Introducing the recent series opener of India’s top-rated talk show, Koffee With Karan, the director-producer-personality Karan Johar championed Bollywood’s new-found “girl power”: 12 months of successes – such as the taut spy thriller Raazi and the raucous bridal comedy Veere di Wedding – that were led and authored by women. His guests, accordingly, were distaff royalty: reigning queen Deepika Padukone, newly radiant after surviving January’s trial-by-fire film Padmaavat, and beaming princess Alia Bhatt, Raazi’s immensely talented young lead. Reclined on Johar’s Nortonesque couch, Bhatt was offered a cuddly Sophie’s choice between her much-Instagrammed cats and beau Ranbir Kapoor; Padukone raised a suggestive eyebrow after asked what she first notices in a man.
If the show’s peppy tone was enjoyable, it felt strangely removed from the grim claims emerging on social media from women occupying the film industry’s lower ranks. India’s #MeToo movement – initiated in early October and gathering rapid pace online – cast a looming shadow over this week’s Jio MAMI Mumbai film festival, the event’s 20th. As creative director Smriti Kiran told me at the festival’s bustling Juhu hub: “#MeToo started to escalate two weeks before the festival, and we are one of India’s leading festivals, so everybody was looking at us. They wanted us to take responsibility. We wanted to take responsibility.”
Sleeves were duly rolled up, red lines established. Two features and three shorts were struck from the programme after allegations were levelled against key creative personnel; another feature, the critically admired Balekempa, was withdrawn by producers following an anonymous Facebook post that accused writer-director Ere Gowda of sexual assault. At last Thursday’s opening ceremony, set against the majesty of old Bombay’s towering Gateway to India, festival director Anupama Chopra apologised to “all the people we have disappointed” while hoping “that the decision we took, to stand with the women who have raised their voices, will lead to an environment that is constructive, inclusive and just”.
“It was a very, very, very hard decision,” says Kiran. “I’ve used three verys because it can’t be emphasised enough how sad it was for us. Once we took our initial decision of dropping [the first two titles], we had to apply the same metric to everything else … [but] we needed to take that stand, because we needed everyone to wake up and take notice.” At the very least, the withdrawals created space for debate. Film-maker Ruchi Narain was enlisted to curate four workshops on industry conduct; one featured advocate Asiya Shervani walking delegates through India’s arcane, rarely applied sexual harassment law.
As Kiran frames the sessions: “It’s necessary for us to talk about it, because you don’t want this escalation to happen, and then … it disappears. Nothing is done about it, people are like, ‘Oh yeah, #MeToo happened’, as if it were one little virus that took over and then it’s gone. Yesterday’s [session] was amazing, because usually people talk in platitudes: ‘We should do this, this should not happen.’ But yesterday the conversation was more about people sharing experiences, and talking more candidly. There was a fearlessness about what they were saying that was refreshing.”
Furthermore, the change in the schedule provided room for a run of female-driven films highlighting the renewed diversity and strength in non-mainstream Indian cinema. Leena Yadav’s Netflix-bound feature Rajma Chawal addressed a recognisable father-son generation gap; Priya Ramasubban won hearts with Chuskit, featuring a young paraplegic adapting her wheelchair to her Himalayan home. And emergent Assamese talent Rima Das, whose Village Rockstars is India’s submission for next year’s foreign film Oscar, made two big splashes: first by toppling into a rooftop pool during the opening night party, then with her latest, Bulbul Can Sing, a hard-hitting take on shaming culture.
For Kiran, the selection speaks to new ways of thinking: “We used to be a nation that only produced films about big ideas – poverty, dissent – and the focus would seldom be on the individual, because it was always on the collective. As an Indian, I feel we place so much emphasis on the family unit that the individual gets shafted, and it’s important to nurture the individual if you want society to benefit.” Wider exposure to international cinema, rarely screened even in cosmopolitan Mumbai, may have played its part. Roughly 100 festivalgoers queued for five hours to see Palme d’Or-winner Shoplifters; the prize for hardiness, though, surely goes to the fellow who queued for 10 hours for the dubious pleasure of experiencing Gaspar Noé’s Climax.
Discussion remains to be had about the winds suddenly freshening India’s once-patrician film culture. The campaigning Delhi critic Anna MM Vetticad published a piece for the Quint warning of what might need addressing for greater parity – not least the whispered allegations about predations by several revered luminaries. Even Kiran admits #MeToo snuck up on her predominantly female team: “The movement started in the west way before ours did, and we didn’t think ours would start so soon. We thought it would take 20 more years. So when you think it’s going to take that long, you can imagine how far behind we must be.”
The festival closes on 1 November with Steve McQueen’s Widows: more strong women, doing what has traditionally been a man’s job. Beyond that, confesses Kiran, a much-needed holiday beckons. Then, however, the work resumes: “We’re fighting for basic things: respect; don’t pounce on me; don’t ogle, it’s rude … The narrative around feminism, and wanting things, is to our extreme disadvantage. People turn around and say you hate men. I’m like, ‘No. Why? What is wrong with you?’ So I think, first things first, we need to get the basics right. Forget about big things happening. We’re not starting from ground zero. We’re six feet under. So let’s get to ground zero.”
