A few days ago I was sitting in the room of my Azerbaijani
friend Anar. Amidst other mindless catching we somehow land on the subject of
Bollywood, the Indian film industry named after my home town Bombay.
"I've told you how Disco Dancer is my mother's favorite movie, right?" he said and began singing a song from the 1982 film, "Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy." He sang.
Let me put this into context. It would like traveling to Thailand to teach English, and finding your students in the small province of Chang Rai have not only heard of Across the Universe, but have their own critiques of each Beatles cover in the film.
I was floored.
Anar then explained the story behind his insider knowledge of the Indian film industry. When his mother was growing up in Azerbaijan, and indeed during much of his early life as well, the country was still part of the Soviet Union. In the USSR, as we all know, the West was the ultimate evil. In addition to no economic exchange, no culture was allowed to pass from the West to the East. So the films that were shown in movie halls all across the Soviet Union were imported from India. Bollywood movies have always been a celebration of color, melodrama and well-choreographed dance sequences. The most popular ones are never to be taken to seriously, and at no time in the film industries history was this truer than the 1980s. I love the idea that these were the films permitted to be shown to the USSR’s population. Color, laughter, always a happy ending. That was the message that was allowed to be delivered is a failing Soviet state.
"I've told you how Disco Dancer is my mother's favorite movie, right?" he said and began singing a song from the 1982 film, "Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy." He sang.
Let me put this into context. It would like traveling to Thailand to teach English, and finding your students in the small province of Chang Rai have not only heard of Across the Universe, but have their own critiques of each Beatles cover in the film.
I was floored.
Anar then explained the story behind his insider knowledge of the Indian film industry. When his mother was growing up in Azerbaijan, and indeed during much of his early life as well, the country was still part of the Soviet Union. In the USSR, as we all know, the West was the ultimate evil. In addition to no economic exchange, no culture was allowed to pass from the West to the East. So the films that were shown in movie halls all across the Soviet Union were imported from India. Bollywood movies have always been a celebration of color, melodrama and well-choreographed dance sequences. The most popular ones are never to be taken to seriously, and at no time in the film industries history was this truer than the 1980s. I love the idea that these were the films permitted to be shown to the USSR’s population. Color, laughter, always a happy ending. That was the message that was allowed to be delivered is a failing Soviet state.
It reminded me of that scene in Clockwork Orange, the classic
one that gives everyone nightmares. Where the criminal’s eyelids are being held
open by a horrid metal contraption. And Beethoven plays as he’s forced to watch
terrible act after terrible act. Or, an even better example from the same film,
the scene where three men rape a women while singing in the rain soundtracks
their crime.
A much starker contrast of course, and a much harsher
example, but to me it feels that same as using Bollywood to sedate the
population in a struggling USSR.
Color. Dancing. And always a happy ending.
It’s strange how the most oppressive regimes can be painted
in the brightest colors. As if painting the walls of a troubled city in
fuchsias and teals adequately covers the bloodstains and bullet holes
underneath.
It’s like that old line, “You catch more flies with honey
than with vinegar”. Usually shared in pep talks when a friend is too angry or
aggressive in a situation.
But for some reason that phrase has always held a very
different connotation in my brain.
Consider the flies. What if, in that scenario, you’re not the
one setting the trap but one of the many many flies being drawn in. Pulled in
by sweetness, unknowingly sucked into a sugary, syrupy death.
That’s why I’m never as worried about those armed with
vinegar. The dictators, the military regimes, the people who hurt, harass, and
brandish their corruption on the global stage. It’s the smilers that scare me.
