Our fantastical stories are rooted in the fantasies of our myths. That’s perhaps why, with increasingly deracinating westernisation, we’ve learnt to mock the masala movie.
“Why are you watching Jyoti Bane Jwala?” my conscious mind cries out, with the futility of the hero’s sister’s appeal in a 1970s potboiler to an advancing Ranjeet. But there is no logical answer. While channel surfing, sometimes, the finger freezes on the remote in deference to a directive from the subconscious – and that’s how you end up glued to the exploits of Jeetendra, pants tucked into his boots like an ersatz Amitabh Bachchan. (The film, incidentally acronyms to JBJ, which nearly three decades later, would fan out to Jhoom Barabar Jhoom. Of such cancer-curing eureka moments is a pop-culture chronicler’s life made.)
The plot was pure Bachchan-era. The mother is shamed, the father is framed and dispatched to prison, and the son bays for the blood of the blackguard responsible for the dissolution of his family unit, a villain who sits in his lair in his chair in front of a purple wall with radiating spokes. (Now that books about Bollywood are becoming a sub-industry, why hasn’t anyone commissioned a coffee-table volume on the art directors of masala cinema of the 1970s and 80s, a period that embraced kitsch wholeheartedly, without irony and without the quotation marks of camp?)
Meanwhile, Vinod Mehra and Sarika are on stage, playing the parts of Vishwamitra and Menaka to the accompaniment of a semi-classical number that goes Tu jogan main jogi, and when the restive audience begins to boo, they reset these lyrics to the tune of Chal chal chal mere saathi, the hit from Haathi Mere Saathi. The audience is appeased and Jeetendra is put in jail – at least, that’s how it seems, given how suddenly we are slung, like a shot from a catapult, into the subsequent scene. The head-spinning hastiness of the transition brings to mind what Rajorshi Chakraborti, in his superb contribution to The Popcorn Essayists, described as a waking-dream state. Anything can happen, and anything does.
But we watchers of Old Bollywood have no compunctions about being waking dreamers, and so the saga continues with Jeetendra escaping – instantly. One minute he’s telling Satyen Kappu he wants to break out of jail, the next he’s out. (Much later, Vinod Mehra, a cop, emulates this ellipsis – one scene he’s ranting at his mother for letting Jeetendra escape, the next he’s chasing Jeetendra’s car.) The scenes of planning a jailbreak and actually executing the nail-biting escape (or in Vinod Mehra’s case, the scenes of finding out Jeetendra’s whereabouts before ending up on his tail) were presumably too insignificant. Who has time for details when there’s so much plot to be covered?
The plot continues with the runaway Jeetendra being rescued by a heavily lipsticked Moushumi Chatterjee whose roommate – Sarika, the Menaka of the instant improvisation skills – happens to bear on her person a burn mark similar to Jeetendra’s. They realise they are long-lost siblings and they embrace instantly. In real life, if a brother and sister were thus united, they’d register at least a bit of bewilderment. They’d marvel at the mysteries of fate. But here, Jeetendra and Sarika exhibit a calm acceptance – there is, after all, the next scene to be got to – and they unite as if the numerous Bollywood movies they’ve seen up to that point had made their reunion inevitable.
But this isn’t the inevitability of the movies so much as the inevitability of myth – our myths, which were filled with happenings that made the head spin. And because the myth is our only true “genre,” our older films are essentially as fantastical as the fantasies involving gods and demons. In Hollywood, the barren and dangerous frontier territories spawned the western. The song-and-dance of Broadway gave rise to the musical. The crime in the East Coast birthed the gangster drama. But for the longest time, our cinema was shaped solely from our endless supply of archetypal myths, and that’s why we used to accept, without complaint, these near-miraculous coincidences and these “logic-free” plot leaps (though free only of physical logic; there certainly is an emotional logic at play). I wonder what a teen of today would make of Jyoti Bane Jwala.
Lights, Camera, Conversation… is a weekly dose of cud-chewing over what Satyajit Ray called Our Films Their Films. An edited version of this piece can be found here.
Copyright ©2011 Baradwaj Rangan, The Hindu. This article may not be reproduced in its entirety without permission. A link to this URL, instead, would be appreciated.
rameshram
April 22, 2011
Its a reductionist analysis. this si like saying all American film is ultimately the jesus christ story (which it can be construed to be..the lone hero- jesus christ. TAkes on the problems of the world: jesus christ. heroines with big mammaries : mother mary….etc.
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bran1gan
April 22, 2011
rameshram: It’s definitely reductionist, but it’s not really an analysis. These columns of limited word length I use to throw out a theory or a point of view, and then it’s open for debate, rebuttal, whatever. It’s more like a starting point than a full-fledged analysis.
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rameshram
April 22, 2011
If its just a starting point for a discussion, my response is that mythology of this sort is waht keeps the bollywood audience distinct from, say a thai or a phillipine audience. It is only recently that people have been able to get their heads out of their ass long enough to acknowledge the existence of non American genres as legitimate film genres. (one would think, othervice that the world is divided between “Good” western film and undistinguised “bad” non western film – turkish, Indian or nigerian.
The lesson Hollywood has learnt in the 2000s (mostly from people like me sitting here and taking their ass) is that a film genre works because its audience “gets” it, not because it conforms to a universally accepted set of jungian theoretical concepts.
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Apu
April 22, 2011
I would agree, albeit tentatively, with the view. Growing up on a dose of mythological stories, and stories which, at second glance now, seemed an extension of those myths, I always find solace in closures, coincidences, happy endings, win of good over evil, etc. Which had made me take the so-called masala movie for granted, and accept it in all its wholesomeness, as in accepting life with its hard facts, candied moments, garishness and subtleness. Even now, I have, mostly unknowingly, liked movies that give me that balance, the closure and leaves me with a feeling of a deed accomplished (that sounds stupid, but it is how I feel sometimes). Though I have liked and admired movies with open ends, I always go back for those movies, which, like myths, do not end till all loose ends are tied up, without hinting that it is a temporarily achieved equilibrium.
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Just Another Film Buff
April 22, 2011
Hahaha, hilarious. Your last paragraph is in the general direction of how I would have talked about 7 KHOON MAAF.
There’s the famous claim that every Indian popular Indian film is influenced by either of the two texts, but I think it’s tentative at best.
CHeers!
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bran1gan
April 23, 2011
rameshram: Also, I get the feeling you think I’m looking down on masala. Not at all. I’m a huge fan. I think some of the greatest Hindi and Tamil films were made when we were less apologetic about our myths 🙂
Apu: I like the phrase “candied moments” Thanks.
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rameshram
April 24, 2011
Oh no no I dont think you could talk down to popular films (namrata joshi or raja sen, maybe) because your sensiblities(even when you are watching bergman films) is of a popular movie buff. Its just that we all (pardon the repeat) tambrams suffer from this overgenralization bug.. of saying “motthathulae ivvalovu than” which is one way of summing up pop films “enna da! Aethu ramayanam ille mahabharatham idha renda vutta namma pasangalukku kathai ezzutha theriyuma enna!”
(this is usually succeded by a “golden age of Hollywood” rant “antha kalathula Howard HAwks ille John ford camera vai kaiyula eduthhanna eduppan paaru padam…..cannot be matched even today I say!”
its entretaining when youre sitting in a kalyanam in a gang with periappa chittappas, as serious criticism, it doesn’t wash.
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abzee2kin
April 24, 2011
Too short a piece Rangan! But one after my own heart.
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