MADURAI FORMULA FILMS

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Vi segnalo un testo, pubblicato qualche anno fa, che esplora in modo molto articolato la rappresentazione del sistema castale nel cinema popolare tamil, la connessione fra cinema e politica, e le disastrose cause/conseguenze sociali. Vi suggerisco di leggere la versione integrale perché spiega con chiarezza, fra le altre cose, anche le ragioni alla base di una certa estetica che contraddistingue la produzione tamil, in primo luogo l'inclusione di sequenze d'azione di efferata violenza. Madurai Formula Films: Caste Pride and Politics in Tamil Cinema, Karthikeyan Damodaran e Hugo Gorringe, South Asia Multidisciplinary Academic Journal, 22 giugno 2017:

'The caste backdrop to Tamil cinema

(...) It is important to note that there are no representatives of the Kshatriya category of warrior or kingly castes in Tamil Nadu. (...) Since the displacement of Brahmins, those who wield socio-economic power here are those categorized as Shudra - or serving castes elsewhere. (...) Social dominance in Tamil Nadu is fragmented, with various caste groups exerting dominance over sub-regions. (...) In the south, (...) the Dalit Pallars confront three main Backward Classes; Kallars, Maravars and Agamudaiyars who are major landowners. (...) These three castes combined, have adopted the title of Thevars. (...) The Thevars (...) never have assimilated themselves into the non-Brahmin movement. The groups comprising the Thevars have a very complex history as members of a royal lineage, marauding warriors, chieftains, watchmen and dacoits. (...) Available reports since the 1850s indicate that these castes also carry a history of violence against lower castes. (...) Their self-characterization as rulers of the land has been channeled into symbolic and electoral politics rather than educational or economic development as is the case with other groups. (...) Thevars benefitted hugely from land-reforms aimed at eroding the rights of non-cultivating owners, and cemented their dominance in rural areas following Brahmin out-migration. They used temple rituals and politics to consolidate their power locally. (...) Pallars are the highest status and most developed of the Dalit castes in Tamil Nadu. They have high rates of education and large numbers have migrated to the Gulf for work meaning they have escaped agrarian dependency on higher castes. (...) Pallars are increasingly assertive and reject markers of dependence or inferiority. (...) 

Caste, culture and politics in Tamil cinema

The significance of film in Tamil society is undisputed. (...) Film stars have a larger-than-life presence in the real world and female stars have been deified during their active period in the industry. (...) There were three phases of Tamil cinema between 1931 - when the first “talkie” was released - and 1985. These were the puranic, mythological and folklore period (1931-50) when films resembled the street theatre of earlier folk artists and had nothing to do with real life; the melodrama period (1951-75) which reveled in exaggeration, excessive dialogue and escapism; and finally, the move towards social realism (1976-85). (...) What makes Tamil cinema stand out, however, is its umbilical link to politics. Cinema in the state grew hand in hand with the regional nationalist parties, helping to by-pass Congress - who failed to realize the significance of the medium - in the process. (...) Until the 1970s the dominant political message was Dravidian. (...) Following caste-based challenges to Dravidian politics from intermediate caste groups like the Thevars - (...) and their demands for a greater allocation of resources and increased political recognition - the 1990s saw the flourishing of Nativist (a form of social realism) cinema that openly celebrated and portrayed caste identities and characters. It is only in the 2010s that we see the film industry starting to acknowledge and represent Dalit struggles in films such as Madras (2014, Ranjith) and Kabali (2016, Ranjith). (...)

During the 1950s Tamil film was largely used as a platform to articulate Dravidian identity and Tamil nationalism. (...) The founder of the Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (DMK - Federation for the Progress of Dravidians), C.N. Annadurai, was a scriptwriter and playwright. His successor, M. Karunanidhi, was a famed dialogue writer, and the most famous matinee idol of the Tamil screen - M.G. Ramachandran - was also a party stalwart until he founded the rival All India Anna DMK (AIADMK). His successor, Jayalalithaa - who was the sitting Chief Minister in 2016 at the time of her death - was a co-star of his. Both parties articulated a form of cultural nationalism using various artistic means such as stage dramas, poetry, literature, and musicals. It was with their intervention in cinema, however, that they were most successful in taking their celebration of Tamil civilization, culture and language to the masses. (...) “Melodrama story period” was, of course, the period in which the DMK successfully mediated their socio-political message to the public through the medium of film. Songs, story-lines, Robin-Hood style heroes and almost subliminal references to party symbols like the flag and the rising sun, were deployed to present the party as the champion of the downtrodden. Some of the “excess dialogue” took the form of lengthy monologues in which the hero addressed the camera in lectures about socio-political values. (...) The members and leaders of the DMK identified themselves with the medium and used the stars for their election campaigns to appeal to a largely illiterate Tamil electorate. Numerous films (...) eulogized Annadurai as South India’s Gandhi, displaying his portraits prominently on the walls of the huts of the poor and showing the DMK flag fluttering in city slums against a backdrop of songs praising his ideals. These films, thus, served the dual purpose of providing propaganda for the party whilst retaining its subaltern identity, affiliation to the poor and search for social justice. (...) We need to be very clear here that the subaltern identity celebrated in the Dravidian films pitted the poor against the rich or the casteless non-Brahmin against the wily and treacherous Brahmin rather than tackling caste inequalities or identities head on. (...) These films revealed the hidden caste biases of Dravidian politics and film-making. In contrast to such depictions of Dalits, (...) the films emphasized the importance of valor and honor for the protagonists. Heroes are expected to defend the vulnerable - especially women - fight injustice and be able to protect their families and communities.

Virumandi

Film cast(e)s

(...) The recurrent reference to the “generosity” and munificence of dominant caste heroes became a staple of neo-Nativist films in 1980s and 1990s as well. Unlike the Dravidian oeuvre, however, these films are much more explicit about the caste backgrounds of the protagonists. (...) They tap into patron-client relations and serve to reproduce “caste power.” In keeping with this emphasis, the heroines are expected to be chaste and faithful to preserve caste purity. There is huge significance attached to the concepts of honor (maanam) and valor (veeram) in Tamil culture, and (...) these twin concepts have long been the basic raw material of Tamil cinema. Honor and valor are individual traits, but acquire a collective significance in Tamil politics. Honor, here, refers to the standing and status of castes in particular and is entwined with the enforcement of chastity. (...) Valor, in this context, refers to men’s capacity to protect their women and the honor of their family and caste. (...) Honor in films (as in social life), thus is gendered; women protect their chastity whilst men protect their masculinity, respect and their women. Valor in films (...) is bound up with a strong emphasis on traditional masculinity. 

Cinema, thus, reflected concepts that were already in existence, but in amplifying them and presenting them to a wider audience, provided a form of cultural legitimacy to intermediate castes and to concepts of caste honor and pride (perumai). The collective expression of caste pride revolves around honor, but extends beyond this to include assertions of independence, control over others and claims to an often mythicized past. The films contributed to the socio-political visibility of landowning Backward Castes, and reinforced the prevailing “common-sense” that equated dominant castes with attributes like honor, justice, valor and power. Filmic representations across genres drew on reality, but did so in a distorted manner that showcased the “valor” and dominance of intermediate castes, implicitly neglecting or belittling lower castes who were cast as dependent upon the former. (...) Such accounts were carried to a wider audience through the medium of cinema, and were used by members of these caste groups to justify their dominance over “lesser” castes. (...) 

From the mid-1980s onwards, the characteristics and traits discussed above came to be portrayed as linked to particular castes. In the 1970s (...) the “phallic affirmation” of Nativism (which was part of the social realism phase and focused on depicting real life as opposed to myths and legends) gave way to a genre of neo-Nativity films in which the social insufficiency or “castration” of the protagonist was the dominant theme. (...) The emasculation of heroes in the face of feisty heroines, the complexities of modern life and the faltering hold of traditional authority. There are some neo-nativist films where the metaphor of traditional masculinity collapses to become an object of comic relief. Elsewhere comic characters are depicted performing some trick or the other to tame bulls. (...) This period of film making in the mid to late 1980s, coincided with a period in which the Dravidian project was called into question by a number of caste groups who demanded a greater say in the politics of the state. (...) The portrayal of emasculated protagonists from the intermediate castes, in this sense, reflected a concern that their social dominance was under threat from a political project that articulated an anti-caste ideology. (...) The emphasis on the socially insufficient hero was displaced in the 1990s within the neo-nativity genre. (...) The “nativistic turn” in Tamil cinema (...) saw the cinema industry begin to explore the Tamil countryside and its people, paying particular attention to rural customs, forms of worship and agriculture. (...) 

Subramaniapuram

Madurai Formula Films

In what follows we offer an analysis of what we call “Madurai Formula films” or 3M films (Murder, Mayhem and Madurai - though they extend to southern districts as a whole). These films, often based in Madurai, are defined by the glorification of the aruval (the sickle shaped machete) and a corresponding mythology of a society based on martial pride and caste honor. The films, explicitly or implicitly, celebrate caste dominance and become vehicles for, and expressions of, the assertion and pride of intermediate castes. (...) Thevars (...) were seeking to re-imagine their history and status by appropriating existing discourses around valor and honor. Thus, their characterization as “criminal tribes” by the British was re-envisioned by Thevar politicians (...) as a marker of their Kingly or warrior past and need to be feared and controlled. The filmography in 3M films reinforces this attempt through the juxtaposition of national heroes, (...) Thevar leaders (...) and the film’s protagonist, or through scripts that assert the valor of the Thevars. The culmination of 20 years of caste-based cinema may be seen in the film Madha Yaanai Koottam (Herd of Angry Elephants, Vikram Sugumaran, 2013). (...) Irrespective of the directors’ intent, the films are taken to celebrate the dominance of the caste cluster. Such processes are not unique to Tamil Nadu, but reflect the wider processes of caste consolidation and power. (...) Punjabi films construct a Jatt-centric hegemonic code that reinforces social dominance and provides a template against which other caste groups are judged. (...) 

To understand this genre, however, we need to start with the archetypal celebration of Thevar dominance. (...) Thevar Magan [Son of Thevar, Bharathan 1992] was first of its kind with strong idioms of caste and greater glorification of caste based practices than had been the norm until that point. (...) The significance of the film’s soundtrack (...) belied claims by the actor and producer that they were critiquing a culture of violence and domination. It was the genealogical praising of the Thevar caste in the song lyrics, they argue, that made the film such a huge box office success, and it is not surprising that the soundtrack to the film is now an essential part of the playlist at Thevar gatherings. This does not necessarily mean that the audience who made this a major hit subscribed to the common-sense that valorizes Thevars since it has all the ingredients of a hit movie in the casting of Kamal Haasan [not himself a Thevar] and music by Ilaiyaraaja (pre-eminent Tamil music composer), who is himself a Dalit. (...) 

Naan Kadavul

There has been an escalation of violence in films across the world. (...) Unlike such films, or the classic violent encounters between good and evil, the Madurai Formula Films celebrate a violence that is rooted in, and protects, caste norms. (...) The violence in such films is embedded in particular caste cultures and practices, as seen in the celebration of aruvals and Silambam - a martial art with sticks - that are associated in the popular imagination with Thevars. The martial nature of Thevars is to the fore in Thevar Magan where signs, weapons and dialogue all speak to the caste’s dominance. The advertising for the film reinforced the association between caste and violence. In Madurai, which has a stronger visual culture than other cities in Tamil Nadu, a 40-foot cut-out was installed showing the Thevar Magan hero brandishing an extra-large sword. (...) The dominant narrative of such films also affects how they are received. In the dramatic finale to the film, Kamal Hassan vanquishes the villain in a gory beheading scene that was greeted with whoops and cheers in the theatres of Madurai. One of the authors experienced the same film in the western city of Coimbatore where the audience were muted in their response and there were murmurings about the excessive use of violence. Whilst audience participation in the form of cheering, whistles and applause is widespread, it is the celebration of violence that stands out here. (...)

The setting for the films is no accident. In the context of the rural/urban divide, Madurai is always chosen as the epitomic representation of pattikadu (rurality), as in the 1972 (...) film Pattikada Pattanama (Village or Town, 1972). Madurai is a former capital of the Pandya kingdom. (...) It is an ancient city. (...) The more recent films based on the Madurai formula have, thus, accomplished a wholesale shift in the way Madurai as a city, and the Thevars as a caste grouping, are portrayed and imagined. The 3M films cast the city as a pre-modern sphere, which simultaneously protects the glorious ancient Tamil culture by embodying its virtues, and epitomizes all the evils in society. This encoded social construction was largely the product of filmmakers from Madurai and down south, and they bring the cultural and caste/class discourses into the narrative center, indexing the fact that Madurai district constitutes the heartlands of the Thevar caste cluster. Central to this shift is the martial sport of bullfighting (Jallikattu), that archetypal symbol of traditional masculinity, caste pride, and feudalism which is most popular in Madurai district. The backward and caste-bound nature of Madurai in these films, is reinforced in accounts of the city’s frenetic fans who treat film stars as demigods. (...) It was in Madurai that fans cut off fingers and limbs and offered them to God when MGR suffered a stroke, praying for his recovery. (...) Madurai is now constructed in the narrative space of Tamil cinema as the antithesis of the modern, and a place where people are still ruled by caste, clans, and kinship networks.

Deiva Thirumagal

Scripting caste dominance

(...) One question that might arise at this juncture is how the film-makers communicate the caste of the characters to the audience. In some instances, as with Thevar Magan, (...) the very name of the film or the character locates them within a particular community. In others, however, it is the use of attire, mannerisms and bearing that connote particular castes. One important caste marker in the context of dominant masculinity, of course, is the moustache. (...) The moustache here becomes synonymous with tradition and social power and this knowledge is simultaneously deployed and reinforced in films. (...) When Kamal in Western attire is insulted and has his masculinity called into question by a group practicing a local martial art he swaps his trousers for a dhoti and dispenses punishment to them. (...) “Valor” - as celebrated in Tamil cinema - is primarily glorified violence, which supersedes any literary, cultural or social achievements. (...) The imbrication of masculinity and honor is to the fore in representations of Jallikattu - the traditional bull-taming contests in southern Tamil Nadu. In multiple films (...) the bullfighting scenes serve to legitimize a particular form of dominant masculinity. (...) The focus on caste characteristics, however, means that no Dalits are portrayed as bull tamers. (...) It is important to note here that such films are not confined to the south. (...) Films featuring [altre caste dominanti in altre aree], however, tend not to have the same ostentatious celebration of violence and sickles seen in the Thevar based films of the south. (...) 

3M films reaffirm the tropes of masculinity and honor. (...) The transition from the emasculated, insufficient male, (...) to the virile protagonist of the films discussed here is epitomized in Virumandi [Kamal Haasan, 2004]. (...) The most common trigger for conflict in Tamil films, and especially in the Madurai Formula ones, is when the honor or manhood (aanmai) of the hero or his family is questioned or challenged. (...) In metonymically linking film stars to political figures, such films suggest that Thevars have a right and a duty to uphold their honor. (...) The films, thus, buttress Thevar claims - as articulated in public meetings, processions, history books and websites - to an exalted and kingly past and a status deserving respect in the present. You are best advised, the films suggest, not to cross them in any way. The influence of Thevar Magan in this regard, can be seen in many movies which came later. (...)

Madha Yaanai Koottam

Creating and contesting caste common-sense

(...) The norms portrayed in 3M films (...) are not just screen fictions. (...) These films coincided with a resurgence of anti-Dalit violence including murders, beatings and riots by Thevars. (...) Such clashes are not new (...) but the violence of the 1990s was a direct response to Dalit assertion and attempts to escape dependence. (...) These riots (...) point to shifting constellations of power and the increasing independence of Dalit castes as seen in the emergence of the two main Dalit parties - Puthiya Tamilagam and Viduthalai Chiruthaigal Katchi (Liberation Panther Party) around this time. (...) Thevar Magan was deliberately used to mobilize Thevars during the Pallar-Thevar riots that flared up repeatedly between 1995 and 1998. (...) Its songs were used to instigate inter-caste violence. (...) In the late 1990s from schools to colleges, Thevar youth would sing the songs of the film when they encountered young Dalits. (...) 

Caste assertion (...) is both reflected and reinforced through film. The common-sense of caste is reinforced not just through celebrations of Thevar dominance but in the denigration of Dalits. (...) In the majority of scripts they are seen as subservient. This emphasis on masculine violence precluded Dalits from assuming the role of protagonists. (...) In associating valor with violence, these films serve to marginalize Dalits. Whilst these films have been portrayed as authentic and as accurately capturing facets of rural life, the cinematic portrayal of the dominant caste man of violence with a handlebar moustache serves to normalize such features. The idiom, of course, only applies to dominant caste men. Indeed, until relatively recently Dalits were prevented from wearing ironed shirts and sporting styled moustaches and none of the characters portraying Dalits on screen are shown with twirled moustaches. Art here, both imitates and reproduces social life. In Madurai district in the 1990s, dominant castes retaliated against Dalits who dared to grow martial facial hair. (...)

Faint traces of anti-caste campaigns are seen in the 3M plots, but these are strictly curtailed. Vijaya Kumar’s character in Bharathi Kannamma (Cheran, 1997), for example, upbraids a Thevar youth for raping a Dalit woman and demands that he fall at her feet. In a famous passage he asks: “Who is a Thevar?” His response is that wielding a sickle and twirling your moustache are not enough to be considered as such. Instead he paints a picture of a benevolent patron. Importantly, during this speech he gestures to the passive line of Dalits standing aside with arms folded and heads bowed and speaks of them as nomadic tribes-people incorporated into the villages as agricultural and menial laborers. Thus, even in the overt condemnation of caste violence, Dalits are stripped of their agency and rendered passive recipients. 

Madras

(...) Despite a number of Dalit actors and directors and a global icon in music director Ilaiyaraaja, the Dalit upsurge of the 1990s has yet to be reflected cinematically in like manner. (...) For the most part Dalits are not only portrayed in humiliating ways, their options in film making are limited. When the name of A.L. Vijay’s film starring the actor Vikram was announced as Deiva Thirumagan (God’s Chosen Son, 2011), there was an outcry from Thevar groups who have trademarked that phrase for Pasumpon Muthuramalinga Thevar [leader politico] and were particularly infuriated by the fact that the main actor in question was a Dalit who is celebrated by Pallar youth as one of their own. Eventually the film was released as Deiva Thirumagal (God’s Chosen Daughter) instead. The fact that this latter term was acceptable highlights both the significance accorded to Thevar, and the interplay between caste and patriarchy. (...)

Perhaps the biggest testament to the power of this caste common-sense, and an indication of its reach, is that Dalit and other caste outfits have started to adopt a language of caste pride and valor that echoes the films we have been discussing. (...) A symbolic representation of the caste pride now espoused by Dalits was seen in wall paintings in 2010 when Thirumavalavan [leader politico] (...) was referred to with the more honorific suffix Thirumavalavar. (...) Thus, the central emphasis on caste pride, valor and honor in the 3M films has arguably had a performative effect that has served to engender new forms of caste expression, representation and identity in contemporary Tamil Nadu. This has now, begun to inform cinematic representations also, as seen in Ranjith’s 2016 film Kabali, in which Tamil superstar Rajinikanth reads Dalit books, speaks of Ambedkar, and portrays a strong Dalit hero. (...) In the Madurai formula films, we contend, sections of the upwardly mobile Thevar caste found an articulation of virility, valor and unbending dominance which they could mimic and aspire towards. Crucially, (...) this has become a template for other castes - including Dalits - to follow'.

Psycho

Vi segnalo inoltre l'articolo Bloodlust as entertainment: A history of violence in Tamil cinema, di Sowmya Rajendran, pubblicato da Film Companion il 6 aprile 2023:

'Violence has always been looked upon as a form of entertainment in cinema. (...) In the Sixties, it wasn't unusual for Tamil films to advertise that a movie had "six songs, two fights, and one rape scene". However, back in the day, the violence we saw in films looked choreographed and stylized - the blood and gore didn't look as realistic as it does now. (...)

The Age of the Angrier Young Man 

When India opened up its economy in the early Nineties, a lot of things changed, including cinema. People started watching foreign films on cable TV and VCDs, and this had a dramatic influence on their taste in entertainment. (...) Filmmakers became eager to experiment with content and form, and the Angry Young Man of the Seventies and Eighties became angrier still. (...) Dr Karthikeyan Damodaran and Dr Hugo Gorringe, academicians who wrote a widely read paper on films like Subramaniapuram - which they classified under the 'Madurai Formula Films' or 3Ms (Murder, Mayhem, Madurai) - said that the nature of violence in Tamil films began to change in the early Nineties. Until then, the Angry Young Man in Tamil cinema - mainly played by Rajinikanth - was derivative of the Hindi film world represented by Amitabh Bachchan. In these films, the violence was characterised as righteous acts of vengeance or anger directed at the government for failing to give the people a decent life. "This was the period after the Emergency, and there was a general anguish against the state in various forms," they pointed out. In the early Nineties in Tamil cinema, Dr Damodaran and Dr Gorringe observed a change in how violence was depicted and justified on screen. "This shift or transition was largely caste-based and spatial in its nature, with depictions of violence as intrinsic to certain castes and geographic locations. Most importantly, its representation was marked not merely by violence per se but laced with valour," they said. The emergence of this sub-genre of action films in Tamil cinema coincided with the rise of the powerful Thevar community, a dominant caste group, as a strong political force in the state. Among the earliest and most influential films to mark this shift is Bharathan's Thevar Magan (1992), starring (...) Kamal Haasan. (...) It won five National Awards. (...)

Violence gets the Hollywood glow-up 

In earlier decades, violence in Tamil cinema was mainly conveyed through action sequences that involved sword fights, kicks and punches, stunt actors crashing through glass, exciting chases with vehicles, and shootouts where the effect was created through the sound of guns firing and actors falling in response. However, the kind of graphic violence that made its way to Tamil cinema from the Nineties onward has only increased in the new millennium - be it in Mysskin thriller Psycho (2020) with its beheadings, a Bala action drama like Naan Kadavul (2009) which has several explicitly violent scenes, or "stylish" Western-influenced bloskbusters like Vikram (2022) that glorify a gun culture that isn't quite characteristic of the state. (...) 

Violence as the Great Equaliser

Another relatively new phenomenon is the anti-caste film that serves as a kind of rebuttal to the Madurai Formula Films that played a role in increasing the level of bloodthirstiness in Tamil cinema. Post 2010, directors like Pa. Ranjith, Mari Selvaraj and Vetri Maaran have been making films that show Dalit protagonists retaliating to the violence that they experience. In recent years, such films and their success have also influenced other industries to explore such themes, with Srikanth Odela's Telugu action film Dasara (2023) being the latest. (...) T.J. Gnanavel's Jai Bhim (2021) is a rare film in this sub-genre where justice is delivered through the legal system and not violent vengeance though the film features disturbing scenes of custodial violence. Not surprisingly, these anti-caste films have triggered a resurgence in films that glorify caste pride, particularly centred around "guarding" the honour of dominant caste women. M. Muthaiah's Devarattam (2019) and Mohan G. Kshatriyan's Draupathi (2020) and Rudra Thandavam (2021) are examples of this renewed interest. These films effectively validate the violence of dominant caste men, and the sickle from the Madurai Formula Films is back in its full glory. With the mushrooming of OTT platforms, the rise of the hypermasculine hero through pan-Indian films from other industries like RRR (2022) and the K.G.F films (2018, 2022), and the audience's exposure to international content, violence in Tamil films is only set to rise'.

Vedi anche:

- La denuncia della discriminazione castale nel nuovo cinema popolare tamil

- Welcome to Bollywood: Caste e Genere NRI

CINETURISMO ED ECONOMIA: I FILM INDIANI GIRATI IN ITALIA

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Il 26 marzo 2015 l'università di Macerata organizzò una giornata di studio sull'argomento La città di celluloide tra vocazione turistica ed esperienze creative. Il Capitale Culturale, rivista dell'ateneo, nel 2016 pubblicò gli atti dell'evento. Di seguito riporto un estratto del testo dedicato al cineturismo con riferimento alle produzioni indiane girate nel nostro Paese - la versione integrale è scaricabile qui. Cineturismo ed economia dei media: il caso dei film indiani girati in Italia, Marco Cucco e Massimo Scaglioni:

'Perché le produzioni indiane lasciano l’India per girare all’estero?

(...) In primo luogo effettuare le riprese all’estero (principalmente in paesi occidentali) consente alle troupe indiane di lavorare in condizioni più agevoli. Le grandi città statunitensi ed europee, infatti, sono meno caotiche ed affollate di Mumbai e New Delhi. Inoltre sia in Europa che negli Stati Uniti è presente una vasta rete di film commission e film office che offrono servizi gratuiti alle produzioni audiovisive per facilitarne il lavoro e che in India non esistono ancora. Infine il maggior grado di agio è dato anche dalle condizioni climatiche: la delocalizzazione all’estero, infatti, consente di girare film in esterno anche durante la stagione dei monsoni; monsoni che in India spesso obbligano a riprogrammare le riprese o a prolungarne la durata. 

In secondo luogo le produzioni indiane scelgono di girare in Occidente per usufruire di una serie di incentivi economici (tax credit, tax shelter, film funds). Sempre più paesi competono tra loro per attrarre riprese, e dunque le produzioni audiovisive si trovano oggi di fronte a misure sempre più vantaggiose a cui poter accedere. Ad oggi in India non esistono fondi pubblici o incentivi fiscali, nonostante le pressioni di numerosi associazioni di categoria.

La terza ragione (...) è (...) la volontà di rendere i propri prodotti più spettacolari e attraenti per il pubblico a fronte della concorrenza televisiva. La ricerca di una maggior spettacolarità cinematografica ha portato dalla metà degli anni Novanta ad una riduzione del numero di film prodotti ogni anno e ad un contemporaneo aumento degli investimenti per la produzione e la promozione di ciascun titolo. Grazie a questi budget più consistenti, parte delle riprese sono state progressivamente spostate all’estero, con l’obiettivo di portare sul grande schermo location esotiche e inedite particolarmente adatte per le scene di ballo e per le scene oniriche. (...)

La quarta ragione (...) è legata al desiderio di raggiungere un pubblico benestante. I film indiani vengono spesso associati ad un pubblico di massa con un basso livello di scolarizzazione, che appartiene alle classi più popolari della società indiana e che fino ad oggi ha decretato il successo del cinema nazionale. Da alcuni anni però i produttori indiani stanno lavorando per innalzare lo status del loro cinema e ottenere l’attenzione ed il rispetto delle classi più benestanti che possono permettersi i biglietti dei nuovi multiplex (più costosi rispetto a quelli dei cinema tradizionali) e sottoscrivere abbonamenti televisivi. Il ricorso a location straniere rientra in questa strategia di gentrification del cinema indiano, in quanto consente di conferire un carattere cosmopolita alle pellicole e di attrarre un pubblico più sofisticato interessato al mondo fuori dai confini indiani, che guarda con interesse all’Europa e all’America. 

La quinta e ultima ragione (..) è legata al desiderio di raggiungere i cosiddetti non-resident Indians (NRI), ovvero persone di origine indiana che vivono all’estero. (...) La rappresentazione della vita dei NRI nei film funge (...) da ulteriore elemento di richiamo per il pubblico, ma consente anche di portare in sala gli stessi NRI, i quali, pur rappresentando una porzione di pubblico numericamente contenuta: a) danno forma ad una domanda di film indiani consentendo a queste pellicole di emanciparsi dai circuiti dei festival a cui solitamente vengono relegate; b) pagano dei biglietti di ingresso in sala molto più costosi di quelli venduti in India, offrendo così importanti margini di guadagno ai produttori indiani. Il successo di pellicole come Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (1995), Taal (1998), Kuch Kuch Hota Hai (1998) e Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham (2001) ha fatto sì che a partire dall’inizio degli anni 2000 sempre più i soggetti cinematografici venissero pensati in funzione del pubblico straniero, composto in primis dai NRI.

Perché è interessante attirare le riprese indiane?

(...) Primo: al momento l’India è il principale paese produttore di film al mondo. Ogni anno immette sul mercato circa 1250 titoli, a fronte dei 700-800 titoli realizzati e distribuiti negli Stati Uniti. Inoltre, come emerge da uno studio dell’UNESCO, la popolarità del cinema indiano è in aumento sia nei paesi industrializzati sia in quelli in via di sviluppo. Instaurare un rapporto con una tale realtà può rivelarsi estremamente conveniente da un punto di vista economico. 

Secondo: le riprese di un film indiano durano solitamente più delle riprese di altri film. L’industria indiana, infatti, dedica poco tempo e poca attenzione alla fase di sviluppo dei progetti, e molte decisioni (comprese quelle di programmazione delle riprese) vengono prese direttamente sul set, prolungando così la permanenza sul luogo in cui il film viene girato. Ciò significa che le riprese di un film indiano generano probabilmente delle ricadute sul territorio ospitante superiori a quelle generate dalle pellicole di altre cinematografie. 

Terzo: le amministrazioni pubbliche sperano che la presenza dei propri paesaggi all’interno di film indiani possa dar vita a fenomeni di cineturismo. L’India, paese molto popoloso, in ascesa economica e molto affezionato al proprio cinema nazionale, appare come un bacino di potenziali turisti estremamente interessante. La possibilità di innescare fenomeni di cineturismo è resa ancor più plausibile dal fatto che le location straniere vengono spesso usate per le scene di ballo (le più importanti all’interno di un film), che a loro volta vengono inserite nei trailer e soprattutto nei video musicali trasmessi con grande successo in televisione. Ciò aumenta ulteriormente la visibilità delle location e le loro possibilità di divenire mete di flussi turistici. 

Perché le produzioni indiane scelgono l’Italia?

Dalle interviste in profondità condotte a Mumbai è emerso che i produttori indiani scelgono l’Italia come set per tre ragioni. La prima è l’offerta paesaggistica: ricca, diversificata, suggestiva, e che dunque ben si presta per raggiungere il livello di spettacolarità necessario per le scene di ballo. La seconda ragione riguarda il clima mediterraneo, che offre molte giornate di sole idonee per le riprese in esterno (da sempre esposte al rischio dell’imprevedibilità delle condizioni metereologiche). Il terzo fattore, infine, riguarda le cosiddette politiche film-friendly disponibili in Italia e assenti in India. Queste politiche consistono in incentivi fiscali (tax credit), servizi logistici gratuiti offerti dalle film commission, e fondi economici. A differenza di molti strumenti del passato a sostegno del cinema, queste misure non sono aperte ai soli film italiani, bensì anche alle produzioni straniere che scelgono di girare in Italia. 

Le tre motivazioni emerse dalle interviste hanno un carattere estremamente pragmatico: realizzare film attraenti, rendere più agevole la fase delle riprese, conseguire vantaggi economici. Nessuno di questi obiettivi si intreccia con le finalità perseguite dagli enti territoriali (incentivare lo sviluppo del territorio e garantire il benessere della popolazione), tuttavia è evidente come l’arrivo di riprese si traduca nella possibilità di generare un indotto e di conferire al territorio una visibilità internazionale che, in alcuni casi, può aprire la strada a forme di cineturismo. (...)

Radhe Shyam

Criticità, aree di intervento e nodi da sciogliere

(...) In primo luogo si pone un problema di riconoscibilità delle location, ovvero il fatto che spesso nella narrazione cinematografica non vengono forniti gli elementi necessari per identificare l’identità delle città e dei paesaggi italiani portati sullo schermo. Nei film indiani, infatti, gli ambienti stranieri hanno un ruolo puramente decorativo all’interno delle scene di ballo, e questa mancanza di riconoscibilità delle location impedisce che possano innescarsi fenomeni di cineturismo. Come ben emerge da studi pregressi, i fenomeni di cineturismo si generano e sono significativi solo laddove si instaura uno stretto legame tra location e plot. 

La seconda criticità riguarda il fatto che oggigiorno le produzioni cinematografiche sono sempre più mobili, ovvero sempre più attente ad individuare quali sono le zone del mondo in cui è conveniente effettuare le riprese. Questo fatto è confermato dalla stessa industria cinematografica indiana e da come si è evoluto il suo storico rapporto con la Svizzera. La Confederazione Elvetica ha ospitato per decenni un elevato numero di produzioni indiane per via del suo paesaggio che ben si presta per le scene oniriche e per una forte somiglianza con la regione del Kashmir, spesso set di riprese di film indiani ma che è divenuta inaccessibile a causa dei conflitti armati. Negli ultimi anni il rapporto con la Svizzera si è molto affievolito per due ragioni: a) una sovraesposizione della Svizzera nei film indiani; b) la competizione esercitata da Austria, Germania e Italia, tre paesi geograficamente simili alla Svizzera e che nel corso degli ultimi anni hanno creato film commission, istituito film fund e introdotto incentivi economici per la produzione audiovisiva. L’Italia, per queste due medesime ragioni, potrebbe un giorno veder esaurire il flusso di riprese giunte dall’India.

Alla luce di queste criticità, appare importante avviare una riflessione volta a trasformare, nel limite del possibile, l’accoglienza occasionale in un rapporto regolare e continuativo. Ad oggi, infatti, le produzioni indiane sono giunte in Italia come un dono, ovvero senza un lavoro da parte del nostro paese e delle sue film commission. (...) È importante monitorare le politiche film-friendly adottate altrove, aggiornare le proprie, rafforzare la collaborazione orizzontale tra film commission, ecc. Volendoci focalizzare sul solo fronte del cineturismo, il lavoro da compiere si articola su due livelli. 

Primo: assicurarsi che le location italiane siano riconoscibili e che lo spettatore indiano incuriosito possa facilmente avviare un percorso di ricerca autonomo che lo porti in Italia nei luoghi visti sul grande schermo. La richiesta di inserire cartelli col nome delle località ospitanti all’interno del film, di menzionare il nome dei luoghi, ecc. potrebbe incontrare senza problemi la disponibilità di registi e sceneggiatori, anche a fronte dei servizi offerti gratuitamente dalle film commission. 

In secondo luogo, l’uscita del film in India andrebbe accompagnata con un’apposita promozione (in India) delle location italiane. Si tratta di un’azione importante quanto problematica, che richiede che uno o più soggetti si facciano promotori di tale iniziativa. Chi potrebbe ricoprire questo ruolo? Lo Stato e i suoi organismi di rappresentanza (ad esempio l’ICE) appaiono come i soggetti meglio deputati per dotazione economica e autorevolezza, tuttavia ad oggi questi enti hanno dimostrato una certa indolenza, uno scarso interesse in materia e una certa rigidità di intervento. L’imprenditoria privata (...) potrebbe essere un’alternativa, così come le camere di commercio. Tuttavia la loro azione rischia di essere molto frammentata e disomogenea, cosi come la “missione” potrebbe risultare economicamente troppo onerosa per la capacità dei singoli o di un loro gruppo. Discorso analogo per le film commission: la loro azione quotidiana si scontra spesso con la carenza di personale e di risorse economiche, e dunque non è ipotizzabile che possano farsi carico della promozione del loro territorio in India e/o in altri paesi in cui vengono distribuiti i film a cui hanno prestato i propri servizi'. 

Vedi anche:

- Il cinema indiano e l'Italia: mappa delle location

- Italy says Benvenuto

SHRAYANA BHATTACHARYA: DESPERATELY SEEKING SHAH RUKH

[Archivio]

Vi propongo una rassegna stampa relativa al saggio del 2021 Desperately Seeking Shah Rukh. India's lonely young women and the search for intimacy and independence, a firma dell'economista Shrayana Bhattacharya. Il volume indaga la condizione socio-economica femminile in India partendo da uno spunto piuttosto bizzarro: se e in quale modo la superstar hindi Shah Rukh Khan ha influito nella vita personale delle sue sostenitrici, in particolare nel periodo della liberalizzazione economica (anni novanta). Viene da chiedersi: esiste davvero qualcosa che il Re non possa fare?

- Taps into the Myth and the Mannat of SRK, Prathyush Parasuraman, Film Companion, 2 novembre 2021:

'Mannat

Shrayana Bhattacharya in her fascinating book, (...) her love letter to both Shah Rukh - not Shah Rukh Khan, not SRK, but Shah Rukh, an invitation to intimacy - and women, calls him "the receptacle of so many of our expectations". Often, she capitalizes the H in He when referring to him, both aware of and buying into his god-like stardom. (...) Is it possible to extract the human from the myth? No? The alternative, which is what Bhattacharya does here, is then to contextualize that myth. (...) In 2017 (...) 60% of the audience members at an Indian cinema hall were men. Even in Mumbai, the single screen theaters are often bastions of male assertion. Most of the women Bhattacharya speaks to - from small towns, villages, big cities, the metropolis - were often dictated to never visit the theater. When they did so secretely, they were punished, slapped. It was an unsafe place, unbecoming of a woman. And yet Shah Rukh emerged in their lives, "divided by class, united by fandom", with pirated copies and music cassettes of his films, the television revolution that brought his cinema into the house, and later the internet, which would bring the entire archive of his films and interviews under the access of a thumb swipe. (...) But Bhattacharya is clear that while he elicits female fandom, he isn't a feminist icon. The characters he plays often champion noxious ideas of entitlement or dated pursuits of love. But his unthreatening gait, his inviting charm, and his interviews where he champions his wife paint an aura of the masculine ideal. (...) Even by measuring the screen time given to the men as compared to the women in his films, Bhattacharya notes how there is more space and time for women in his cinematic universe compared to his contemporaries. (...)

The labour market

Reading Desperately Seeking Shah Rukh, I often felt like I was reading two different, often unconnected books - one on the condition of women in the labour market, and the other, about how these women relate to, aspire towards, or seek solace from Shah Rukh. (...) The book on the labour market is cutting, precise, laden with statistics, and then counter-statistics to doubts you might and will have; the kind of careful defensiveness that comes from being surrounded by skeptics. Bhattacharya notes that the labour force participation of women has dropped despite the economic boom. The numbers are shocking. Between 2004 and 2011, while the economy was growing at around 7%, the share of women in the labour force fell to 33%, and thereon even further. In 2017, it hit a historic low of 23,3%. The pandemic further pushed this decline. India is the only middle-income country where economic growth and poverty reduction has not led to more women working outside of their home. India is placed among the bottom 5 countries on gender gap in economic participation. (...) But this isn't just an economic problem. It is a problem of social conditioning, for even among the wealthiest top twenty percent of urban Indians between the ages of 20 and 55, only 6% of married women were employed. But how does this connect to Shah Rukh? The women Bhattacharya speaks to - 80 in-depth interviews - (...) are also fans of Shah Rukh Khan. The tether, as one can imagine, between the labour market and the Shah Rukh fandom, is very thin. It is this part of the book, on Shah Rukh's fandom, that feels awkward and repetitive in its insistence on profundity. The insights are shaky, like throwing ideas at a wall, hoping something will stick. She uses the famous "Shah Rukh or Salman?" question as an icebreaker, and has met many a fan through this. Some of them are confused by her prodding. (...) Often Shah Rukh emerges only on the edges of their story, unimportant, but dressed up to feel central. (...) One of the fans Bhattacharya interviews, facetiously, but also, perhaps, correctly, developed a test to detect misogyny in Indian men using the fandom they belong to, "If a man likes Shah Rukh, he is usually progressive. If a man likes Salman, he is bad news. If a man likes Aamir, he's often a bearded liberal who likes his own voice too much. My test rarely fails".'

- In the sunshine of Shah Rukh's love, Uday Bhatia, Mint, 22 gennaio 2022:

'“I thought I was collecting stories about how women see Shah Rukh Khan and his films. In fact, I was collecting narratives of how they saw themselves and those around them.” This is the crux of Desperately Seeking Shah Rukh, an ambitious and impassioned non-fiction book that looks at the lives of women in India through the lens of their fandom. Shrayana Bhattacharya, a senior economist at the World Bank, spoke to women across economic strata for 15 years about love, work, agency, and the actor whose films offer everything from diversion to comfort and encouragement. (...)

Did the realisation that this is a book about Shah Rukh’s female fans, and not about the man himself, arrive at the start?

I think it came towards the middle, to be honest. In 2006, I was sent to collect data, the way any research assistant would. All these women I was sent to survey, when I would ask them about their wages, their working conditions, these were realities they were very aware of. I was uncomfortable that these people were so bored, so I started talking about Shah Rukh. I thought I was asking them about him, about his films, but instead they were talking about their husbands, their lovers, how difficult it is to earn money to watch Shah Rukh. I diligently had these conversations. Some of them knew I was thinking of converting these into an academic book at that time. Till 2013 it was, to me, these women and how they see Shah Rukh. Then, I decided - for personal reasons - that I wanted to broaden the scope of the book to include my own class. It’s when I started to talk to them and went back to look at the old notes that it occurred to me this was no longer a book about Shah Rukh Khan. I realised he was actually a research device. Then I completely restructured the book. (...)

One thing you reiterate is that these women are active creators of the Shah Rukh persona.

Received wisdom was he was the creator of that persona, and everyone else was just a consumer. But I realised that narrative is totally wrong. If you look at what’s usually said about Shah Rukh, it’s that he’s an NRI (non-resident Indian) star, who caters to thirsty housewives. I did not see that at all. I knew that he was the person who narrated the story around social mobility, but the amount he symbolised that to people from an elite background surprised me. And then what really surprised me was the way women in working class and low-income communities thought of him as being an escape when their lives were so difficult, giving them almost a demonstration of what a good man could be. I was shocked about the way women would cry about his films when talking about the lack of romantic agency in their lives. I was really surprised how, for a younger generation of women, he represents opportunity and liberalisation.

Why do you term his best performance that of the “unapologetic middle-class superstar”?

This is where the economy reacts with film. Inequality among our top 10%, the difference between the mega rich and the merely rich, has grown unimaginably. And I think he captures this. When people look at him, they see a merely rich person who has become mega rich. He has been, from his early 20s, the hyper elite of our country. And yet people feel so taxed because of the way network wealth is so important in our economy, that they will all look at him as someone who “made it”, who triumphed over patronage and networks. Another reason I think is important is he came to prominence in that liberalisation period. Suddenly, there were creative spirits of the economy that had been unleashed - he’s one example of that. He capitalised on everything the reform process maintained. (...) We think of him as capturing that original moment. I will say one more thing. If you look at his (early) interviews, I don’t think anyone is talking about money and the need to earn it and hold on to it (as much as he is). Bollywood stars don’t talk about money. But he’s saying openly in interviews that I needed to take loans, I needed to buy a house. He was very open about it.

You write that women who grew up watching Shah Rukh films graduated to watching his interviews in their 30s. Why do you think this is?

I think there are three reasons. One is that he was one of the first actors who, in the 1990s, talked about feeling bad, feeling depressed. I think a lot of women connected with him because he addressed these everyday negative feelings of anxiety, competition, job market issues. The second reason people were very enchanted was that he was a good public speaker. I know so many women, and men also, who said they would take tips on how to talk in public from his interviews. And the third is just that they are really charming and fun. He will entertain you, he will illuminate - it’s a performance. And there’s a fourth thing, which is particularly for women. If you look at the interviews, he was always talking about his mother, his wife. He was talking about marital fidelity, about his female co-stars. We can say some of it might be posturing - but he was saying it. I don’t think any of our male superstars at that time were valorising womanhood.

At one point, you paint, and address, a composite picture of the Shah Rukh fan. It reminded me of how, in market research, one is asked to visualise the target group as a single person.

The way I did that was, there were about a hundred women from my class group whom I spoke to. I wrote up an average. And then I thought, what’s a way to communicate an average? So what’s on the page is the median elite Shah Rukh fan.

Did you debate whether to interview Shah Rukh for the book?

Actually, I never thought of it. (...) This is not a text about Shah Rukh but a text about gender and economy, and he played this research device role to enter into the lives of these women. (...) He doesn’t need to be involved, because, in a way, it’s not him as a person but him as a construct. I realised that if he entered the agency would no longer be with the ordinary fan. He’s so powerful - it would just become him and his voice.

The book was to release around the time the storm over his son Aryan Khan exploded. Were you worried that a narrative you had constructed over so many years might spin out of control?

No, and this is something that’s heartening. I was confident that the love for him superseded whatever internet trollery political agents could buy. Having said that, I faced abuse from right-wing nuts when I put up an innocuous tweet about how I used to stand outside Mannat. I know that because of who he is and where we are as a country, the moment you say this generation of women is in love with a Muslim actor, there are people who will react with extremely hateful views'.

Shrayana Bhattacharya

- In a sea of Indian men, why everyone is seeking Shah Rukh, Sarim Naved, The Wire, 8 febbraio 2022:

'Khan is a unifying factor for women, Adivasi and Brahmin. The author is an accomplished economist and writer, choosing Khan as the constant for her study of Indian women, and to an extent men, born in the ’80s and ’90s. It goes beyond the anecdotal and evaluates its subjects utilising hard data as well. While Khan may be the constant, the variables are many - caste, class, geographical and occupational. The struggles of these women, divided by these variables, are of course very different from each other. Some seek personal fulfilment while others are just looking to make a living. (...) I can fully endorse this work - it is deeply engaging, and as a reader, or at least a male one, will take your minds down many paths which you did not know existed. As an analysis of the world of 30-something metropolitan professionals, regardless of gender, it’s a therapeutic read. It’s just accurate. The Shah Rukh Khan mythos started in the mid-1990s and is still going strong, even if every new release is not a monster hit. Khan is now in the news mostly for the attacks on him and his family. The myth is a dangerous one for the current ruling dispensation. It unifies what they want to divide. This man who flaunts his faith while maintaining an old-world air of accommodative secularism does not conform to the stereotype that they wish to assign to him. A work as detailed as this would obviously have taken years to plan, research and to write. By luck or design, the book has released at a time when Khan has become more relevant than ever. The “idea of India” that is the site of all political contestation these days now incorporates the fate of Shah Rukh Khan as an unavoidable part of its own destiny. Will Khan stay in India? Will he continue acting in films? Will he withdraw from public life? These are questions not only about Khan the person but about the trajectory that the country is on. Leaving one’s own imagined grievances with Khan aside, the man is rather uniquely placed to influence this country and society. We need people who can communicate charm, empathy and kindness. So, I say, Khan for PM. Why the hell not?'.

- recensione di Suman Joshi, The Hindu, 12 marzo 2022:

'Using Shah Rukh Khan’s films and the reforms of 1991 as starting points, Shrayana Bhattacharya makes women talk about their lives, from compromises to outright rebellion. (...) This genre-bending book looking at women in post-1991 India draws you in from the word go. (...) It presents a powerful commentary on the lives of Indian women and the ways they deal with inequities. Most importantly, it provides women a toolkit to navigate the changing landscape of economy and society in their search for freedom and happiness. 

Watershed moment 

The watershed moment of the 1991 reforms serves as an anchor, as the author traces the rise of the Indian economy and the simultaneous arrival of Shah Rukh Khan as a superstar. The author wears her economist hat lightly, but combines hard economic data, such as falling female labour force participation rate, hidden taxes women pay and a whole host of metrics, with surveys and interviews to paint a picture of the state of women. What makes this work special is her ability to use heart-warming, everyday stories to provide a relatable view of complex economic phenomena. The book draws on her work of following the trajectories of a group of women across caste, religion and class groups over several years. It has a generous smattering of songs and dialogues from SRK’s movies, deploying his work as a literary tool to string together stories of women whose paths would otherwise never cross. The magical SRK touch adds to the readability and fun quotient of the book. (...) ‘Fantasies’ give a glimpse into what Shah Rukh inspired in young elite girls growing up in the 1990s. The stories, one of which is the author’s own, and interviews of women bring out the contradictions women confront and the compromises they have to make despite being educated and upwardly mobile. Questions are raised regarding gender relations among the well-heeled. “Why do women resign their love lives to the trappings of male power and prestige? Why do so many successful women acquire a taste and tolerance for inequality in their private lives?” An interesting side story is the ringside view of Delhi drawing rooms with their own codes; and the trappings of power and male chauvinism. Her astute observation about the gaps in confidence arising out of social conditioning - “The upper class mating market seemed neatly divided between males with unwarranted self confidence and women with unwarranted self-doubt” - makes one question and ponder over what can be done to bridge these gaps. The 1991 reforms are estimated to have pulled millions of people out of poverty. A transformation of this magnitude that included structural changes in the economy was bound to have an impact on women. The expansion in large scale manufacturing, urbanisation and the boom in IT services changed the nature of the economic opportunities available, thereby impacting familial relationships too. 

Gambles for a dream 

‘Baazigar’ tackles the changes in the nature of relations within families and the societal contract during this economic boom. It also throws light on the nature of resistance for women in tier two cities, away from the cosmopolitan milieu of the big cities. The stories of women in this section all involve the baazis, gambles that women in tier-II cities take in an attempt to live a life they dream of. The stories ‘The Accountant’ and ‘A Girl called Gold’ are characterised by the struggle and strife at home to gain an education, choose a career and resist the pressures to “settle down”. While Gold makes the ultimate gamble and runs away from her Rajasthan home, The Accountant wages her battle of resistance within the confines of her home, revealing the many shades of pushback against restrictive traditional family structures. Women claim their space in their own unique ways, choosing from a spectrum of options from compromise to outright rebellion. There is no magic bullet to empowerment. No book studying gender in India can be complete without studying the lives of women from the informal economy, who are in the bottom two-thirds of wages, in households at or below the poverty line. In ‘Working from Home’, the author leaves the capital and travels to Gujarat, Jharkhand and the Northeast. She provides insights into the invisible lives of women in home-based industries such as textiles and tobacco as also domestic and field survey workers. The first stop is Ahmedabad. Given the vast socio-economic gap between the author and the women, how does she get these women to open up about their lives, love and aspirations? Through Shah Rukh and his movies and music, of course! The women open up about their struggles after the author uses the ice breaker question: “who is your favourite actor?” Using the metaphor of dialogue from the movie Kuch Kuch Hota Hai - “a home that is built on the foundations of compromise and not love is not a home (ghar), it’s a house (makaan)” the author demonstrates the give and take that women of the slum struggle with for mobility and economic independence. The second story is from Rampur, U.P., where Manju represents the boredom of women in small town India that have been denied agency for work and leisure. While young men get to ride bikes and watch movies, girls are denied mobility for work or leisure thus experiencing inequality through boredom. 

In her conclusion, the author draws attention to the “crisis of love” and discusses solutions to issues women face. She makes a compelling argument to avoid big bang revolutions or twitter hashtag movements, instead imploring women to attempt “intimate revolutions”, where each one of us looks into our personal equations to address our own disequilibriums'. 

- Read an exclusive excerpt from Desperately Seeking Shah Rukh, Hindustan Times, 5 gennaio 2023.

Vedi anche How Hindi films saw liberalization