Strange bedfellows

Most political parties like to use a film star’s appeal for mobilising people during elections. Sometimes, an actor also steps in to lend credibility to a party. But most of these reel heroes have a poor record as real-life politicians, writes Derek Bose

Amitabh Bachchan does not like to be reminded of his brief stint in politics during the mid-1980s. And for all the good reasons. But one memory he cannot put behind him is his maiden speech in Parliament. It was a brilliant speech. In terms of clarity of thought, marshalling of facts, choice of words, diction, a clever turn of phrase here, a rhetorical question there... in every possible way, it was a fine piece of oratory that the Lok Sabha witnessed during that Budget Session of 1986. I was there, a reporter in the press box. So was Jaya Bachchan, in the adjacent visitors’ gallery. And there were Sunil Dutt and Vyjayantimala Bali, the two other filmstar-turned-MPs on the floor of the House.

Bachchan began his speech with the earnestness of a public school student in a debate class. He spoke of his background and the challenges facing the film industry before warming up to the vexatious issue of taxation on raw stock and release prints. By then, the House had broken into raucous banter and table thumping. Somnath Chatterji, then a CPM frontbencher, drawled: "This is not a Bombay film studio." But Bachchan refused to be silenced, his voice steadily rising above the din: "What right does anybody have to tax a filmmaker on every extra print he strikes? And mind you, the taxes go up in geometric progression. It is like telling a poet to contain himself within two or three stanzas, beyond which he would be taxed. How can you do that? How can you tell an artist to use only two or three colours in a painting and for every extra colour, he would be taxed?"

Predictably, those words fell on deaf ears. A year later, when Bachchan quit Parliament, making that famous "cesspool of politics" remark, nobody was surprised. Everybody knew he was wasting his time. He had no useful purpose to serve beyond adding an element of glamour to the Lok Sabha. Like all filmstars who become MPs, he was not committed to any known political ideology, social cause or a pressing sense of public service. At best, he was an interlocutor between his constituents and the government, a role every elected representative of the people is expected to play. But while a grassroots politician of questionable credentials can always have his way (and even manage a Cabinet post for himself), no filmstar is ever taken seriously in Parliament. When he quits, nobody really misses him.

Yet, over the past two decades, Bollywood’s presence in the nation’s electoral process has been on the rise. During the last elections in May 2004, no less than seven filmstars contested as candidates and as many as 29 actors and actresses were engaged for campaigning by the Congress, the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) and the Samajwadi Party (SP).

This time around, many more have joined the fray, the new names bandied about being Sanjay Dutt, Naghma, Manoj Tiwari and Raju Srivastav. Star campaigners include Jaya Bachchan, Sharmila Tagore, Zeenat Aman, Govinda, Moushumi Chatterji, Bappi Lahiri, Poonam Dhillon. The Congress, apart from using A.R. Rahman’s ‘Jai Ho’ as its poll anthem, has also roped in child stars of Slumdog Millionaire to campaign for it.

There can be no denying that a film star’s utility during the elections is mainly that of a crowd puller. Since politicians cannot usually be trusted, a star steps in to lend credibility to a party. He uses his charisma to mobilise people, highlight a cause and even collect funds for the party.

But somewhere, along the way, he also turns politics into a spectacle. So when the elections are over, he suddenly finds himself at a loose end — much like a character in a plot-less movie, clueless about his role.

This perhaps can explain why a confused BJP star politician like Dharmendra talks out of turn much to the embarrassment of his party. He had gone on record to say: "I do not know anything about BJP’s philosophy. All I know is that if I am made a dictator for five years, I would clear the mess in this country."

Dharmendra was of course, playing to the gallery, something all filmstars are good at. But on a serious note, he also pointed out that the reason behind his massive popularity among the voters was his screen image of an honest and justice-seeking hero.

This essentially explains how cinema and politics have come to share the same space. A filmstar appears larger than life — a hero who is always righteous, incorruptible, invincible and capable of turning fantasy into reality. To the common public, he is a messiah who can do no wrong. Illusory though this image is, it instils trust in the electorate and that is what every political party tries to cash. But once this purpose is served, the star is usually left to fend for himself.

In southern India, where movie stars have risen to become chief ministers, things are quite different. There, the line between politics and entertainment has always remained blurred since the regional films down South are more reflective of local issues and political concerns. Many political parties, especially in Tamil Nadu, have even been founded by members of the film fraternity. Former Tamil Nadu Chief Minister C.N. Annadurai, who founded the DMK, was a popular scriptwriter. He was succeeded by M.K Karunanidhi, another famous scriptwriter. The rival AIADMK was launched by matinee idol M.G. Ramachandran. Upon his death in 1988, his co-star and prot`E9g`E9, J. Jayalalithaa took over. In the neighbouring Andhra Pradesh, another matinee idol N. T. Rama Rao founded the Telugu Desam Party and was elected twice until his son-in-law Chandrababu Naidu toppled him. Now we have Chiranjeevi, who, too, is flexing his political muscles by floating the Praja Rajyam Party.

In all these cases, politics has become a full-time vocation and a mission in life. It is not the last resort of an out-of-work actor. In South’s film industry even in the ranks of technicians also one can find many of them having strong political beliefs and affiliations. In fact, there can be no telling where the politician in a star ends and where the star in a politician begins — the two are so intertwined. In this scenario, the question of one exploiting the other does not arise. Nobody there makes a statement as Jaya Bachchan did recently: "I needed the Samajwadi Party." One is either committed to the cause a party upholds, or one is not. But when the commitment comes across as "need-based", eyebrows are bound to be raised.

Jaya could very well have spoken for the rest of her fraternity in Bollywood, who have stuck their necks out in party politics. Nobody is in it out of any commitment to a cause or for altruistic reasons. They are all here to feather their nests much like their political bosses, who turn to filmstars when they run out of issues or need to divert public attention from an embarrassing event (as the BJP did so successfully by deflecting the focus on the Gujarat genocide during the last elections).

In effect, what could easily have developed into positive synergies for public good has degenerated into a dangerously incestuous relationship between politics and cinema. Sadly, this is the tragedy that marks the participation of the world’s largest film industry in the so-called dance of the world’s largest democracy.