Category: Book reviews

The past decade saw a significant shift in the national box office, with dubbed films and remakes featuring unknown South Indian actors achieving massive success, often overshadowing original Bollywood productions banking on its leading stars. This trend is among the crucial socio-cultural aspects analysed by film scholar M. K. Raghavendra in his book under review, entitled “The Subject of the Nation and His ‘Others’ in Hindi Cinema: Gender, Religious, Caste, and Ethnic Identity As Difference”. The author draws on literary critic Fredric Jameson’s famous assertion that all ‘Third-World’ literary narratives should be interpreted as national allegories, arguing that post-colonial narratives bear public connotations because private life is much less separate from public concerns. Raghavendra extends this premise in his book, noting that cinema has gained sway over literary narratives in articulating the nation’s story.

Also drawing on political scientist Benedict Anderson’s concept of ‘imagined communities’, Raghavendra looks at the ‘imagined nation’ in Hindi cinema and identifies the hero chosen to ‘embody’ it. The hero’s personal story thus mirrors the nation’s existence as an allegory. This national subject is characterized as an upper-caste, Hindu, predominantly male archetype, often ‘surname-less’and ‘region-less,’ thus functioning as an ahistorical representative. Women, the marginalized categories, and minorities are presented as ‘others’ with separate stories for the issues dealing with them—but distinct from that of the nation. While this cinematic blueprint is not entirely unexpected, the author traces its origins to the rise of 19th-century Indian nationalism, as reflected in Bankim Chandra Chatterjee’s “Anandamath” (1882) and, in the first chapter, finds its basis to be elitist at its core.

This chapter on ‘Film Form and Ideology’ defines popular Hindi cinema’s stable, non-mimetic form. It prioritizes the relay of a pre-existing message or truism rather than reproducing the ambiguity inherent in reality. The primary message relayed in Hindi films sounds like traditional wisdom that upholds a seemingly universal value independent of historical context, for instance, loyalty to the family and obedience to it (Hum Aapke Hain Koun…! (1994)). Due to the focus on “universal truth”, character subjectivity is notably absent. The camera maintains an omniscient viewpoint, showing events as they transpired rather than through someone’s perception. The narrative unfolds as though a “first cause”—akin to karma, often a pivotal prehistory like the humiliation of the father in Deewar (1975), or a “seed” from Sanskrit drama—determines all subsequent actions. Romantic relationships do not progress through stages of interpersonal conflict (as in Hollywood) but are announced as “perfect” and “eternal”. Difficulties are caused by external agencies. The successful culmination of a romance (the transition from brahmacharya to grihastha or householder) is used primarily as a structural device to bring the film’s story to an end (closure), as “adulthood” is not an acknowledged stage of life in traditional Indian ashramas (life stages).

This entire form, stable since the silent era, is attributed to a hierarchical Brahminical tradition. The discussion calls it false consciousness and contrasts the form with Western mimesis, considering it as the normative standard. However, the possibility of a unique, coherent indigenous aesthetic—one that draws on the best of tradition—cannot be discounted, even if its expression lies outside the realm of popular cinema.

The author maps the male hero with distinct political eras: In the 1950s, stars like Raj Kapoor, Dilip Kumar, and Dev Anand portrayed diverse characters reflecting Nehruvian modernity and egalitarianism in films like Awaara (1951), (Babul, 1950) and Kala Bazar (1960) respectively. The 1960s saw romantic heroes signal national disengagement, e.g., Shammi Kapoor in Kashmir Ki Kali (1964), followed by the Angry Young Man in the 1970s, e.g., Amitabh Bachchan in Deewar (1975), emerging from Mrs. Gandhi’s radical politics. Post-1991, market logic defined personal destinies resembling karmic law, and the state recedes (Hum Aapke Hain Koun…! (1994)). It led to the New Millennium Anglophone/ Multiplex cinema which justified criminality for success (Guru (2007)).

The book’s perceptive analysis of Bollywood’s decline, set against new nationalist demands for patriotic cinema post-2014, is one of its important sections. As the author points out, this has led to a depletion of narrative possibilities, reducing them to the singularity of nationalism. Older patriotic films, like Manoj Kumar’s Upkar (1967), included multiple narrative threads, such as family life and agrarian relationships, alongside war. Unlike them, modern war films like The Ghazi Attack (2017) and Uri: The Surgical Strike (2019) have weakened or eliminated these other threads, suggesting an increasingly propagandistic role for cinema. The book discusses the pan-Indian success of dubbed South Indian blockbusters such as Pushpa (2021) and KGF 2 (2022), connoting “resistance to central authority,” and wonders whether this spells trouble for the inclusively imagined nation. While these films fill the void left by Bollywood’s patriotic fatigue, it is worth asking whether their defiant regional undertones would have come through in north India in the same way. In Hindi-dubbed versions, the regional versus national distinction is likely to be blurred, and their defiance may appear simply as local grit. Their anti-establishment or anti-authoritarian themes run counter to Bollywood’s nationalist preoccupations, complicating its national narrative—though ascribing “resistance to central authority” even in their pan-Indian avatar perhaps stretches the interpretation.

Film aesthetes might find it odd to view cinema through such a socio-political lens. They may echo the scepticism of Vladimir Nabokov, who famously questioned the value of fiction as a reliable source of information: ‘Can we expect to glean information about places and times from a novel?’ Extending this critique to cinema, one might wonder whether films can truly offer insight into a nation. However, the methodological approach of the book under review is grounded precisely in Fredric Jameson’s assertion that all ‘Third-World’ texts should be read as national allegory.

The book asserts that the portrayal of women remains fundamentally male-centric, evolving from strong pre-independence figures to victims of social pressures or state weakness, often needing male intervention for justice. Even modern, woman-centric films like The Lunchbox (2013) and Pink (2016) end up relying on and giving dominance to the male narrative voice. As for Muslims, historically positioned as ‘others,’ early film genres (like Historicals or Courtesan films) focused on upper-class life and forbidden love, reflecting social hierarchy. Post-Partition, the author argues that secularism became a form of minority protectionism, making these film narratives archaic by insulating them from internal issues like class conflict (Pakeezah (1971) and Nikaah (1982)). During the radical period of Mrs. Indira Gandhi in the 1970s, art cinema (supported by state intervention) provided different portrayals (Garam Hawa (1973) and Salim Langde Pe Mat Ro (1989)). The period following economic liberalization in 1991 initially saw Muslim identity become less significant in Hindi cinema (Rang De Basanti (2005)). After 2014, however, Muslim representation became distinctly politicized in films, with The Kashmir Files (2022) being a clear example.

The author analyses narrative patterns of films featuring Dalit heroes such as Masaan (2015) and Sairat (2016). They depict caste as mere irrational prejudice by using upper-caste actors, thereby denying the reality of the immense social gulfs and power imbalances inherent in its structural reality. The ‘social other’ evolves from the criminalized lower classes to politicians. It’s a sharp observation that Hindi film criminals are often portrayed as inherently criminal even before committing any illegal act. As for ethnicities in Hindi cinema, Kashmir is a law-and-order issue; South Indians gain economic respect, while North-easterners are overlooked. Finally, Pakistan is depicted as a morally inferior ‘brother led astray,’ questioning its democratic viability as in Veer-Zaara (2004).

This is the nineteenth book published by the prolific M. K. Raghavendra. It offers an insightful look at how India is imagined in Hindi cinema. The prose demands patience due to its scholarly depth, but the careful effort is richly rewarded by the author’s acute observations. Some interpretations may appear forced, suggesting an over-reliance on the national allegory framework. Nevertheless, while it is not aimed at film aesthetes, it demonstrates how film narratives reveal and perpetuate asymmetries of exclusion of ‘others’. Ultimately, the book not only analyses the recent success of South Indian blockbusters vis-à-vis Bollywood’s struggles but also provokes crucial questions about the future trajectory of Hindi cinema.      

“The Subject of the Nation and His ‘Others’ in Hindi Cinema”, Routledge, 224 pages, Kindle edition ₹3,145.80, Hardcover ₹13,340 

Patriotism in the cinema of Hindi

Chicks don’t do chick flicks. They do whatever flick interests them, whatever subjects.

– Betty Thomas, actress, director & producer.

 

Chick flick is not a term used to praise a movie. Nobody says ‘it’s a great chick flick.’ It’s a way of being derisive.

– Carolyn Ann ‘Callie’ Khouri screenwriter, producer, & director.

 

Feting fifty years of its founding, Bengaluru’s Suchitra Film Society as part of its year-long celebrations has brought out a book, Films through Women’s Eyes – A Study of 17 women directors of India.

A wonderful and worthy initiative indeed by a society that has traversed a chequered trail, which today stands at the crossroads of transition to ensure it stays relevant in these disruptive times where multifarious modes of film consumption is the new normal.

The book, running to nearly 275 pages, is timely in terms of emerging times and public discourse lately with regard to women’s empowerment, individual freedom, representation and gender parity, on the global amphitheatre. It befittingly toasts through the pages of the timely tome the achievements and accomplishments of women directors through their films mirroring the strides and struggles of women in society.

Thereby, celebrating and saluting the differentiated perspectives women were bringing in an otherwise predominantly men dominated entertainment industry, braving the Sisyphean struggle they undergo in doing so.

True, it is an acknowledged fact that women are undervalued, under-appreciated, and untapped within the entertainment (film, TV, what have you) industry. However, they provide a leg up and shine like lodestars, proving that it doesn’t matter what gender a director is and that individual, inherent and intuitive talent is what always prevails.

That said and acknowledged, coming to the book per se, one has to woefully express a sense of personal disappointment in the women directors sought to be represented and the tableau of treatise commissioned about the chosen ones.

The majority of the essays turn out to be more of fan boy musings on their favourite directors than insightful, incisive, and more importantly, critical perspectives on them.

Not that those featured were any less deserving, given that they have carved a niche of their own in the highly competitive and fickle Indian entertainment industry and won accolades for themselves and the nation for the humungous, multifarious constituents they addressed.

The purpose of the volume supposedly is to “meet the criterion of becoming a reference text for students of film studies in universities.” Unfortunately, one has to disagree with this presupposition. The majority of the articles are nothing more than eulogistic, effusive pieces simply singing paeans about the women directors featured.

Rather than objectively assessing their contribution and eclectic engagement with cinema and the true representation of the women they sought to portray, the rumination of many are more of a pulpy, celebratory exercise than illuminative writing.

No singular attempt has been made to objectively assess the works of these women directors or explore in such a fashion to make it meaningful and insightful to prospective students aspiring to take film making as a career choice. Furthermore, no attempt has been made to show how these women directors have sought to provide a feminine perspective to their protagonists in their works and narrative concern.

The preface states that “many important filmmakers had to be excluded from such a volume in view of the framework envisaged.” If it that is so, why a book at all of such poor nature?

As to what this “framework” that resulted in the exclusion of many others is curiously missing even in the editors’ note. An anomaly, if one may submit could have been easily avoided, rather leaving to needless conjectures by interested readers pickled by the title to try it.

The holistic writings of Mr Saibal Chatterjee on Aparna Sen, Mr Babu Subramanian on Prema Karanth, Saumya Baijal on Nandita Das, Shantanu Ray Chaudhary’s exploration of Sai Paranjpye’s works, apart, Bitopan Borborah’s analysis of Dr Santwana Bordoloi’s two films could have been better, so too Ashok Rane’s piece on Vijaya Mehta.

I express serious reservations about co-editor Mr N Manu Chakravarthy’s elaborate and longish treatise, which, for an average, aspiring student of cinema, turns out to be rather academic and digressive, that as the author himself posits is personal “tribute” than an accessible understanding of late Sumitra Bhave’s rich repository of works.

Mr Manu Chakravarthy’s discursive discourse, to look at films as “literary text”, rambles: “I have tried to put all my energy into my attempt only to underline Sumitra Bhave’s thematic concerns, ethical positions, aesthetic choices and understanding,” an an exercise flaunting author’s literary flourishes, than be easily accessible analysis say like that of Mr Saibal Chatterjee or Mr Babu Subramanian or even handful others.

In fact, as Marathi actor Mohan Agashe, during discussion to Mr Manu Chakravarthy’s “scholarly erudition” states “I’m still trying to find out the simple language to communicate with the masses.”

One only wishes a similar concern had guided Professor Manu Chakravarthy rather than the elaborate digressive dissertation with which he has sought to dissect the core concerns of Sumitra Bhave’s films and her engagement with cinema.

It turns out more of an exercise in futility especially given the readers / audiences in mind the book has sought to address and hope would be beacon for their furtherance with film studies and understanding of films.

While Mr Saibal Chatterjee with felicity of seasoned critic encapsulates the various trajectories of Aparna Sen’s narrative concerns with pithy precision, it is Mr Babu Subramanian’s workmanlike essay on Prema Karanth that deservingly serves the intended objective of the book as also the very purpose for which Suchitra Film Society was formed.

Hand holding the uninitiated audience-reader-learner on how to approach and engage with a film and understand the dynamics of visual narrative and read meanings into the mise-en-scene so constructed by the director to tell her tale, Mr Babu Subramanian has chiseled out a fine piece of writing.

Despite his lack of facility with the Kannada language, his simple, unassuming essay, speaks volumes of his innate understanding of the art of cinema aesthetics and engagement with films luminously bringing forth Prema Karanth’s only available film – Phaniamma’s cinematic qualities in terms of messaging, craft, idiom, narrative structure and core concerns supplanting the same with necessary footnotes in the end.

None of the other authors say or write anything new or different that has not already been known and written about or offer no new perspectives into the director they are discussing about.

Instead of dissecting the films in reasonable fashion, these authors have gone about eulogising about how the directors strove to rise above the prevalent “male dominated” system quite antithetical to the very purpose of a book of this nature.

Ratnottama Sengupta’s essay on Aruna Raje is more about Aruna, the person, working through the male hierarchy, rather than her films, their merits and fault-lines. Similarly Karthik Keramulu’s ruminations on Bhanumathi, speaks more of her sartorial characteristics such as her famous “bottu” and acting, than directorial worthiness.

Be it Shoma A Chatterjee’s tribute of Bijaya Jena, which comes across more as a school essay than learned discourse on her directorial merit or Kaveree Bazmee’s essays on Deepa Mehta and Mira Nair, which sketch out career graph of directors colourful lives, and controversies rather than scrutinise their films for their worth.

Likewise book’s co-editor Maithili Rao’s essay is just a pen sketch of flamboyant Zoya Akthar. So too Roopa Barua’s life sketch of late Kalpana Lajmi, Uma Vangal’s portrait of Revathi, or for journalist Kavitha Shanmugham’s on Sudha Kongara, critic CS Venkiteswaran’s short matter of piece on Suma Josson.

In sum, despite Suchitra Film Society’s laudable idea to ignite curiosity about Indian women directors, as a way of crowning its own 50 years of existence, Films Through Women’s Eyes falls short of being a must read, must buy, promising  publication.

Despite mimesis as a narrative necessity and primary constructive principle of cinema being virtually absent in the lexicon of Indian filmmakers, their films work for the intended audiences, finds MK Raghavendra in his latest visitation of Indian films in the seminal book, ‘Philosophical Issues in Indian Cinema: Appropriate Terms & Concepts’.

 

The cinema of India is unique in many ways, and has travelled a long way since Dadasaheb Phalke’s Raja Harishchandra days. Further, there are largely two distinctive strands of cinema in India that run parallel and counter to one another—the wholesome-entertaining Friday releases in cinema halls and the aesthetics-driven genre that appeals more to the cerebral and nuanced expectations of differentiated audiences that populate film festivals. While the gravitas of a majority of wholesome entertainers lies in hero worship and heroine gazing, the chutzpah of art/alternative cinema lies in engaging a more cultured, elitist cine audiences with the larger socio-political discourse rousing the national collective conscience.

MK Raghavendra specialises in interpreting the diversified enterprising excursions of Indian filmmakers and reading the contextual meanings, metaphors, allegorical symbols and emblems in their visual representations. By doing so, he brings an insightful, intuitive, and interpretative discourse into Indian films. His method of mining meanings is an art all by itself.

His latest visitation, Philosophical Issues in Indian Cinema: Appropriate Terms & Concept, a compact 185-page hard bound book, makes for an illuminating and instructive read, in particular, for the initiated, unabashed cineaste who loves to probe beyond the peripheral context of a film that he/she watches, to understand what makes Indian cinema a key differentiator, and to be informed on what it lacks in the context of the global cinema coliseum. Thematically demarcated into 24 chapters, the book opens with the argument that Indian cinema woefully lacks the concept of mimesis in its approach and filmmaking.

In each chapter, the author lays out what constitutes philosophical issues in Indian cinema, while illustratively resting his arguments as regards appropriate terms and concepts “interrogating the vocabulary used in theorising about Indian cinema.” The idea being “to reach into the deeper cultural meanings of philosophies and traditions from which Indian Cinema derives its influences.” The basic objective, then, is to “re-examine terms and concepts used in film criticism and contextualise them within the aesthetics, poetics and politics of Indian cinema.” The book attempts to uncover whether there is an Indian way of filmmaking.

The author begins with the caveat that the book has no exalted ideas to offer about life or reality through cinema. He clarifies that this is neither a look at Indian film through the prism of Indian philosophical systems nor an attempt to deal with the philosophies of film. Rather,  this exercise is merely “a revision/correction of the way Indian cinema has been understood in film studies or criticism.” He calls for a more holistic engagement and appreciation in the way Indian films, in particular, the popular, wholesome entertaining genre, are understood by their makers as well as the intended audiences they seek to serve. The idea stems from the fact that “Indian films belong to a different cinematic universe than those from America, Europe, and the Far East.”

The book explores and extrapolates through arguments and illustrations, “the way to understand Indian cinema, since that would help distinguish it from cinema outside of India,” with specific and contextual examples of popular films by noted Indian filmmakers from all over India, down the ages. The author enumerates that unlike what is understood in the Western context of philosophy “in terms of professional intellectual pursuit that can, be set aside at the end of the working day,” in Indian films, the term is more directly “associated with one’s personal destiny,” and “as an attempt to understand the true nature of reality in terms of an inner or spiritual quest.”

“Largely constituted around a set of words or terms used in film scholarship/criticism by Indian film critics,” the primary purpose of the book is to be “devoted to notions connected with the terms in the title, examining the various aspects that make the significance of the terms clear for the Indian context.” The book is guided by a five-point agenda. The original meaning of the terms and the broad debates around them. What the terms mean in the context of Indian cinema from its origins onwards and how the notion has developed; alternatively, exploring the cultural specificity of a generic notion and its significance in India; the differences in the Indian employment of a component of cinema; certain terms that have specific Indian relevance; connections made within Indian culture as a body to explain the development of a phenomenon and the issue of ‘ideology,’ which becomes relevant when certain notions, such as nation, gender and dharma, are implicated.

The chapters have been classified according to terms and terminologies. Each goes on to elaborate their associations and understanding in the Indian context. These being Realism and Reality; Content, Interpretation and Meaning; Casualty; Genealogy and Family; Romance and Marriage; Melodrama; Faith and Devotion; Fantasy; Station and Hierarchy; Humour or Comedy; Character and Individuality; Genres; National Cinema; Regional or Local Cinema; Orality and Literacy; Film Music; Film Art and the Avant-garde; Stardom; Place and Time; Ethics and Morality; Gender Radicalism or Activism; Marginalisation, Oppression and Disadvantage; and Patriotism.

The book meets its ultimate aim of “bridging the gap between the academic study of Indian film and filmmaking practice in India.” Hence, it would be a futile exercise to go in for an illustrative manner how each of these concepts / terms have been dealt with in detail and deliberated upon.  For that would not leave much for the individual imagination and ingestion of the reader who would love to have an unfiltered, unbiased read. I would like to state however that this new seminal book on Indian Cinema is not only a welcome addition to the few others that have preceded it, but also opens a whole new vista on how to actually watch, read, and understand Indian films and their filmmakers’ own idea of cinema. It ought to also aid and assist similar scholarly/academic exercises into the world of Indian films, their very many quirks and quibbles and allow the reader to understand what makes Indian films so Indian.

Several readings would be required by both the initiated and uninitiated to appreciate and assimilate the arguments that Raghavendra sets forth to substantiate his clinical claims. In conclusion: though each chapter has a short recap of the gist of the theme that has been taken up and talked about, one feels a bit more elaboration on the films cited as examples and illustrative explanation would have made the book a must-possess one for the cineaste bibliophile.

philosophical philosophical

Of all the genres of mass culture, cinema is arguably the most popular and universal, yet it is also the most intricate. Cinema is rigorous multi tasking and meticulous teamwork. It is the ultimate example of intermedia art that brings together an assortment of technological expertise and artistic insight. In cinema we see people like us enacting our own emotions, bringing to the foreground slices of life that are very much like our own; albeit, larger-than-life figures. They are people of flesh and blood, yet in cinema we do not see them as real people. All that we see come to us as mere images. This existence of cinema between the tangibile and the intangible lends to it an enigmatic aura.

If the making of cinema is massive multi tasking, writing a book about the art and technique behind cinema too calls for a great deal of meticulousness as well as some amount of practical experience of working behind the camera. Chalachitrar Rakhachadan by Utpal Datta, a National Award winning film critic who has also made a few short films, clearly stands as a testimony to this simultaneity of expertise, experience and insight. The book is a first of its kind not only in Assamese but also among the other regional languages of Nort East India. It serves to make the reader aware of the complex set of activities involved in the making of a film. The other equally relevant purposes is to draw the reader’s attention to the importace of the intensity of societal and humanitarian appeal of a film as well as the philosophy of the director. The author believes that the knowledge, observation and exploration of these aspects take the experience of watching a film to an altogether new joyous height.

The book opens with the question pertaining to what should be the ideal plausible definition of cinema and also which Assamese word is the most representative. While ‘movie’ is one of the synonyms that is used in English, chalachitra (lit., moving pictures) can be the most acceptable Assamese word for cinema, the author suggests.

An entire chapter is dedicated to the whole process of filmmaking, from pre-production (picturisation & planning), to production (the actual shoot), post production (editing, sound dubbing/mixing, colour correction, and special effects) and finally, distribution. Another, about the most vital part of cinema, aptly opens with the famous quote by Alfred Hitchcock, “To make a great film, you need three things—the script, the script, and the script”. The author points out that the magic of a script lies in its ability to speak through pictures, and not through simple words. Since the story and dialogues is necessitated to come alive in pictures, the cinematography, editing, and sound is crucial.

One learns, while reading Chalachitrar Rakhachadan, that what we see as a complete film is actually a series of sounds and images strung together in a particular sequence. The expertise of the cinematographer lies in capturing the mood of the story in its totality through subtle mixing of the shots with right control and alignment of light, whether arificial or natural. That of the editor lies in their ability to coordinate between contradictory emotions—love/hate, laughter/tears, light/shade, youth/old-age—and  arrange these using an aesthetic flair. Talking about sound in films, the author draws our attention to how sound effects infuse life to a sequence of shots, how the economy of sound keeps alive the desired anxiety and suspense, and how, on certain occasions, silence can be more effective than sound.

All this leads to the question: what is the role of the director, and what does it take to be one? The director, according to the author, is ideally the final creative authority, responsible for its ulitmate artistic form, its message, and its dramatic presentation. And although a university degree isn’t necessary, a director is necesssited to possess a high level of intelligence, creativity, confidence, and motivational and organisational skill.

Since the book focuses quite a lot on the technical details associated with the process of making a film, the use of some amount of jargon is unavoidable; yet, that has not in the least made the narrative cumbersome. The author appears to be conscious of this aspect. His careful incorporation  of the technical phrases in a crisp and lucid narrative fabric keeps the reader’s interest fuelled all throughout. Stills from timeless classics such as Pyasa, Sholay, Modern Times, and Seven Samurai add to the charm. The cover page, designed by Sanjib Borah, has an inscription that drips with honey, suggestive of the rasa or the aesthetics of the art of cinema. The additional list of one hundred ‘must see’ films, both Indian and international, is a helpful guide. Chalachitrar Rakhachadan emphasizes that there is much more to cinema beyond action, dance and music. What is highly essential and missing is a chapter on acting.

 

Book review – Directors’ Diaries: The Road to Their First Film

The principle attraction of an interview lives in the questions thrown by the interviewer. Questions are framed to dig out unknown facts from the inner core of the interviewee. Additionally, they mirror the study, preparation, insight, mental makeup and so much more of the interviewee too. And that mirrored picture determines the character, purpose, and philosophy of the interview. Rakesh Anand’s  Directors’ Diaries: The Road to Their First Film, a compilation in two volumes of interviews conducted with a variety of film directors offers a valuable insight on the journeys to their respective first films; the preparations for the same; and the sweet and sour experiences gathered on the way.

In a way, the author was always the ideal candidate for this job. Though he has studied film making and acting, has worked with important film personalities, and is the son of the legendary Hindi film song lyrics writer Anand Bakshi, Rakesh is yet to complete his debut feature film. In contrast to his plight, some of the directors whom he interviewed are people who weren’t blessed with the slightest link to the film world yet they succeeded in realizing their dreams. The author says in Directors’ Diaries that he felt some sort of anger at this, and craved to know how this was possible. The ‘craving’ felt by the author determined the soul and character of the book. However, the ‘anger’ that he claims to possess is nonexistent; rather, one comes across a down-to-earth person who commands affection, attention, and respect.

In the prelude to every interview, the author introduces the director from a personal angle; this reflects his humility. Readers enjoy reading any kind interview when they feel attached with the interviewer. Instead of lengthy, boring questions or a scholarly self-presentation of the interviewer, the author throws questions that are crisp and lead the interviewee to unravel their past. This pattern may be compared to the presentation of a Raga in Indian Classical music where the beauty of a Raga is being unfolded in a systematic pattern of movement. The author believes too that a film director must be associated with any medium of creative work prior to their stepping into the world of filmmaking. He therefore poses this question to almost all his interviewees. That the replies he receives is more or less identical establish that whatever the character of the film may be, the basic creative qualification for one and all directors is essentially the same.

Quite apparently passionate and emotionally charged about film direction, the author’s attachment to this artform compels him to be attentive in respect of all angles of film making. He doesn’t however stop with simply exploring the process of filmmaking through the experiences of these various directors. He informs the reader of the kind of dedication, courage, confidence, and dedication that is required for one who aspires to be a director. The answers to his questions also offer an insight into the requisites that follow in the next stage after one has turned director.

At one point, the author enters the dreaded realm that haunted the protagonist of Fellini’s 8½. Have you as a film director ever faced a barren state of mind, he asks. Film shooting, especially in the traditional manner, is a very expensive creative process where every single moment involves costs. Therefore, the question of whether a director can have that luxury of facing the situation of a director’s block is highly relevant. It also gives indication of how seriously the author attempts to explore the conflict zone in the creative process of a director.

The question of ego management is another that the author tosses into the air. Film shooting is like war. There’s an assembly of a huge number of participants. All are important, and most carry a huge ego. Some are highly sensitive and easily hurt. And the director has to lead such a team, while managing to satisfy all kind of egos, and yet without comprising on the pace of the shoot. Ego management is a hard task, and an important part of every film shoot, but very few books on filmmaking usually care to throw light on this issue. Ego management is a practical work, and the directors express their personal experiences of dealing with this issue.

When a director makes a film, in addition to the craftwork that is involved, an emotional and passionate creation, and some personal or autobiographical elements too enters into the narrative, sometimes as a metaphor or as an incident or a character trait. Directors’ Diaries sets out to uncover some such moments. This double volume primarily interviews twenty film directors ranging from veterans such as Shyam Benegal to the young Tanuja Chandra-Mohit Suri. By including in it an interview of a spot boy, the author immediately throws the limelight on that person on the lowest rung of the film direction ladder; albeit, one who is crucial to the sets and all people on it.

Such curiosities transform Directors’ Diaries from a mere anthology of interviews to a motivational book; one that is meant not just for aspiring filmmakers but for anyone who has and chases a dream. This anthology of experiences and dedication seeks to enrich the film viewing experience of the general audience while also providing endless courage to those who wish to see themselves someday seated on a director’s chair. In addition to providing for a thrilling reading experience, therefore, it also serves as a guide for upcoming filmmakers.