WEST MEETS EAST

New Zealand Listener, Volume 11, Issue 265, 21 July 1944, Page 20

WEST MEETS EAST

-And Makes A Mess of It!

HEN you think of the A/ culture of India, what does it mean to you? Pale hands beside the Shalimar, perhaps; or the Bhagavadgita, the Taj Mahal, or the rock edicts of Asoka the Great? But not, surely not, Hollywood! Not a Hindu cutie with a caste-mark on her forehead, and a toothy Hollywood smile on her face, in Shalimar Studio’s rollicking musical-comedy, Prem Sangeet! Yet that, I am afraid, is what Indian "culture" should -begin to mean to you these days. Hollywood has apparently done it again. A most interesting, and at the same time most depressing, document came.into my hands recently: a copy of the Indian Motion Picture Magazine for November, 1943 (price, 12 annas, published in Bombay). It is written in English-but quite plainly intended for Indian readers rather than Europeans-and is handsomely printed and illustrated; from the outside it reminds you of one of the more expensive English pictorials of pre-war days. There was, obviously, not much paper shortage in Bombay in November, 1943. The first editorial page is ordinary enough; a pompously patriotic but wellmeant "message" from Sir Rahimtoola Chinoy, a magnate of the industry (photograph inset), exhorting the Indian film industry to help Great Britain to fight "this war for Civilisation" to a victorious finish. ". . . Let us help Government wholeheartedly and then demand from them all our legitimate facilities for which we very many times make such a powerful claim!" (His exclamation mark, not mine.) The next page contains dn editorial pep-talk about "The Sunshine Ahead" — apparently there are Pollyannas in India, too. It is when you turn the next page that you start to experience the first of a nasty series of shocks; that is, if you are still capable of being shocked by anything that the Hollywood influence can do. For here the reproductions of Indian film star photographs, and the advertisements for genuine Indian films, begin. Here you find a full page extolling the merits of the Indian star Lila Desai, "who first won your hearts in President," and who*is now "exploring newer realms of screen emotionalism in Paraya Dhan" (produced in two languages, Hindi and Bengali). A little further on you will find another full page devoted to Mumtaz Shanti, "the Indian Screen’s Most Favourite Star," who, "with Melody on her Lips and Rhythm in her Legs is ing Bombay music mad in Gitanjali ietone’s Sawaal." ° Even worse is to come. Below a picture of a handsome Hollywoodised Indian gazing with longing into the eyes of a good-looking caste-marked girl, is the announcement that Ashok Kumar, "the Matinee Idol of Millions," is now appearing in a "super social" entitled Angoothi. Opposite is an: almost exactly similar picture (except that the yearning hero now wears a felt hat and sports coat). Either he or the girl is named Motilal, and he (or she) is the "Heart Throb of Hundreds of Thousands," appearing in the "great social" Muskarahat. (This word "social" is a favour-

ite one; it seems to be the generic name for a type of picture which we might call "comedy-drama."’) > After that, you can regain your breath for a while: the succeeding advertisements are more restrained. Only such comparatively colourless lines as this meet the eye-"A Picture with a Message for the NATION!" "Spectacular Production," "The Director whose Films ‘never fail at the Boxoffice," "A Galaxy of Talent in the Supporting Cast," and so on. But the luli doesn’t last. You begin wondering again whether the. blessings of: Western civilisation haven’t been slightly over-rated when you read that Devikarani and Jairaj are coming "with a Song on her Lips, and Love in his Heart to form a Newer and Greater Love-Team in Hamari Baat," and when, on glancing again at the ‘cover, you notice something you previously over-looked-that the pleasant-faced Indian youngster in four colours is Baby Akhtar (India’s Shirley Temple perhaps?) who, from having been a Sad Bird of Song, is now a Smart Gay Bird in Dalsukh M. Pancholi’s Star-Studded, Laugh-Loaded, Musical Treat of the year, Poonji. * * * HAVING exhausted the advertisements and. yourself, you then study the "still" photographs, where West not only meets East but almost completely submerges it with a wave of Glamour, Hollywood poses, and press-sheet jargon. The caption beneath an illustration of an Indian couple (neither of whom looks either tender or little) informs the reader that "Kananbala. is most probably suppressing the tumult that is rising in her tender little heart." Most of the other illustrations are variations on this familiar Hollywood theme; Indian boy woos Indian girl, with varying degrees of propinquity in the illustrations and of naive absurdity in the captions — "Neena and Al Nasir have quite a lot of fancy for each other"; "Two dynamic personalities meet"; "Shobhana Samarth does full justice to her roll of Seeta. . . ." etc., etc. But not even the unrestrained influence of Hollywood has been able to conceal or destroy all thé native dignity and uty in many of the faces. Give it time, though, give it time! ; (continued on next page)

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The magazine includes four full-page coloured plates of Indian "pin-up girls" -including "Neena: the more publicity she gets the more mysterious she becomes," and "Shanta Apte: the Sweet Siren of the Indian Screen." They are possibly intended as "furlough bait" (as one caption puts it) for Indian troops on service! * * * ‘THEN, if you have any strength left, you .read the articles. Here, the impact of European "culture" is reflected more often in the language than in . the thoughts that are expressed. There are, in fact, some fairly progressive ideas in an attack on the starsystem and "the unfortunate pressure of screen glamour" by Mehr K. E. Tarapore. This article suggests that in India the influence of the people who screen the films is much greater than the influence of those who make them: that the distributors do, indeed, almost dictate to the producers how. they shall make their pictures and what stars they shall put in them. Apparently they are able to do this because they pay the producers’ expenses in advance. "Simply because a fellow comes along to pay say, 15 to 20 per cent of the ‘guaranteed’ figure in advance, his choice of a particular

actor or actress is much more to the producer than the major consideration whether that particular player will or will not suit his story. . . . Either the producer takes the pick of his own cast of characters and leaves the distributor to decide whether he will book the film, or in the alternative, subjects himself to the dictates of the. distributor (if he wants the money very badly!) and also dances to the tune called by that particular male or female player!" This article concludes: "And they call this the ENTERTAINMENT INDUSTRY! Yes, Entertainment. that is being hashed or rather ground in the mill of a daily toil, at the expense of someone who is, perhaps, giving his last drop of blood to the moneylenders whose dough is being spent in malting the film that is going to make the world laugh!" Now that is vigorous, if rather peculiar writing, reflecting an independence of outlook which is rarely encountered in the Western cinema industry. Similarly, I like the "plea for realistic acting in pictures" by Miss Snehprabha Pradhaf, who says: "The trouble with most of the artistes ‘s that they use up much of their energy in making themselves glamorous and give very little attention to the study of the character they are to portray . .. Mae West may be good for some time, but just for some time, Passion can blind and dumb one’s senses for a while but, like that of a mistress, her reign never lasts too long. The desire for something nobler, something purer and finer, something for the soul, is bound to take birth at one time or the other in the bosom of every (continued on next page)

INDIAN FILMS (continued from previous page)

human being. At such a time are forgotten all the Mae Wests of the world, and one remembers only the gentle smile of innocent lips. Sensuous curves fail to excite, and the mind recaptures only the peaceful beauty of a figure dressed simply and decently... . A man may turn his head several :times to see the shapely ankles of a woman passing by, he may even treat her to sumptuous dinners and conduct her ‘to best cinema theatres, but when it comes to settling in life, the question Will you marry me? is addressed to a woman whose ankles are a mystery to him . .. the same applies to his admiration for the female artiste on the screen. . . . It is artistes like Greta Garbo-big-footed and flat-chested--who hold his praise and regard." Well, that’s the Indian angle on glamour; a rather angular angle, one might say. But this also is an Indian angle expressed by the same writer: "It must not be forgotten that whether an artiste is portraying a millionaire’s daughter or a beggar girl, she must be an Indian first and Indian last. . . . The interpretation of the role one is playing must be according to the Indian conception of life," Exactly. It seems a pity that such an intelligent outlook is not found among those responsible for the publicity of Indian films. %% * aK HE tone of moral "uplift" and sermonising that one finds in the excerpt just quoted, and in nearly all the writing by Indians in this magazine, is especially prominent in an article on "Film Journalism: What It Is and What It Should Be," by Bankim Chandra Chatterjea, in which the writer says useful things in language that often sounds curiously naive to our Western ears, For instance: "An honest film journalist should always point out the defects and lapses of the industry and propagate through his paper the cause for which the industry is striving sc hard. A man never knows his own follies and foibles unless they are pointed out in the best of spirits. If the person referred to is well-meaning, he thinks about the suggestion: and tries to act up to them as far as possible. There lies the pleasure of the journalist and his enthusiasm for serving the cause." But so far as language goes, the most amusing article is that in which an Indian journalist describes how he tried to interview "the Mysterious Neena" (who must be the Indian equivalent of Greta Garbo--at least from the point of view of reticence, not that of angularity or big feet!). This is a typical Holly-wood-style publicity build-up, expressing Indian thoughts in a curious composite of English and American journalese: "The greater the myviory with which the lady surrounded herself, the keener was my curiosity to see her-and anyone would agree that it was but human on my part, Was I not entitled to know more of my favourite actress? Was I not in Poona just to gaze on her in real life and to be conscious of her living presence? Dash it all, was she so mysterious as to be practically invisible? . .. O.K., said I to myself, I would find out what all this mystery was about." At last the writer managed to see the Vision, and this is how he described it: "Dressed in a light Punjabi costume, she (Neena) was walking with an easy grace; there was a spring in her movement and a swing in her gait. , . . There were real curls in her thick hair and real roses on her cheeks, Her dark brown eyes had a pleasant twinkle and her perfectly chiselled face had the glow of health. Her sylph-like a was svelte and chic without any special effort. ‘Gosh,’ t I, ‘she is so lovely she needs no special talent, her looks are enough---and yet she is a fine artiste. Rare, indeed, in this union of beauty and art.’" * % * ‘THE last section of the magazine is devoted to pages of advertisements for Hollywood-made films (most of them already seen in New Zealand) (continued on next page)

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and pages of "puff" paragraphs supplied by the various American studios to boost their product, Looking at this section is like examining the model after after you have studied the caricature based upon it. I don’t know which is worse. There is no doubt where the Indians are getting their ideas about films from: here is the source of the corruption, here is the cause of the worm in the apple. In their several hundred years of occupying the country, Europeans have brought benefits to India as well as injuries, but I would question whether they have ever done anything much worse to India ‘than this, or anything more likely to have far-reaching effects.