Celebrating India's Art Cinema

By Carla Mozee

Swati Argade has worked hard.

A few months ago, the U.C. Berkeley graduate student banged out a four-page list of 100 movies and faxed it to film distributors across the country. As the curator of a fall 2000 film festival on the campus, she waged a fast and furious search for movies made in India.

"Let me know which films you have and star the ones with subtitles," Argade asked the film distributors.

"I would say about 75 percent of the films, nobody had," she said.

But her persistence paid off. She finally managed to track down six groundbreaking Indian films to feature at the festival, titled "Counter Cinema: Recollection, Realism and Reform in Indian Filmmaking."

The films attracted people who understand Hindi and Bengali, but Argade said the festival was also aimed at consumers of both American and Indian mainstream box-office movies, who may be unfamiliar with Indian art-house fare.

All but one of the films were made at the start of the New Indian Cinema movement in the late 1960s. The genre was launched by the Indian government, which began issuing low-interest loans to independent filmmakers.

It was the government's way of creating a new source of revenue and helping filmmakers try to make a name for themselves beyond the country's huge commercial-film industry.

Argade said she wanted to show films from the New Indian Cinema Movement because, unlike many commercially successful films in India before them, they addressed economic conflict and challenge social traditions.

For instance, "Swami" by director Basu Chatterjee is the tale of a young, educated woman who struggles in an arranged marriage that she unsuccessfully tried to avoid.

"Aakrosh" (Cry of the Wounded) is the story of a lawyer who defends a tribal elder accused by politicians of killing his wife. The film is based on an actual incident that occurred in Bombay.

Like many festivals that aim to showcase the best examples of Indian cinema, the Berkeley series also includes a film by the highly acclaimed director, Satyajit Ray.

Ray's film "Ashani Sanket" (Distant Thunder) tackles a painful period in India's history. An adaptation of a novel that traces events leading to the devastating Bengali famine of 1943, "Distant Thunder" centers on a Brahmin couple during World War II. As the Indian government diverts rice to feed its military forces, the couple finds itself trying to find a balance between self-preservation and sharing resources with neighbors, some of whom turn to violence to cope with their grave hunger.

Jason Sanders, film archive associate at the Pacific Film Archive in Berkeley, said Ray's films remain popular with art-house film fans because they appeal to the intellect. Sanders said the same qualities drew people to Ray's work in the 1950s and 1960s, when he first gained worldwide recognition.

"[Art-house movie fans] were looking for films that challenged the audience. [Ray's films] look at problems like the poor, and the rest of the world wanted to see images like that. So he was able to seize the moment," said Sanders.

Some of the films in the Berkeley festival mark chronological milestones within India's film industry.

"Bhuvan Shome," a 1969 comedy about a bureaucrat forced to ditch his big-city sensibilities while on a trip to a rural village, is considered the first film in the New Indian Cinema Movement.

Other films in the Berkeley series are the directorial debuts of some of India's most acclaimed artists, including Shyam Benegal ("The Seedling"), and Aperna Sen ("36 Chowringhee Lane").

For some, the films provide an exotic glimpse into another culture. Emy Peterson, a 20-year Berkeley resident, treked to the campus every week to watch an Indian film.

"[The films] are marvelous. They're just fantastic, with exotic scenes you can't see anywhere else in the world," said Peterson. "The stories are good, and you see how people act in a different culture. It's an education."

For others, the films brought a sense of personal connection.

"Being South Asian, it's really an important piece of my heritage," said Indra Mungal, a KQED-TV employee living in San Francisco. "It's another piece of my culture."