YOU CAN’T PLEASE EVERYONE
Kobita Sarkar
Changing over from being a free agent at the movies (concerned only at times with critical aspects) to censorship demanded certain adjustments from us all. I still recall the regret with which I had to abandon my critical arrogance and acquire a sense of detachment before disciplining myself to see films from a totally different standpoint. Nor was one in a position to see what one wanted to see. Hereafter, viewing movies for censorship meant films had to be observed from a moral instead of critical point of view. Difficult though this was, at first, I acquired the schizophrenic approach sooner than expected. But it also affected my normal filmgoing, outside censorship viewing, for my attention was at times unconsciously being diverted to the moral deviations of the film! It was no longer a question of grumbling because I had not been permitted to see the ‘juicy’ bits because of the Censors. I was now on the other side of the fence—that of the much-maligned Censor. It was a question of interpreting a set of standards which it was my duty to enforce, regardless of my personal opinion in the matter. In short, from a free individual, I had acquired a moral obligation. Through the years I tried as honestly as I could to be as objective as possible and at the same time apply a measure of common sense rather than give the letter of the law a rigid interpretation. How far an individual succeeds in changing or influencing such a pattern is hard to assess, but one always hopes one’s efforts have not been entirely in vain!
The theory of film censorship is that it is intended to prevent the imitation of the antisocial, specially designed to protect the young and the actually underprivileged from pernicious influences. There are those, of course, who firmly believe that it is the Censors who are the antisocial ones, being the instruments for hindering the proper exercise of democracy!
Our guidelines are lifted almost entirely from the Hays Code. This Code was named after Will Hays, one-time Postmaster General of the United States, who took over censorship there. Apart from being concocted for an alien cultural pattern, the Code was considered so antediluvian by the West that it has been scrapped in most places abroad and, generally speaking, been substituted by a sort of unwritten common-sense gauge, with certain countries emphasizing some aspects of the original. However, if you do believe that some sort of censorship is necessary, and more people seem to be for than against it, our system had something to be said for it—and, by inference, our Censor also.
Since there was no question of spelling out methods and objectives to any of the Members, it was left to us to work out our own trial-and-error methods of finding a norm—which, I may add, remained an individual affair till the end. If one asked for whom censorship was designed, i.e., what type/strata/IQ or cultural level one should keep in mind when deleting or passing a thing, the answer was, inevitably, ‘the average person’. Who can define the ‘average’ person among us? However, the problem with having written guidelines (though the use of the term was severely discouraged!) is that they have to be applied impartially to all situations good or bad, justifiable or otherwise. If, for instance, you are not supposed to make fun of other nations for fear of hurting their national susceptibilities, you have to delete a lot of good comedy, even if the reference is only a passing one, just as you would have to in a mediocre film with malicious intent. In practice, certain Western nations rarely, if ever, are bothered about snide references to them or their systems; while some other countries are extremely sensitive about such things. They constantly send in objections about films from other countries which show them in an unfavourable light, for us to censor. Where the Indian films was concerned, there were usually representations from different regions—and this was specially so with regard to the double meaning, intentional or otherwise, of some song or the other.
Generally speaking, it seemed to work out that the ideal was the ‘protection’ of the artist’s freedom of expression, while juveniles and the mentally underprivileged were to be shielded from the influence of antisocial ideas which might lead them astray! Unfortunately every film-maker is convinced that he has made a masterpiece, and every juvenile claims that he or she is ‘exceptional’. None of all this was of any help to us in finding a golden mean. Since these things have to be sorted out by the individual, unanimity was almost impossible. This makes our censorship even more subjective and therefore the personal element assumes increased importance in the context of film censorship in India. I learnt fast that many things which appeared theoretically impregnable were not necessarily so in fact! The spectrum of the Indian audience is very wide—from the most highly sophisticated minds to the village idiot. Even with people of the same social and cultural milieu, there are variations in reaction, not to mention among men and women. At what level do we aim? Unconsciously we get into a pattern of aiming at a sort of middle level of intelligence and certainly an urban mind, with an unconscious bias for protecting middle-class values. Inevitably, this is not only a limited but a negative approach. But what is the solution? And how does one maintain a proper balance constantly?
In fact, the major point at issue is still—for whom do we censor?
Unconsciously too, one imposes Indian cultural values even on a foreign film. At one point, for instance, there was a spate of imported films where stepfathers raped or attempted to rape their stepdaughters. Perhaps, in a single-family situation in the West, there was nothing particularly reprehensible about this type of film. In society where the joint family is a commonplace, incestuous relations somehow acquire a different aspect. That might have caused a certain rigour in our attitude towards films depicting cold-blooded rapes that were part of the American cinema of the early sixties that came our way.
With a number of Members to choose from, the method of rotation had obvious drawbacks and certain possible advantages as well. Since the intellectual range of Members was wide, changing combinations made consistency impossible. One of the constant complaints of those who are at the receiving end of our censorship is the lack of consistency. What one lot of Members thought was perfectly all right in yesterday’s film, might be traumatic for today’s Committee. Again, sitting with one group, the individual Member may have one reaction. It is quite possible that sitting with another, certain extraneous elements and arguments might influence their judgement. Where so much depends on the human elements this inconsistency is inevitable. On the other hand, this shuffling of Members makes for a certain elasticity and ensures a broader perspective which is not always a bad thing. The only solution, if consistency is imperative, is the method of the British Board (also suggested by the Khosla Committee Report). This is to have a handful of paid Members, chosen from a limited social and educational spectrum, so as to avoid constant conflict in arriving at decisions. You will certainly get consistency more easily, whatever else is lost in the process.
I do not think that there is any Member of the Advisory Panel, before or now, who, if he or she is being honest, will deny that they do not wholly concur with all that is laid down in the guidelines, even though they are committed to interpreting them to the best of their ability. I am sure that in spite of this, most of us do try our best. But here again, being human, it is inevitable that the bias of each of us will be different—thereby making consistency even more difficult. Going through the Censorship Act for the first time came as a bit of surprise. Now that I was firmly on the side of the ‘narrow-minded censors’, and forced, in a sense, to fall in line with what had so far appeared an easy enough decision, the whole picture changed abruptly. I was now compelled to see the other point of view, and to confirm judgements with which I had never concerned myself formerly. However, I still cannot say with authority how much crime and corruption my feeble efforts have prevented by making certain filmic suggestions unavailable to a wider public!
Nor were Members always in agreement, even after a majority decision was given. I found myself in a dissenting minority on quite a few occasions. But we all managed to work reasonably well together by making a series of judicious compromises. Personally, I hated the violence more, but objections to sexual issues were more easily forthcoming—specially from the male Members! Some of them were positively obsessional about plunging necklines. Off and on, I suspect that some of the women Members, who were not particularly perturbed by this aspect, tended to give in meekly to support the conventional picture of Indian Womanhood!
There were times when there was nothing specifically objectionable in any individual scenes, but the theme as a whole, we felt, demanded adult understanding, and so an ‘A’ was suggested (as the only alternative in our present two-category circumstances). This usually met with grave opposition from the distributors unless, again, there were an adequate number of ‘spicy’ bits left. They cited examples from the past, when ‘A’ certificates had not been given to similar films, and were often quite obstreperous. They found it difficult to accept the fact that each film must be judged on its individual merits. Fortunately, dealing with them was the major headache of the Regional Officer. It was easier with foreign films, because they couldn’t be sent back to be doctored to fit into Indian censorship regulations. The Indian films, however, could always be re-tailored around the corner!
Deletions involve certain formalities for the Regional Officer. For one thing, nothing could be deleted (or reduced) without reference to the section and sub-section of the Act which the offending portion contravened. Further, explicit directions for the exact cut had to be given to the Exhibitors. These were then published in the Government gazettes from Bombay, Calcutta and Madras where films are censored. Sometimes the deletions are couched in language that was more obscene than what it sought to ban. Perhaps it is unfair to quote them out of context but as they make hilarious reading one can be forgiven for doing so. As actions of a dubious nature have to be described, it is inevitable that, however discreetly phrased, they must at times sound more obscene than intended.
A Hindi film, Main Hoon Alladin, had a deletion in Reel III which goes as follows: ‘In a dance sequence, shots of the prominent views of the dancers waving [italics mine] their hips indecorously.’ How, I wonder, does one ‘wave’ one’s hips decorously?
Rose Tattoo had one deletion which read: ‘Alvaro, saying, “He chased my grandmother in a flooded rice field, she slip on a wet rock—here I am!”’ Certainly Alvaro can be faulted on his colourful English—but what was wrong with his merely stating a fact of life?
In a Tamil film, Panam Padaithavan, there is a typical excision demanded. It reads: ‘Reel 6, Cabaret Dance. Delete (a) Close shot of dancer rolling her abdomen in a vulgar fashion; (b) jerking her loins; (c) her stripping the clothes; and (d) her waist dance. Delete the 8 inserts of the half-naked second cabaret dancer.’
Surely it would have been easier and more honest to eliminate the cabaret sequence altogether? In any case, this producer must in the first instance have been an optimistic soul, to create a cabaret sequence which had so many built-in transgressions, or perhaps he was trying to push as far as the limits would allow? However, the description may, for all one knows, be worse than the reality. For instance, I have found this term ‘half-naked’ to be extremely elastic in my years of experience with this sort of thing. It could be anything from a plunging neckline to straightforward nudity—hence I accept this with reservations.
In Kaliyodom, a Malayalam film, ‘the kissing gesture of the bride and bridegroom had to go’. Apparently, even in the bonds of mariage no further sentiment may be expressed other than running round trees or singing; while one is called upon to delete anything that goes against the sanctity of marriage one is not permitted to show anything that encourages this same sanctity! The following dialogue—in italics—from Carpetbaggers may be permitted today, but in 1965 was considered highly reprehensible.
Cord: A man is judged by what’s in his head, not in his bed.
Jonas: You dried-up impotent old man!
In a Telugu film, Devata, in Reel 4: ‘In the dance-song delete the dancer violently tilting her breasts, stretching her legs sideways when the undergarments are seen in silhouette.’ I still can’t help feeling that they had an acrobat in mind and not a dancer!
Other things also engaged the Censor’s attention. In Mondo Cane No. 2 for example, among other assorted cuts ordered were (a) view of boy eating crocodile and (b) shot of women drinking from the urinal. At a later period when urine therapy acquired such august sanction, this second deletion may very well have earned the entire film exemption from entertainment tax! Hercules Against the Barbarians must have been real tough stuff. For ‘Shots of Kubilai torturing the prisoner with a burning torch, also the scene of stabbing of a Mongol woman by Kubilai’, are ordered to be shortened not removed.
On the whole, the reading of the gazette shows that once again it is the obscene transgressions, more than any other factor, which come in for greater attention from the censor—if orders to delete may be taken as an indication.
Occasionally, as I discovered later, there were only small, apparently insignificant bits that were objectionable within the letter of the guidelines. These small cuts sometimes give the impression of a jump in the film. A good Regional Officer attempts to delete without giving the impression of having done so. Some of these cuts were demanded by the fact that we were always haunted by the spectre of the under-eighteens who had ingenious ways of gaining admittance and on whom the effect might be adverse. (In fact, this group was always our nightmare.) A ‘warning’ category, or one which requires the guardians’ decision would have made all the difference. Then the present ‘A’ certificate could push the age of approval upto twenty-one. This, I was repeatedly told, needed an Act of Parliament—and it was just round the corner, for all the years that I was directly concerned with censorship!
Futhermore, the working of the Code is so ambiguous and involved (e.g. ‘illicit sexual relations’—which can be stretched to mean virtually anything) that interpretation becomes even more subjective and personal. But once committed to this job of interpretation, not only did other aspects of social commitment become apparent, but it became difficult to criticize the Censors irresponsibly and lightly.
One factor, however, I must maintain—my reaction to the film was often different while seeing it for censorship purposes, and while viewing it in the conventional cinema house. This, too, one had to do from time to time to ensure whether the deletions suggested by the Board had been carried out or not. Seeing the same film twice in different circumstances provided for me, at least, a sort of personal yardstick as to whether we were being too strict or not. I realized later that the regional cinema is sometimes more strict in its censoring than the Hindi. I often discussed the film with my neighbours in the cinema hall to get their reactions and found that they too had fixed notions of censorship! Furthermore, seeing a film in a rarefied atmosphere has a very different impact on you from seeing it in a public cinema hall. Seeing films censored by other panel groups was also a good way of judging how conventional one’s own standards were. How often did one say to oneself: ‘How did they pass that!’ Though we were usually discouraged from attending Examining Committee Meetings to which we had not been expressly summoned, I still think this should not be the case. In fact, any Panel Member interested enough should be permitted to see others at work also, specially since ‘consistency’ is such a perennial problem.
The screens of miniature theatres and the standard-sized ones also make a difference. For instance, a scene of violence in black and-white, on a small screen, with a select audience, appears far less violent than the same scene on a standard-sized screen. With the electric reaction of a full house, with a wide screen in the normal auditorium showing the film in colour, the same Censor will, I know, react quite differently, for the impact is much stronger and even disturbing.
For instance, there was the magnificent Italian film, The Four Days of Naples, which was given a ‘U’ certificate. Families like the one sitting next to me in one of the posher cinema halls of Bombay, were unware of the content of the film before coming. Assuming from the title that it was a family musical, they turned up in hordes. It turned out to be one of the most violent war films dealing with the Italian outburst against their former German Allies. A ten-year-old boy, in one sequence, escaping from an orphanage, joins the battle in the streets. The little boy next to me wailed and shuddered throughout the film. And what is worse, from the point of view of the terror it created, it was also a true story.
When I asked how this film had been treated with such incredible lenience, I was told that a Member had managed to convince the others that it was a good thing for the young, who take it for granted that freedom was a precious thing to be guarded with one’s life. Whether in fact this explanation was true or fabricated, I have no way of knowing. Theoretically, this was one of those examples where a film might be imperative for adolescents but not for children. And whereas it might have a salutary effect on the former, its effect on the latter was disastrous. The violence of the film would never be conveyed so powerfully on a small screen and one can well understand the good intentions of the persuading Member, if the story is true. And once again one wishes for a third category.
At that time, there was a tendency to be almost ludicrously strict about sex and alleged ‘vulgarity’—the meaning of the term being restricted, in practice, largely to varying degrees of undress. ‘Immorality’ for our Censors was equated solely with sexual aberration! Strangely enough it was the men, as I stated earlier, rather than the women who seemed to have a lynx eye for any possible attempts at censor-cheating on the grounds of exposure. Obviously men and women react to this differently. From my personal experience, I can state ‘exposure’ leaves me totally unmoved, if it is relevant. If not, then it is just as irritating as, say, an irrelevant song, because you feel that the film-maker is trying to cheat you. He is trying to be sensational because he is incapable of being interesting. If women do raise objections to a slightly more-than-normal exposure which is not necessarily ‘vulgar’, it is done, one suspects, more to conform to the standards expected from them, rather than because they suffer from any deep-seated conviction. When one says one is ‘protecting’ adolescents—it is really the male adolescent one has in mind!
The exception to the nudity ban, where totally bare breasts were permitted, was in documentaries about primitive people. This surprising broad-mindedness we had apparently inherited from the British. For, according to John Trevelyan in What the Censor Saw, this had always passed muster there. With us, even a plunging neckline in any other type of imported film about any other social milieu created an uproar in the earlier days of my experience.
In an effort to maintain the spiritual superiority of their womenfolk in the days of the British Raj, European women were shown as paragons of virtue, devoid of any immoral sexual impulses, suffering valiantly in the cause of ‘Empire’ and never in indecorous costumes which might reflect even vaguely on their virtue. The good heroine in the Indian film is likewise shown as fighting and suffering—sometimes unjustifiably—for the family and the upholding of cultural traditions. This is a replacement for the Englishwoman battling for the British Empire. On the other hand, if there was something objectionable to Indian sentiment, it was rarely, if ever, deleted. I recall as a child seeing a totally Imperialist film called The Drum, which even at that time and at that age appeared condescending and irritating. There was a lot of talks about it, but to the best of my knowledge nothing was done about it.
Times and audiences have changed, and so have films. Imperialist attitudes today are considered ludicrous even in our films. Yet, in some ways, we have borrowed the same prejudices in reverse. Anything foreign, we show as being essentially ‘bad’.
Why, one wonders, did we have to import British values and impose them on our audiences, whose approach and outlook are so radically different? Where nudity in real life is commonplace in our villages, or among the poor, why do we have this strange puritanical reaction (which today is being discarded by the West itself)? And why must our womenfolk be so unreal in a world where anything and everything by way of work—even competing with men—is an accepted fact?
Whereas the banning of the kiss is rationalized on the grounds that it is ‘foreign’ to Indian culture, why is nudity or at least partial undress, which is perfectly consonant with our culture (if our sculpture and paintings are any proof), dealt with so harshly?
A vast amount of violence, on the other hand, went virtually untouched in the sixties. Apart from one other Member, I found myself to be the only one who was constantly complaining and protesting at all the ingenious forms of torture and unnecessary violence that plastered our screens during this period.
‘What’s the point of bothering so much about the sex angle?’ I constantly complained, ‘when our girls and boys know the facts of life early enough, what with overcrowding and early maturing … And how long are we going to be so casual about all this senseless violence?’
‘You can always object,’ said the Regional Officer. ‘And I’ll put it on record.’
‘Will any purpose be served? Won’t it be better to try and persuade the Member to see my point of view?’
‘Can’t say,’ was the reply. ‘Once in a way they may listen. But if you overdo it, they might think you’re a crank! One never knows!’
With this I had to be content.
Extracted from You Can’t Please Everyone!: Film Censorship—The Inside Story.