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

REVIEW 340: BAJRANGI BHAIJAAN

Release date:	July 17, 2015
Director:	Kabir Khan
Cast: Language:	Salman Khan, Harshaali Malhotra, Nawazuddin Siddiqui, Kareena Kapoor Khan, Om Puri, Rajesh Sharma, Sharat Saxena, Adnan Sami Hindi

I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a Salman Khan film so much.

Oh yes, it was Dabangg back in 2010 when director Abhinav Kashyap, Salman, Sonu Sood and the rest of the team struck a fine balance between being playful yet not stupid. Five years later comes director Kabir Khan’s Bajrangi Bhaijaan (BB) in which an excessively dramatised, play-it-safe finale does not kill its overall impact as a heart-warming entertainer.

The story had the potential to be terribly over-done: a six-year-old Pakistani girl called Shahida gets lost in India when she comes visiting Nizamuddin Auliya’s dargah in Delhi with her mother. She chances upon the good-hearted, naïve Hanuman devotee Pavan Kumar Chaturvedi a.k.a. Bajrangi who is constrained in his efforts to help her by the fact that she is mute and too young to write. When he figures out that she is from Pakistan, his attempts to legitimately get her home fail. So he decides to personally transport her across the border and to her family.

Now imagine this core concept in the hands of director Anil Sharma who gave us that India-Pakistan screamfest Gadar: Ek Prem Katha starring Sunny Deol in 2001.

Better still, don’t pain yourself by imagining that. Thank god instead for Kabir. The director of Kabul Express, New York (my favourite in his filmography) and Ek Tha Tiger, does an unobtrusive balancing act almost throughout BB. This film has none of the hollering or populist demonisation of our neighbour that spoilt the moving love story at the heart of Gadar. Nor does it awkwardly deify all Pakistanis in the interests of superficial political correctness. A thumbs up for that and so much else, Kabir.

As with all Salman’s films, BB too gives him the maximum screen time in comparison with his co-stars. As with most of his films, he brazens his way through this one too on the strength of minimal acting skills and oodles of charm. He was cute and likeable in Dabangg, in this film he is completely overshadowed by the supporting cast. Salman has been slow on his feet in films in the past five years, but Kabir has used his star attraction wisely here, giving him only one major song-and-dance sequence to shoulder and no scenes in which he has to race about unrealistically.

The list of scene-stealers in BB is led by Harshaali Malhotra playing Shahida a.k.a. Munni. Yet another great job by casting director Mukesh Chhabra. Not only is she incredibly huggable, this tiny debutant can also act. She is sweetness personified but she does not rely on that innate quality to get by, nor does Kabir over-cutesify her as directors of child actors are prone to doing.

Kareena Kapoor Khan plays Bajrangi’s supportive girlfriend and Delhi-based teacher Rasika. Though she is present in less than half of BB – and what a crying shame that is! – this fine actress does full justice to her role of a strong and broad-minded woman in trying circumstances.

Playing Pakistani TV journalist Chand Nawab, Nawazuddin Siddiqui enters the picture almost one-and-a-half hours into the narrative and walks away with the film. He owns the screen every single time he appears, which is why it is ironic when in that scene in which Chand and Bajrangi finally discover the name of Shahida’s village and Chand breaks into a celebratory dance, the camera zooms into Salman and the kid, cutting Nawaz out for a while. His dialogue delivery, his laughter, a rousing PTC (piece to camera) and that fleeting moment when he leans over to tap a colleague’s shoulder – every second that we see him is evidence of his genius. 

BB is blessed with other strong supporting actors too, among them Rajesh Sharma as a Pakistani police officer and Om Puri in a brief but memorable role as a Muslim clergyman in Pakistan.

What’s nice about BB is that it doesn’t rest primarily on its hero’s popularity as most Salman films do. V. Vijayendra Prasad’s story is affecting, timely and carefully crafted considering the hyper-sensitivity of elements in both major religious communities portrayed here. Kabir’s dialogues are for the most part bereft of bombast and intermittently humourous.

DoP Aseem Mishra not only delivers extravagant visuals in naturally beautiful settings, but also turns run-of-the-mill canvases into something special. I particularly enjoyed those shots of Munni, Bajrangi and Chand on a bright yellow bed of corn in a mini truck (though I confess I’m not sure corn would be transported without its natural casings in real life).

Though Pritam has not created any extraordinary song here, most are enjoyable while they last. Selfie le le re is particularly unmelodious, but all is forgiven in the face of the way Bhar do jholi meri is utilised to take the narrative forward when it is performed in a dargah in Pakistan featuring singer Adnan Sami in a guest appearance.

More than the music, it is the lyrics of some of the songs that leave an impression. I thoroughly enjoyed both the writing – by Mayur Puri – and the enactment of Chicken Song, which goes thus: Thodi biryani bukhari / Thodi phir nalli nihari / Le aao aaj dharam bhrasht ho jaaye…

The situation quietly weaves in a message for vegetarians who demand segregation from non-vegetarians. In fact, apart from the overt lesson about India-Pak and Hindu-Muslim amity, what is interesting about BB are the many such neat asides touching upon various issues from media indifference towards positive news to a woman defying patriarchy, all without sermonising. Note, for instance, Rasika’s refreshingly non-DDLJ response to her autocratic father’s ultimatum to Bajrangi to get a house in 6 months if he wants to marry her.

That being said, there is much in this film that defies logic, but those flaws are overshadowed by the emotional pull that had me rooting for Shahida, Bajrangi and Chand throughout the second half. I confess though that the over-wrought climax almost ruined it for me, stretched as it was to breaking point, with too much use of slow motion, not a single situational possibility left for after “The End”, and the director’s balancing act between communities becoming strained for the first time. I cannot tell you what happens, of course, but it did make me wonder what we would get if Kabir remade Balu Mahendra’s Moondram Pirai/Sadma with Sridevi and Kamal Haasan. Would he allow Sri’s character to leave without knowing that Kamal is the one who had helped her while she was suffering from amnesia? Come back and read this question after you see the film.

Again without giving anything away, I could not help but wonder if under the present dispensation in India, where Hindu fundamentalists hold far greater sway than Muslim fundamentalists, a liberal film maker felt compelled to ensure that if he shows an Indian Hindu making a move towards saying Allah haafiz (Bajrangi never actually utters the words) then he had better pre-empt any offended sentiments by ensuring that this is immediately followed by a Pakistani Muslim screaming out the words Jai Shri Ram – more than once. Perhaps the prevailing negativity in our country has led me to over-think this, but I did wonder about it.

It’s a good thing this scene came after I had already dissolved into a puddle of tears as I watched Bajrangi Bhaijaan. My vision of that long-drawn-out climax is clouded by the tears and laughter that preceded it, by the touching transformation of the prejudiced and insular Bajrangi as a result of his encounter with Shahida, and by those two rockstars Harshaali and Nawaz.

Rating (out of five): ***

CBFC Rating (India):	U/A
Running time:	159 minutes

Photographs courtesy: https://www.facebook.com/BBThisEid