“Why did I ever love?”

I recently saw my first Bollywood movie, and let me tell you it was an experience. I had heard that it would be a fun experience, and I thought I had a good idea of what I was in for, but I totally underestimated what a ridiculous ritual going to the movies in India can be.

First of all, the movies are popular in India. Really popular. So popular that even though I saw Maine Pyar Kyun Kiya two weeks after it opened, my friend and I had to buy tickets from a scalper–at 50 cents each instead of the usual 30. Then we squeezed into our seats in the balcony (the preferred place to sit in India) and waited for the nearly three hour (this is on the short side for Bollywood) epic to begin.

First thing: all Indians are deaf. Having lived with the constant blare of horns in the streets for a month, I should have known this. But seriously, I though American theatres were loud, but this was grating even from the back of the theater. Not to mention the noise of people hooting and hollering, cat calling, singing along during musical numbers, etc. Of course, given the utter ridiculousness of the story presentation–think Jim Carrey-style humor with a blockbuster budget and music videos at random moments–it wouldn’t be right any other way.

When I say music videos, I do mean that. Literally. The musical segments of movies are played on TV constantly, and they’re always the most popular songs. They’re badly lip-synched (the singers are not the actors) bubbly Indian dance-pop that’s completely over the top. They invariably involve troops of dancers showing up at random times, an oddly large number of which are blonde white girls. If pressed, I would describe the choreograhy as something of a cross between boy-band glamour and something someone’s little sister would come up with (apparently they don’t hire Bollywood actors for their dance background either). The scenes and costumes cut away for no apparent reason, making them seem completely out of sync with the rest of the movie. Of course, given that a sizeable chunk of the audience is in hysterics at this point, no one really minds such use of artistic license.

Then there’s intermission. With the notable exception of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, movies in the U.S. don’t have them. But in India, people need a few minutes to unglue themselves and hit up the snack stand. By which I mean, be crushed in the mad rush to the snack stand. Unlike the “we’re trying and failing to imitate American cinema culture abroad” theatres I’ve been to in other places, the theatres in India unabashedly serve Indian food, including all manner of masala-fied fried snacks, stacked in a pile on the counter, and soda served in glass bottles out of a crate. I had a mango soda and some masala potato chips.

Then back to the action. I’m not actually gonna try to explain the plot to you, as it’s lengthy and beyond contrived and I think there might be a few gaps where I didn’t know what they were saying in Hindi. But between the multiple attempted suicides, the fake marriage, the fake divorce, the arranged marriage, the real divorce, the marriage that’s stopped at the altar (apparently they switched religions between marriages as well), the epiphany of true love… you get the idea. Puts Hugh Grant to shame.

Two thumbs up. Maybe it won’t hold the same excitement in another setting, but as cultural experiences go, this one’s not to be missed.

Posted on August 4th, 2005 by Lee
Tagged: India