It wasn’t too long back that I harbored the ambition of following the footsteps of WKW or Satyajit Ray only to be stopped by the hunger of the stomach and the influx of cerebral matter. Which brings us to the question that has haunted me from the time I first though I could go behind the lens; what is Cinema? Is it the slow yet captivating story that makes you weal up in the eyes until it crescendos in the cavalcade of salty tears that trickle down your cheeks as the credits roll? Is it the awe of a silence when an audience cannot react to a visual stimulus as that stimulus is so captivating that the rest of his senses abandon him? Is it the silent red that pops up above their heads when they dream of running in slow-motion or dance in the rain with the umbrella they were carrying having been blown away by the gust of wind that threatened to take the saree with it, but he intervened to lead to another eye stopping moment when everything around them seem to be moving slowly? What is Cinema?
The answer, in my small opinion, is that and a lot more. Cinema is expression. It lends you the movement of a stage and the brilliance of a million still photographs all rolling past one another to make poetry on screen. Cinema is an extrapolation of art; the summit of the cycloid of the sphere that rolls which is life? At this point I shall mouth certain obscenities that are synonymous to a cow’s fecal matter. Cinema is just a point of view. You may love it, hate it, sully it, ignore it, spit on it, yet it exists, in spite of you and your views.
Next time you go to watch a movie, whether it be the canvas painted by Aamir as he did in Taare Zameen Par or the absolute farce that is Mike Myer’s escapades or for that matter Shah Rukh Khan’s six pack abs in Om Shanti Om; sit back and enjoy it. Love it, hate it, sully it, ignore it, spit on it, but enjoy it because even the worst film maker is better than you. He made a movie. What the fuck did you do?
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