I am standing before you, sticking out two fingers and saying, “Pick one.” You must have done this before. Chocolate or vanilla, indoors or outdoors, this shirt or that? Trying to make the decision is driving you bonkers and so you do it blindfold, as it were, by leaving the choice to someone who has no idea what each finger stands for. The two options in my case are theatre and cinema. Time and again I have weighed them up, but have never been able to conclusively declare that I love one better than the other.
The question returned to vex me last month when I saw a remarkable film — about a play. Even as I deeply relished the movie I could see that it had inspired me to renew my allegiance to theatre. Once again, the two mediums remained equally poised on my mental scales. Enough is enough, I said to myself. Let me attempt to write about it and perhaps, in the process, the answer might emerge. In the feeble hope of attaching a news peg to my column I went online and stumbled upon a World Theatre Day instituted by the ITI — not the Indian Telephone Industries in Krishnarajapuram but the International Theatre Institute. It’s in March, though, and I see no reason to wait that long.
I’m fairly certain, however, that for most of you, cinema is supreme. How many plays did you catch last year? (Your children’s school plays don’t count.) In the last five years? Ten years? This is not an accusation; I know it’s not a level playing field; for every three venues that stage plays there are three hundred movie screens. For all I know there could be Rip Van Winkles among you whose last thespian encounter dates back to when actors would stick wet pappadam on their pates to look bald or rub rice powder into their hair to look old. You have a lot of catching up to do. Theatre in India has sprouted fresh new branches, taken on new and exciting dimensions. Some people are actually earning their daily (crust of) bread from it. In the past, the only people who made a living, however paltry, through this art were members of professional ‘drama companies’.
A drama company gave me my first glimpse of professional theatre. When I was in middle school, a troupe swept into my home town with two spectacular productions. I was blown away by the grand sets, resplendent costumes and histrionic background score. The first play enthralled me with its tale of kings and queens and palaces. The second scared the living daylights out of me. Imagine a beautiful woman in a white sari suddenly turning into a fanged, bloodsucking yakshi backlit by a crimson glow, her sustained howling punctuated by a thunderous drum roll. This happened three times, if memory serves. I was so terrified that for weeks afterwards I didn’t dare enter a dark room and couldn’t sleep without a light burning.
I was in my twenties when I next saw a play — my very first, in Bangalore. Wearing borrowed feathers — blue jeans and a cream cotton T-shirt that I quite fancied myself in — I went to the Bal Bhavan to watch “The Odd Couple” all by myself. It is always hard to describe love at first sight. One gropes for words and finally one descends into clichés. All I can say is that my connection with the two actors on stage was direct and immediate. I was a participant. I feel that same human connection and sense of active participation whenever I sit down to watch a play. With a movie, it’s different. I immerse myself in it.
Sadly, theatre only draws what marketers call a niche audience, while cinema continues to attract the mainstream. If, after reading my column, some of you are tempted to buy a ticket to a play, let me explain the rules to you. It calls for a certain discipline that — “Rules?” you snap at me. “Discipline? Is this a military operation?” Well, kind of. The occasion calls for punctuality, immobility, and pin-drop silence. You can’t wander in late. You must stay rooted to your seat. Forget chips or popcorn: the faintest rustle of plastic will make heads swivel around to glare at you. You can’t talk to your neighbour and you have to throttle your cell phone. But if it’s a good play you won’t need any reminders; you’ll follow the rules automatically. Because you’ll be part of the action on stage, holding your breath. And if you’re lucky there’ll be a dramatic moment that seizes you by the throat, an unforgettable moment whose transience renders it all the more magical. Because you can never get it back. But if the play is bad, oh boy, you’re going to be angry and frustrated and disappointed in a way you’ll never be with a bad film. Why is this so? I often wonder. I can laugh off a rotten movie. But I feel cheated after watching a substandard play.
I’ve got no closer to an answer, after all. You might imagine that the balance is tilting towards theatre. Until you relook at my title. It’s a twist on the name of a movie!
