My Life as a Bollywood film fan

Anil Sinanan revelas the trials and tribulations of life as a Bollywood film critic.

Apr 21 2006

Viewing a Bollywood movie in one of London's suburban cinemas can be quite a surreal experience. Most of the audience ignore the 'don't let a mobile phone ruin your movie' diktat by talking, laughing and being loudly critical of the film and its stars ('Rani is looking fat, innit?'). Parents are happy to let their kids turn the area in front of the screen into a makeshift playground and these same kids usually start dancing when the songs kick in. Such an atmosphere mirrors the Mumbai multiplex experience with one key difference: it's impossible to buy decent samosas in the foyer of any of London's cinemas.

As Time Out's Bollywood film critic, I can be found every Friday at Waterloo station, not heading off on the Eurostar to Paris for a glamorous weekend, but rather taking a suburban train to a less glitzy Feltham or Wandsworth multiplex to catch the latest Bollywood release.

Why do I endure this weekly trip to the suburbs when other critics do their job in the comfort of Soho's screening rooms? The answer is that I don't have a choice. The ten or so Bollywood films that are released in London every month are rarely screened in advance for the press. The only way I can review the new releases is to make the journey to one of the outlying cinemas that serve London's Indian communities, buy a ticket, and catch them on the same afternoon they are released to the public.

So why are there no press screenings? The answer lies partly in Mumbai. Back in India, most film producers regard critics with contempt and are aware that the great majority of Indian audiences are not swayed by reviews. As such, there is no tradition of holding press previews – a convention that has spread westwards.

'Most Bollywood films are aimed at the core Indian audience in the UK, who are not influenced by reviews, so a press preview will not benefit the film,' concurs Avtar Panesar, head of Yash Raj Films, one of the three main UK distributors of Bollywood movies.

He's right. Any film, regardless of its quality, that stars one of the three 'King Khans' (Salman, Shah Rukh and Aamir) will do roaring business in its first week of release in the UK. (At the time of writing, however, Salman Khan has been jailed for five years for poaching a protected deer, so we are down to two Khans for the moment…)

The uncertainty and frustration of my job doesn't end there. Release dates are rarely planned well in advance, so it is often impossible to determine exactly which titles will be released in which week. Indian producers also work to very close deadlines, so that post-production frequently ends just a few days before the release.

Assuming the producer actually meets the intended release date (hardly a certainty), a film still may not hit cinemas on time for several reasons. These range from the prints being seized by the Indian authorities as part of a criminal investigation into a film's financing to the producer's astrologer advising him that a particular Friday is 'inauspicious' for a film's box-office fate.

Even if the print does makes it to London on time, showings are often cancelled. The finished print may not have been cleared by the British Board of Film Classification for exhibition or simply not delivered to the relevant cinema in time for the advertised first show. Further complications include worrying whether the projectionist will get the film's ratio correct (often they do not) or whether it is a print with English subtitles (not all films are subtitled for their UK release).

However, if all goes well, by midday on a Friday I am transported into the magical world of Bollywood. But are the films actually any good? India remains the largest film-producing nation in the world with Bollywood (films made in the Hindi language) comprising a major proportion of the country's output. But it's a case of quantity over quality: most of the films are technically-brilliant but emotionally-barren copies of Hollywood originals, with added songs, of course, to 'Indianise' the story.

Even cult Korean film 'Oldboy' was remade this year as 'Zinda'. Not that anyone would admit it: Bollywood doesn't like to reveal its sources. However, I once stood on a set in India and witnessed a director taking strict instruction from a DVD of an American film that was playing at his side.

Away from the cinemas, another dubious aspect of being a Bollywood film critic is the attending of press conferences in London. Often held at a hotel just off Oxford Street ('the stars like to stay near to Liberty and Selfridges for shopping,' reasons a publicist), these events are as shambolic as similar 'Page 3' parties that I have attended in Mumbai.

Bizarre occurrences have included an aging Pakistani actress gatecrashing a function to ask the male superstar for a role in his next movie whilst presenting him with a bouquet of flowers and shouting, 'I love you! I love you!', journalists openly pushing each other aside to be photographed with the stars, and the stars themselves disappearing for a quick pint and a fag in the Irish pub opposite the venue when they are supposed to be promoting their latest release.

There is frequent talk at these gatherings about 'crossover', with almost every new release being touted as the next 'Crouching Tiger'. But there still hasn't been a crossover hit. It may be a long time coming as Bollywood films are quite culturally specific: religion, parents, and song-and-dance sequences remain integral to the (usually non-existent) plot of most 'formula' films.

There is also the problem of subtitles. But it could happen, with the right film and proper marketing. As Panesar predicts: 'We are now ready to push the boundary to international standards, and the first big step is to make preview screenings the norm.' If this happens, my Friday frolics in Feltham may be numbered.

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