I finally caught the rather charming Dangal in the theatres a couple of weeks ago. At one point in the film, the National Anthem plays. Absorbed in the onscreen action, I sensed a sudden rustle in the hall. People looked around uncertainly and then slowly began to stand up; clearly scared they might invite trouble if they didn’t. It was a wretched, pathetic moment — like living in a police state, unsure of who will inform on you, when the dogs will come barking at your door. I was dismayed by the fear and unease I sensed that evening.
I adore ‘Jana Gana Mana’; it’s a most beautiful piece of music. I stand up for it because one stands up for anthems. That evening I stayed in my seat because the anthem was played as a bit of background score in the film. Until a year or so ago, the entire audience would have stayed in its seats as well, but now nobody is sure of anything any more. When patriotism becomes mandatory, it’s no longer about love for the country; it’s simply fear of vigilantes.
Thankfully, a few days ago, the Supreme Court once again clarified that nobody needs to stand if the anthem plays as part of a film or play, a proviso that already existed in the original order passed in 2015, but of course it’s rather hard to point out legal exceptions to patriotic hooligans with sticks.
Meanwhile, residents of Tamil Nadu, recently released from their own version of the police state with the death of their erstwhile Chief Minister Jayalalithaa, have suddenly found their voice. Memes, spoofs and sharp editorials are blossoming like cacti in the desert. After the excitement of the jallikattu protest, which I sometimes think might well just have been years of pent-up dissent getting an airing, they are now battling for a Chief Minister.
As this goes to press, the tussle between wannabe Sasikala’s proxies and the suddenly shrewd OPS is still playing out in a riveting see-saw battle that puts to shame anything Kollywood might produce. And, released from the criminal defamation sword that used to hang menacingly over their heads, everyone here suddenly has an opinion on politics and is not afraid to voice it.
When Jayalalithaa was alive, captive film audiences used to be force-fed a newsreel about her glorious rule. You might think that a State that worships cinema would not find it too hard to create a slick publicity film, but you would be wrong. Crass, loud and tacky, the PR clips made you gnash teeth and tear hair. So imagine with what joy I looked forward to a newsreel-free cinema viewing life post-2016.
But to my horror I found a new film in place, this time a eulogy to JJ. It retraces the journey of the cortège, it has weeping women beating breasts, it has a really bad singer wailing a really bad paean and, much worse than all this, in a cringe-making finale, a disembodied child’s voice sobs ‘amma, amma’ over the grave.
As you can see, between standing during the anthem and squirming during the newsreel, cinema-going has become a rather fraught experience these days. But hope springs eternal etcetera, so when the Supreme Court found all the accused guilty in what has become famous as the Tamil Nadu disproportionate assets case, I perked up my ears.
We could ask why it took 21 years for this to come, in effect ensuring that Jayalalithaa (A1, the primary accused) was never convicted; we could ask how we are suddenly able to get a super-swift decision when a political crisis threatens; we could ask whether basic arithmetic errors can be accepted in High Court rulings and many such questions, but I will leave these to political pundits and turn to more urgent matters.
A1 has been found unambiguously guilty. If alive, she would have had to discontinue as Chief Minister. Now, can at least the panegyric films on her be discontinued? A1 is in the great studio in the sky, A2 to A4 are in that great place in Bengaluru, and it’s really high time ordinary citizens got some peace in movie halls at least.
