There is an interesting article in this week's TFT. Even though it is about the history of Paki cinema, it has a subtext which I found very illuminating. I am posting the entire article, and have bolded the parts I found interesting.
Chronicle of a death foretold
The gate of the iconic Evernew Studio once extended all the way to the Multan Road. That gate was recently demolished when the road was renovated. The entrance to the studio is most of the time unmanned, allowing any person to enter and roam around. At the center of the courtyard is a fountain, which doesn't run any more. The entire area around it is decorated with bright flowers and the buildings are painted colorfully. However, behind the facade the offices are in a dilapidated state. The paint has weathered. Empty bottles of Pakistani vodka are found lying in corners. One can smell the smoke of hash from the offices. This is an exclusive all-men domain: they are sitting out in the open, on their plastic chairs, among the flowers, smoking away the evenings. Women are present too, but only on film posters, which have been put up on the walls of the different film production offices. Some of them are posing erotically, wriggling on the floor, while others are covered in blood and brandishing Kalashnikov. Wehshi Haseena says one of the posters.
"There was once a time when people had to use high contacts to get permission to come to the studios and watch shootings. Families would come. They were entertained with tea and biscuits, after which they were taken to the floors and shown only one scene. They were then requested to leave. Senior bureaucrats and politicians would request to come," says the 66 year-old Altaf Hussain, a famous film director, smoking More cigarettes on a verandah at the Evernew Studio, where he comes every day.
Hussain, a religious man, left his home in Multan and came to Lahore to join the film industry in the early 60s. His family was conservative and considered performing arts to be an unacceptable profession for their son. A lot of people in Pakistan still consider professions like music, acting, etc. the domain of certain castes, commonly lumped into the category of 'mirasi', a low caste in the social hierarchy. Another caste associated with the dance and performing arts is that of the kanjar, from whom the courtesans of North India traditionally come. A lot of women singers and actresses in the Indian and Pakistani film industries have their roots in this particular caste.
"All the producers, directors, studio owners were Hindus, who left for India [at partition]"
After leaving his family Hussain started working for a film magazine, which was his way of getting into the industry. Eventually he came under the tutelage Anwar Kamal Pasha, the famous film director from the 50s and the 60s known for his movies Do Ansoo (1950), Anarkali (1958) and Watan (1960). Hussain initially wanted to become an actor, but Pasha recommended that he train as a director. There were no formal film institutions available at that time and onset learning was the only option. Hussain, like many other future directors, cameramen and artistes, became his student. In his film career, spanning over 4 decades, he has directed 87 movies and has had numerous successful ones, including Sala Saab (1981), Dhee Raani (1985) and Mehndi (1985).
Punjabi classics of the later decades include Wehshi Jutt, Bashira and Maula Jutt, all of which have Sultan Rahi as a revenge-driven masculine hero, always armed with a weapon and fighting several villains at once
Evernew Studio was established in 1956, only 9 years after the creation of Pakistan, on the Multan Road, then far away from the hubbub of the city. Now it finds itself in the center of an ever-expanding metropolis. Next to it is the famous Shahnoor Studio, which derives its name from those of Syed Shaukat Hussain Rizvi and Madam Noor Jehan, the once-married couple who were also the biggest pioneers of the Pakistani film industry. Before the Evernew, this was the most famous studio in Lahore. Now most of the studio is dysfunctional, its premises serving as warehouses to different industries. Only a fraction of it is still open for shooting.
Bengali lumaries of Pakistani film industry
"Lahore, along with Bombay and Calcutta, has been the center of the Indian film industry," says Usman Peerzada. He is a film producer, director and actor. His father, Rafi Peer, was the pioneer of the theatre in India. After the partition Peer decided to move to Pakistan. "The condition of the Pakistani film studios at that time was horrible. All the producers, directors, studio owners were Hindus, who left for India. There were Muslims involved with the industry, but at lower posts. They took over the studios and started running them without any expertise. For some time the industry survived but it eventually collapsed because the studio owners, who had no prior relationship with the cinema, started selling off the technology," explains Peerzada. He also elaborates on how the government, unlike that of India, has never taken the role of cinema and its industry seriously. He believes that the attitude of considering all performing arts to be reserved for mirasis and kanjars was also prevalent among government representatives, which translated into a lack of interest, in fact a scorn towards the industry and its practitioners.
But it is also true that the Pakistani film industry was able to stand on its feet after the partition. While there was a 'brain drain' from this side of the border, there were also an inflow of highly skilled Muslim practitioners from India, with years of experience behind them, explains Aslam Dar, another famous Pakistani film director known for Bashira (1972) and Dil Lagi (1974). These migrants included Shaukat Hussain Rizvi, Ashfaq Ahmed, Santosh Kumar, Darpan and many more. Given their experience in the Bombay and Calcutta film industries, they helped lay the foundations of the Pakistani film industry.
In a style reminiscent of the 'golden era' of the film industry of the 60s and 70s, Dar still runs his production house from Royal Park, Laxmi Chowk. Ever since partition this location has been the center of the film industry in the city. All major production houses and distribution offices were found here. In the evenings, the industry's major players could be found here.
Even today the area retains some of its charm from that era. Numerous production houses run from here. Most of the buildings are covered with film billboards. But the themes in most of them remain the same: violence, bloodshed, gun-touting heroes and scantily dressed chubby women in sensual poses, the film titles dominated by the notorious but upwardly mobile caste of Gujjar.
By the 50s, the Pakistani film industry was able to lift itself out of the shock of partition. These were the years when legends such as Anwar Kamaal Pasha, Santosh Kumar, Noor Jehan and Sabiha Khanum were actively involved and were able to make the industry lucrative. A rapid increase in the number of films produced also led to an increase in the demands of the cinemas. Just around the Laxmi Chowk there were several dozen cinemas. One reason for the success of the movies was the focus on social and familial issues, something that continued into the 60s, when the industry was dominated by actors like Mohammad Ali, Waheed Murad and Nadeem, and movies like Andalib, Devar Bhabhi and Chakori reigned supreme. The movies were also rich in melodious songs, with artistes like Noor Jehan, Mehdi Hassan and Runa Laila doing the playback singing.
"The studio was a beautiful place to visit at that time," says Bahar Begum, a film actress from the 50s and 60s. After taking a break from the industry for about a decade, she returned in the 70s and then continued working till 2003. (She received a lifetime achievement award in 2002 from the Nigar Awards for her services to film.) "There was a sophistication of language, manners, and voice at that time. There was so much to learn here. One didn't feel like leaving once one entered," she adds.
Hussain adds: "In the evening one could see Santosh Kumar, Sabiha Bhabhi and other legends sitting outside of their offices here. That atmosphere and those people are gone and now we have these new producers, who look more like criminals, with their gunmen and their Kalashnikovs. Instead of an atmosphere of sophistication there is a climate of fear because of these people. We were competing with our Indian counterparts at that time. There was a time during the 70s when we were making as many as 170 movies a year. Now we only make 10-15 movies."
Talking about the financial aspect of the film industry, Dar says that the budget for Pakistani movies was always a fraction of Indian movies. He says that Indian actors at their peak during the 50s and 60s would take about 4-5 lakh rupees, whereas in Pakistan even Santosh Kumar would work for Rs 50,000. Because of their low cost, Pakistani movies were also cheaper for international buyers, in England primarily, where because of the South Asian expatriates there is a high demand for Hindi-Urdu movies. "Slowly they started preferring Pakistani movies over Indian ones, as the rewards for a successful Pakistani movie were much more."
The 50s were also a time when Indian movies were being played in Pakistani cinemas and vice-versa. Things took a turn for the worse when in 1954 a Pakistani film meant to be played in India was not played there because of the outcry of the Indian film industry. In response, the fraternity of Pakistani producers, directors and actors also formed an alliance to ban Indian movies in Pakistani cinemas. This movement came to be known as the Jaal agitation (Jaal was the name of the Indian movie being opposed here). Due to pressure this lobby was successful in banning Indian movies from Pakistani cinemas.
Energized by a patriotic rhetoric, the Pakistani film industry played an important role in disseminating nationalistic sentiments in the subsequent years. The patriotic fervor reached its zenith during the war of 1965 between India-Pakistan. Noor Jehan's songs became a rallying cry for the entire nation.
However, this was not the case during the war of 1971, which led to the creation of Bangladesh. Perhaps this can be explained at least partly by the heavy presence of Bengalis in the Pakistani film industry; Runa Laila, Robin Ghosh and Shabnum are a few of those Bengali luminaries. Urdu movies were popular in Dhaka, which contained the largest film-consuming population in Pakistan. The movie Chakori, released in 1966, which launched future superstar Nadeem, a West Pakistani, was shot and produced in East Pakistan. Most of the characters in the movie are also East Pakistanis.
"We would meet our Bengali friends at the studios, and we would sympathize with them, denouncing the highhandedness of the army, but no filmmaker or writer ever dared oppose it through film," says Hussain. Even so many years after 1971, Pakistani filmmakers have tended to shy away from the sensitive topic of the war. Pakistan lost some of its most talented artists, and its biggest market, after the fall of Dhaka.
"The war of 1971 is the defining moment for the Pakistani film industry, whose downfall began then," says Samina Peerzada, the wife of Usman Peerzada and another famous actor, director and producer. "The Bengalis are much more attuned to their cultural sensibility, which means that they appreciate and encourage cultural expressions like dance, music, singing and acting. In addition to this, caste stratification, because of which performing artistes are looked down upon here in Punjab, now the biggest market of the film industry, doesn't exist in East Pakistan. The artistes there weren't looked down upon and neither the industry. Since East Pakistan was the largest consumer, filmmakers from West Pakistan would cater to their sensibilities," says Samina Peerzada. She also feels that the massacre of fellow Pakistanis at the hands of the Pakistani army was something that West Pakistani artistes failed to deal with. This has permanently scarred the psychology of the country, according to her. She even attributes the violence that crept into the movies of the 80s to the state-sponsored violence of 1971.
"This change didn't happen over a year. It took many years to make. For a decade at least, the film industry suffered from that hangover, during which it still hung onto its Bengali sensibilities and sophistication," she adds. This change in the style and genre of the movies is identifiable when comparing Pakistani movies from different decades. In the 1950s a Punjabi classic movie was Heer-Ranjha, based on the folk story of Punjab. The movie was remarkable for its music, dresses, and soft use of the Punjabi language. The success of the movie can also be attributed to the tapping of Punjabi culture, which like its Bengali counterpart is rich in history and cultural sophistication. In contrast to this folk story, the Punjabi classics of the later decades include Wehshi Jutt, Bashira and Maula Jutt, all of which have Sultan Rahi as a revenge-driven masculine hero, always armed with a weapon and fighting several villains at once. The language of Pakistani films changed too; by the 70s and 80s the dialogues were audibly louder and coarser. "When I returned to the industry in the 70s, it had changed," says Bahar Begum. "The tone of Punjabi cinema had become louder. It took me some time to adjust."
Usman Peerzada recalls that during his college days in the 70s there was a vibrant middle-class culture of going to cinemas. Well-to-do men along with their women and children would flock to the cinema to see a new movie. In Lahore there were premium cinemas like the Regal, Moonlight and Prince near the Laxmi Chowk, which also played classic Hollywood movies that were seen by locals in large numbers. He remembers how there were a number of American and foreign movie companies working in Pakistan. "All of them wrapped up their businesses after the nationalization of the Bhutto era in the 70s," says Peerzada. Coming to power with his populist socialist slogan in 1971, Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto over the next few years nationalized the major industries, schools and colleges of the country. This was a severe blow to the economy of the country, and the film industry also suffered its toll. Bhutto's nationalization program, according to Usman Peerzada, is one of the major reasons behind the downfall of the film industry in Pakistan. But he also adds: "The only government to have considered cinema as a higher art form is the Bhutto government." During the Bhutto years a central government authority by the name of NAFTAC was established for the promotion of Pakistani cinema. Whereas most film people believe that this was a positive step, they can't deny its bureaucratic fallout. "First of all it became much more difficult for movie makers to make movies," says Usman Peerzada. "Earlier all the equipments required to make a movie were available in the market, now it could only be purchased through this organization. This acted as a hurdle." He also laments how, when foreign movie companies such as MGM left the country, cinema goers and movie makers lost access to high quality foreign cinema. Instead NAFTAC, which was responsible for approving foreign films, started approving "Kung-Fu type" movies from the markets of Hong Kong. These were cheaper to purchase and hence served as quick money-making opportunities for cinema owners. Peerzada believes that a lot of violence that later seeped into the Pakistani film industry is because of its exposure to these "Kung-Fu type" movies, which lacked an artistic cinematic value.
Hussain believes that there has always been a conspiracy to destroy Pakistani cinema. He believes that the formation of NAFTAC, even though it was for the ostensibly good purpose of supporting and promoting cinema, destroyed the local industry because of all the red tape.
And he cites another reason for the death of Pakistan's film industry: "The Hindus can never do any good for us [i.e. Muslims]." He explains how when Pakistani cinema had managed to stand on its own feet after the setback of the partition of 1947, Indian movie makers conspired with a few Pakistani counterparts to bring the film industry down. "There were many people from this side who started working with the Indians. At the forefront was J.C. Anand, the owner of Everready Studio. He was a Hindu who stayed back after partition." Dar describes how Pakistani filmmakers from here would go to Kabul to get prints of famous regional Indian movies, get them translated into Urdu or Punjabi and then make a movie in their own language out of them. Since usually they would be regional movies, and not Hindi ones, Pakistani audiences never suspected them of plagiarism. The first movie that was copied in this way was Naukar (1955), according to Dar. "However, eventually when VCRs became popular, people learned that the movies were being copied from India, and that brought a bad repute to Pakistani filmmakers. Once you start copying Indian movies, you don't need a script writer. Then if you copy their songs too, you also render the music director useless. Eventually whole sets, costumes and everything was being copied so all the professionals became useless." This led to the unemployment - and eventual death - of the film professional.
For the last 5-6 years Indian movies have been regularly released in Pakistan. This, Pakistani filmmakers feel, is because of the lenient policies of the government. The local cinema owners feel that Indian movies perform much better than their Pakistani counterparts, drawing in better revenues for them. The screening of Indian movies has in a small way revived the culture of cinema-going that had pretty much died by the 90s. Many cinemas have closed down. The production of local movies has also decreased immensely. But ever since local cinemas started showing Indian movies, there has been a surge in the demand for cinemas. New cinemas have emerged in Lahore, Islamabad and Karachi, some of them providing facilities at par with international cinemas.
Local filmmakers like Hussain and Dar are skeptical of this revival. They believe that the screening of Indian movies in Pakistan is detrimental to the local industry, part of the larger conspiracy, and tantamount to treason. For the past many years they along with various other important members of the film fraternity, like well-known director Syed Noor, are trying to ban the screening of Indian movies again. At the moment they are failing, because film distributors and cinema owners, who are making money from the screening of Indian films, are prevailing.
Another reason given for the deterioration of cinema culture in Pakistan, shared by all the film professionals interviewed for this article, is the "vulgar" imagery that arose during the late 80s and then reached new levels during the 90s.
In 1979, General Zia-ul-Haq overthrew the democratic government of Z.A. Bhutto and came to power. For the next decade he led an all-encompassing movement to Islamize the country, more in line with his ideological strand of Wahabi Islam, which was partly financed by Saudi money. The film industry was not spared these changes; performing arts like dancing, singing and music, already demeaned by caste, were now termed un-Islamic. The censor board, which had earlier hardly interfered with the artistic creation of movies, became much more moralistic in its interventions, a trend that still continues.
"Some of the laws passed during that time defeat common sense," mocks Usman Peerzada. "For example it was forbidden to show a woman wearing red on screen. A girl and boy could never be shown alone in a room, even if it were husband and wife," he adds. He explains how different filmmakers had to work around these laws to make movies, which naturally took its toll. The only solution to government interference was bribery, explains Peerzada.
The "vulgar" element, which predictably centered itself on the bodies of women actors, reached its zenith during the 90s. "Families stopped coming to cinemas during this era," explains Hussain, who during his career has focused on stories revolving around female characters. "Everybody started following the current and it got out of hand." This trend also attracted a lot of "unprofessional" people into the industry, who didn't view the industry as an art, according to Hussain. "People started coming with their particular agendas and started making movies around that," he adds. Most of these men came from criminal backgrounds, and that got reflected in the kind of movies they were producing. They had the money to sponsor the project but new ideas. He gives the example here of producers requesting script writers to write movies around their ancestors, who were often small-scale criminals in need of glory.
Zulfiqar Attre, the famous film music director, who composed the music of the famous movie Chooriyan (1998), which had super-hit songs, including Laiyan laiyan mein tere naal dholna, also sits in Altaf Hussain's office at Evernew Studios. He joined the industry in the 70s through his uncle Rashid Attre, a well-respected music composer. He recalls that in the early days the director would tell him the situation and location of the songs, and then the music director was free to do whatever he wanted. But that doesn't seem to be the case now. These new breed of producers, Attre says, who have no experience in filmmaking, force their way into all the creative processes, which drags down the overall quality of the work. He says there is no respect for their jobs anymore. The new producer feels he is Mr Know-It-All.
"Once," recalls film critic Azhar Javed, "a producer slapped the famous film actress Anjuman on the set of a movie."
And the now-retired Bahar Begum says: "By 2003 I realized that I could no longer work in the industry without compromising on my dignity. If the environment improves, I will go back today."
