Cinema now and then
- Hueiyen Lanpao Editorial :: April 28, 2012 -
Guest Editorial: RK Tarachand
Hindi movies have had a vice like grip on us all. We were hooked to matinee idols like Dev Anand, the eternal romanticist, Yusuf Khan aka Dilip Kumar who loved Harrod tweeds and yet, for the sake of Bollywood gallivanated in a dhoti in his films.
Or for that matter that movie star, Raj Kapoor who loved himself and his heroines with equal ardour and caricatured himself as India’s Charles Spencer Chaplin.
On the softer end of the kaleidoscope, poet and real life tragedy queen Meena Kumari, the mesmerizing allure of Madhubala, that pout of Asha Parekh, the voluptuous lips of Sadhana, the tree trunk legs of Saira Banu and the sinuous Helen gyrating wildly to the husky aspirated voice of Asha Bhonsle.
That ever scheming Pran who always got beaten up giving rich depth to the meaning of the phrase 'To err is human'. Finally that infallible timing when the cops arrived to signal the end of the movie. The life and the times that are now bygones.
As avid movie buffs, we believed in all that these celluloid heroes and heroines did. One laughed as they laughed, one got angry as they became angry, indignant when they became indignant.
Following their hallowed footsteps we even believed that it was a normal human reaction to sing songs of pristine beauty while one was mad with anger.
We wanted to emulate them as they raised their fists and scolded the gods, or say within our minds 'Well done' when idols of gods cracked open and a ray of shimmering light shone upon the forlorn damsel in distress.
It was a time when all self respecting heroes carried only toy guns (it was the decent thing to do so) and all sensible villains had their shirts ripped open prior to a fight sequence.
After all, very few people are intrinsically violent. And in the golden era of Hindi cinema love scenes were so lovingly crafted. There was none of the present day crass scenes of heroes and heroines shimmy to a bedlam of noise.
It was far more discreet. While the hero and heroine were frolicking in consummate ease, two roses, with strings openly visible, were pulled together, cheek to cheek as it were, and to everyone's relief, the result was a rosy bliss.
On the other hand, the Imphal Talkies, operating on rented premises of the Rupmahal Theatre, and run by that indomitable Pathan M.Y. Khan was one of a kind in eastern India.
After all, all English movies after being first screened in Calcutta were all programmed to be shown in Imphal. If one remembers right, English movies were screened only twice a week in Gauhati.
Westerns and action movies were greatly favoured by the Manipuris. It was considered the right thing for Imphal Talkies fans to drown a few stiff pegs, chew a Kwa and light up a cigarette prior to taking one's seat.
It was considered proper to talk loudly, be involved in a running dialogue with the actors in the movie. It was a very bawdy atmosphere, and whenever the 'No Smoking' sign was projected on the screen all moviegoers in the right frame of mind would, as if on a preordained signal, promptly light up cigarettes.
Only the bravest of ladies would go to the Imphal Talkies. Occasionally ruffians would barge into the movie hall 'just to check things'. M.Y. Khan, the proprietor summed it up aptly when he advertised 'Get the Imphal Talkies habit'. We did, we really did.
All good things inevitably come to an end, so has this era, so poorly described above. On the positive side, English cinema has developed by leaps and bounds, and Hindi cinema?
Well the gyrations have become more fierce, the songs more raucous, but the less inhibited actresses are worth more than a second look.
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