ROMANTICISING RAPE / FILM FATALE: COLUMN PUBLISHED IN THE HINDU BUSINESSLINE

THE RAPE OF AVANTHIKA

Bahubali features one of the longest scenes of romanticised symbolic violation ever seen on screen. Why are we as a nation not angered by it?

By Anna M.M. Vetticad

She, a brave warrior, lies on the banks of a lake, falling asleep with her slim hand in the water. Unknown to her, he — an absolute stranger — paints a flower on her wrist.

Furious on discovering the drawing, she sets out to find out how it got there. He unleashes a serpent on her from behind, and while she stands frozen, he — still a stranger — etches another bloom on her shoulder before disappearing from the scene.

Enraged at the assault, she takes off in search of the offender. When they finally meet face to face, he grabs her, and then comes a sexual dance as he pushes and pulls her about, unties her hair against her will, strips her of her practical fighter’s clothing and skilfully transforms the rest of her outfit into more ‘feminine’ garb. He forcibly smears natural dye on her lips to redden them and lines her eyes with the essence of crushed berries. At this point, she glimpses her transformed self in a sheet of water, and quivers coyly before their dance continues. She finally falls asleep in his arms.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how a woman is tamed. (Applause)

This scene featuring Prabhas and Tamannaah Bhatia appears in director S.S. Rajamouli’s box-office-busting Bahubali, released in the original Telugu and Tamil, and in multiple dubbed versions last week. It is a visually spectacular film with an engaging story rich in mythological references. Sadly, that’s what makes it dangerous because it has the potential to gain legitimacy among more viewers and to reach a far wider audience than an ugly, unpolished, unintelligent, unimaginative, un-entertaining film.

This aggressive display of ‘love’, in particular, is set against a gorgeous landscape with gentle music playing in the background. The beauty of the scene is designed to lull us into an acceptance of its insidious imagery and message, an acceptance that is bound to attract at least some reactions such as “stop nitpicking”, “have you lost your sense of romance?” and the standard “chill, relax, it’s just a film” to this column.

Actually, we can’t afford to “chill”. Certainly not when human society is still grappling with the meaning of consent in the matter of romantic and sexual relations. Prettified though it has been, the lead couple’s mating dance in Bahubali is unequivocal in its contention that it is okay to fool around with a woman without her knowing, or to force yourself on her when she resists, because that’s what courtship is all about.

If you are among those who are touched by this scene, permit me to plant the seed of a thought in your head. In your mind’s eye, if you replace the handsome Prabhas with Shakti Kapoor (or another actor who usually plays villainous roles), would you still find his actions poignant?

In the Hindi film Tanu Weds Manu (2011), Manu – again a stranger – is smitten when he sees a drunken Tanu lying passed out in her bedroom. So overwhelmed is he by his emotions that he kisses her. It’s unfortunate that many people find it hard to empathise unless they personalise a situation, but that being the reality, if you are moved by this scene, try this exercise: ask yourself whether it would be acceptable if a woman you love — perhaps your daughter — were lying asleep and your son’s friend or the male household help or an unknown man entered her room and kissed her?

If you object to either of the above alternative scenarios, why is it okay to romanticise them in a film?

The question is crucial in a nation as conservative as ours where most parents do not discuss romance with their children and where gender segregation is widespread, as a result of which many youngsters take guidance from cinema. If Salman Khan lifts Jacqueline Fernandez’s skirt without her knowledge in Kick (2014) and she shows anger at first, but soon dances merrily with him, the message to impressionable fans is that women secretly feel flattered by harassment — or what is euphemistically called ‘teasing’.

Impressionable young minds are not the only ones though who shut their eyes to the trivialisation of sexual violence on screen and resist or fail to comprehend non-traditional definitions of consent — and informed consent — off screen.

It’s really quite simple, you know. If she does not know you are doing it, it’s a no. If she does not understand what you are doing, it’s a no. If she says no, it’s a no. If she resists you physically, for god’s sake it’s a no. If she has not said yes, it’s a no. In all the above scenarios, if you replace her with a person of another gender, it’s still a no. And if you don’t have consent but still go ahead, it is rape.

For most people though, the issue of consent arises only at the point of penetrative sex in real life, or on screen with a literal — not metaphorical — depiction or suggestion of forced penetration. Everything up to that instant is considered fair game.

This is why droves of Malayalam film fans defend that scene in Annayum Rasoolum (2013) when Anna is seated on a bus, oblivious to the presence of her stalker Rasool behind her as he quietly passes his hand over her hair.

This is also why the rape of Avanthika by Bahubali is not causing the nationwide outrage that it should.

(Anna MM Vetticad is the author of The Adventures of an Intrepid Film Critic. Twitter: @annavetticad)

(This column was first published in The Hindu Businessline newspaper on July 18, 2015)

Original link: http://www.thehindubusinessline.com/blink/watch/the-rape-of-avanthika/article7433603.ece#comments

Related link: “बाहुबलीः ये रिझाना है या बलात्कार?” – Follow-up article  by Anna MM Vetticad on BBC Hindi about the angry right-wing reaction to “The Rape Of Avanthika” and the trivialisation of sexual violence in Hindi cinema    
http://www.bbc.com/hindi/entertainment/2015/07/150723_mysogyny_india_films_bahubali_women_rns

Photograph courtesy: https://www.facebook.com/bahubali.the.movie

Note: This photograph was not sourced from The Hindu Businessline

FILM FATALE: THE LEGITIMISATION OF STALKING IN INDIAN CINEMA / COLUMN PUBLISHED IN THE HINDU BUSINESSLINE

(This column by Anna MM Vetticad was first published in The Hindu Businessline on June 7, 2014) 

Headline: WHEN A WOMAN SAYS NO

Introline: Despite all our differences, it appears we are a nation bound together by a love of films that legitimise, normalise, even romanticise stalkers

  

Close call: Raanjhanaa (above) and Annayum Rasoolum (below) 

endorse and glorify stalking

“All love stories in real life starts (sic) after stalking,” a chap wrote to me on Twitter the other day. “What if the stalker loves her more than anybody else?” asked another. The two were reacting to tweets I posted after I chanced upon the Malayalam film Annayum Rasoolum on TV earlier that evening.

In case you don’t know, Annayum Rasoolum is an inter-community romance that earned critical acclaim, audience applause and multiple awards last year. It’s the love story of Rasool, a Muslim taxi driver in Kochi played by Fahadh Faasil, and a Christian woman called Anna (Andrea Jeremiah) who is a sales assistant in an upmarket sari shop.

Like many Indian film heroes before him, Rasool falls for a woman whose pretty face he happens to see one day. That’s when the unnerving behaviour begins. Rasool tails Anna down crowded roads and deserted bylanes. He starts taking the boat she takes to work every day. In some of the film’s most disquieting scenes, he follows her to the very gate of her home, then hangs around peeping over the low wall. In another scene that sent a shiver down my spine, he is seated right behind her on a bus and surreptitiously passes his hand over her flowing hair. As is usually the case with such creeps in Indian cinema, she is initially oblivious to him, then uninterested, and later intrigued. The film ultimately rewards him with her love.

“Watching Annayum Rasoolum on Asianet just now. That’s a seriously disturbing stalker!” I tweeted that day. Not surprisingly, while some responses condemned the film, and some admitted it had not occurred to them to think in such terms, many went along these lines: “Relax! It’s just a movie”; “Maybe you’re right. It’s a good movie though”; “Stop looking at it as a feminist. It’s so romantic.”

This was mild in comparison with the reactions I had to contend with after reviewing the Bollywood release Raanjhanaa, a Hindu boy-Muslim girl encounter starring Sonam Kapoor and Dhanush. In that film, Dhanush’s character Kundan unrelentingly chases Zoya (Sonam), although she slaps him on 15 occasions. She finally tells him she is impressed by his “consistency”, a choice of words that no doubt reaffirms convictions held dear by roadside Romeos across India.

The tragedy is that Raanjhanaa marked a rabid return to a dictum Bollywood had been gradually letting go of since the 1990s: the assumption that when a girl says no, she means maybe or yes. Darr in 1993 epitomised a bucking of the horrendous trend by portraying the stalker as a murderous psychopath who remains repugnant to the heroine till the end. Twenty years later in Raanjhanaa, despite his crude conduct, Kundan gets to hear Zoya say she loves him for the first time when he slashes his wrists in her presence. Large sections of the audience seem offended — not by Kundan’s behaviour, but by the criticism of it. The comments section below the Raanjhanaa review on my blog is filled with responses such as, “What an elitist review”; “You are sooooo disconnected to the country” (sic); “You don’t have an Indian heart”; “You are an extreme feminist”; “Save The Tiger campaign would soon need to shift focus on men” (sic).

Their words echo sentiments earlier expressed in Parliament by Sharad Yadav of Janata Dal (United). “Who among us has not followed girls?” he had asked while criticising the criminalisation of stalking and voyeurism in the new anti-rape bill (now an Act).

This then is what unites politicians, sexual predators and filmmakers across that fabled stretch from Kashmir to Kanyakumari, from Bollywood to Tollywood, Kollywood and Mollywood: the belief that stalking is an acceptable form of courtship. Despite all our differences, it appears we are a nation bound together by a love of films that legitimise, normalise and romanticise male pests.

Decent men and women inured to such transgressions through repeated exposure to insensitive films, and men who see films as a justification of their crimes, need to be constantly reminded that there’s nothing romantic about stalking; nothing charming about a man who shadows a woman, intimidates and frightens her, or intrudes into her life with unwanted phone calls, SMSes or emails. Delhi law student Priyadarshini Mattoo was raped and killed by her stalker Santosh Singh as revenge because she rejected his advances. Social activist Laxmi’s face was destroyed in an acid attack by a man whose romantic overtures she turned down.

Mainstream cinema tends to steer clear of such horrific cases. By presenting stalking in a humorous light instead and/or by repeatedly showing women like Anna falling in love with the likes of Rasool, too many films are — with calculated intent — catering to the wishful thinking of their mass male audience. They are not merely portraying a condemnable reality, they are glorifying it. And like all trash, cinematic garbage deserves nothing more than to be thrown into the dustbin — not just by critics, but by audiences too.

(Anna MM Vetticad is the author of The Adventures of an Intrepid Film Critic. Twitter: @annavetticad)

Photographs courtesy:

(1) Raanjhanaa: Everymedia PR

(2) Annayum Rasoolum: 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Annayum_Rasoolum