalysed. Students imitating thecheap tricks of the 'heroes', stag-nating moral issues of the middleclass, total anarchy and frivolous-ness among the poor, creatingsuperfluous bad and good taste,and all other issues of such obviousimport can be directly related—astraight connection between a com-mercial film and the varyingmental levels and reaction of theaudience can be established. Onthe other hand, one cannot inversethe process and hope to createpositive values in an audience byinvesting the construction of a filmin a positive manner and spoutingpositive ideas.

The fact of a film workingnegatively on the audience is notcaused only by a lack of qualityin a film and the educational lackin the audience. It is the power ofa well-entrenched system that fallsin between the product and the

consumer which determines theattitude towards the consumptionof that product. A film with allcredentials, in such a system, wouldhave to fail by being ineffectual orinaccessable.

JL his system should be changednot by building art theatres andcultivating a 'tasteful' breed ofcinemagoers, but by altering thesystem of exhibition. Art theatreswould perhaps show better qualityfilms but the problem to be tackledis the distance which separates thefilm maker from his audience.What the film maker shouldattempt is to form a more directrelationship with his audience.

If the audience could be madeto participate in the making of afilm, the resultant work would notbe just a display of communication,but the result of co-ordinationbetween them to handle and com-prehend problems. The beginningsof such an experiment would haveto be made in the field of documen-tary and the elements of fiction, asunderstood today, would have tobe completely dropped.

Ths film would have to beginwith an impersonal problem: letus say the introduction of cattlebreeding in a backward area-. Bythis we do not mean an urbanclass-room exercise with explana-tions given in numerical order. Nora film made during a visit of afortnight to a backward area—realism of the locale thrown intoan arty form. In one, the perform-ers would be behaving as if theyknew all about cattle breeding andwere now performing certain tricksfor the shooting of a film. And,in the other, the idiom of expres-sion would be beyond theaudiencs.

Instead, the film maker and hiscrew should stay in an area forfour to five months when expertson the subject introduce the topicto the people. Then they wouldproceed to record what is reallyhappening—the first reactions, theeffort to understand, the attemptsto implement, etc. Now filmmaking has become a ritual; theritual of trying to understand, in

this case, cattle breeding. The ritualinvolves both sides, the film makerand the performers who are actu-ally his audience.

The element of fiction would benominal in such a work. Fiction in-volves the memories and desires ofthe film maker and it is obvious inthis case that the personalized as-pect of the film would be auto-matically restricted. Certainly theconventional fiction born out of theliterary narrative would have to beforsaken and, indeed, must be for-saken in order to rid cinema of itscomplete dependence on literature.As also, cinema's dependence ontheatre would be completely eli-minated, as this cinema would notexpect any performance from thepeople involved. ' '

When the film is freed from nar-rative, be it chronological or areaction against chronology (wheretime is broken into non-sequentialunits) it would naturally find releasefrom the necessity of performance.Having abandoned this position ofbeing cushioned by both literatureand theatre, cinema would proceedto rely more directly on the essentialqualities of the cinematic medium.

J / or example, the space/time rela-tionship in theatre is restricted bythe proscenium. Theatre requiresthe actor, by h*is performance, tobreak down the restrictive barriersand to carry the audience with hiswords and gestures into an experi-ence of a different space and time.Cinema has reversed the need foritself. It begins with an endlessspace and endless time order. Thelinear movement of theatre is mean-ingless here. In fact, cinemarequires the narrowing down or there-organization of the endlesslyparticular and the varying space /time possibilities.

The word in literature is seen toconnote more than its meaning—again the instrument (word) havingbeen assigned a function (meaning)it is necessary that newer contextscreate newer meanings. The wordin theatre, on the other hand,belongs to the environment—itbelongs to the openness of a lawn,to the noisy, closed up crowd of a

• I -

or

restaurant, to the intimate and rest-ful quality of a bedroom and so on.When it belongs to the environmentit belongs to the actor and to themoment of presentation.

The elements of a cinematic mo-ment comprise all images, sounds,,actors, walls, chairs, etc. ' Soundscomprise the words of a character,the sound of a distant plane over-head, the sound of a tea-cup beingplaced on a saucer, etc. Movementcomprises the movement within theframe, the movement of thecamera and movements caused bythe intervals of editing. All theseunits by. themselves, i.e., withintheir own particular space /timerelationship, have a limited mean-ing. But juxtaposed with eachother in a new space/time relation-ship, they leap from" particularityinto abstraction. This leap neednot take place through the develop-ment of a story or characterization.

Ai:

24

this would not be possible ifthe film maker did not live for alength of time with the people withwhom he would be making hisfilm! To take up a concrete pro-ject, and follow that as the basis ofrecording a human reality, is alsoessential. Without this, the filmwould result in the usual impres-sionistic generalized bunk or itwould 'perhaps lead to some em-barrassing or enjoyable sensationalrealism.

When film making becomes aritual like this, the film maker hasdiscovered an actual relationshipwith his audience. The object ofthe film would not be to show asuccess or a failure but to showthings as they actually are. Theproject may end in failure whichwould also be faithfully recorded.In the process of filming a certainproblem (which provides the basicdiscipline) the film maker maydiverge into other spheres of theactivity of the participants. Thefilm' maker and the participantsboth have a consciousness. Anexchange must take place and bothmust emerge from the project atleast a little transformed. Thesituation of the film maker comingto a rural environment, as much astranger as a man from another

planet, recording the rural detailsto sell in festivals abroad, andreturning as soon as possible backto his urban environment, wouldno -more be able to exist.

x't has been learnt through news-papers that the government ismaking efforts further to widen thescope and activities of innovativeexpression in the field of thecinema—by perhaps building achain of art theatres and by enlarg-ing the functions of a body like theFilm Finance Corporation.

It would be appropriate now tosuggest a scheme pertaining to thismatter. Apart from the fact thatthe building or converting of hallsinto art theatres would be expen-sive, its returns would be limiteddue to lesser seating capacity. Evenif the impact of the films shown inthese theatres gains momentum themore vital sections of society likethe students, the industrial workersand farmers would be completelyexcluded or only partially expos-ed. If the money, instead, could bespent on thousands of 16 mm pro-jectors, and if the governmentcould subsidize groups prepared tobuy these projectors, many orga-nisations (especially schools andcolleges) in all parts of the coun-try could come forward and beginexhibiting films.

Initially, these organisationsshould be supplied only with thenational and international classicsof the cinema, i.e., films that havedeveloped the potential of themedium. The basic gap betweenthe education of the film makerand the audience could be consider-ably bridged by this process.

Film makers should then beencouraged to fan out to all partsof the country with specific pro-jects; to live in areas for months;to work and live with the peoplethere in the process of making afilm. The films would then besupplied to the various organisa-tions exhibiting 16 mm films. Thus,the film maker and the audience,instead of living in their own air-tight compartments, would be ableto discover an actual workingrelationship.

oney powerA D O O R G O ' P A t A K R I S H N A N

WHEN it comes to the question ofdiscussing Indian cinema, onewonders which Indian cinema oneshould speak about. Should it bethe Hindi cinema that is taken forgranted as the national cinema orthe regional ones that make up thebulk of the nation's production?The riddle it seems remainsunresolved.

Judged by their big budgets, thecommercial vulgarities that goalmost synonymous with andgeometrically proportional to theDig-money input, the all-India aswell as the over-seas market theycommand, and their lack of anylikeness to the life and culture ofany particular region of the nation,at least three language cinemasqualify themselves to aspire to thestatus of a national cinema—theHindi, the Tamil and the Telugu.

Apart from the contemporaryHindi cinema wherein sporadic yetwell-meaning attempts, often dis-

astrous at the box-office, are made,one does not come across a singleprobing or any bold effort off thebeaten track either in the Tamil orthe Telugu cinemas. They are big- -money business, and the mecha-nics of production operate strictlyunder their own unlawful laws ofeconomics. Unaccountable moneyaccounting for the investment, un-ethical exploitation of low publictaste, unrestricted opportunities forthose carnal pleasures peripheralto film-making—a scene of obnox-ius oddities our big cinema busi-ness has become.

Well, all that for the large scaleones; axiomatically, the smallscale 'creations' should, one wouldexpect, be free from the corruptinginfluences of big business fraughtwith incorrigible anomalies. Thereyou are mistaken. The low budgetfilms of the regional cinema areno less free from the com-mercialised vulgarities and vagaries

f

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i•4

26

of their big brothers. Aspirationsthey share in common, only theresources vary.

In a country^ where the wholemachinery of production, distri-bution and consumption is virtuallycontrolled by the clever manipula-tions of a few monopolists, it is butnatural that the capital gains aregiven priority over social obli-gations of a medium that un-fortunately wilds the greatestinfluence on the masses of oursub-continent.

A conscientious and apparentlysound suggestion for a way outwould be the nationalisation of allthe sectors of the film industry byone single strong stroke of parlia-mentary legislation. It should beremembered here that even at theslightest hint of governmentalsupervision or censoral restrictions,the Movie Moghuls raise a loud hueand cry over the feared curtailmentof their artistic freedom. When theutter lack of any artistic flavour intheir cheap celluloid soap operasis even vaguely criticised, the verysame guards of the artists' freedomare there to defend their com-modities as the products of anindustrial process made-to-orderaccording to the strict demands ofconsumer taste. It may look para-doxical, but the sword they arearmoured with is money-powerand it is double-edged.

Ai ny popular government wouldfind the hurdles innumerable as wellas insurmountable even in itsvery earnest efforts to effect the na-tionalisation of this .industry whichis vaguely and to a great extentirresponsibly treated as an inno-cuous, inconsequential 'entertain-ment-industry'.

Nationalisation may be a far cry.And there are of course misgivingsin the minds of the people as tohow far our unimaginative, ineffi-cient, bureaucratic government set-up would be better equipped thanthe current incumbents to lead,direct and discipline a medium ofsuch magnitude providing the rightand ripe atmosphere for the pro-fession and the practice of true,unhindered, unfettered artisticexpression.

Even at the level of an industrythat churns out entertainment'rolls', it would be worthwhile forthe government of a welfare Stateat least to be aware of the sub-human conditions under which thetechnicians, the 'underdogs' of this'show whirl' work, while theirsweat and toil make the starsglitter and glimmer attractingenormous fan-mail and astrono-mical figures in black.

O,'ur cinema is a top heavy in-dustry founded on false groundsthat belie and belittle all the codesof human dignity. And it shouldtake only a shake of protest frombelow to be toppled down. But itremains a fact that from the floor-hand to the first assistant, everyone of those 'mini-humans' areblinded, and deafened by thecolour and clatter of the dream-worlds they contribute to make.For them it is a way of life, thefiat accompli: the defiance, alas,has to be generated from without.

The infra-structure of the indus-try being what it is, our big studiosare the last spots on earth whereireativity would be nurtured.People with no understanding orinvolvement in the medium, mer-cenaries with no love, loyalty orcommitment to the cinema crowdthe floors as adventurers and for-tune seekers. Peddlers in sex,sentiments and other saleablefare, they ruthlessly block the in-lets to the hew young generationof film-makers eagerly awaiting inthe wings to grab at the firstopportunity to explore the en-ormous possibilities of this leastexplored medium.

Will they ever make it? Or willthey, in their long, impatient,tedius, demoralising wait, disbursetheir tied up energy and expendtheir passion?

The sad truth is that manyhave. Society has a moral respon-sibility to shoulder what it cannotdisown. Here is a vital issue,much graver than the tragedy offrustrated personal ambitions; aproblem of enormous social signfic-ance calling for immediate positiveaction.

The parallel streamD I LE EP PADGAONKAR

WHEN Mrinal Sen made BhuvanShome five years ago, the implica-tions of the term 'parallel cinema'could be taken for granted withoutcritical inquiry. The issues facedby the Indian cinema appeared tobe fairly evident then. Of the 368films made in 1969, not more thanhalf a dozen films had managed toavoid the inanities of the com-mercial cinema. But even those

"handful of directors whose worksWfiT- nnf geared to irjass entertain-ment did not start a novel trendin film-making, let alone a move-

nt along the lines "of the Eastnencan

cinema in the

The parallel cinema was expect-ed to reverse this trend. Bolsteredby low-interest loans provided bythe government, the director withideas was to be given a free handto choose his themes and style's.He could use his camera to explorethe world around him. The ideaobviously was to encourage him toviolate the norms of mass enter-tainment imposed by the filmindustry. He would in turn try toinitiate another idea of entertain-ment in the cinema.

It was a lofty ambition consider-ing the powerful hold of thecommercial cinema on popular

imagination. An average of 75lakh people watch a commercial

'film daily in 'one or other of the7.300 theatres In" the country. Over600 film-fan magazines are widelycirculated, not to mention the hun-dreds of film songs broadcast fromthe national radio network. Noother mass medium could ever hopeLo rival the grip of the cinema in

1 a country where 70 per cent of thepopulation is still in the fetters ofilliteracy.

t >Ci retrospect, the parallel cinema\ appears to have gained impressive

ground over the past five years.Nowhere was this more evidentthan in this year's national awardsfor feature films. The extraneouspolemics' that followed the jury'sdecision could not slur over thestringent rebuff received by thefilm industry. In previous years atleast some of its products found aplace of pride in the honours list.This year, nothing. The jury hadabided by standards of cinematicexcellence alonej Parochial, finan-cial, ideological considerations werenot allowed to shape its decisions.

Even in a negative sense—therejection of the lilm~uTdustry—the1973 national awards will jberecalled as a watershed" in tEe

"TEE"slgnlTicance~™pr~thli developmentcan perhaps be better understoodif one looks back at the sevendecades since D. G. Phalke madeRaja Harishchandra in 1912. Inhis monumental history of theworld cinema, Georges Sadoul re-marks on the 'artistic and techni-cal' excellence of Phalke's works.They were lauded by Londoners atthat time.

(It will be recalled, fwithmparenthesis, that with the singular

• exceptions of~Fatehlal and Panne's"Sant Tukaram and the films ofSatvajitJRa^itwas only the paral-

28

praise in the West. Le Monde'sI influential critic, Louis Marcorelles,hailed it as a 'mini-revolution'.)

V-r ver the past .seventy years, theIndian film, like its counterpartselsewhere, has been fashioned asmuch by econoinic as by culturalfactors. Its financial and industrial

aspects came to be recognised asearly as the twenties. Productionwas concentrated in Bombay andCalcutta. This concentration wasof course illustrated by Hollywood.The organisation of the film indus-tries in Europe also followed alongthe same lines.

In India, however, hardly any ofthe silent films boasted of formalor thematic qualities of enduring

alue. The Americans, during theilent era, gave the world Intoler-ance (Griffith), The Kid (Chaplin)md Greed (Stroheim). The French:ontributed to the nascent art withhe films of Feuillade, J'AccuseGance) and Entracte (Rene Clair).he Germans threw up directors

ike Lubitsch, Murnau and Fritz,ang. The Swedes, Sjostrom, theRussians, Vertov, Eisenstein and•udovkin, not to mention thelahertys, Dreyers, Dulacs and theJunuels.

/rpJL he growth of the Indian film

became even more stunted with theadvent of sound in the early thir-ties. The cinema had suddenly tocater to the demands of a multi-lingual market. It is in this periodof crisis that the industry hit uponits now-famous Formula. Filmswere packed with songs and musi^So were they in Europe andAmerica. But these cinemas quick-ly shed this intrusion. Not so theIndian film.

Together with songs also spreadthe influence of the numericallyimportant language—Hindi. Theheterogeneous quality of the audi-ences indeed obliged the cinema tooperate outside the framework ofeasily identifiable linguistic andcultural milieu.

PDuring the war years the industry,thanks to the role played by spe-culative money, underwent astructural change. Its productschanged character too. The star

• system became mqre deeply en-trenched. The demands for mass

"* entertainment witnessed a remark-able resurgence of the extravagantspectacles—-dances, lavish sets,exotic locations. Films becamemore and more a-social. Realismwas eschewed.V The pattern grew

* more rigid after independence. The

industry responded only to marketconditions^

hroughout this period, however,some independent film-makers didattempt at least thematic novelties.Delicate social themes were treatedin films like Achyut Kanya (un-touchability), Duniya na Mane(against arranged marriage),Badi Didi (plight of widows),Padosi (Hindu-Muslim relations),Dharti ke Lai (Bengal famine). But,by and large, the Indian cinema didnot go through any of the aestheticmovements that convulsed thecinema in the west—the German ex-pressionism, the formal innovationsof the Soviet cinema, the Americanand French 'realisms', the neo-realism of the Italians, the NewWave of the French etc., etc. Ndid the Indian film, unlike its

1 Japanese counterpart, draw itsplastic and dramaturgy ideas fromthe country's traditions.

The reason, no doubt, was thatIndian film makers have had at notime—with the possible exceptionsof the freedom struggle and certainmovements for social emancipation•—to contend with the kind ofdramatic movements that Europeanpolitics, literature, the visual artsand the sciences had to contendwith. There were no equivalentshere of the Dreyfus case and Gide,Monet and Curie, of Sorel's Reflec-tion on violence, Gorki, Picasso,Matisse. Debussy, Schoenberg,Einstein and Rutherford, of theRussian revolution, Cubism, Stra-vinsky, Proust, Mayakowsky orFreud; of Fascism, Le Corbusier,Ullysses, Brecht, of the Spanishcivil war, Klee, Dali, Stravinsky,Malraux, Eliot, Sartre, Fleming(penicillin); the second world war,Mao Tse-tung, Hiroshima, Beckettor the Papal encyclicals.

Tn hp. sure there was the^Gan-revolution and its tragic

Henouement—partition. "But the<*one inspired not a single film of

merit while the other had to await1973 {Garm Hawa) "to Tie" tacEe'd~QjiJthe..scxeeji, Besides the classics,contemporary literature howeverprovided a source for the film mak-ers: the works of Tagore, BankimChandra Chatterjee, Sarat ChandraChatterjee, Munshi Premchand,

Bibhuti Bhushan Bannerjee, SaneOuruji were adapted at one pointor the other, sometimes with suc-cess but very often without a searchfor cinematic equivalents of theliterary forms. Not without reasoneven the so-called serious cinema inIndia never got beyond either real-ism or narrative dramaturgy.

JlXow does the parallel cinemastand out against this backgroundof the overwhelming presence ofescapist entertainment, on the onehand, and, on the other, the isola-ted efforts of a Ray, Ghatak, Senor an Abbas?

un theme and style the parallelcinema has without doubt broken

kfresh ground as would be evidentsven from the 1973 ^nationalawards. All the films that werehonoured have certain charactens-UJjJTTn"common. " Film is used asa medium of expression and com-munication more than as an indus-trial product tailored to suit anall-India market. This fundamentaldifference with the commercialgigerna can be seen to affect everyother aspect of the parallel

\ Thus, all the films have rid! themselves of the vulgarity and| garishness of the average Hindii film. To be sure they depictI romance and violence and sex but

these are closely integrated into acoherent vision that the film makerseeks to put across. The coherencestems partly from the fact that the

/JRfilm is deeply rooted in an identi-Tnfiable social and cultural reality.

- Partly, too, it derives from thedirector's foremost concern toprovide social and psychologicalinsights in the world around him.

The films made since BhuvanShome indeed reveal not only therichness and variety of Indian lifebut, perhaps in an even more im-portant sense, a whole range ofsensibilities that are otherwisenumbed in the commercial cinema.Each film, in effect, not onlyexplores the erosion of the castesystem, feudal values, the grip ofreligious prejudices, change in atraditional society but the explora-tion itself is revealing of a mind atwork. It is the sense of discovery

that accounts for the freshness ofthese works.

The evolution of Mrinal Senprovides an interesting case study.Before 1969, Sen's work was nodoubt deeply rooted in the socialprocesses of his native Bengal.After Bhuvan Shome—his one andonly venture in Hindi, shot inGujarat—he turned sharply towardsan explicitly political cinema. Thecommitment to extreme left-wingpolitics became more pronouncedwith every successive film—Inter-view, Calcutta 71 and Padatik. Senis the only film maker in the coun-try to use his idiom for an avowedlypolitical end. His Marxism, how-ever, has not led him astray intothe desert of 'socialist realism'. Inall his recent films he has attempt-ed—not. always with success—tobreak away from traditional narra-tive. His films include patches ofdocumentaries, newspaper head-lines and highly stylised sequences.This attention to form places hiswork nautches above the workof another leftist film maker, theveteran K. A. Abbas.

4n Karnataka, Girish Karnad hasfashioned for himself an altogetherdifferent sort of universe. LikeSatyajit Ray, he is a compulsivestory-teller but his social commit-ment is no less pronounced. Decay,degeneration, violence—all thesehave provided Karnad with .inspi-ration. His Samskara—with its taut,austere quality—dealt with the dis-array caused by the death of aMadhava Brahmin who had defiedthe tenets of his caste. The ero-sion of caste values in the face ofsecular education and urbanisationforms the core of Vamsha Vrikshawhile Kaadu (The Forest) handlesviolence—psychological and physi-cal—with much more audacity—violence in relations between hus-band and wife, the elders of tworival villages, between master andservant and the worlds of adultsand children,

Aiull these relations have beenhandled separately by other filmmakers forming part of the parallelcinema. • M. T. Vasudevan Nair'sNirmalyam—which won the Presi-dent's gold medal this year—port-

rays the forces of change as theyconvulse a Kerala village. Thestory centres around an oraclereduced to destitution because thevillage no longer requires his ser-vices in the temple. His luckybreak comes when the outbreak ofsmall-pox puts him back into circu-lation, as it were, but it is too late.

The problems faced by a youngcouple in a low-middle class jointfamily were sensitively brought outin Basu Chatterjee's Sara Akaash.The woes of widowhood, in Kantilal'Rathod's Kanku. The same direc-tor, in his recent Parinay, evokedthe dichotomies of urban and ruralliving. Alienation in love, work orrelations with parents were dealtwith in Girish Vaidya's Aakrantand the late Awtar Kaul's 27 Down.Caste intolerance was denounced inthe Malayalam film Gayatri, reli-gious intolerance in M. S. Sathyu'sGarm Hawa and the havoc wroughtby alcoholism in the Tamil filmDikkatra Parvati.

v / n e need hardly stress thevariety of themes explored by theyoung film makers. But the parallelcinema has also revealed two otherimpressive talents exploring altoge-ther different frontiers. BothMani

_Jiave done away

"acting^ ]],§?,§? plots," "'psycfiology

.gd. Instead towards ""aestnetTci ^ ^ r c h ^ i n the line of GrifrItH"ana"Dreyer, the early Soviet pioneers(notably Eisenstein), Ozu in Japan,Antonioni in Italy, Godard andBresson in France, Kaul and Shahanihave not dissociated an enquiry intothe social realities around themfrom an enquiry into the nature oltheir medium. But there the simi-larity between their work ends.

On the face of it Kaul's trilogy—Uski Roti, Aashad Ka Ek Din andDuwidha—disconcerts a spectatorwho has been conditioned in thecinema by stories set in a realisticmould. But once he attunes him-self to Kaul's style he discovers amost exciting mind at work. Con-trary to what is held against him

29

- • * • - •

30

his films certainly do not lack'content'. The three films offer alyrical meditation > on the conditionof the 'waiting wdman'. Each filmmoreover deals with a conflict situa-tion: between town and country-side (Uski Rod), court and valley(Aashad Ka Ek Din) and theworldly and the other worldly(Duwidha).

-But, in each case, Kaul seeks ametamorphosis from one idiom toanother—from short story, playand folk tale into film. He doesnot grapple with genres alone butwith the specificity of each of theseliterary forms. It is only in thisway that he manages to achievesomething that is specific to thecinema itself.

All this is not to say that Kaul'swork is' not flawed at places. Hisrefusal to lay emphasis on any oneelement of his films—hence theabsence of a story, of acting, ofanything in fact that would divertthe attention of the'spectator to anysingle aspect of his work—flows, tobe sure, from his deep interestin Hindu metaphysics. KumarShahani, on the other hand, takescare to keep one foot deeply plant-ed in the social processes aroundhim. In Maya Darpan he does notonly portray the boredom of ayoung, unmarried girl whiling herdays away in a huge, decrepit man-sion on the border of a small town.Nor does he console himself withshowing the girl's quiet revoltagainst her authoritarian father. Hegoes much further. Maya Darpanis a film on ah evolving awareness:the girl realises the close connectionbetween her boredom and the socialforces agitating the outside world.For its intelligent use of colour andits rich suggestiveness, Maya Darpanhas yet to meet with a rival.

A ronically, the experiments of Kauland Shahani have provoked angrypolemics not only in the commercialcinema but also within the precinctsof the parallel cinema itself. That

' four films which have not had a com-mercial run' could provoke the ire ofevery director ranging from SatyajitRay to the latest debutant in thebusiness must surely point to theirdisturbing qualities. The films have

been called boring, slow, repetitive,difficult, academic, Bressonian,Antonionist, Godardian, Bergmanes-que, 'not-relevant-to-the-Indian con-text' and so on. Many of thesecharges were levelled at Satyajit Raywhen he made Father Panchali in1955. Ray, like several other distin-guished directors, had also acknow-ledged the influences on him—Sovietfilm-makers, Renoir, the Italian neo-realists—but hardly anyone then up-braided him for falling prey to'foreign' examples. Likewise theaccusation of wasting tax-payer'smoney seems, to put it mildly, quiteamusing especially when it comesfrom left-wing critics. Tax payersmoney? But less than one per cent—the moneyed elite—pay taxesanyway!

It seems, on careful consideration,that Kaul and Shahani are not par-doned for having forsaken realismand 'stories' in their work. Butrealism per se is no virtue in thearts. It could be as misleading,perhaps more misleading, than thenon-realist approaches. It is justone style among several others.Realism no doubt is better suitedwhen the director's primary con-cern is to portray social issues. Butany effort to be more ambitious—to attain a 'totality', con-sciousness, interiorisation, spiritua-lity—must necessarily mean evolv-ing new narrative structures.

JL he sharp polemics against Kauland Shahani are indeed revealing ofcertain ambiguities in India's paral-lel cinema. At the time of BhuvanShome, as was mentioned earlier,the issues facing a «young filmmaker were fairly obvious. Thesehave got blurred along the way. Onewould be hard put to explain thedifferences in approach betweenShyam Benegal's Ankur and Avish-kaar made by the commercialdirector, Basu Bhattacharya; orwhat—apart from the novelty ofthe theme—distinguishes M. S.Sathyu's Garm Hawa from Gul-zar's (another commercial director)Achanak. The directors argue,not without reason, that they haveto make 'compromises' partly be-cause the need of the hour is todraw audiences towards goodcinema rather than to repel them

with formalist exercises. Partly,too, it is explained that films needto recover the funds invested inthem—•this again not withoutcause.

But by reacting angrily to theworks of Kaul and Shahani, theparallel film makers can only runthe risk of depriving the Indiancinema of what has been indis-pensable to every major cinemamovement in the world during thelast thirty years; viz., two or threedirectors engaged in formal inno-vation. Studies have shown thatto ensure the health of anycmema—or TV for that matter—the 'aesthetic' and 'realistic' polesof creation have to feed off eachother. The promotion of one to thedetriment of the other, leads tosterility and decay,

he root cause of the malady hasagain to be found in the economicstructures of the film industry. Thegovernment has wisely helped youngmakers produce their films. But,once completed, their works haveto fend for themselves for distri-bution and exhibition. It is nosecret that both sectors are control-led by the industry and that nofilm that does not respect thecurrent norms of mass ent6rtain-ment can even figure in the distri-bution circuit.

The situation would no doubt bedifferent if the government subsidis-ed the exhibition of films as well.But there again care would have^^to be taken to think out alternatives^^to the present system. It wouldv 'serve no purpose to think of pro-duction and distribution on the basisof profitability for individual worksalbne. Rather, a package pro-gramme that could include a filmby Kaul, Benegal, Sathyu, Sen andKarnad could be screened. No onewould be excluded. The Benegalsand the Sathyus would try to drawthe audiences of the commercialfilm to the parallel cinema. Theaudiences of the parallel cinema, inturn, would make efforts to appre-ciate the Kauls and the Shahanis.Only then can the parallel cinemafulfil its vocation—that of demo-cratising another idea of entertain-ment in the cinema.

"pr-

ises. Partly,lat films needs invested innot without

ngrily to theShahani, the

can only runI the Indian

been indis-lajor cinemaid during thetwo or threeformal inno-

shown thatIth of anyhat matter—alistic' polessed off eachof one to theer leads to

s malady hastie economicdustry. Thelelped youngfilms. But,works have! for distri-

It is noare control-nd that norespect thes entertain-1 the distri-

10 doubt beait subsidis-es as well,vould havealternatives^

It would ^nk of pro-Mi the basisdual worksdcage pro-ude a filmi. Sen andd. No oneie Benegalsry to draw;ommercialsma. Thecinema, into appre-Shahanis.

lei cinemaof demo-

'• entertain-

m Further readingBOOKS

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Appleton, Marion. The Cinema, London, Mac-donald and Co., 1974.

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Barnouw, Erik and Krishnaswamy, S. IndianFilm. New York, Columbia University Press,1963.

Barsam, Richard Meran. Nonfiction film; a critical(history. New York, Funk and W., 1973.

Beltome. Julius, ed. Renaissance of the film.New York, Collier Books, 1970.

Boyum, Joy G. and Scott, Adrienne. Film asfilm: critical responses to film art. Rockleigh,Allyn and Bacon, 1971.

Burch, Noel. Theory of film practice. New York,Praeger, 1973

Butler, Ivan. The making of featureY films: aguide. Harmondsworth, Penguin, 1971.

Cameron, Ian. Adventure and the cinema. Lon-don, Studio Vista, 1973.

Casty, Alan. Development of the film: an inter-pretive history. New York, Harcourt BraceJovanovich, 1973.

—The dramatic art of the film. New York,Harper and Row, 1971.

Cavell, Stanley: The world viewed: reflections onthe ontology of film; New York, Viking Press,1971.

Clair, Rene. Cinema yesterday and today. Magno-lia; Mass., Pelter Smith, 1973.

Clarens, Carlos. Horror movies; rev. ed. London,Panther 1971.

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Studio Vista, 1973,Lee, Raymond and Van Hecke, B.C. Gangsters

and hoodlums: the underworld in the cinema.New York, A. S, Barnes, 1971.

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Matthews, J. H. Surrealism and film. Ann Arbor,University of Michigan Press, 1971.

Mayer, Jacob Peter. Sociology of film: studies anddocuments. New York, J.S. Ozer, 1971.

Mellen, Joan. Women and their sexuality in thenejv film. New York Horizon Press, 1974.

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. Sex, psyche, etcetera in the film. Har-nond^worth, Penguin, 1971.

js'yler, Parker. Underground film: a critical his-tory. London, Seeker and Warburg, 1971.

UNESCO. Film production by internationalcooperation: a report . . . by H. J. L. Jongblood.Pris, UNESCO, 1961.

Wolleo Peter. Signs arid meaning in the cinema;3rd ed. Bloomington, Indiana University Press,1972.

Youngblood, Gene. Expanded cinema. London,Studio Vista, 1970.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE

Abbas, K. A. Film and society, 'Yojana' 15 Octo-. ber 1974: 4-6.

. Kamasutra via Hollywood. 'IllustratedWeekly' 15 April 1973: 48-51.

Asha Kisiore. A peep into the Film Institute.'Lipika' February-April, 1973: 20-23.

, AH Asgliar. Sixty years of Indian Cinema.'Illustrated, Weekly' 21 May 1972: 6-15.

Barman, Ashis. Film awards and standards ofjudges, films. "Link' 7 May 1972: 32-33.

—— . Towards a total design in Cinema.'link' 15 August 1972: 135-136.

Bharatan, Raju. New voices for old. 'IllustratedWeekly' 28 April 1974: 16-19.

Bisaria, J.N. Indian film technology: miles to go.'Vidura' February 1974: 471-473.

Boyd Brae Michael. Film censorship in India: areasonable restriction on freedom of speech andexpression. 'Journal of the Indian Law Institute'October-December 1972: 501-561.

Censorship, editorial. 'Times of India' 8 October1972: 4 : 1 .

Chopra, B. R. Indian cinema. "Illustrated Weekly'13 August 1972: 61-65.

Dinkar Rao, Adige. Marketing Indian films.'Hindustan Times' 17 June 1972: 5 : 4.

A film policy, editorial. 'Times of India' 25March, 1973: 8 : 1 .

Film theatres; editorial. 'Times of India' 2 Sep-tember 1973: 4 : 1 .

Films — Bombay still on top. 'Link' 26 January1973: 82-85.

Films for world miarkets; editorial. 'Times of India'6 August 1972: 6 : 1 .

Gold, Martin E. India's motion picture industry.'Indian Journal of Economics' October 1971:143-157.

Gujral, I. K. Social correctives for a positivecinema. 'Yojana' 15 October 1974: 7-8.

Hardgrave, Robert L., Jr. Film and mass politicsin ijhe developing areas. 'American BehavioralScientist' January-February 1973: 74.

Hari, Atma. Economics of film-making. 'Star andStyle' 31 Marchi 1972: 15.

Indian cinema and black money culture. 'Link*

15 August 1973: 101-103.Karanjia, B. K. Financing films. 'Yojana' 15

October 1974: 9-10.Mahmood, Hameeduddin. Saga of the universal

Hindi film. 'Lipika' May-June'1973: 23-27.Malhotra, Inder. Managing film in ports: a remedy

worse than the disease. 'Times of India' 13September 1973: 4 :3 , 5.

Malik, Amita: Plus and Minus. 'Yojana' 15 Octo-ber 1974: 17.

Mathew, P. C. Criteria for film censorship. 'Hindu'14 June 1974: 4.

Merchant, Ajit B. The super princes. 'Yojana'15 October 1974: 19-20.

Merchant, Ismail. What does a film producer do?'Illustrated Weekly' 10 June 1973: 436-437.

Mookerjee, Subrata. Decline and recovery. 'Yojana'15 October 1974: 37-38.

Mushir Ahmed. Documentaries. 'Yojana' 15 Octo-ber 1974: 20-21.

Nadkarni, Dnyaneshwar. Who's afraid of thebureaucrats? 'Times Weekly' 16 January 1972:8-9.

Nag, Madhuri. Film industry's problems. 'Econo-mic Times' 31 October 1972: 15 : 1 .

National policy for cinema. 'Filmfare' 11. August,1972: 7 (editorial).

New film policy making. 'States' 28 October 1972:11.

Pal, Anjali. Nefarious traffic in smuggled films.'Indian Express' 21 May 1972:- 1 : 1 .

Parthasarthy, M.A. Sound financial base forMysore film industry. 'Financial Express' 14February 1972: 9 : 1 .

Raiendran, Girija. The bold 'new-wavers'. 'Illust-rated Weekly' 19 Dtecember 1971: 49.

Raju, V.K.A.R. Costing in film industry. 'Manage-ment Accountant' January 1972: 39-41.

Rangoon walla, Firoze. Planning films: the dilemmaof the producer. 'Yojana' 15 October 1974: 15-16.

— . Seventyfive years of Indian cinemas.Thought' 26 January 1974: 19-21.

Ray, Satya.jit. The delicate balance of art andcommerce in film making. 'Yojana' 15 October1974: 11-13.

Razdan, C. K. Quality is the first casualty inIndian cinema. 'Organises-' 16 October 1971: 21.

Russian Penetration in Indian films. 'Organiser'24 June 1972: 6, 15.

Sen, A. K. Film censoring. 'Yojana' • 15 October1974: 29-30.

Shambuddin. The social aspects of the cinema.'Sikh Review' September 1973: 71-72.

Shankar, L. Children's films. 'Yojana' 15 October1974: 21-22. -

Silver Screen; ^editorial. 'Times of India' 2 Dec-ember 1973: 4 : 1 .

Sinha, Shatruehan. Villainy Film Institute style.'Illustrated Weekly1 29 October 1972: 40-43.

Speaking bluntly about our films and films awards.'Link' 7 May 1972: 34-36.

Swaniinathan, Anuradha. The Cinema and Socialchange. 'Illustrated Weekly' 18 March 1973:46-49. .

Ved, Mahendra. Film Journalism in India. 'Vidura'November 1971: 377.

Violence on the screen; editorial. 'Times of India'12 August 1973: 4 : Jr.

Wav the film awards went: better films just escapedumping: industry prevails in star selection.'link' 7 May 1972: 31.

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