Whither women’s cinema

There has hardly been a movement of self-assertion and protest by filmmakers against the way women are depicted in cinema, writes Derek Bose

Sushmita Sen in Main Hoon Na

Women’s representation in cinema has more or less been limited to the way the movie camera "looks" at the staging of certain stereotypical situations on screen, such as a rape, the social ostracism faced by an unwed mother, a cabaret, kathak or item number, an orphan girl trapped in a den of vice and so on.

While one is familiar with instances of female objectification in films by men directors, but it needs to be seen how different is the male gaze different from what Farah Khan’s camera captures of Deepika Padukone in Om Shanti Om or better still, of Sushmita Sen in Main Hoon Na. Was Tanuja Chandra’s camera any less exploitative in the recent Zindagi Rocks? Is there much to choose between Pooja Bhatt’s images of Udita Goswami in Paap and those of Mallika Sherawat in Khwaish and Bipasha Basu in Jism — both shot by male directors?

Obviously, the gender of the filmmaker has little (if anything) to do with the depiction of women on our screen. In the past, we have had some outstanding women directors like Shobana Samarth (Humari Beti), P. Bhanumathi (Vichitra Vivaham) and Prema Karanth (Phaniyamma) who were demonstrably sensitive towards this issue. But there were many more male filmmakers — ranging from V. Shantaram (Duniya Na Maane) to Bimal Roy (Sujata) and Ritwik Ghatak (Meghe Dhaka Tara) to Girish Kasaravalli (Ghatashraddha), Bhaben Saikia (Agnisnaan), Jabbar Patel (Umbartha), Shyam Benegal (Bhumika) and, of late, Madhur Bhandarkar (Chandni Bar) — who have been just as concerned and could effectively champion the cause of women’s emancipation and empowerment on screen.

The mother of all films in this genre is of course, Mother India — again, made by a man. In the West also, the most powerful statements on gender inequality have come from male filmmakers. Two easily identifiable Hollywood films celebrating women’s power are Steven Soderbergh’s Erin Brokovich (starring Julia Roberts) and earlier, Mike Nichol’s Silkwood (with Meryll Streep as the protagonist). While the former was about an unemployed, foul-mouthed single mother bringing down a California power company for polluting the city’s water supply, the latter centered round a metallurgy worker who raises the banner of protest against the safety violations by a plutonium processing plant. Now there is a Romanian film, 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 6 Days making waves worldwide for its very moving narrative about a woman defying state authority and helping her roommate get a late abortion done. It is Christian Mingiu’s first film on the Ceausescu regime.

The most visible efforts have, of course, came from Hollywood, the foremothers being Dorothy Azner (The Bride Wore Red), Ida Lupino (Outrage) and Shirley Clarke (Bridges Go Around). They were the ones to prepare ground for such enterprising and high profile filmmakers as Barbara Streisand (Yentl), Susan Seidelman (Desperately Seeking Susan), Diane Keaton (Unstrung Heroes) and Deborah Hoffman (Complaints of a Dutiful Daughter) to come into their own. Sadly, much of the initial impetus fizzled out and gave rise to a mushy sub-genre called chick flicks. By and large, the most telling statements on women are now being made by documentary filmmakers like Connie Field (Life and Times of Rosie) and Cynthia Salzman (Sisters of 77).

In India, things have not been very different, though chick flicks are still a rarity. But for occasional sparks of brilliance, we have hardly ever witnessed a concerted movement of self-assertion and protest by women filmmakers as some countries in the West have. And now, with the likes of Aparna Sen and Kalpana Lajmi (see box) increasingly moving away from feminist themes, there is not much hope left for this genre. In a way, their joining the mainstream is a healthy development as remaining ghettoised would have only proved self-defeating both for the filmmakers and their cause.

But then, it is not as though women’s cinema in India has lost its relevance or that nobody is interested in it any longer. It is just that there is not enough talent to propel it further. Historically, such films have stood out on the strength of powerful performances by talented actresses playing the protagonist. If Prema Karanth could pull off a convincing Phaniyamma, it was largely because of L.V.Sharada’s brilliant acting as the child widow, just as Aparna Sen relied entirely on Jennifer Kapoor’s performance as the old lady in 36 Chowringhee Lane. And who can forget Rakhee’s role as the professional mourner in Rudaali? Could Ek Pal or Sati be the same without Shabana Azmi?

That quality of acting, or screen presence can hardly be seen among our glamour girls these days. They may be more gifted, even better informed, but they are more intent upon exposing a thigh here, a tatoo there, pouting and preening for the camera`85 in other words, pandering to the baser tastes of male viewers. This is the kind of image projection present-day heroines are engaged in and building their careers on. In such a situation, where does any form of serious cinema stand a chance? Think Aishwarya Rai in Provoked and the picture becomes clear.

Sisters in cinema

Farah Khan would seem an aberration in the face of the contribution of certain women filmmakers in India at defining a new feminine aesthete on screen. Here are some torchbearers from the past:

Prema Karanth: Her film Phaniyamma won a national award for its sensitive portrayal of a simple and straightforward woman’s struggle in a male-dominated society. Another significant film, Bandh Jharoke underscored the importance of woman as an individual in her own right and that there exists a life beyond the traditional role-playing of a mother, daughter, sister and wife.

Aparna Sen: After a fairly successful stint as an actress in Bengali cinema, she made her directorial debut with 36 Chowringhee Lane in 1981. It brought her instant acclaim and she came up with some equally thought-provoking essays on the status of women in India, like Sati and Paroma. Sadly, she could not sustain the same passion and drive in her later films like Mr and Mrs Iyer and 15 Park Avenue.

Sai Paranjpye: Arguably the most male among female filmmakers, she refused to contain herself to just women’s issues. After such highly successful rib-ticklers as Katha, Chashme Baddoor and the national award-winning Sparsh, she drifted into making children’s films Angootha Chaap and Papeeha. Her last two releases, Saaz and Bhago Bhoot could scarcely revive her past glory.

Kalpana Lajmi: She too appears to be a spent force. With Ek Pal, she made her mark as a filmmaker of substance. She followed it with Rudaali, a film on professional mourners in Rajasthan, which marked the high point of her career. Thereafter, somehow, she lost focus and produced a series of inconsequential films — Darmiyan, Daman, Kyon and Chingari.

Mira Nair: She burst into the scene with Salaam Bombay, a film on the life of the Mumbai street children. Inspired by its success, she did Kama Sutra that brought her as many bouquets as brickbats for its sexually explicit theme. She kept low for a while and returned to India with the hugely successful Monsoon Wedding, and then Vanity Fair and The Namesake. She is now making news for her Johnny Depp-Amitabh Bachchan starrer, Shantaram.

Deepa Mehta: Another filmmaker with Indian roots but settled abroad. Like Mira, she started out as a documentary filmmaker and has since made about a dozen features like Camilla, Sam and Me and Republic of Love. But it is the trilogy based on Indian themes — Fire, Earth and Water — that has made her a household name in India, at once revered and reviled.— D.B.

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