Once in a while, we come across a work of art that keeps us awake in the truest sense. This experience is distinct from what we feel when we consume art that satiates our immediate need for pleasure or provides us relief from everyday life. In fact, one does not derive pleasure in that objectified sense when we come in contact with such artworks. We are drawn into the object, the universe it creates and, while we inhabit that space, we are completely aware of reality. Therefore, there is no suspension of disbelief or any form of escapism. Reality and art coexist, intermingle and, at times, interchange locations. The receivers are drawn into the created illusion, on occasion moved to a state of flux, the in between, and also wantonly pushed out of the creation so that they can dip into their reality and bring that into the realm the artist has conjured. Using these complex manoeuvres, the creator stirs us in a manner that only art can. What I have just described is my experience of watching All We Imagine as Light, the film directed by Payal Kapadia, featuring Kani Kusruti, Divya Prabha and Chhaya Kadam.
I am not a film expert or critic and, therefore, will not review the film. But watching this magnificent work raised in my mind questions about how films are categorised, especially their slotting into art and mainstream films. In the past, I have heard ‘mainstream’ Bollywood actors and directors suggest that the term, ‘art film’, is a misnomer, an elitist framing. The argument has two or three variants. Some would say a film that does not ‘connect’ with a large population is lacking in some manner. Others would consider celebrating a film as exquisite art though it has no takers as snootiness. Then there are those who feel that films need to be made with the intention of being large scale.
Every film-maker wants his/her film to be watched by as many people as possible. There can be no two opinions about this. But the catch is in the word that is often dangled in this discussion — ‘mass’. When a film has mass appeal, it is believed that a large cross-section of society has watched and enjoyed it. But a film with a smaller audience is presumed to have been watched only by a certain kind of people. Diversity in the audience cannot be assessed by total numbers. This cannot also be determined using the urban, semi-urban, and rural partitions. Many films rake up huge numbers in places where a high density of people reside but fail in other centres. It also does not address the question of caste and gender percentages. Therefore, absolute numbers do not tell us who watched the film. It is quite possible that a more diverse set of people have watched a moderately successful or unsuccessful film. The fact that these films had a mixed crowd says something about its reach. I would argue that these films possess the rare quality of inviting different kinds of people into their domain; something essential in a societal context. We need to reframe how we define a film’s success and impact.
The snobbery argument is fallacious. We forget that, not too long ago, many Hindi films made by so-called ‘art’ film-makers did well at the box office. Also, ‘art films’ made in Marathi, Malayalam, Bengali, Tamil and other languages continue to do well in theatres. There is one more disturbing aspect to this seemingly anti-elite reasoning. The hidden point being made is that the ‘masses’, the non-intelligentsia, are incapable of sophisticated, nuanced observation and thinking. Dumbing down stories, flattening thinking, not exploring indistinguishable emotional states are all justified with this ‘they will not get it’ whisper. This is no different from classical musicians arguing that to reach a larger cross-section of people, we need to ‘simplify’ the music. This excuse perpetuates social bias and demeans the mind of the ‘common’ person, especially that of the marginalised.
There are those who believe that the intention behind a film needs to be scale. This line of thought probably originates from the producer’s desk. But when creators become habituated in this manner, stories become irrelevant. I guess the word, ‘formula’, is operative here. There are also different sets of formulae that work for different audiences and film-makers choose from one of them or combine a few to make a film. These productions and their obvious success can and have damaged film-making as an art form. The constant bombardment of only such films on the public results in a homogeneous culturalisation, which, through a period of time, turns into demand. The film-makers then provide that gaslighting explanation: ‘This is what people like to watch.’ This standardisation of what is viable cinema leads to the trivialisation of the small. Artists are always the ones in control. They cultivate and direct taste and preference. The failure of specific films does not affect what larger culture artists hold sway over and curate. If there are no ‘art film’ makers as counter points to this bulk culture, we will not know better.
Is there then a difference between art and commercial cinema?
Keeping in mind that these are not black-and-white divisions and cinemas can be shades of both classifications, I will argue that there is a difference. The difference is in the pace and the detailing. Art is both a magnifying glass and a microscope. Life is a series of events with pauses in between. When I use the term, events, I am not referring to only external, observable movements but also emotional and psychological events within and between people. These are not always physically communicated or verbally articulated. Our everyday life, therefore, is always on a fast or super-fast track. It is nearly impossible for us to notice, let alone observe, all that is going on inside and outside.
This is where art cinema comes in. These films slow down reality. This does not mean that people move slowly or that events occur at a slower pace. The filmmaker places a magnifying glass on life, giving us the space, time and clarity to see, listen, take in, comprehend, reflect and interpret every moment. When magnification takes place, detailing is more intricate. We notice the slightest shifts in the character’s eyes, wrinkles on the forehead, inanimate objects come to life, and the sound of the wind tells a story. All of them speak to us in a language that is wordless.
When people complain that art films are too slow, what they are expressing is the discomfort that arises from having to pay careful, undistracted attention. As long as cinema speeds along with the rush of living, we are comfortable. But when it forces us to pause, we become uneasy. This is not very different from how often we run away from being alone, just by ourselves. Art cinema strips us of all falsities and that is a scary proposition. Calling it elitist, niche and irrelevant is just expediency.
T.M Krishna is a leading Indian musician and a prominent public intellectual
