Infected Celluloid

AUGUST 2004 - Among the many things we can count as dead, the cinema industry or whatever is the name of the phantom that lurks about in the country is more dead than any other dead thing. Someone should remove the carcass because it really stinks. These past few months, we have all been watching and listening to the various contradicting lobbies that have been advocating the revival of the industry. As usual too many people have said too many contrary and baffling things with the result that most of us have no longer any idea what’s it all about.

It’s sad to see cinema houses close down, though in their demise they seem to become more profitable, plazas being the rage with Pakistanis, both builders and shoppers. But who can doubt the eternal magic of the cinema, the sweep of the big screen and the sheer excitement of sitting in the dark while whole new worlds unravel before your eyes. Cinema is magic as one of my friends once said, because when it is over, all that is left is a white screen with not a thing on it. While it certainly may be magic in many countries of the world, here it has long been a nightmare without end. Other than the few good films we produced in our infancy supported by directors, producers and stars who had something of value to offer and built around truly great and memorable music, the rest has been pure, unadulterated trash. Like the garbage that chokes Lahore to death, as indeed other cities, towns and villages, Pakistani cinema has fed on its own rotten flesh and indulged in self-poisoning. The standards, whatever they were in the good old days, have plummeted to depths unchartered in this field. Chances of things of value ever emerging from there and retaining its somewhat past glory – though glory would be fairly generous a tribute, are just about the same as Shaukat Aziz losing the election or Mian Mahmud Kasuri abandoning his 3-piece suits.

The other night, amongst the nationwide noise making that’s been going on about what needs to be done, there was a collection of some of the industry’s leading lights on stage facing a live audience, which was not sparing any punches. As one awkward question and charge replaced another, the cinema industry’s representatives, squirmed – some answered the criticism, but others had nothing much to say. Queen Meera, trying desperately to look like Julia Roberts (sorry Julia) in a shimmering red outfit, had nothing to say which is just as well given the rich repertoire of Meera one-liners that are in vogue these days. (Favourite restaurant? M.C.Donalds; ‘I have hijack’- meaning ‘jetlag’ and others, which can’t be repeated in polite company). The drift of most questions was betrayal of the cinemagoers. The angry audience charged the film industry with having made money while producing a steady pile of smelly trash. As if we have turned the corner, much was made of the new film, ‘Salaikhan’ clips of which were shown to the irritated audience. I mercifully missed the earlier clips but saw the two ones in a kind of stupor, where the hero’s father accompanied by, it seems, the whole neighbourhood, visits his son in jail. In a sequence as symbolic and moving as a frog having a bath in a pond, he collapses and dies of a heart attack while the hero and party, rave, rant, scream and shout at decibel levels enough to fell buildings. The accompanying party too weeps, screams at the world, hurls threats of dire consequences, weep some more, flail their arms and generally have a complete and severe nervous breakdown. The hero rattles the jail bars in a scene reminiscent of a cheap version of a King Kong impersonation, bangs his head into the bars so much that you fear for the safety of the jail building. All this with screaming and weeping at full volume. High drama I suppose is like this. In a connecting clip, the dead father complete with the customary wool-in-the-nostrils detailing is carried off but not before the hero’s mother creates another memorable scene, wailing, screaming and weeping at sound levels that if measured on the Richter Scale would make Krakatoa look like a firecracker. Falling, whirling, swooning she goes on endlessly, one scream following hot on the heels of another. Truly gripping if you get my drift. This is our latest offering to the thirsty cinemagoers and this is the new wave cinema, that’s going to bring the people back and prevent more plazas from corrupting our blighted landscape. Permit small break for throwing up please.

On television the other night, non-stop ads ran about another epic effort of the film industry that’s about to descend on humanity. Called ‘Munna Bhai’ it is apparently a happy plagarised version of an Indian film and has been produced by a gent who wishes to be identified as ‘Al Maroof’ or ‘Al Famous’ if you like, Bodi Gujjar. Need one say more? Who is Bodi Gujjar you may well ask and why is he not selling Rabri Milk but celluloid trash? These are not easy questions to answer. Why all the Gujjars have abandoned milch cattle and taken to making movies? Are there generous tax breaks here or can you, following the milk simile, turn black into white? Or is it that the Gujjars have discovered their true calling lies not in fields of dung heaps but the world of illusion and reality? Can we begin to believe that Steven Spielberg is actually an American Gujjar? As for what this latest offering will bring into the lives of the people, there really is nothing to say. It is another mish mash of cheap theatrics with a sub-standard story line and everything trashy that seems to pass for life as depicted by the Pakistani cinema. No, it is unlikely that the crowds will rush to the cinemas and bring success to these enterprising ventures. The Pakistani public has put up with nonsense for too many years, starting from the early years when the film industry sought and obtained official protection from the far superior Indian film industry and gained monopoly of the domestic market. Instead of getting better, films simply got worse. Why are the pundits of the industry so astonished that people don’t watch the films? TV may have made inroads but the power of the cinema is beyond question. However, if you produce drivel, you will lose your audience.

Other than business, which seems to be the only concern, it is the shaping of minds that’s the more frightening aspect of our decaying film industry. A cursory look at any of the hundreds of trashy films produced reveals such a distorted and dangerously lopsided view of Pakistan society that it’s a wonder why the whole country hasn’t fallen apart altogether. Women are the worst off, depicted as wanton, lusty, morally decadent sexpots whose only function is to satisfy the most carnal desires of the men. They are shown as violent, crime-ridden, corrupt, decadent and lusting males who abduct, torture and kill rivals, rape damsels, drink themselves to death and only love their mothers. Educated girls are loose, unreliable hussies who can only say, ‘Oh shut up you nonsense.’ Other cardboard characterizations abound and a macabre, twisted and sordid picture of rural and urban Pakistan is shown again and again. From the infested brains or whatever it is that passes for that rare body part, flows a viewpoint, which is revolting. There must be a stop to this excess, which has crossed all limits. In a manner of speaking, the death of the industry should be welcomed. There is already enough mess here. We should perhaps bury the industry with our own hands before it corrupts and infects whatever little decency is left here.