Pen, ink, action

October 10, 2014 04:29 pm | Updated May 23, 2016 05:33 pm IST

11dmckadambari

11dmckadambari

The art is all but dead today but film posters and advertisements in the years gone by conveyed a lot more than just information about a particular film. They were actually a little window to the times that were, the prevalent social mores, the status of women, the tastes of the audiences, etc.

Take the case of Shobhana Samarth, known to the more ignorant cinegoers as the grandmother of Kajol. Not only was she a huge star herself, often the films she acted in were sold under her name, much like the Khans today.

Contrary to common perception, those days, society was more open to accepting a heroine as the lead, the sole star who carried the film on her shoulders. And no, she did not have to be called ‘Mardaani’ for that. Or even quip that she was the fourth Khan or another Kapoor. These undercurrents come to the fore through a careful perusal of “Filmi Jagat: A Scrapbook” (published by Niyogi Books). The book is replete with visuals and posters of the early days of our cinema, mostly the 1930s and ’40s. And in their own way, the pictures convey much more than what is immediately visible to the naked eye.

Have a look at the posters and newspaper advertisements of Shobhana’s Apni Nagaria , a 1940 film where she had Nazir and Jayant for company. The film was promoted solely on her name with the posters respectfully addressing her as “Mrs Shobhana Samarth”. Interestingly, unlike later day heroines, the producers did not feel the need to hide the heroine’s marital status. Society, it seems, was more open, and cinegoers too understood the difference between reel and real.

If Shobhana was a big star who did not need the crutches of a hero, even more interesting evidence comes with the case of Chandravati, a lesser star of the 1940s. Chandravati starred in Saugand, a 1942 film that worked well at the box office. The film’s promos prominently played up Chandravati rather than Asit Baran, the leading man of the film.

Something similar happened with Sadhona Bose in Vish-Kanya where the eminently popular Prithviraj Kapoor and Surendra were her co-stars. Yet the film’s credits and promos all gave the name of Sadhona before the male leads.

On the same lines we had All India Pictures’ Nazneen where Madhubala got all the limelight ahead of Nasir Khan, Agha and Om Prakash. About a decade later, Madhubala similarly towered over Shammi Kapoor and Dharmendra in the publicity stills of Boy Friend , a film by Naresh Saigal.

Even more glaring was the treatment meted out to Pahari Sanyal in Kadambari . The 1944 film was promoted solely on the name of Shanta Apte, a seasoned actress who had carved out her own niche with films like Duniya Na Mane and Amar Jyoti in the ’30s. Her other film, Zamindar , too was sold solely on her star power with all other stars reduced to also-rans.

Similarly, Leela Desai was the pivotal figure in the stills and posters of Inkar . It again had Agha and Pahari Sanyal as co-stars.

More evidence comes from Ashok Kumar’s fate in Naya Sansar . The heroine, Renuka Devi’s name precedes his in the credits, the posters give her equal prominence. Incidentally, Renuka attained prominence in Pakistan as Begum Khurshid Mirza. Then of course, there is Nadia, popularly known as Fearless Nadia. Her film Hunterwali was promoted as just that – her film.

What do these stills and posters tell us? That these heroines were a huge draw at the box office? Right. That they could carry films on their shoulders? Right again. Most importantly, they tell us about a society and a polity which gave them their due.

Unlike the heroines of the ’70s and later, they did not have to hide their marital status to stay in circulation. They were regarded as artistes and not some soft porn stars who aroused wet dreams. They did not have to pander to the bloated male ego either and were happy to see their name precede that of the hero if they had a more powerful role in the film. This is in contrast to the times when films like Noorie, Roohi, Chandni, Maa, Filhaal talked up the male lead even though the films had more saleable heroines with prominent roles.

Isn’t it time then to remove our blinkers and stop calling ourselves modern merely because of the passage of time? And, by the way, don’t our much-maligned commercial films and their posters say something about gender equations?

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