2019 was about the heroism of the regular Indian, who doesn’t want to escape reality but has come to terms with it
Films have been the bard of our times, recording our nation’s story, sweeping the arc of fantastic idealism to nudging realism, customising offerings to the many genres in between. But for years, the mainstream genre of the entertainment media in this country has been about wish fulfilment and the heroism to redefine the state of the nation, the common man losing himself in the maze of the establishment. In that sense, 2019 will be a milestone year when man became superman. When the star was deconstructed and shorn of mystery, and judged purely on the worth of talent. The successful run of Ayushmann Khurrana showed how a regular Indian man, with no remarkable looks or capability, could hold his own and seek his own happiness on his terms no matter what the societal gaze. The common man shed his inhibitions and stood up to be counted, his various avatars touching the chord of the masses like never before and giving them reason to hope simply because there was no dream. But there was a reality that could be crafted for one’s own ambitions. Be it as the crooked schemer in Andhadhun or the jobless young man who turned phone sex operator, a much derided profession but one which gave him dignity of sustenance, Khurrana helped us readjust to a new world. A little balding didn’t matter, nor a little impotence. Even enough to take on a system where honesty is seen as casualty (Article 15). Frailty doesn’t need to depend then on borrowed security but has learnt to live with it, even overcome it. Films have also been about the reclamation of identities, be it of the minorities or women. Murad of Gully Boy is not rebellious or nihilistic or ghettoised, but in a precursor to tricolour-wielding Muslim protesters in the country, reclaims his space legitimately through heartfelt protest poetry about a classist social order. And he doesn’t want to forget where he comes from. In the same vein, two women battle stigmas of all kinds by becoming champion shooters in Saand Ki Aankh. Consider the women of Mission Mangal, based on India’s Mars odyssey, who lent an air of everydayness to space age dreams, making them gettable. Both seize destiny with their hands rather than reconciling themselves. Perhaps the macho status quo of Kabir Singh reasserted itself with greater vigour faced with such counter currents, just like the toxic masculinity that refuses to give up, so used it is to its privileged existence. The subservience here is commanded through fear.
The politics of society and power games played out in equal measure. The majoritarian discourse saw pop nationalism peddled through Uri: The Surgical Strike, Kesari and even Manikarnika: The Queen of Jhansi. The propaganda of anti-Congressism was manifested through the The Accidental Prime Minister or The Tashkent Files. Propaganda has always been couched in films as a tacit acknowledgment of the establishment of the day. The parallel film movement once grew out of this subversion of free expression with politically correct messaging. And while the lines were blurring for the sake of cinema as art for art’s sake, propagandist cinema is returning with brute force, even advertising the Government’s schemes. Whether this cooption is a desperate bid to rein in a “liberal, intellectual, free-thinking” fraternity, many of whom have just about begun to make their political preferences known and are standing up for their beliefs, is not too clear yet. But for the first time, the politics of polarisation is trying to make its way into the industry with a steroid-spree on historicals, attempting a restorative lesson on Hindu warriors. Had these been done dispassionately, nobody would have a problem with it but when it is agenda-driven and confines itself to denouncing Mughal history, then it is not art.
If Bollywood has become a soft diplomacy tool, it is because of its all-pervasive appeal and inclusive mantras. And it has the money power to decide where it wants to go, use its power for firing hope and idealism as it did before or proclaim its cosiness with powers that be through groupfies, courtesy calls and brand ambassadorships. Artistes should not genuflect before authority. And in an India which needs sanity, it is time its popular icons stop hyperventilating on their loved-up private lives and speak a little for the sake of their many fans. The total dismissal of dissent has meant that it has shifted wholeheartedly to the flat digital plane, where the fears of a dystopia are real in series like Leila and Ghoul. Or where humour has mutated to trenchant satire and comics. But the digital explosion is good news, where content is finding newer streams of expression. Except that it is still a boutique enterprise, the kind that creative freedom has become.