Monday, April 25, 2005
legs to dance
A week ago, on the release of three big tamil films (Chandramukhi- Rajnikant, Mumbai Express- Kamal Hassan, Sachien- Vijay) I wrote this:
A towering cutout of Rajnikant in a salute-pose stands dripping wet with milk, as spring-footed people at the theatre jump about its legs catching the milk-splashes and patting it on their heads. With their eyes closed, like in a temple. There's absolute piety here too, but just much more vocal, much more physical, so much more ecstatic.
So many of them are just standing around and whistling. At nothing in particular, but just as if every time someone mentions the word "Superstar" or even thinks it, two fingers are reflexively shoved into the mouth and the most piercing, most devoted whistle shrills out above bursting crackers.
They're dancing in total lost frenzy. Packed off into the theatre hall by the fan club leader, they keep their feet moving, hips thrusting, their throats hoarsely yelling, chanting, singing. And inside... Even advertisements are getting cheered at, because each passing ad means they're getting closer and closer to when Chandramukhi will be on. Then. Slooooowwly, stretched across a whole 3 minutes, the words 'SuperStar Rajnikant' appear on the screen, and then a shining star with his face on it swirls for a baiting while. In those 3 minutes, every single person in the hall is standing up, and yelling things I don't think even he is conscious of. Those 3 minutes, everyone knows, are purely for the fans.
--------
After writing that bit, I decided I had to tell SOMEone about what a super time I'd had getting myself into four first-day-first-shows (three of Rajni, one of Kamal) on April 14. But I was greeted with "Such rowdies they must've been"… "Such idiots, idolising a fellow who can't even act"… "They're dangerous people… hope you're ok - didn't you get felt up?"…
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Everyone was telling me how they knew about fans who tore the screen when Rajni was abused by the villain in the movie, how they broke theatre chairs, slashed the seats with blades, mauled women.
"It's mostly the slum people who act like this, basically because they don't have anything else to do, and they're not educated no? Poor things," said someone, known to frequent the wildest of raves where non-slum people let themselves go. None of them had actually seen any of this happen. They'd heard. They knew.
I sat shocked, staring at my terminal. If people were ready to throw hearsay around like they'd breathed in the sweat and been deafened by the shouts and cheers, maybe they'd be ready to see another point of view, I thought. The piece was speed-written as a straight forward major-happenings-in-the-city story, and filed in time for the next day's issue.
The next day, photos of the fans (to go with the story) were declared "cheap" and Malaika Arora's legs went on page one. I like legs. They kick well.
A towering cutout of Rajnikant in a salute-pose stands dripping wet with milk, as spring-footed people at the theatre jump about its legs catching the milk-splashes and patting it on their heads. With their eyes closed, like in a temple. There's absolute piety here too, but just much more vocal, much more physical, so much more ecstatic.
So many of them are just standing around and whistling. At nothing in particular, but just as if every time someone mentions the word "Superstar" or even thinks it, two fingers are reflexively shoved into the mouth and the most piercing, most devoted whistle shrills out above bursting crackers.
They're dancing in total lost frenzy. Packed off into the theatre hall by the fan club leader, they keep their feet moving, hips thrusting, their throats hoarsely yelling, chanting, singing. And inside... Even advertisements are getting cheered at, because each passing ad means they're getting closer and closer to when Chandramukhi will be on. Then. Slooooowwly, stretched across a whole 3 minutes, the words 'SuperStar Rajnikant' appear on the screen, and then a shining star with his face on it swirls for a baiting while. In those 3 minutes, every single person in the hall is standing up, and yelling things I don't think even he is conscious of. Those 3 minutes, everyone knows, are purely for the fans.
--------
After writing that bit, I decided I had to tell SOMEone about what a super time I'd had getting myself into four first-day-first-shows (three of Rajni, one of Kamal) on April 14. But I was greeted with "Such rowdies they must've been"… "Such idiots, idolising a fellow who can't even act"… "They're dangerous people… hope you're ok - didn't you get felt up?"…
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Everyone was telling me how they knew about fans who tore the screen when Rajni was abused by the villain in the movie, how they broke theatre chairs, slashed the seats with blades, mauled women.
"It's mostly the slum people who act like this, basically because they don't have anything else to do, and they're not educated no? Poor things," said someone, known to frequent the wildest of raves where non-slum people let themselves go. None of them had actually seen any of this happen. They'd heard. They knew.
I sat shocked, staring at my terminal. If people were ready to throw hearsay around like they'd breathed in the sweat and been deafened by the shouts and cheers, maybe they'd be ready to see another point of view, I thought. The piece was speed-written as a straight forward major-happenings-in-the-city story, and filed in time for the next day's issue.
The next day, photos of the fans (to go with the story) were declared "cheap" and Malaika Arora's legs went on page one. I like legs. They kick well.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)