A prognosis of the film industry’s shame

These are not new revelations. These are facts, but they need to be reiterated so they don’t become mere memory, so that the imagination of cinema stays true to its marrow. KG George, one of the most prolific filmmakers in Indian cinema, showed an interpretation of this reality in his 1983 Malayalam film Lekhayude Maranam Oru Flashback (The Death of Lekha, A Flashback). There has not been a time in Malayalam cinema when this film was more relevant.

Shanthamma, or Lekha (a monicker she takes before entering the world of cinema), played by Nalini, is already dead at the beginning of the film. We know what may have happened to her even before Lekha’s lived experiences are showcased. The scenes outline the crude episodes from the life of a teen aspiring to work in films in line with her mother’s wishes. It begins with the faint ambition of shifting base to Madras — the hub of South Indian cinema at the time. The exploitation of Lekha’s body begins days after she arrives in the city with an assistant director who promises marriage and tricks her.

Thereafter, it is a crowd of filmmakers, producers and others she is forced to have sex with on the route to what appears to be a career in cinema, in exchange for acting roles. George’s robust writing smudges the exact moment Lekha’s discomfort becomes a familiarity and a norm. He does not show the surface of the coercion, but its repercussions on Lekha’s life are portrayed through the rapid advancement of her career as an actress. She attains fame, stardom, money, and even a smidgen of love, but loses the will to live in the end and dies by suicide.

George’s writing was prognostic. It gave screen time to an episode where Lekha seeks permission from a male superstar before signing an artsy film with a critically acclaimed director. She has to carefully navigate male egos while trying to ensure she does not upset the “power group”. Ironically, the main character of this power group was depicted by Mammootty — essaying the role of superstar Prem Sagar — who has now denied the existence of a power group in his response to the Hema Committee report.

This fraught underbelly of cinema has been at the heart of the report submitted to the Kerala high court last month. Over ten days after the release of the report and resigning from the post of the president of Association of Malayalam Movie Artists (AMMA), veteran actor and stalwart of the industry, Mohanlal, broke his silence on the matter.

Shortly after, Mammootty too spoke out and said that cinema was at the centre of increased scrutiny because it reflected the good and bad of society. But this perspective is rather reductive. The scrutiny is not only because of the oft-quoted addendum that “cinema mirrors life”. The scrutiny is because a generation of artistes have failed their women colleagues and are continuing to sit on the fence over the issue. Statements made by these celebrities are guarded. They said: What happened was unfortunate, the matter is under investigation, but please don’t blame all of us — words that are oblivious to decades of suffering endured by their colleagues, most of which continue to remain unaccounted for.

The fandom that propels the stardom also thrusts responsibility on it, and rightfully so. The fandom seeks entertainment, good storytelling and a histrionic representation of social issues. But it also demands a commitment to churn the cultural violence, righteous indignation, activism, and a general sentience of empathy outside of the celluloid.

After the decades of scrutiny and subjection to male gaze the bodies of women artistes have undergone, the concern should not be whether or not artistic morality can be questioned. Careers have ended, lives have perished, but the lessons have not stopped. A little introspection will not hurt at this historical and cultural moment in Indian cinema.

The views expressed are personal

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