Bollywood in Britain: Cinema, Brand, Discursive Complex 9781501307614, 9781501307607, 9781501307584

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Bollywood in Britain

Bollywood in Britain Cinema, Brand, Discursive Complex Lucia Krämer

Bloomsbury Academic An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Inc

Bloomsbury Academic An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Inc 1385 Broadway New York NY 10018 USA

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www.bloomsbury.com BLOOMSBURY and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published 2016 Paperback edition first published 2017 © Lucia Krämer, 2016 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. No responsibility for loss caused to any individual or organization acting on or refraining from action as a result of the material in this publication can be accepted by Bloomsbury or the author. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Krämer, Lucia, 1973- author. Title: Bollywood in Britain : cinema, brand, discursive complex / Lucia Krämer. Description: New York : Bloomsbury Academic, 2016. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2015039495 (print) | LCCN 2015042261 (ebook) | ISBN 9781501307614 (hardback) | ISBN 9781501307591 (epub) | ISBN 9781501307584 (epdf) Subjects: LCSH: Motion picture industry–Great Britain. | Motion pictures, Hindi–Great Britain. | Motion pictures, Hindi–Influence. | Motion picture industry–Social aspects–Great Britain. | BISAC: PERFORMING ARTS / Film & Video / History & Criticism. Classification: LCC PN1993.5.G7 K73 2016 (print) | LCC PN1993.5.G7 (ebook) | DDC 791.430941–dc23 LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015039495 ISBN: HB: PB: ePub: ePDF:

978-1-5013-0761-4 978-1-5013-3854-0 978-1-5013-0759-1 978-1-5013-0758-4

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Contents Acknowledgements

vi

1 2 3 4 5 6

1

Introduction What Is Bollywood? Popular Indian Cinema in Britain – Facts and Figures Britain and Indian Diaspora Films – Questions of Nostalgia Beyond Films – The Development of the Bollywood Brand The (Trans)difference of Bollywood – British Asians through the Lens of ‘Bollywood Star’ 7 Representations of the Hindi Film Industry in British First-Hand Reports 8 The Changing Image of Bollywood in British Film Reviews 9 Bollywood Adaptations 10 Conclusion Notes Filmography Bibliography Index

15 29 49 97 123 139 161 187 227 233 254 258 277

Acknowledgements This book feels like a Bollywood happy ending to a journey that lasted several years and that like any proper masala film was a roller-coaster ride of happiness and sorrow, harmony and obstacles. It could not have been written without the help of many colleagues who have supported me during this time. The most important person in this respect, to whom I owe greatest thanks, has been Prof. Dr. Rainer Emig, whose professional support throughout my career has been unstinting and invaluable. With his unusual open-mindedness he encouraged me to pursue this project at a time when Bollywood was an even more exotic and dubious subject among German British Studies scholars than it is today. He also commented in detail on different drafts of the text and very generously shared his ideas with me. Prof. Dr. Jana Gohrisch and Prof. Dr. Dirk Wiemann also kindly gave their time to read an earlier draft and offered suggestions, which I have gladly incorporated in the text. Dr. Maria Marcsek-Fuchs, Dr. Ellen Grünkemeier, Dr. Peter Bennett, Dr. Wolfgang Funk, Johanna Marquardt and Dr. Henning Marquardt gave me valuable comments on individual aspects of the project, which all helped make my work better. Moreover, I would like to thank Prof. Dr. Rüdiger Heinze for some extremely inspiring conversations and discussions during my time as Substitute Professor at Brunswick University. Even though they were usually not expressly about this study, they have nonetheless influenced it immensely. This book has seen the light of day because Katie Gallof at Bloomsbury Academic decided it would be a good idea. I’m extremely grateful to her for her interest in publishing my work. I also want to thank Mary Al-Sayed for her always prompt and efficient help with editorial questions and the entire team at Bloomsbury who worked on the book. Moreover, acknowledgement is due to the referees who kindly read and commented on the work during the reviewing process, most especially the anonymous reviewer of the manuscript. Amanda Whittington, who very generously provided me with the unpublished manuscripts of her play Bollywood Jane, also has my deepest thanks. Especially the survey for this study could not have been realized without the generous help and support of many people. Besides the respondents, I would

Acknowledgements

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like to thank especially Prof. Imelda Whelehan, who made it possible for me to profit from facilities at De Montfort University Leicester in order to collect the responses to my questionnaires. For helping me organize the survey and allowing me to approach cinema patrons with questions, I want to thank Karan from Himalaya Palace Cinema in Southall; Sean Mahabir and the staff at Odeon Greenwich; Steve Petersen, Paul Marshall, Darren Christian and the staff at Cineworld Bradford; Becca Gibson at Vue; Dave Adamson, Adelle Harris and the staff at Vue Leicester; and Jai for her efficiency and the kindness of allowing me to do the survey at Vue Birmingham Star City on a weekend. I’m also deeply grateful to Gennaro Castaldo, head of press and PR at HMV, and the staff at the HMV Birmingham High Street and Leicester stores for allowing me into their shops with my questionnaires. The librarians at the BFI Library (at both the old and new premises) helped the preparation of this book with their expertise more than they probably suspect, and the efficient and accommodating BFI viewing service was, as always, a pleasure to experience. Luckily, my friends kept me from becoming a recluse while I was working on this book, but at the same time always respected how important the project was to me. So thank you, Ellen, Maria, Tini, Nicole and Karin for the personal and emotional warmth you’ve always offered me and for putting up with my workaholic tendencies. Thank you, Peter, for your calm and your excellent nerves. And thank you, Dlawar, for the love and support you’re giving me. My family has been my bed-rock throughout the years I’ve been working on this project. More than anyone I therefore thank my sisters, Maria and Michaela, and my mother for always supporting me.

1

Introduction

Bollywood appears like one of the most obvious examples and success stories of media globalization. Even though the production of the films that are the core of the Bollywood phenomenon is firmly based on the Indian subcontinent, their distribution and reception have been thoroughly international for many decades. References to Raj Kapoor’s popularity in the USSR have become almost a topos in introductions to Hindi cinema to drive home this point. Since then, Indian mainstream cinema has expanded its reach across the globe along with the growing Indian diaspora and the spread of satellite television and the internet. In an ever-growing corpus of books about Bollywood and globalization, scholars have therefore examined the presence and reception of Indian mainstream cinema in countries from Nigeria to Indonesia, Canada to Senegal, Bangladesh to Germany, Australia to the United States, South Africa to Guyana and, of course, in one of Bollywood cinema’s most important overseas markets, the UK (see e.g. Kaur and Sinha 2005a; Schaefer and Karan 2013; Roy 2012). Even though Bollywood’s presence in South America and in the countries of North Africa and the Middle East has so far been underexplored, readers of introductions to Bollywood will nonetheless learn that in these geo-cultural spheres Bollywood is appreciated as an important alternative to Hollywood’s morals, values, storytelling styles and implications of cultural imperialism. The overseas markets for the popular Hindi cinema thus extend to all continents. Moreover, Bollywood-related content on the internet proliferates and testifies to the presence of an international online fraternity actively engaged in shaping a global ‘Bollyweb’ (see Mitra 2008). It really does seem like a perfect case of media globalization. Yet media globalization is a highly contested concept. The theories of those who subscribe to the idea differ significantly as to what the outcome of the process will be. The assumption that media globalization is really cultural imperialism and that it will lead to one homogeneous world culture thus

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Bollywood in Britain

clashes with (and has been largely superseded by) diversity theories that call attention to how cultural differences influence the reception of texts and to producer strategies of localizing media content. Moreover, the very notion of media globalization has been questioned. Hafez, for example, calls it a myth1 because of the lasting importance of local, regional and national dimensions in the development, politics and uses of media. Cultural and linguistic differences affect the translocation of media products more strongly than the transmission of goods in other economic sectors. For Hafez the media world therefore seems split into geo-linguistic spheres between which, he claims, there is not more but increasingly less exchange (2005: 11, 13). Hence, what is commonly termed the globalization of the media can, as Hafez suggests, be regarded more profitably as (g)localization and regionalization2 or conceived in terms of transnational and geo-cultural flows (see Thussu 2007), where national frameworks retain the strongest influence on the production, dissemination and reception of media texts. In this vein, Shavit claims that ‘[i]n terms of media consumption, it is not a global village that has been created by satellites and the internet, but rather many contesting national villages which operate on a global scale’ (2009: 50, emphasis in original). Despite its transnational dissemination, the case of Indian mainstream cinema is indeed a healthy reminder of the persistence of these national frameworks. Even a very basic comparison between Germany and the UK shows, for example, that despite their relative geographical proximity, the reception of Bollywood in both countries since the turn of the millennium has been fundamentally different. The fact that Hindi films became domestically available in Germany on DVD, TV and (with less success) in cinemas in 2004, introduced Indian mainstream cinema as a truly new and upcoming cultural phenomenon there.3 When Bollywood got more exposure in British media in the wake of the so-called Indian summer of 2002, in contrast, this merely expressed growing awareness of a phenomenon that had been continuously present for decades in the cultural life of Britain’s sizeable Asian communities.4 This study examines several questions raised by this ‘discovery’ of Bollywood by Britain’s majority culture, most importantly the question of how Bollywood was mediated and adapted for fields beyond its traditional British (Asian) cultural sphere. The book provides information about the production, the dissemination and especially the consumption of Indian popular cinema in Britain, but the term ‘Bollywood’ does not only refer to the Bombay film industry or to popular Hindi movies.

Introduction

3

Bollywood transcends the realm of film, as Rajadhyaksha has argued in his analysis of the ‘Bollywoodization’ of Indian cinema (2003). Any investigation of Bollywood in Britain must therefore cast its net wider and explore forms of productive reception the films have undergone. Apart from asking the questions of who actually consumes Bollywood, how and why, this study is therefore especially interested in the different constructions of Bollywood in Britain and the changes the concept undergoes when the travelling goods that are Indian mainstream films are locally consumed and adapted for British texts and contexts. It would of course be impossible to chart all these different versions of Bollywood, but this study presents and examines the pre-eminent discursive configurations that shape the construction of Bollywood in Britain, especially outside the niche of British Asian media. Still, Bollywood is more than a discursive phenomenon. It is also a trigger of cultural and social practices and hence a performative category. Bollywood can be regarded as a cultural marker that refers beyond itself. It is a means for individuals and even social groups to establish cultural affiliations, and its different constructions refer to different social spheres, groups and milieus. In this sense, Bollywood can also always be regarded as (at least implicitly) inherently political, and some of the criticism on Bollywood has indeed approached its subject predominantly in this way. Because of the generally ‘Hollywoodcentric’ nature of Film Studies (Shohat & Stam 2003: 2) and because of widespread condescension towards the audiences of Hindi films, which went hand in hand with the pejorative evaluation of this cinema as escapist mass entertainment (Dudrah 2006: 28), Indian popular cinema was, for a very long time, critically neglected. In the past fifteen to twenty years, however, there has been an impressive proliferation of academic work about Indian cinema in general and about mainstream Hindi films in particular.5 As Dudrah has pointed out, several of these works are concerned with the role of Indian mainstream cinema as ideological apparatus (e.g. Kazmi 1999; Prasad 1998) and explore its role in the formation of a national consciousness while also investigating strategies of representing central issues like religion, caste and gender. Several texts lay particular emphasis on the audience’s identification processes and the aesthetic and narrative strategies on which these processes are based. These studies combine discourse analysis with textual and contextual analysis and with questions about audience pleasure, and they often emphasize the political and symbolic functions of Hindi cinema in relation to government and state policies (Dudrah 2006: 26).6

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Bollywood in Britain

Although the status of Indian cinema in Western Film Studies is still relatively marginal, the growing presence of Bollywood in the mainstream has been mirrored in the academy and the higher education book market. Many of the new books published in the West since the beginning of this Bollywood boom have been designed as introductions and inform readers about key films and stars of the Hindi cinema, the salient stylistic and ideological features of Indian mainstream films, as well as the institutional and economic conditions of their production.7 More recent books about prominent structural or aesthetic features of Hindi films, like their songs, costumes, villains or romantic relationships, can be interpreted as highly specialized continuations of the groundwork laid by these introductions (e.g. Ghosh 2013; Gopal 2011; Wilkinson-Weber 2013; Beaster-Jones 2014). A number of historiographic books as well as other publications that are basically annotated lists of what their authors consider important films8 have provided newcomers and aspiring connoisseurs with a diachronic overview of the alleged key works of Hindi cinema, thus effectively shaping, consolidating and popularizing a canon of mainstream Hindi films (see, however, Thomas (2015) for a revisionist history of Bombay cinema). This trend has also led to the publication of guides to individual classic films (Chatterjee 2008; Chopra 2002). Rajadhyaksha and Willemen’s magisterial Encyclopedia of Indian Cinema, which was first published in 1995, might seem like a forerunner to these books, but is much more ambitious in terms of its informational value and especially scope, which is not restricted to Hindi films or popular cinema. The overview premise is ultimately also the basis of The Bollywood Reader (Desai & Dudrah 2008a), a useful compilation of key texts on diverse aspects of popular Hindi cinema. It presents and sums up some of the most important trends in the research on Bollywood. The Routledge Handbook of Indian Cinemas (Gokulsing & Dissanayake 2013) is not purely focused on Hindi and/or mainstream cinema but touches nonetheless on a multiplicity of themes and issues that are relevant in relation to Bollywood. On a different scale, Routledge’s 1,600-page Bollywood anthology, which maps the development of Indian popular cinema and the scholarly work devoted to it, was published in 2015 and will convince all doubters that Indian popular cinema has become a flourishing field of research since the beginning of the Bollywood boom (Dwyer 2015). One of the trends in Bollywood scholarship which have acquired particular prominence in the past ten years has been the role of ‘Bollywood abroad and beyond’ (Desai & Dudrah 2008a: vi). This thematic focus forms the basis of

Introduction

5

the essay compilations Bollyworld (Kaur & Sinha 2005a), Global Bollywood (Kavoori & Punathambekar 2008), Travels of Bollywood Cinema (Roy & Huat 2012a), The Magic of Bollywood: At Home and Abroad (Roy 2012) and two volumes that are both entitled Bollywood and Globalization (Bhattacharya Mehta & Pandharipande 2010; Schaefer & Karan 2013). Dudrah has moreover presented a slim monograph about international disseminations of Bollywood in Bollywood Travels: Culture, Diaspora and Border Crossings in Popular Hindi Cinema (2012). These texts continue and extend earlier work about the role of Hindi films outside South Asia, such as Brian Larkin’s research on Bollywood in Nigeria or Manas Ray’s work about Bollywood among Fijian Indians in Australia.9 The critics’ perspective on Indian cinema has not only expanded with the geographical scope of its distribution and reception, however, but also in terms of the examined media. More and more go beyond film proper in order to engage instead with the state of Indian mainstream cinema in the face of contextual phenomena like celebrity culture and convergence culture, for example in the articles on ‘Stars, Fans, and Participatory Culture’ in the compilation Global Bollywood (see Kavoori & Punathambekar 2008: vi; also Mitra 2013, Henniker 2013). Bollywood’s organization and business strategies (and the ways in which they have changed in the twenty-first century) have been dissected by Punathambekar (2013) and Ganti (2012), while Gehlawat and Wright (both 2015) have mapped some of the most important recent trends in Hindi films. In a different segment of the book market, the spectacular nature of many Hindi films and the celebrity culture surrounding them has informed the publication of several coffee-table books which combine glossy photographs with explanatory texts. The very make-up of these books plays with the notions of glamour, excess and heightened experientiality that are often associated with Bollywood, although the texts usually also provide solid factual information.10 The existing literature most relevant to the present study is naturally that which focuses on the reception of Indian mainstream cinema and Bollywood in Britain. The number of these texts is quite small, and their analyses are usually restricted to the reception of Hindi films and/or Bollywood by British Asians. The bulk of the research about the reception of Bollywood in Britain moreover has a sociological impetus, like the first text on the subject by Marie Gillespie. She included a brief discussion of Hindi film-viewing in her seminal study Television, Ethnicity and Cultural Change (1995) about the consumption

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Bollywood in Britain

of television among Punjabi youth in Southall, in which she identified generational differences among spectators concerning the ways by which they made meaning of Hindi films. Gillespie’s findings have been contested by Dudrah, who investigates in his article ‘Vilayati Bollywood’ (2002) and in his monograph Bollywood: Sociology Goes to the Movies (2006) how spectators construct meaning in relation to Hindi films. In order to do so, Dudrah uses qualitative interviews with young British Asian film-goers in Birmingham. His approach seems influenced by the leftist orientation typical of the Birmingham School of Cultural Studies and by its interest in mass media and subcultures. This political stance informs his interpretation of Bollywood cinema-going in Britain as a deliberate, intrinsically subversive and emancipatory act of South Asian identity manifestation. On the basis of his interviews, Dudrah ultimately claims that his respondents’ social investment in Bollywood media constitutes an affirmation of their eclectic British-South Asian cultural identity in a context where there are hardly any identificatory offers for British Asians in the mainstream media (2006: 36). Dudrah’s main angle on the topic of Bollywood in Britain in these publications is therefore the issue of diasporic identity formation. He continues on these lines in his more recent study, Bollywood Travels (2012), which is also ‘about making sense of Bollywood’s relationship to the idea of diaspora’ (8). Based partly on the readings of selected films and partly on an analysis of other forms in which Bollywood is present abroad (Bollywood music in shops, restaurants, night clubs; entertainment shows; social networks), the book highlights recent strategies and developments in the ways the Bollywood entertainment industry tries to interact with the South Asian diaspora. While Dudrah’s concrete examples of Bollywood reception in Bollywood Travels are all British, his study Bollywood (2006) was not limited to the analysis of film audiences in the UK; here, he also compared film-going practices in the UK and the United States. Similarly, Shakuntala Banaji has used a comparative approach in her research on the ways by which young cinema-goers in Mumbai and London make sense of gender and of sexual and ethnic identities in relation to Indian mainstream films. Like Dudrah in Bollywood (2006), Banaji relies mainly on qualitative interviews in which the respondents talk about how they relate Hindi films to their own lives. This allows her to explore the relationships between the socio-political contexts of film-going, filmic representations and, lastly, the ways in which viewers construct their gender (and, to a lesser degree, ethnic) identities. According to Banaji, the most striking result of her interviews

Introduction

7

is the sheer diversity of interpretations and experiences triggered by Bollywood films among her respondents, which illustrates ‘the futility of trying to fix and essentialise aspects of diasporic cultural life such as Hindi film viewing’ (Banaji 2006: 177, emphasis in original). A critical word concerning methodology is necessary here. It is quite normal that qualitative interviews lead to a quite diverse set of answers, even if interviewers work with relatively small samples, since it is extremely unlikely that the answers or even parts of answers to the questions will be identically phrased. When Banaji stresses the diversity of her interviewees’ statements, this result is therefore partly inherent in her method. It does not inevitably mean that diversity is the key hallmark of the reception of Bollywood among young British Asians. In fact, Bollywood Batein (2004), a qualitative report prepared by researchers working for the British Board of Film Classification, creates a more systematic subdivision of its sample than Dudrah and Banaji. Even though Bollywood Batein, too, can of course not claim to be representative of the entire UK Bollywood audience, this empirical study, based on group interviews, contains probably the most precise data available to date about attitudes towards Bollywood and viewing practices among different sections of the British Asian population. In contrast to the other studies mentioned so far, Bollywood Batein does not limit itself to the investigation of just one age group but distinguishes among interviewees on the basis of age (and generation), as well as gender, religion and ethnicity. Since the report draws on interviews conducted in London, Leicester, Birmingham and Bradford, its regional scope in the UK is also wider than that of Dudrah’s (Birmingham) or Banaji’s (London) empirical research.11 Raminder Kaur also used interviews with selected British Asian film-goers to find out more about the reception of Hindi films among British spectators. While the other studies mentioned so far focus on questions of identity formation, however, Kaur is mainly interested in viewing pleasure (2005). Analysing the interviewees’ reactions to the diaspora film Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (The Brave-Hearted will Take away the Bride, 1995)12 and the drama Dil Se (From the Heart, 1998), Kaur’s essay is an important contribution to the discussion, as it reveals the respondents’ sources of spectatorial enjoyment. They obviously lie in the films’ auratic qualities (stars, songs) rather than their story elements. As a group, the existing studies already present a rather detailed picture of attitudes and consumption practices among British Asian film viewers. Yet they have little to say about the reception of Bollywood in Britain beyond this demographic. This is one of the gaps in the existing research that the present

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study wishes to address, along with several other aims. For example, many academic studies about the status of Bollywood in Britain contain unspecified claims about the film preferences and consumption patterns of British Bollywood audiences. This book provides the facts and figures to support or contradict them. To this purpose it reworks the statistical material provided by British film institutions like the British Film Institute (BFI), the late UK Film Council, the British Video Association and the Film Distributors’ Association. It underpins their data with findings from a survey among Bollywood consumers in London, Leicester, Birmingham and Bradford, which was conducted for this study during February and March 2010. While the results of this survey cannot claim to be statistically representative of Britain as a whole, they are nonetheless indicative of specific consumption patterns and trends. On this basis, the book provides a detailed and succinct overview of the status of Indian cinema in the British film market. In contrast to most texts about the reception of Bollywood in Britain, which focus on the consumption or interpretation of specific films or film types (see, however, Dudrah 2006, 2012), moreover, this study also addresses the role of Bollywood as a brand. Most importantly, it very deliberately moves beyond the concentration on the reception of Bollywood among British Asians that dominates the existing research and focuses instead on versions of Bollywood in mainstream British media by non-Asian voices. In order to do so, it complements the prevalent methodological paradigm of empirical research by discourse analysis. The texts selected for analysis comprise film reviews, first-hand reports by Britons from the Hindi film industry, a TV casting show, Bollywood novels and British stage productions with intertextual references to Bollywood. Most of them have not received any academic attention before, maybe because of the genres to which they belong. Reviews and first-hand reports (in contrast to full-fledged autobiographies and memoirs) are under-researched genres. They also share with reality TV and adaptations that they are stigmatized – be it on the ground of medium and/or viewer interpellation (reality TV), alleged artistic secondariness (adaptations) or excessive subjectivity (reviews, first-hand reports). Still, as a group, the texts deliver a vivid picture of the major discursive strategies shaping the representation of Bollywood in Britain outside the British Asian niche. The study always places the analysed texts in the context of the general development of the Bollywood phenomenon in Britain. This diachronic perspective reveals that many early texts about Hindi films by non-Asian writers

Introduction

9

established a stereotypical image of Bollywood and Hindi films which, after a period of solidification, became fossilized and has been challenged only recently, as awareness of changes in Bollywood films and film production processes has begun to spread. Besides mapping these discursive changes, the book also tries to contribute to the critical discourse on the so-called diaspora film, that is, films about expatriate Indians like Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge, Swades (Own Country, 2004), Namastey London (2007) and Cocktail (2012). It identifies several conspicuous trends in the genre and puts them in relation to the film preferences of British Bollywood audiences. Like most studies from the field of Cultural Studies, Bollywood in Britain draws on and combines approaches and methods from various disciplines, including Film Studies, Literary Studies, Sociology, Postcolonial Studies and Adaptation Studies. It is based on a notion of culture that deliberately goes beyond the traditional reserves of so-called high culture or the realms of art and posits contemporary media culture as an important subject of investigation. The study is based on a semiotic and constructivist notion of culture, so that it regards culture as a man-made complex of ideas, ways of thinking and feeling, values and meanings, which are materialized in systems of symbols and signs. Culture is therefore conceived as continuously changing rather than homogeneous or stable.13 It can be characterized as a text or sign system, which itself becomes manifest and observable in works of art and texts or, more generally, coded artefacts (Nünning & Nünning 2008: 6–7). In Bollywood in Britain this textualist concept of culture goes hand in hand with a methodology of textual analysis that combines the principle of close reading with detailed contextualizing. As Greenblatt has argued, a full cultural analysis will need to push beyond the boundaries of the text, to establish links between the text and values, institutions, and practices elsewhere in the culture. But these cannot be a substitute for close reading … cultural analysis must be opposed on principle to the rigid distinction between that which is within a text and that which lies outside (1995: 226–7).

In keeping with this notion, the close readings of the texts analysed in this book are complemented by detailed descriptions of the material conditions of their production, dissemination and reception. This contextualization relies partly on the empirical research conducted for the study and on statistical data from British film institutions. However, by approaching the texts as representations, and thus as expressions of specific forms of individual and collective perceptions

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Bollywood in Britain

of the world (see Voßkamp 2008: 77), I also situate them in a context of discourses in the Foucauldian sense. This book examines a variety of text types and media (which refer to diverse cultural spheres) without prioritizing any of the texts; they are all equal as sources of discursive information. I regard them as instances in which the discourse on Bollywood in Britain has become material. The basic assumption that underlies their analysis is that it is ultimately possible to deduce the key features and changes of this discourse from the intertextual relationships between the various texts (see Baßler 2008: 136, 141). Bollywood in Britain is basically understood and treated in this study as a circuit of culture as conceived by Stuart Hall. Yet although the book touches on sociological questions relating to the role of Bollywood for British Asian selfassertion, it has a somewhat uneasy relationship with the political impetus that is commonly associated with the discipline of Cultural Studies in Britain because of the tradition of the Birmingham Centre of Contemporary Cultural Studies (CCCS). The CCCS’s work was informed by Marxist social theory and explicitly pursued the aims of subverting hegemonic structures and emancipating formerly marginalized groups and their cultural expressions. The version of Cultural Studies practised by most German scholars of British Studies – and this is the immediate production context of this book – is far less obviously politically motivated, not least because of their outsiders’ position. The present study follows this approach. Even if it does not pursue an explicit political aim, however, its comments on social configurations, representational strategies and the power relationships implied in certain forms of representation are inevitably inherently political. Overall, the structure of the book moves from introductory background information to theoretically specialized textual readings. Chapter 2, which follows this introduction, maps the various facets and meanings of the term ‘Bollywood’. It explains its contested history and connotations, including the development of a distinction between old Bollywood and new Bollywood, and illustrates the unstable discursive positioning of ‘Bollywood’ in relation to ‘Indian cinema’. The chapter moreover outlines the key organizational changes within the Hindi film industry over the past decade and explains how the industry’s role in the international film market has changed. These changes are leading to a growing discrepancy between traditional assumptions about Bollywood cinema and the realities of Hindi film-making. From this context, Bollywood emerges as a ‘fundamentally fragmentary’ phenomenon (Kaur & Sinha 2005b: 16).

Introduction

11

After this general introduction, the remainder of the book examines the specificities of Bollywood in Britain. Chapter 3 maps the presence of popular Indian cinema in Britain since the 1950s and outlines its history and current status in the British film market. Based on statistical material and empirical research, the chapter describes the exhibition, distribution and audiences of popular Indian cinema in Britain. Watching Indian mainstream films in Britain emerges from this analysis as an activity that is still clearly ethnically marked as Asian. The figures moreover reveal that Indian films play a stable but relatively small economic role in the British market, which is a striking contrast to the widespread awareness and the many different manifestations of Bollywood in British culture outside the British Asian niche. Chapter 4 questions the theoretical triggering which is caused by the ethnic coding of Bollywood-watching that was established in the previous chapter. It examines the dominant role that questions of identity politics have played in the critical literature about British Bollywood audiences and pleads that the way in which nostalgia and diaspora have been deployed as critical paradigms for examining diasporic Bollywood audiences should be queried and modified. The chapter begins by explaining the role of Britain as a shooting location in Bollywood films and explores their representational paradigms for depicting Britain and (British) diasporic Indian characters. The chapter then outlines some innovations and developments in the genre of the so-called diaspora film based on analyses of four exemplary films, namely, Namastey London, Swades, Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal (Get Set Goal, 2007) and Dil Bole Hadippa! (Heart Says Hurray, 2009). Based on empirical research about audience reactions to Hindi films, the study suggests that the dominant concepts of nostalgia in the academic discourse on this topic should be modified. Appadurai’s notion of imagined nostalgia or armchair nostalgia for things that never were (1996: 77, 78), Svetlana Boym’s distinction between restorative and reflective nostalgia (2011) and Dudrah’s concept of stylized nostalgia (2006: 101) are used to shed new light on the discussion of nostalgic desire in relation to the diaspora film. Chapters 3 and 4 both engage with the position of Bollywood films in the British film market and among British audiences. Given the ethnic nigh-exclusivity of Bollywood-watching in Britain, they also share a focus on the reception of Indian mainstream films by British Asian spectators, although non-traditional audiences enter the picture, too. With Chapter 5 the study moves into a different thematic direction and now focuses on the representation of Bollywood in Britain, and thus on Bollywood as a discursive

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Bollywood in Britain

complex, outside the cultural niche of Asian Britain. After all, Bollywood is a widely recognized phenomenon in Britain. The chapter outlines how this phenomenon has developed by recapitulating Bollywood-related events and texts of the past twenty years. This timeline illustrates the growing visibility of Bollywood in Britain since the turn of the millennium. Chapter 5 approaches this development from the theoretical angle of branding by outlining how Bollywood has been turned into an unofficial lifestyle brand with its very own iconography, packaging and associated qualities and values, which all centre around Bollywood’s Indianness. As an unofficial brand, its management is not primarily shaped by film-makers or producers but by distributors, salespeople, consumers and others who adapt Bollywood for their own purposes. The brand has therefore developed quite independently from the films on which it was originally based. A reductive notion of Bollywood as a metonymy of India, which dominates the deployment of Bollywood as a brand label for non-filmrelated products, thus stands opposed to the increasingly diverse output of the Hindi film industry in recent years that the term ‘Bollywood’ designates when used as a synonym of ‘popular Hindi films’. This raises questions about the representation of Bollywood and its status in the British mainstream, which are taken up in the following chapters. Chapters 6 to 8 abandon the perspective of branding but react to the metonymic use of ‘Bollywood’ for ‘Indianness’ by focusing on the mediation and negotiation of difference in non-Asian British texts about Bollywood. The theoretical tool used to analyse the intercultural and transcultural encounters manifest in these texts is the concept of transdifference, which is introduced in Chapter 6. Transdifference, developed by Helmbrecht Breinig and Klaus Lösch, was conceived as an alternative to other concepts of (cultural) in-betweenness, such as hybridity or transculturality, and describes ‘all that which resists or escapes the construction of meaning based on an exclusionary and conclusionary binary model’ (Breinig & Lösch 2006: 108–9). At the same time, however, the concept firmly upholds the notion that binary thinking is an indispensable tool of meaning-making. According to Breinig and Lösch, binary difference can never be completely erased or resolved. Instead they suggest that whenever one tries to understand oneself and/or others, the binary difference between the self and the other begins to oscillate: ‘In the space between cultures, the binary construction of the self, construed as presence, and the other, construed as absence, which one group has established, meets with that of the other group, resulting in a juxtaposition of two presences and two absences’ (Breinig & Lösch 2006: 113).

Introduction

13

The double experience of alterity in relation to the (kn)own (self) and the alien (other) and the attempts to understand that are caused by this experience become textually manifest in different ways that this study illustrates in exemplary analyses. Chapter 6 concentrates on the Channel 4 casting documentary ‘Bollywood Star’ (2004), whose contestants competed for a role in a Hindi film. Chapter 7 explores the representation of Bollywood in first-hand reports by Britons about the Hindi film industry (England 2002; Hardy 2002; Hines 2007; Omar 2006; Shelley 2001), and Chapter 8 traces the changing discursive construction of Bollywood films in British film reviews. The chosen texts are particularly interesting for an analysis from the perspective of transdifference because they all had a mediating function in the sense that they were at least partly designed to explain Hindi cinema to outsiders with little or no knowledge about it. The transdifferential analyses, which are the core of this study’s discussion of Bollywood as a discursive complex, identify the texts’ main discursive strategies for representing Bollywood, paying particular attention to markers of alterity and alienity. Chapters 6 and 7 thus show that the simultaneous erosion and confirmation of difference in the analysed texts affects not only the representation of Hindi films and the Hindi film industry but extends to the representation of both India and British Asians. The reviews discussed in Chapter 8 moreover open up a diachronic perspective that reveals several continuities and changes in the discursive construction of Bollywood since the early 2000s. Since the continuities clearly dominate, one can argue that the texts demonstrate the solidification and even fossilization of a very specific image of Bollywood based on a core group of films from the late 1990s and early 2000s and that this image began to be modified only around 2010, when the notion of a new Bollywood started to catch on among British commentators. Chapter 9 proposes a further theoretical perspective for the investigation of Bollywood in Britain by considering the phenomenon in terms of adaptation. In light of new notions of adaptation that have emerged in the field of Adaptation Studies, the study proposes a rhizomatic concept of adaptation to describe the proliferation of Bollywood in Britain. Due to its indeterminacy and openness to change, the rhizome is a particularly suitable model, since Bollywood in Britain is in flux and object as well as subject of negotiation in various transitional fields. Bollywood links debates over (post-)colonialism and globalization, race and ethnicity, multi- and transculturality, diaspora and ‘homeland’. A rhizomatic concept of adaptation can accommodate this transitional quality of Bollywood especially well.

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However, the chapter applies the notion of adaptation not only to the phenomenon of Bollywood in Britain in general. It also examines several texts that exemplify a narrower concept of adaptation, namely, adaptation as medium change. The chapter thus presents the continuing production trend of Bollywood novels, which comprises books like Show Business by Shashi Tharoor (1991), The Silver Castle by Clive James (1996), Breach Candy by Luke Jennings (1993) and Transmission by Hari Kunzru (2004). Textual analyses of Amanda Whittington’s play Bollywood Jane, the London West End musical Bombay Dreams (2002– 2004) and Tamasha’s 2009 touring stage production of a Bollywood Wuthering Heights moreover illustrate the textual and cultural complexities created by the imitative and transformative strategies in adaptations of Bollywood for British stage productions. Taken together, the analyses in this chapter illustrate not only the Bollywood text (in the widest sense) that is adapted in Bollywood adaptations but also the politics at work when an art form that is perceived as essentially Asian is adapted for readers and spectators to whom this form is different and alien. Throughout the book Bollywood emerges as a phenomenon of difference and Othering. For although Bollywood is a global media form and can therefore be read as an index of transculturality, in the British context its connotations of Indianness often have the result that (cultural) difference is in fact emphasized. The practice of Bollywood film-watching, the branding of Bollywood and the discursive constructions of Bollywood in non-Asian British texts raise questions about the status of Bollywood as a distinctly Asian cultural form and its relation to British majority culture. Even the debate about the validity of the term ‘Bollywood’, which will be outlined in Chapter 2, results from the term’s connotations of Othering and highlights the divisiveness inherent in the Bollywood phenomenon.

2

What Is Bollywood?

Bollywood n. Humorous blend of the name of Bombay … and Hollywood … – The Indian film industry, based in Mumbai (formerly Bombay); Mumbai regarded as the base of this industry (OED Online) Bollywood (noun) The motion-picture industry in India – Bombay (Mumbai), traditional center of the Indian film industry + Hollywood (Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary) The fact that the term ‘Bollywood’ was included in the Oxford English Dictionary’s online edition on 13 June 2001 and, two years later, in the printed version, did not only reflect that Hindi cinema had become more visible in the predominantly anglophone film markets of Britain and the United States. It also bestowed an official aura on a former buzzword. Despite the apparently unambiguous definitions of the term by respected institutions such as the OED or Merriam Webster’s Dictionary, however, ‘Bollywood’ has many meanings that extend far beyond the dictionaries’ narrow perimeter of signification. Prasad, who has written repeatedly on the term’s origin and implications, has even characterized it as an ‘empty signifier’ that ‘can be applied to any set of signifieds within the realm of Indian cinema’ (Prasad 2003; see Prasad 2008). Similarly, Roy and Huat have termed Bollywood a ‘free-floating signifier’ (2012b: xxi). This openness is one of the reasons why it has become customary for most books on Indian cinema and especially for those on mainstream Hindi cinema to contain at least a few explanatory sentences on why and how they employ the term ‘Bollywood’, and the present study is no exception.1 Here, for reasons that will become clear in the course of this chapter, ‘Bollywood’ denotes the popular Hindi cinema since the mid-1990s and the industry that produces it.

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Besides the term’s openness, however, an even more important reason for terminological clarification is its contested nature. ‘Bollywood’ and its signifieds have been the subjects of debates that are complex negotiations of (post-colonial) power relationships. This chapter will shine a light at some of these negotiations of meaning and power by concentrating on several aspects of ‘Bollywood’, which, although they will be treated separately for the sake of clarity, are closely interrelated. The first part of the chapter concerns the debate surrounding the term and its origins. Bollywood is then positioned in relation to Indian cinema, and the chapter will discuss the usage of the term ‘Bollywood’ to denote a particular style of film-making. The last part deals with interpretations of Bollywood as a cultural phenomenon that depends on a context of cultural and media globalization and/or on recent changes in the organizational structures and business strategies in the Hindi film industry. The changes in the industry’s work culture, and the recent diversification of its film output, which blurs the lines between the so-called mainstream and middle cinemas, are encapsulated in notions of a new Bollywood (e.g. Gopal 2011; Ganti 2012: 365–6). They concern changes in the films’ topics and style as well as changes in the way the industry is run. On a merely linguistic level, ‘Bollywood’ can be categorized unproblematically as a blending of ‘Bombay’2 and ‘Hollywood’. A closer look at the term’s connotations, however, reveals an ideological snake pit. It is, as Govil has rightly stated, a ‘heteroglossic term that connotes a complex set of material and discursive links between Bombay and Hollywood’ (2007: 86), whose interpretations are manifold and contradictory. Used for a very long time predominantly as a term of disapprobation (Dissanayake 2004: 143), ‘Bollywood’ has meanwhile been naturalized even in India ‘as the designation for what was previously known as Hindi cinema, Bombay cinema, Indian popular cinema, etc.’ (Prasad 2003; see Prasad 2008: 43–4). It is now generally used in this way by Indian Englishlanguage media, the Indian-language press and even Indian film scholars (Prasad 2008: 41). The most vocal opponents to the term have come from the Hindi film industry itself. Megastar Amitabh Bachchan is probably the most famous one. He even felt obliged to remark on it in his foreword to Subhash K. Jha’s celebratory Essential Guide to Bollywood (2005a), where he equivocally asserted: ‘I am overjoyed … to see the manuscript of this book The Essential Guide to Bollywood … the word ‘Bollywood’ notwithstanding, before me’ (8). When the Indian newspaper The Hindu asked industry members for their opinion on the

What Is Bollywood?

17

inclusion of ‘Bollywood’ in the printed edition of the Oxford English Dictionary in 2003, many interviewees expressed their adversity to the term even more strongly (see Rajamani 2003). They perceived an ‘element of contempt or cynicism’ in it ‘undermining the Indian film industry’s dignity’ or felt the need to stress that ‘Indian cinema is independent cinema’. Actress Raveena Tandon moreover denied the term any validity because ‘Bollywood’, unlike ‘Hollywood’, lacked a real geographical referent (qtd in Rajamani 2003). Her reaction stands out because her argument seems to be concerned purely with the term’s irrationality. The other critical statements against ‘Bollywood’, in contrast, are more obviously emotionally motivated and are tinged with a slighted sense of professional pride or even national honour. These reactions are comprehensible because the reference to Hollywood in the word ‘Bollywood’ emphasizes the commercial imperatives and industrial production processes dominating popular Indian cinema and therefore implies that it produces streamlined and formulaic films rather than works of originality and artistic merit. Moreover, the term has been read as suggesting that Hindi films are poor derivations and imitations of Hollywood films, unable to live up to their American models because they lack the necessary financial, technical, artistic and organizational resources. Even at a very basic level, the term’s neo-colonial overtones are obvious: it designates an Indian entertainment industry via the globally hegemonic Western entertainment industry. When it is extended to denote not only mainstream Hindi cinema but also other popular Indian cinemas or even Indian cinema generally, defensive reactions by Indian filmmakers should not come as a surprise. Some Indian film-makers, however, have accepted these negative implications as justified. Director Mani Shankar, another contributor to The Hindu interview, for example, stated that the word ‘epitomises our plagiarism and shows the desperate vacuum of ideas’ in the Hindi film industry (qtd in Rajamani 2003), a claim supported by journalist Shakuntala Rao, who thinks that being insulted by the term ‘Bollywood’ ‘seems to emanate a false sense of national/cultural pride. It is also a denial of an acknowledgment that Bollywood stories are often created, cloned, adapted and inspired from Hollywood’ (2007). Yet even Rao acknowledges that Bollywood is an important provider of ‘alternative cultural and social representations’ (2007) and thus draws attention to another possible interpretation of ‘Bollywood’, one that underlines the very difference from Hollywood the term contains. One can regard the use of the word even in this sense as an oppressive discursive strategy that

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aims to domesticate the difference of Indian cinema (see Prasad 2008: 43). Clearly, however, it is also possible to interpret the emphasis on difference as a celebratory strategy. The term ‘Bollywood’ then underlines the aesthetic and institutional distinctiveness of popular Indian cinema, reinterprets its alleged derivativeness from Hollywood as conscious acts of appropriation and emphasizes the Indian film industry’s growing importance in the globalized media landscape. In a variation on Bhabha’s famous description of the ambivalence of mimicry, Bollywood is then ‘almost the same [as Hollywood], but not quite’ (Bhabha 1994: 86, emphasis in original) and can challenge the hegemonic media power at least aesthetically, albeit not (yet) economically. It is in this sense that industry members who are known to reject the term on principle sometimes adopt it consciously in order to emphasize the contrast between the Hindi film industry and Hollywood.3 Others have always fully embraced the term, like actor R. Madhavan who stated in The Hindu interview: ‘I am for it absolutely … In my travels, I have observed … it is accepted that the industry is to be reckoned with’ (qtd in Rajamani 2003). On this basis, it is only logical to use the term also as a brand label, as suggested by Amit Khanna. As president of the Film & Television Producers Guild of India, he claimed already in 2005 that ‘the whole notion of what’s pejorative has changed. We’ve to see the Indian film industry as a brand. To say “Bollywood” is demeaning is to question a brand name like Coke or MacDonald’s [sic]’ (qtd in Jha 2005b). It is interesting that all these comments about the term ‘Bollywood’, be they negative or positive, share a focus on how the Indian and Hindi film industries and their output are perceived by others, especially outside India. Whoever or whatever is designated by ‘Bollywood’ seems to be perceived as subject to a process of Othering or, in more drastic interpretations, even of exoticization (cf. Shohat & Stam 2003: 3). One popular strategy to resist this process of Othering has been to insist on the specificity of Indian films and/or to characterize Bollywood as a Western concept imposed on Indian cinema to domesticate, belittle and ridicule a genuinely distinctive Indian art form. Subhash Ghai, for example, has claimed that the ‘word Bollywood was coined by a BBC media man’, and Madhur Bhandarkar has blamed the use of the term by foreign magazines for its widespread currency (both qtd in Rajamani 2003). Statements like this convey a ‘sense of outrage, a feeling that someone has successfully conducted an operation of symbolic abduction’ (Prasad 2008: 41). To locate the origin of the term ‘Bollywood’ in Western media is, as we will shortly see, most probably

What Is Bollywood?

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a case of folk etymology. However, it shows how strongly people like Ghai are aware of the global hegemonic role of anglophone Western media. The Indian film industry may be the most productive and widely seen in the world, but its economic power is still vastly inferior to Hollywood’s. Attempts to retain at least discursive control over the Indian film industry and its products can therefore be a conscious defence strategy against the presentational powers of Western media. The exact origin of the term ‘Bollywood’ remains uncertain. Prasad records the use of the term ‘Tollywood’ – a playful reference to the Bengali film industry complex of Tollygunge – in a telegram to an American film engineer in 1932, which he considers a precursor of ‘Bollywood’ (Prasad 2003).4 Still, the exact time and manner by which the term ‘Bollywood’ came into being is unclear. The OED records the first use of the word in H.R.F. Keating’s detective novel Filmi, Filmi, Inspector Ghote (1976), which is set in the Bombay film industry. However, Amit Khanna claims to have coined the term himself in a news story of the mid-1970s (D. Bose 2006: 11), and film journalist Bevinda Collaco says she was the first to use the term in her gossip column ‘On the Bollywood Beat’ in Cineblitz magazine (Gopal 2011: 11). What is certain is that in the late 1970s and 1980s the Indian English-language press and film trade journals like Screen took up the term to refer to the Bombay film industry (Rajadhyaksha 2003: 29). This largely refutes the claim that the term ‘Bollywood’ was coined by Western media. Yet it also explains why the term has always conveyed to industry members the impression of being subjected to Western Othering. The cultural world of the Indian English-language press in this period, just like the anglophone middle class it addressed, was strongly Eurocentric (Prasad 2003), and it treated Hindi cinema with condescension, lampooning it as a cultural form aimed at the uneducated masses. Today, ‘Bollywood’ is for many users an affectionate term that acknowledges the differences from Hollywood in the industry’s institutions, aesthetics, star system and culture of spectatorship (Hu 2007). Yet, even today, the connotations of Othering remain. After all, the word gained its recent currency only after Hindi cinema began attracting international attention because audiences in the UK and the United States started to catapult Hindi films into the box office charts (see Prasad 2008: 43). It owes its widespread use today largely to media coverage in Britain and the United States. Moreover, as the discursive analysis of several British texts about Bollywood in Chapters 6–8 of this book will show, this coverage frequently involves an (often bemused) emphasis on the alien and exotic nature of Indian popular cinema. Even though the openness of the term

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means that the meaning of ‘Bollywood’ may vary from user to user (see Prasad 2008: 43) and even from scholar to scholar, there is therefore no doubt that particularly outside India, the term often serves to convey that Bollywood is in some sense alien. The debate about the ‘Bollywood’ label is made even more complicated by the fact that different people use it to signify different segments of Indian cinema. Its original referent was the Hindi film industry centred in Bombay, and it is as a synonym of mainstream Hindi cinema and the industry that produces it that the term has become naturalized in India. The fact that the reference to ‘Bombay’ in ‘Bollywood’ also implies a distinction between Hindi cinema and other Indian regional cinemas is often overlooked by foreigners. Even though the Tamil and Telugu film industries in South India are equally or even more prolific (Pendakur 2003: 24; Thoraval 2000: 46–7), Hindi films, for the mere reason of language, have the widest national circulation5 and dominate the discourse about Indian cinema. They are a standard that other regional cinemas follow both aesthetically and economically (Ganti 2013: 3), but at the same time the Hindi film industry is always ready to incorporate and appropriate inspirations from other regional cinemas. Hence the many remakes of South Indian movies that have been produced in Mumbai in recent years. This mutual approximation of regional cinemas (see D. Bose 2005: 180) as well as the similarities in the films’ distinctive features and aggressive orientation towards box office success (Ganti 2013: 3) have encouraged the use of ‘Bollywood’ for Indian popular cinema generally, which threatens to ‘erase … the diversity of other regional cinemas within India, privileging one particular region and language over others’ (Desai & Dudrah 2008b: 2). It is helpful to keep the predominance of Hindi films within the Indian media landscape in mind when one tries to evaluate claims by members of the Hindi film industry why the term ‘Bollywood’ should be rejected in favour of phrases like ‘Indian film industry’, ‘Indian Motion Pictures’ or ‘Indian cinema’ (see Rajamani 2003). Statements of this kind are motivated by different factors, including the dominant status of Hindi cinema as a national cinema in India (because of the width of its distribution), the strong presence of film-related content on TV and, most importantly, the nationwide popularity of Hindi film songs (Gulzar 2002: 66, 70; A.S. Rai 2009: 17–18; Virdi & Creekmur 2006: 140). The statements do not necessarily mean to imply, however, that Hindi cinema is identical with Indian cinema, which, as all members of the Hindi film industry would acknowledge, is much more diverse in terms of language, style and organizational structures.

What Is Bollywood?

21

Many Western spectators, reviewers and sometimes even scholars, however, have used the term ‘Bollywood’ overly sweepingly as a synonym of ‘Indian film industry’ (see the dictionary definitions quoted at the beginning of this chapter). This usage has the unfortunate effect of erasing the implicit distinction conveyed by the term ‘Bollywood’ between films whose production context (like in Hollywood) is quasi-industrial and centrally driven by economic imperatives and the films of the so-called middle cinema and art cinema.6 As the former arrogant silence of the West towards popular Indian cinema has given way to an almost inflationary interest (Dablé 2008: 65), several Western commentators moreover began to look at all Indian films through a Bollywood filter. Some extended this approach to any film from South Asia (Betty Campbell-Adams qtd in Bhushan 2007), others even to films created by South Asian diasporic film-makers based in the West. Mira Nair’s Monsoon Wedding (2001) may be the most (in)famous example of a diasporic film that the Western media habitually categorize as a Bollywood movie in this way. ‘Bollywood’ is here an umbrella term for all kinds of ‘South Asian cinema’. This reductionism is especially problematic because the aesthetic concept of Bollywood on which it is based generally boils Indian mainstream cinema down to its most conspicuous differences from the predominant forms of Western film-making: the length of the films, their convoluted plot structures, a propensity towards love stories and happy endings, a focus on family issues, the exteriorization of emotion (often interpreted as kitsch) especially by means of long dialogue scenes and music, an aesthetics of display, possibly a specific brand of burlesque comedy and, most importantly, song-and-dance sequences. This list of distinctive features is based on those Hindi films of the 1990s and early 2000s which achieved the greatest visibility in the West, such as Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (The Brave-Hearted will Take away the Bride, 1995), Dil To Pagal Hai (The Heart is Crazy, 1997), Kuch Kuch Hota Hai (Some Things Happen, 1998), Taal (Rhythm, 1998), Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham (Sometimes Happiness, Sometimes Sadness, 2001), Lagaan (Land Tax, 2001), Devdas (2002) and Kal Ho Naa Ho (There May or May not Be a Tomorrow, 2003). The fact that most of these films are glossy romances or melodramas and therefore represented only one type of Hindi films among others (even if it was a particularly conspicuous type at the time) further contributed to the reductionist nature of the Bollywood stereotype. Applying this notion of Bollywood to South Asian cinema in general is a blatant example of exoticist Othering, especially as the distinctive qualities of Hindi mainstream cinema are usually not taken at face value but are further

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distorted when they are viewed through the categories of Western film criticism. There is a widespread propensity among Western reviewers to characterize popular Indian films as musicals, for example. Not only does this disregard the Indian genre system. The label ‘musical’ also evokes qualities associated with the musical in Western film scholarship, such as escapism, which are thus transferred onto Indian cinema and overshadow the fact that musical scenes in Indian mainstream films often play an absolutely central role for characterization and the films’ discussion of ideas. Despite obvious changes in the organization of the Hindi film industry and the films themselves since the early 2000s, there has therefore been a trend to reify popular Indian cinema’s ‘most obvious distinguishing properties as constituting its permanent identity’ (Prasad 2008: 48). This is true for Western representations of Indian mainstream cinema but also for Indian ones underlining that Indian popular cinema is rooted in the great epic and dramatic traditions of Indian culture. They ultimately construct Bollywood as a quintessentially Indian counterpart to Hollywood (see Prasad 2003; Prasad 2008: 49–50) and charge it with the task of Indian (self-)representation in a context of transnational flows of people, media contents and media products. It can be argued that the growth of academic and popular interest in Bollywood over the past twenty years partly depended precisely on this transnational scope. Bollywood intertwines the global, the local and the national in complex ways. Hindi films have long had an international presence (Kabir 2001: 1; Lorenzen & Taeube 2007: 10). Since the ‘watershed decade’ of the 1990s, however, Hindi cinema has undergone some fundamental changes that have ushered in a new economic and cultural sensibility (Virdi & Creekmur 2006: 134) and have turned Bollywood into ‘one of India’s most eye-catching growth phenomena’ (Lorenzen & Taeube 2007: 32). The key to this development were domestic government measures that generally encouraged economic liberalization and the growth of the middle classes in India. There were also some government schemes, however, that were directly aimed at the film industry. They opened up new sources of financing for film-makers and ultimately resulted in tighter, some might also say more professional, film-making processes. Combined with technical innovations, with the global tendency towards the privatization and deregulation of broadcasting (Punathambekar & Kavoori 2008: 5) and with the greater mobility especially of the middle classes around the world, these measures led to an unprecedented growth of the Indian film industry, whose revenues increased by 360 per cent between 1998 and 2005 and by still remarkable 58

What Is Bollywood?

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per cent between 2001 and 2005 (Kohli-Khandekar qtd in Lorenzen & Taeube 2007: 12). The industry continued growing at an impressive rate of 17 per cent between 2004 and 2007 (Pahwa 2008), but this development did not continue unabated. In contrast to other sectors of the Indian media and entertainment industry, the film industry actually shrank for two years in a row in 2009 and 2010. It picked up speed again in 2011 (KPMG 2014), however, and all in all, its growth since the late 1990s has been nothing if not remarkable. The key state government measures that supported this development were the granting of industry status to film in 1998 and the Industrial Development Bank Act of 2003, which offered film-makers new sources of financing from public and private banks and other financial institutions. Formerly, they had depended on private bank loans or loans from friends, acquaintances, moneylenders or even organized crime.7 Because of the change in state policy, money from public institutions would now only be lent to companies and not to individuals, which meant that film businesses had to corporatize (Punathambekar & Kavoori 2008: 4).8 This development led to more transparency and more professional film financing and production processes, which in turn brought down average production times and costs and thus opened up resources for more investments in distribution and marketing (Lorenzen & Taeube 2007: 18). These changes coincided with the emergence of new digital distribution channels for films and new modes of exhibition, leading to a fundamental change in the Indian film industry’s image, whose key aspects Punathambekar and Kavoori summed up in 2008 as follows: Over the past five to six years, ‘corporatization’ has become a catchall buzzword that alludes not only to new modes of film financing and the attenuation of the mafia’s hold over the film industry, but to a series of changes including preparing a bound script, developing and working with schedules, getting stars to sign and honor contracts instead of proceeding with verbal assurances, in-film branding through corporate tie-ins, aggressive marketing and promotions that reflected processes of market segmentation under way in India, the emergence of the multiplex mode of exhibition, and the entry of large industrial houses, corporations, and television companies into the business of film production and distribution. (4–5)

In 1999 the Indian government also allowed more foreign direct investment in film production and distribution (Govil 2007: 88; Lorenzen & Taeube 2007: 27).9 This has encouraged attempts by Hollywood companies to gain a stronger foothold in the growing Indian market by means of investing in local film

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production. Excepting selected films like Spider-Man (2002) or Avatar (2010), they have not managed to do so by means of their own product. Co-production schemes have therefore become the key strategy by which Hollywood has tried to grab a piece of the Indian film market. Early examples of this included the co-production of Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Saawariya (My Love, 2006) by Sony, a co-production deal of Yash Raj Films with Walt Disney Studios over the production of animation films in Hindi and a joint venture of Lionsgate with Eros International. The year 2008 moreover saw the foundation of Fox Star Studios, a joint venture between Twentieth Century Fox and STAR, India’s leading media and entertainment company, both owned by Rupert Murdoch’s 21st Century Fox. The most interesting company to observe, however, was UTV, which has developed since its foundation in 1990 into a horizontally integrated media and entertainment company with investments in film, animation, gaming and TV content production. UTV had already garnered international co-production deals, for example with Fox Searchlight and Will Smith’s company Overbrook Entertainment (Overdorf 2007; UTV 2008), before Disney struck an exclusive distribution deal with UTV for Disney theatrical releases in India and acquired stakes in UTV, thus entering into local Indian film production. After the prices for UTV shares fell as a consequence of the credit crunch, Disney became majority shareholder of UTV in 2009. By 2012, Disney had a controlling interest in UTV (Bhushan 2012). Today, the Indian production and distribution house Disney UTV is fully integrated into the Walt Disney Company. One key element in the growth of Hindi cinema has been its overseas markets, most importantly those with strong South Asian diasporas, such as the UK and United States, as they were the fastest growing territories for the Indian film industry between the early 1990s and mid-2000s (Overdorf). In 2005 Deshpande pointed out that ‘the financial returns to the producer from distribution in an overseas market of about 20 million people is roughly 60 per cent of the volume realised from distribution in the entire Indian market of 1 billion people’ (191). While international box office accounted for 6 per cent of Bollywood’s revenue in 2000, the rate had gone up to 18 per cent in 2009 (Chattopadhyay and Subramanian qtd in Singh & House 2010). The films that triggered this development were modern feel-good classics like Hum Aapke Hain Koun …! (Who Am I to You, 1994), Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge and Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, which reflected the growing consumerism and social transformations in India and engaged with questions of Indian cultural identity. They also ushered in a new image of ‘the “good Indian” as rich,

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cosmopolitan, and playfully youthful, an almost complete reversal of the poor, proudly regional, and sombrely mature heroes of the previous generation’ (Virdi & Creekmur 2006: 136). This proved particularly successful with South Asians in the lucrative overseas markets. The worldwide distribution of Hindi films via satellite and cable TV channels, the development of the internet and the advent of mobile screening devices have further extended the international dissemination of Hindi films and solidified their status as a global cultural commodity (see Thussu 2007: 26). In his seminal essay on ‘The “Bollywoodization” of the Indian Cinema’ (2003), Ashish Rajadhyaksha reserves the term ‘Bollywood’ for the cultural phenomenon which he regards as the result of these developments and which transcends the films on which it is originally based. Rajadhyaksha points to the success of prominent Hindi films in overseas markets like the UK, the United States and South Africa, because of which film exports and foreign territories became increasingly important for Indian film creators (2003: 25, 29). These films created a broader international audience for popular Indian and especially Hindi films and thus also strengthened the role of music, fashion, advertising and TV as ancillary industries for film. Rajadhyaksha therefore distinguishes between Hindi cinema on the one hand and ‘the Bollywood culture industry’ (2003: 27) on the other. He insists that Bollywood is not the Indian film industry, or at least not the film industry alone. Bollywood admittedly occupies a space analogous to the film industry, but might best be seen as a more diffuse cultural conglomeration involving a range of distribution and consumption activities from websites to music cassettes, from cable to radio. If so, the film industry itself – determined here solely in terms of its box office turnover and sales of print and music rights, all that actually comes back to the producer – can by definition constitute only a part, and perhaps even an alarmingly small part, of the overall culture industry that is currently being created and marketed. (Rajadhyaksha 2003: 27, emphasis in original)

According to Rajadhyaksha, Bollywood is therefore also a rather young phenomenon dating from around 1993. It ‘refers to a reasonably specific narrative and a mode of presentation’ (Rajadhyaksha 2003: 28) but should really be considered a new, ‘distinct zone of cultural production’ (Punathambekar & Kavoori 2008: 3) rather than just a type of film. A similar view of post-liberalization Hindi cinema has been proposed by Gopal (2011). However, as she sees tendencies of ‘Bollywoodization’ already

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in the Hindi cinema of the 1970s (Gopal 2011: 2, 11), she uses the term ‘New Bollywood’ to describe the ‘new paradigm of Mumbai film that came into being in the early 1990s’ (Gopal 2011: 14). Like Rajadhyaksha, Gopal includes a variety of factors beyond films proper in her category: ‘New Bollywood … refers to the entire world of cinema – industrial practices, financing, exhibition, audience, tie-ins, and of course the films themselves – of the post-liberalization period’ (Gopal 2011: 14, italics in original).10 It refers both to the new industrial contexts in the post-liberalization era and to the resulting changes in the industry’s output (e.g. multiple film genres, diversity of output, deliberately narrow address aimed at transnational, urban and middle-class audiences) (Gopal 2011: 3, 14).11 Like Rajadhyaksha, Punathambekar also presents Bollywood as a young phenomenon in his book From Bombay to Bollywood: The Making of a Global Media Industry (2013), which maps the effects of Bombay cinema’s ‘decade of reform’ (1) since the late 1990s. He identifies the rise of satellite TV and new digital media as well as the extraordinary velocity of media convergence in India as additional important factors that contributed to the development of Hindi cinema into a transnational and multimedia culture industry, which he calls ‘Bollywood’ (2013: 2, 12). In this respect, his view of what Bollywood actually is, namely a transnational and multimedia cultural complex that developed out of Bombay cinema through economic government measures, new media, media convergence and the growth of the Indian diaspora, is close to Rajadhyaksha’s.12 Punathambekar, who writes ten years after Rajadhyaksha, can point out two more factors that have recognizably impacted the running of Bollywood, however. The first is India’s multiplex boom (2013: 75), which has helped erode the borders between the art and popular cinemas (see also Virdi & Creekmur 2006: 140; Prasad 2008: 48). The expansion of the middle classes in India has created a larger and more sophisticated film audience, and the growing number of multiplex cinemas caters to these new, urban audiences and provides a platform for niche films (which are sometimes even called ‘multiplex films’) that do not attract the large audiences that a film needs in order to be profitable in traditional single-screen cinemas. One of the most salient trends in Indian cinema over the past years has therefore been the domestic success of deliberately non-formulaic smaller films, which started with works like Dev.D (2009), Udaan (Flight, 2010), Love, Sex Aur Dhoka (Love, Sex and Betrayal, 2010), Tere Bin Laden (Your Bin Laden, 2010), and Peepli Live (2010). A second change, which basically occurred alongside corporatization, has been the gradual adoption of Hollywood structures and management

What Is Bollywood?

27

strategies. The result is a hybrid of old and new, as ‘Bollywood is being shaped by a productive, if at times uneasy, coexistence of heterogeneous capitalist practices defined as much by kinship networks and interpersonal relations as by modes of speculation and practices of risk management that Hollywood has rendered globally recognizable’ (Punathambekar 2013: 20–1). Both in terms of its audiences and its production models, Bollywood is therefore shaped by its transnational position. It exemplifies transnational media flows which have a strong regional presence but are also aimed at audiences outside their primary constituency (see Thussu 2007: 13). Yet Bollywood’s international role also illustrates the asymmetrical nature of today’s global media flows. Although India’s share of the global film industry revenues rose from 0.2 per cent in 2004 to an impressive 1.7 per cent in 2012 – it even reached 2.2 per cent in 2007 – its status remains decidedly minor compared to the hegemonic American film industry.13 One should keep in mind, however, that the cultural value of Bollywood ‘has always been greater than its market value’ (Singh & House 2010) because of its cultural predominance in India and its presence among diasporic South Asian communities across the globe and in other foreign markets. Both in terms of how the film industry has been reshaped by corporatization and on the textual level, where, as a consequence, distinctions between mainstream and middle cinema become increasingly blurred, Bollywood has therefore markedly changed since its beginnings around the mid-1990s. Some of the recent changes in Indian popular cinema can be interpreted as a modification of local Indian film culture through the appropriation of global influences. Yet the aggressive targeting of overseas markets in the past twenty years also allows the reverse interpretation. From this perspective, Indian films are being Westernized, that is, localized to make them more palatable for Western consumers in order to increase their already global reach.14 At the same time, the films and the culture industry that relies on them retain a recognizably Indian quality due to their difference from Hollywood. They function as a very particular metonymy of the nation by conveying a ‘ “feel good” version’ of Indian culture (Rajadhyaksha 2003: 37) and projecting ‘India into the global commodity fantasy’ (Govil 2007: 93). In this context, ‘Bollywood’ has acquired the role and functions of a brand label (cf. Raghavendra 2012). Since the commodities of the Bollywood brand are consumed and marketed globally, the Indian input into the discursive construction of the brand is, though dominant, not exclusive. Instead, the perception and construction of the brand varies from one national market

28

Bollywood in Britain

to the next, as intermediaries and consumers construct their own local and heterogeneous versions of Bollywood. This book will present the key features of the British version of the brand and several other discursive constructions of the ‘fundamentally fragmentary’ (Kaur & Sinha 2005b: 16) Bollywood phenomenon. Before this, however, comes an examination of Indian mainstream cinema’s role in the British film market.

3

Popular Indian Cinema in Britain – Facts and Figures

Great Britain has always been a particularly lucrative overseas market for Indian film producers (Dwyer 2006: 367; FDA 2008: 20). This chapter points out some of the key phases in the history of popular Indian cinema in Britain and then outlines the key developments since the beginning of the Bollywood boom. Drawing on statistics about the British film market1 and on a survey conducted for this book in early 2010, the chapter presents the key facts and figures about the status of popular Indian films in the British film market and among British audiences. No proper history of popular Indian cinema in Britain has been written so far, and it is not the aim of this study to provide one. Yet Heather Tyrrell’s exemplary article ‘Bollywood in Britain’ from 19982 gives a very good overview of the ups and downs of popular Indian cinema in Britain before the boom that would come in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Its presence in Britain goes back to the 1950s when, in the wake of growing immigration from South Asia, the films achieved a small presence especially in English cinemas. This presence was stable enough even then to attract, on occasion, the attendance of Indian film stars for promotional purposes (Tyrrell 1998: 21). The presence of Hindi films in Britain expanded in the 1960s, when a large number of South Asians immigrated from East Africa and brought with them their experience of how to develop an infrastructure for upholding their culture in an alien environment (Dwyer 2006: 364–5). By the 1970s, specialist Indian cinemas had emerged nationwide, peaking at ‘120 cinemas in the UK [that] showed Bollywood full or part time’ (Tyrrell 1998: 21). Before then, Indian films would have been screened at off-peak times on weekends at mainstream cinemas hired for these particular shows, especially in areas with large Asian population groups (cf. Dwyer 2006: 364; Tyrrell 1998: 21). Apart from serving as family outings, these screenings

30

Bollywood in Britain

provided an important social space and networking opportunities for the British Asian communities. For them, ‘Bollywood and cinemagoing were at the centre of political, cultural and social life’ (Tyrrell 1998: 21). In an essay about Manchester’s ‘Curry Mile’ on Wilmslow Road, Nida Kirmani even suggests that the screenings may have functioned as a pulling factor in the demographic transformation of streets and entire town areas. Kirmani claims that the screenings first attracted an infrastructure of Asian-owned businesses, which catered to the cinema patrons, and that this infrastructure in turn attracted Asians who moved into the respective areas (2006: 327). The arrival of video in the late 1970s led to the collapse of Hindi cinema exhibition in the UK (Tyrrell 1998: 21). People started watching popular Indian films at home, where they had access to a greater variety of films, also in other languages than Hindi. And, of course, staying at home was also much cheaper than a family outing to the cinema. By 1980, therefore, ‘UK Asians were the world’s first mass video audience: at the peak of the boom there were up to 20 Bollywood video shops in most British cities, and a phenomenal 45 in Leicester’ (1998: 21). Just as video had practically wiped Indian films from the UK cinema bills, however, video itself came under pressure when non-terrestrial satellite and cable television channels specializing in Indian mainstream cinema started to arrive in the early 1990s. Most of the video market for Indian films collapsed – a development further enhanced by film piracy (Tyrrell 1998: 21–2).3 Popular Indian films as home entertainment thus moved from video to television. Yet the 1990s also saw the re-emergence of Bollywood cinema-going, at first in the shape of individual late-night screenings, which developed into longer runs (Dudrah 2002: 25). Later, with the arrival of successful big-budget movies, specialized cinemas with South Asian programming returned. This development was principally triggered by two Indian blockbusters: the family melodramas Hum Aapke Hain Koun …! (Who Am I to You, 1994) and Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (The Brave-Hearted will Take away the Bride, 1995). Both were centrally concerned with the negotiation of tradition and modernity while adopting a celebratory stance towards Indian traditions, and both obviously struck a chord with British Asian audiences. Especially Hum Aapke Hain Koun …! attracted spectators back to the cinemas, since the film was not released on video for a very long time, which meant that people actually had to go to theatres to watch it. Moreover, although satellite and cable TV emerged as potential rivals of cinema, many of their programmes and in fact entire channels were devoted to filmrelated content and thus acted (and still act) as major marketing tools for films

Popular Indian Cinema in Britain – Facts and Figures

31

(Dwyer 2006: 366). Even several of the British multiplexes, whose number grew continuously during the 1990s, began screening Indian films in the second half of the 1990s after a successful trial phase (Dudrah 2002: 25; Tyrrell 1998: 22).

Film releases The year 1998 became a sort of watershed year in the rise of Bollywood at the British box office because Mani Ratnam’s Dil Se (From the Heart) became the first Hindi film on official record to reach the top ten of the British box office charts, and Karan Johar’s crowd-pleaser Kuch Kuch Hota Hai (Some Things Happen) emerged as the year’s most successful foreign language film at the box office (BFI 2006: 176).4 Since then, popular Indian cinema has established itself firmly as the dominant cinema of Britain’s theatrical foreign language film market. In 2002, the BFI therefore introduced ‘India’ as a new category alongside the United States, UK and Europe in its statistical breakdown of the UK box office by country of origin, whereas Indian releases had formerly been included in the category ‘Rest of the world’. Indian films have repeatedly, and in the past years increasingly frequently, taken the top spot of the annual foreign language box office lists.5 Moreover, Indian productions have impressively dominated the annual top twenty lists published by the BFI and the UK Film Council since 1999 that indicate the number of releases from individual countries and box office revenues. In this second list, Indian releases always have made up about half of the titles, with a peak in 2006, when fourteen of the twenty most successful foreign language films released in the UK and the Republic of Ireland were from India. As a reaction, since 2012 the BFI’s statistical yearbooks no longer contain a list of the top twenty foreign language films. Instead they now provide two top ten lists of, respectively, Hindi films and other foreign language films (though, tellingly, not in this order). With rare exceptions, almost all Indian releases in the UK are Indian mainstream movies. The majority have been in Hindi, although Tamil films and, to a lesser degree, Punjabi films have had a smaller but stable presence in the cinemas. Films in other Indian languages, like Telugu or Urdu, in contrast, play a decidedly minor role in theatrical exhibition. In terms of box office, the predominance of Hindi cinema among all Indian films in the UK is even more pronounced than the number of releases might suggest (see Table 3.1).

32

Table 3.1 Indian film releases in the UK and Ireland since 1999 Year

1999

2000

Indian films

54

50

2002

2003

2004

2005

2006

49

60

56

55

74

69

53

66

12.2

Hindi films % of all releases: Indian films

13.7

12.8

13.8

16.2

13.2

% of all releases: Hindi films Indian films’ box office share (%)

0.9

1.0

1.2

Hindi films’ box office share (%) Source: Compiled from BFI and UKFC statistics

1.0

1.0

2007

2008

2009

2010

2011

2012 2013

2014

63

76

62

77

72

85

128

116

50

52

51

44

47

36

44

42

46

15.8

13.7

12.2

14.4

12.3

13.8

12.9

13.1

18.3

16.3

11.8

14.3

9.9

10.1

9.7

8.7

8.4

6.4

6.5

6

6.4

1.1

1.5

1.8

1.6

1.4

1.1

1.4

1.1

1.2

1.4

1.5

0.9

?

1.8

1.6

1.3

1.0

1.2

1.1

1.2

1.1

1.2

Bollywood in Britain

2001

Popular Indian Cinema in Britain – Facts and Figures

33

Unsurprisingly, the number of Indian films released per year in the UK has grown since 1999. From 54 films in 1999 it increased to 60 in 2002 and 77 in 2010, and it peaked in 2013 at 128 releases. Even though the growth was not linear, the available data show that the average total of annual Indian releases between 2005 and 2010 (70.1) was clearly higher than between 1998 and 2004 (48) and rose further to 95.6 films per year between 2010 and 2014, mostly due to a striking growth in the number of films from other regional cinemas than ‘Bollywood’ in 2013 and 2014. In 2005, 2006 and 2013 the number of Indian releases even rivalled that of British films, so that India competed for the number two spot (behind the United States) concerning the number of film releases in the UK according to country of origin. This sounds impressive, but these figures need to be put in perspective since the market share of foreign language films in the UK is relatively small. Foreign language films took an annual average of merely 3.07 per cent of the total box office in the UK between 2002 and 2010, although, on average, they made up 35.7 per cent of all releases. In the following years the percentage of foreign language releases stayed almost the same at an average of 36 per cent, but their share of the total box office further declined to an average of 2.2 per cent between 2011 and 2014. Similarly, although Indian films have constituted an impressive annual average of 14 per cent of all theatrical releases in the UK since 1999, their percentage of the overall box office has been comparatively small: it averaged 1.03 per cent between 1999 and 2004, grew to 1.46 per cent between 2005 and 2010 (with a peak in 2006 at 1.8 per cent) and declined again to an average of 1.3 per cent between 2011 and 2014 with, however, an upward trend in 2013 and 2014. Still, these apparently small percentages represent important sums of money, especially given the low exchange rate of the rupee in relation to the pound sterling. This explains why roughly seventy-five Indian films (and recently even significantly more) keep being released in Britain each year. Moreover, as with Hollywood films, theatrical exhibition functions as promotion for the films’ later exploitation as home entertainment. Along with the general growth of British box office takings, the grosses of Indian films in Britain almost tripled from £5.7m in 1999 to £15.6m in 2006, a success only exceeded in 2013, when Dhoom 3 (Blast 3) and Chennai Express each contributed more than £2m to total Indian box office takings of £16.1m, and in 2014 (£16.3m), with PK as the strongest film. The distributors, who profit most from results like this, are mostly Indian companies that also invest in film production.

34

Bollywood in Britain

As indicated above, the lion’s share of this money is made by Hindi releases, whose number floated roughly around a mark of fifty films per year between 1999 and 2008. Between 2009 and 2013 the average decreased to a little over forty releases (see Table 3.1). This fact is remarkable because it shows that the growth of British box office takings for Indian films since 1999 is not only (and possibly not even predominantly) rooted in the growing number of Indian releases. It seems more likely that the growth has instead been founded on changes concerning the exhibition, distribution, reception and possibly textual nature of the Hindi films released in Britain.

Film exhibition The theatrical exhibition of Indian mainstream films in Britain was revived in the early 1990s, when the fact that the middle classes returned to the cinemas in India inspired Asian entrepreneurs in Britain to showcase successful Indian films. They privately hired film venues for individual screenings, which might develop into longer runs if they were popular (Tyrrell 1998: 22). This model was so successful that by the end of the 1990s cinemas specializing in South Asian programming started to re-emerge in areas with large British Asian population groups. Cinemas like the Safari in Harrow, the Safari in Croydon, the Gosai in Ealing, the Himalaya Palace in Southall, the Boleyn Cinema in East Ham and the Piccadilly Cinemas in Leicester and Birmingham as well as the Bombay Cinema in Glasgow were manifestations of this development. By the end of the decade, the biggest releases even found their way onto individual multiplex screens, with UCI multiplexes, which would later become part of the Odeon Cinemas chain, showing Indian films at least twice a week at their sixteen venues (Tyrrell 1998: 22). The exhibition of Indian films by multiplex chains has expanded considerably since these moderate beginnings, so that exhibition has practically been taken out of Asian hands. Tyrrell’s prognosis from 1998 that within a few years Asian agents could become redundant and Asianowned cinemas would have to struggle to survive in the face of multiplex chains’ plans to screen Bollywood nationally (22) has become a reality. The statistics clearly document a slow but continuous decline in the number of what the BFI classifies as ‘South Asian screens’, that is, screens in cinemas that are mainly dedicated to South Asian films (BFI 2014: 110). Even though

Popular Indian Cinema in Britain – Facts and Figures

35

one needs to take into account the rise of DVD consumption and of (legal and illegal) film downloads in recent years as influencing factors, it is safe to assume that the availability of Indian films in multiplexes has played a major role in this development. While Aftab complained in 2002 about the limited reach of the theatrical exhibition of Indian mainstream films, whose success in getting shown outside traditional (Asian) circuits he perceived to be limited (93, 95), the situation in 2015 is fundamentally different. Only two British cinemas with predominantly South Asian programming have survived: the Safari in Harrow and the Boleyn Cinema Upton Park (i.e. two cinemas in the Greater London area). These specialized cinemas are clearly under enormous economic pressure from the multiplexes, which have been showing Indian films nationally and on a regular basis for years. The effect has been that, despite the dwindling number of ‘South Asian screens’, the theatrical exhibition of Indian films has, overall, expanded. Still, as a look at the three largest exhibitors in Britain reveals, it is important to note that the theatrical exhibition of popular Indian films in Britain is far from evenly distributed geographically. Odeon, Britain’s largest exhibitor in terms of both sites and screens (BFI 2014: 113), has been regularly screening Indian films in subtitled versions for many years, a niche of the programme that used to be advertised on the Odeon web site as ‘Odeon Bollywood’ until it was recently relabelled ‘Odeon Bollywood & South Asian Cinema’. The change reflects the growing number of especially Tamil releases in the past years and indicates that there is now more awareness of the distinctions between different South Asian cinemas. Apparently, Odeon has also recognized that there is a real danger of alienating patrons of Tamil, Punjabi or Urdu films by subsuming them under the ‘Bollywood’ label. However, at the time of writing this, ‘Odeon Bollywood & South Asian Cinema’ is available at only thirty-three of the 115 Odeon sites and by no means consistently. Depending on the South Asian films on offer in a particular week, Odeon may screen them at a very restricted number of cinemas or, indeed, none at all (although this is exceptional).6 Cineworld, which comprises the former Cine-UK and UGC chains and is the second largest exhibitor in Britain, also has a link on its web site that leads specifically to the South Asian films in its programme. (Like Odeon, it has renamed this category ‘Bollywood and South Asian Cinema’.) Again, this presence underlines the stable and established status of Indian films in the Cineworld programme. However, a closer look reveals that their screenings of

36

Bollywood in Britain

South Asian films, too, are restricted to a limited number of sites. All in all, about fifteen of the eighty-two Cineworld sites schedule South Asian mainstream films on a regular basis (though not necessarily each week), and some ten more show them occasionally. The London Ilford and London Feltham cinemas take pride of place in this line-up. They have in recent years also hosted several UK premières of Hindi films as well as promotional meet-and-greet events with big stars, thus creating for themselves a profile of being Bollywood showcases. Another such showcase is Vue Star City, a 25-screen cinema in Birmingham’s Star City complex with very extensive Bollywood programming. The cinema, which was opened in 2000, usually features no less than four to eight South Asian films per week. Vue Star City perfectly illustrates the effects the multiplexes have had on independent cinema exhibition of Indian films, because together with the other multiplexes in the area Star City has practically killed off all its independent competitors in the wider Birmingham area. Many spectators obviously preferred the greater choice of films and the comforts and amenities of the multiplex cinema and the leisure centre in which it is situated to watching films in the often quite rundown cinema halls of the independents. Once again, despite extensive Bollywood programming at Vue Star City, regular programming of popular Indian films occurs at only about 10 per cent of all Vue multiplexes. Yet Vue, counting on the fact that most major British cities now have a sizable South Asian population (Thussu 2008: 14), will schedule selected Indian films on a broader scale, just like their competitors. One random example illustrating this strategy is Kurbaan (Sacrificed, 2009), a film that was what one might term a promising ‘package’. It had a potential cross-over topic (Islamist terrorism) and came from renowned company Dharma Productions, which had been responsible for big hits (also in Britain) like Kuch Kuch Hota Hai and Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham (Sometimes Happiness, Sometimes Sadness, 2001). The film was distributed by UTV, a company known for high-profile films like Swades (Own Country, 2004) or Rang De Basanti (Colour It Saffron, 2006). Kurbaan featured several big stars in leading and supporting roles (among them real-life partners Saif Ali Khan and Kareena Kapoor as the central couple), and its overall production design looks polished and professional. Based on all this, Vue showed Kurbaan at no less than fifty of its (then) sixty-three sites in the film’s first week of release from 20 November 2009. Kurbaan’s box office did not live up to what the package had promised, however. The film therefore certainly did not help to change the still prevailing situation: excepting only the most strongly anticipated high-profile releases with superstars, screenings of Indian

Popular Indian Cinema in Britain – Facts and Figures

37

films in Britain tend to be limited to the core cinemas of the multiplex chains’ Bollywood and South Asian cinemas programmes.7 Regular and occasional Bollywood programming is geographically clustered. If one compares the distribution of screens that are devoted to Indian mainstream films with the total of British cinema screens, one quickly discovers that the screens showing Indian films are spread rather unevenly. Scotland, Wales (with the exception of Cardiff ) and Northern Ireland have a far lower percentage of screens showing Indian movies than England. Yet within England, there are also considerable regional differences because some regions host a much higher or lower percentage of the total screens devoted to Indian mainstream films than the distribution of cinema screens in general would warrant. The most striking case is London, which is home to about one half of all screens with regular South Asian programming, although only 22 per cent of all British screens are located there (BFI 2014: 108). In the South East, South West and the East of England, in contrast, the percentage of screens devoted to Indian films is considerably lower than the regions’ percentage of all British screens. The opposite is the case in the West Midlands and especially in the East Midlands and Yorkshire. Overall, London, the Midlands (with the focus points of Birmingham and Leicester), the Manchester area, Lancashire and the Leeds-Bradford area in Yorkshire thus are the regions with a disproportionately high number of screens devoted to Indian films. The opposite is the case in Northern Ireland, Scotland and the South East, South West and East of England.8 Given the data presented here, it is therefore possible to speak of the theatrical exhibition of Indian movies in Britain as a nationwide phenomenon – but only with a grain of salt.

Film distribution Given the role of Indian films in the British foreign language film market, companies that specialize in Indian films play a prominent role among the foreign language film distributors with the highest box office takings (UK Film Council 2009: 69; BFI 2014: 96–7). Yet, given the role of foreign films in Britain, their overall market share is also small. In a situation where the top ten distributors (including majors such as Universal Pictures, Paramount, Sony Pictures, Warner Bros. and Walt Disney Studios) share up to 96 per cent of the market among them, as they did in 2013 (BFI 2014: 94), there remains little room for the dozens of other distributors who compete for the rest of the pie.9

38

Bollywood in Britain

The distribution of Indian films in Britain goes back several decades and naturally has always depended on the size of the theatrical market. In the Seventies, before video (almost) killed the cinema star, at least four companies distributed Indian films to the many theatres around the country. Indian films in Britain had their own economic arrangements then: the films were hired for flat fees rather than a percentage of the box office (Tyrrell 1998: 21). The return of Indian mainstream films into the cinemas in the 1990s was initially driven by individual Asian agents who would acquire prints from India and then rent theatres to show them. When the theatrical presence of Indian films became more stable, specialized distribution companies re-emerged, although there was never enough of a market to accommodate a large number of them. Indian mainstream films in the UK have traditionally been released by only a handful of specialist distributors (Aftab 2002: 95). These tend to be affiliates or subsidiaries of Indian production houses, which started opening offices in the UK in the 1990s, when the growing economic significance of this market made it imperative for them to stake their claims. Since 2000 this short list of distributors has been dominated by two companies, Eros International and Yash Raj Films, albeit in the face of increasing competition from distributors like UTV Communications/UTV Motion Pictures and Adlabs/Reliance (cf. UK Film Council 2010: 62; BFI 2011: 78; BFI 2014: 97). All of these companies engage in both film distribution and production. The companies work with varying success from year to year, but almost each year from 1998 to 2013 it was either Eros International or Yash Raj Films that managed to achieve the best box office takings of all foreign language films distributors in the UK.10 Their strategies vary. Yash Raj Films tends to distribute much fewer films than Eros International but concentrates on comparatively big releases. Due to the larger number of films, the average width of release for Eros films is smaller. This does not mean, however, that Eros concentrates exclusively on ‘smaller’ films. For example, the most successful Hindi film in Britain in 2007, Om Shanti Om, was released by Eros with a little over fifty prints and reached rank seven of the box office chart in its first weekend of release (from 9 November 2007).11 Even then, this number of prints, though typical of big Hindi film releases by Indian distributors in the UK at the time, was of course no match for average releases by US majors and their strategy of maximizing profits in the first week of release. Just to illustrate this: the weekend’s number one, the US/ Canadian production Good Luck Chuck (2007), also in its first week of release, was screened at 379 sites. The logical consequence is that successful Hindi

Popular Indian Cinema in Britain – Facts and Figures

39

films usually achieve much higher per-site averages than their competitors. Om Shanti Om, for example, had an excellent per-site average of £9978 from its first weekend, compared to only £3473 for Good Luck Chuck. Even the selective involvement of US majors in the British distribution of Hindi films since the beginning of the 2010s has not fundamentally affected this situation. Their greater economic clout has meant more intensive marketing and a larger number of prints or DCPs (Digital Cinema Packages) for films, leading to wider releases than most Indian distributors can afford. The starpowered Karan Johar film My Name is Khan, for instance, which opened in British cinemas on 12 February 2010, was co-produced and then distributed by Twentieth Century Fox to ninety-one sites, an exceptional number for a Hindi film. It went on to reach by far the best per-site average of all films showing in its first week of release. Due to its package of stars (India’s probably most popular screen couple Shahrukh Khan and Kajol) and the track record of its director – Johar has helmed some of the most successful Indian films at the British box office ever – My Name is Khan would have performed extremely well even had it been distributed by an Indian company. Yet the comparatively wider release allowed the eagerly anticipated film to make even more money in its first week. Another example illustrating this strategy is Chennai Express from 2013, which was co-produced and distributed by UTV Motion Pictures (and thus a subsidiary of the Walt Disney Company) to 126 sites in its first week of release. Compared to Grown Ups 2 (356 sites) and The Lone Ranger (519 sites), the top new Hollywood releases of the week, this may seem like a small figure, but it was an extraordinary one for a Hindi film. Moreover, Chennai Express still achieved the best per-site average. Immediate success on the first weekend is particularly important for Hindi films because of the scope of the piracy problem affecting Indian cinema.12 Film producers and distributors have made concerted efforts to fight the problem – with very limited success. Illegal online versions and DVDs are sometimes available before the first theatrical screenings of a film have even taken place, and the longer a film is on release, the stronger the impact of illegal downloads and pirated copies on its box office becomes: ‘given that a film’s opening weekend often accounts for 60 to 70 per cent of its earnings, every day’s delay in the availability of pirated copies can make a big financial difference’ (Priyanka Joshi 2008). My Name is Khan went on to become the Indian film with the highest box office takings in the UK (for then), so that 2010 has gone down in the statistics as

40

Bollywood in Britain

the first and so far only year in which the most successful Hindi film in the UK and Ireland was distributed by a US major (BFI 2011: 77). Still, there is of course no guarantee of success even when a powerful American distributor is involved. The comedy Atithi Tum Kab Jaoge (Dear Guest, When Will You Leave, 2010), for example, which was released in the UK by Warner Bros. a few weeks after My Name is Khan, simply flopped. It is quite striking that not even the Hollywood distributors are trying systematically to attract new audiences for Indian films. Although English subtitling became practically ubiquitous after Lagaan (Land Tax, 2001), distributors’ attempts to cross over to non-traditional audiences have been rare. The most ambitious effort in this respect was the promotion campaign for Santosh Sivan’s Asoka (2001), a historical film starred and co-produced by Shahrukh Khan, who has a particularly strong overseas fan base. Asoka, which was released with more than eighty prints, became the first Indian mainstream film to be promoted by a British publicity firm, with posters on the Tube, newspaper adverts and a making-of book as part of the marketing mix (Thussu 2008: 107). Still, at the box office the film did not live up to its campaign, so that this distribution model has found no imitators. Asoka was later released on video and DVD in Britain by Metrodome and stocked by Tesco and Woolworths, who combined their promotional efforts with those of the distributor and ultimately sold an impressive 20,000 DVDs and further 10,000 units on video (Aftab 2002: 93). Yet Asoka did not achieve the desired crossover. Outside Asian communities there is little awareness of which Indian films are being released (and when). Mainstream film magazines still do not take notice of any but the most high-profile Indian releases (cf. Aftab 2002: 93), and even when Time Out still seemed to list all the films running in London and all the cinemas’ programmes, somebody trying to find out which Bollywood films were being shown in London on this basis alone would have found it difficult to get a full picture: the information in Time Out did not include the specialized cinemas in the suburbs. The only Indian films listed in the magazine were those screened by the multiplex chains or occasional special screenings at other cinemas in the city centre. Reviewing by magazines and national newspapers, too, is quite sporadic. As Anil Sinanan, Bollywood critic for Time Out and The Times, pointed out already in 2006, however, it would be wrong to put the blame for this entirely on the magazines and newspapers and an alleged Western bias. The distributors themselves have made little to no effort to change the situation as they have

Popular Indian Cinema in Britain – Facts and Figures

41

refused to adapt their practices to the established film reviewing procedures in the UK. According to Sinanan (2006), releases were ‘rarely planned well in advance, so it is often impossible to determine exactly which titles will be released in which week’. Moreover, assuming that the core Indian audience in Britain is not influenced by reviews but by star presence and topic, distributors usually do not organize previews for the UK press, which effectively means that they fall out of the reviewing system. If critics like Sinanan want to review a new film as early as possible, they therefore have to attend a regular early screening, most probably in one of the suburb multiplexes. Most critics, understandably, do not make the effort. The Indian distributors have been happy to restrict their marketing efforts to the Asian communities and to advertise in regional papers and national Asian newspapers and on Asian web sites. They raise interest by posters and information material displayed in cinemas and trust in the force of word of mouth and the fact that British Asians have access to the international sources of advertising for the films, such as satellite TV, internet pages or internationally exported Indian film magazines like Stardust, Filmfare, Movie or Cineblitz.13 It is symptomatic in this respect that there is no specialized British Bollywood magazine, although many British Asian magazines contain film gossip and information. For anybody outside the target group, including the average British cinema-goer, the most accessible sources of information on current Indian mainstream films are therefore the web sites of the multiplex chains, which usually contain the trailers and basic information about the films that are scheduled at the respective cinemas.

Audiences The geographical distribution of screens showing South Asian films as well as the distributors’ marketing strategies underline that Indian films in UK cinemas play almost exclusively to audiences with South Asian backgrounds.14 Watching Bollywood films at the cinema is therefore an activity that is very strongly ethnically coded. Yet a closer look reveals that within this ethnic framework, the cinema audience is rather heterogeneous. It is drawn from all sections of the British Asian communities, although only few British Asians actually speak Hindi as their mother tongue (Dwyer 2006: 367).15 Spectators with South Indian backgrounds are in the minority, not only because their number among

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Bollywood in Britain

British Asians in general is comparatively small but also because their cultural and linguistic affinity to the Hindi films predominantly shown in British cinemas is weaker than among British Asians with a Pakistani or Northern Indian background. Still, a growing number of South Indian film releases in recent years, especially in Tamil, have catered to precisely this audience so successfully that distributor Ayngaran, which specializes in Tamil films, has consistently ranked among the top ten distributors of foreign language films in Britain since 2010. The Asian audiences for mainstream Indian cinema in Britain come from a broad range of ethnic communities. This does not mean, however, that Bollywood viewing is a universally accepted activity. The Bollywood Batein report indicated in 2004, for example, that especially older Muslim viewers worried about inappropriate sexual content in Bollywood films and that some Muslim men considered the viewing of Bollywood films a frivolous activity and restricted their consumption in their homes (2004: 19). Moreover, according to the same source, ‘among the more conservative/older members of the Pakistani and Bangladeshi communities, cinema-going [in general] was regarded as a “male only” activity and it was not felt to be appropriate behaviour for women to go’ (2004: 18). In spite of this, the existing research indicates that overall Bollywood-viewing in Britain is a more female than male pursuit. Bollywood Batein, for example, states that women ‘appeared to be the most avid viewers of Bollywood’, and it identifies different genre preferences among male and female viewers (2004: 18). Garbin’s examination of the film consumption among young British Bangladeshis in London concludes that ‘while all the young British Bangladeshi girls said that they liked (or just watched) Bollywood films, none of the boys seemed to show a strong interest in them’ (2009: 23). Banaji, finally, has observed a massive preponderance of female viewers of thirty years or more in daytime shows coupled with a notable absence of young male spectators and only a few males of thirty years or more in attendance (2006: 50–1). Talking to male Asian cinema patrons about their reasons for going to see a Bollywood film, I have frequently got the answer that they have only come to accompany their wives and daughters, although they do not like Indian mainstream films themselves. The considerable number of male fans attending Bollywood premières speak a different language, however. Cinema audiences for Indian mainstream films encompass a wide spectrum of social strata, with obvious differences between individual cinemas depending

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on their socio-demographic environment and their programming and pricing strategies: an upscale multiplex cinema with correspondingly high ticket prices, such as the Empire Leicester Square in London, which shows only the biggest and most successful Bollywood releases, naturally attracts a different sort of clients than a suburban Asian independent cinema such as the Himalaya Palace in Southall. Before the cinema closed in March 2010, tickets there cost only £6 for peak shows on the weekend and as little as £3 for some other shows. Anyone observing the cinema audiences for Hindi mainstream films in Britain will be struck by the sheer number of families among them. While many persons also attend the films in groups of friends (often of the same sex), there is a striking tendency to watch Bollywood films with family. These family groups can comprise up to three or even four generations, as some cinemas accommodate this kind of family viewing by allowing very small children into the auditorium. The phenomenon of Bollywood family viewing is based on the widespread perception that Bollywood movies are usually suitable for the entire family, that is, devoid of explicit sexual scenes (Bollywood Batein 2004: 7). Moreover, Bollywood viewing serves as a family experience ‘especially where there [are] members of the family in the household who sp[eak] little or no English’ (Bollywood Batein 2004: 23). Even if the multiplexes do not serve as a networking space for the Asian communities like the independent Asian cinemas used to do, Bollywood viewing there thus still functions as a sort of bonding device, especially as cinema-going is a regular activity for many patrons.16 Linking persons of most disparate ages it creates a generational continuity. Due to the ethnic almost-exclusivity of Bollywood cinema-going, it also exudes the flair of being a specifically Asian process of cultural identity formation. Based on this Dudrah has made the political claim that the ‘act of viewing Bollywood films in Britain, whether in the personal space of the home and/or in the public sphere of the cinema, can be considered as a cultural practice wherein notions of becoming and being “Asian” are able to flourish on the terms of British Asians themselves’ (2002: 33–4).17 Commentators have frequently claimed that the introduction of a diaspora theme and the thematic emphasis on the negotiation of tradition and modernity that can be seen in many Bollywood films of the 1990s and early 2000s were in fact attempts by Indian filmmakers to tap into precisely such a diasporic psychological constellation. The concentration of screens with Bollywood programming in areas with large Asian population groups and the restricted scope of theatrical exhibition

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for Indian films elsewhere clearly indicate that mainstream Indian films in Britain have so far not crossed over to non-traditional audience groups to a significant extent. Moreover, the fact that the films are attended predominantly by Asians naturally does not mean that the reverse is the case. Analyses of British film audiences according to ethnicity overwhelmingly confirm that British Asians do not generally watch mainly South Asian films. Since British Asians socialized in Britain grow up with Western cinema and TV in a mainstream public sphere that is mostly white with only a limited British Asian presence (Dwyer 2006: 367), many do not watch Indian films at all but opt instead for the favourites of the total British cinema audience (cf. UK Film Council 2009: 122; FDA 2008: 66). The theatrical market for Indian films is therefore restricted, and only Indian blockbuster releases are (relatively) widely programmed. As a consequence, the independent cinemas have ceded the Bollywood market practically exclusively to the multiplexes, which jostle for the available clients in their local and regional catchment areas. Although the British market for Indian films in theatrical exhibition is restricted, it is also stable. The existence of core ‘Bollywood’ cinemas in the chains of the three largest exhibitors in Britain and the occasional Hindi film programming that takes place elsewhere clearly show this. Because of the ethnic near-exclusivity of British Bollywood audiences, nonAsian spectators have rarely figured in existing audience research. It is one of the explicit aims of the present study, however, to shine a light at Bollywood in Britain beyond the Asian niche, so a survey was designed to complement existing research about the media consumption habits of traditional and, most importantly, non-traditional Bollywood spectators and to test some of the most widespread assumptions about their reasons for watching Bollywood.18 Overall the survey showed that the ratio of respondents with strong positive or even fannish investment in Bollywood was significantly higher among traditional than non-traditional spectators, and this was mirrored in their consumption habits. The majority of respondents who could be classified as non-traditional Bollywood consumers stated that Bollywood films constituted less than 10 per cent of their total film intake; none of them indicated a percentage of more than 60 per cent. In contrast, 43 per cent of the traditional spectators claimed that 60 per cent or more of the films they watched were Bollywood films. Unsurprisingly, this difference also extended to how frequently the respondents consume Bollywood films. The survey clearly underlined the ethnic near-exclusivity of Bollywood cinema-going in Britain. Even though some non-traditional spectators indicated

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that they preferred watching Bollywood films theatrically, not all of them necessarily acted on this preference. While the percentage of those watching Bollywood on TV or DVD was similar in the traditional and non-traditional camps, the difference in consuming Bollywood at the cinema was striking. All respondents who were classified as traditional spectators stated that they watched Bollywood films at the cinema, but only six out of thirteen respondents classified as non-traditional spectators said so. Although many non-traditional spectators clearly enjoy the pleasures of watching a film at the cinema and may even prefer it to watching films at home, there must therefore be factors that deter them from actually watching Indian films theatrically. Even in areas where Indian films are regularly scheduled at cinemas, the DVD is the medium of choice among non-traditional viewers. For them, forms of home entertainment are therefore generally more important sources of Bollywood films. Generally speaking, we have relatively little reliable data about Bollywood as home entertainment in Britain. While there are quite a lot of statistics that give us insight into the size and nature of the theatrical market, assessing the home entertainment market is far more difficult. The industry hardly ever authorizes the publication of individual title results, for example. This is all the more regrettable because the number of films watched theatrically is actually very small in comparison with other forms of film consumption (UK Film Council 2009: 127). This chapter will at least attempt to sketch the main parameters, however, for there is no doubt that Indian mainstream cinema forms an integral presence in many British homes, especially via television and video in the widest sense, including DVD and blu-ray discs as well as various download and streaming models.19 Indian mainstream cinema plays a decidedly minor role on British terrestrial television, even though documentary programmes about the Indian film industry and broadcasts of selected films on Channel 4 first brought the phenomenon to the attention of a wider British public. Channel 4 still continues its commitment to Indian cinema and schedules at least one major series of such films each year (usually in autumn). Yet terrestrial television in general broadcasts only few foreign language films anyway, and the length of popular Indian films, which does not fit into the traditional time slot programming system, renders the position of mainstream Indian cinema on terrestrial TV even more precarious. Those who love Indian cinema have been far better served by satellite and cable television. The arrival of South Asian satellite TV channels like Zee TV in 1995, Asianet (which has stronger leanings towards South Indian content) and

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Sony Entertainment Asia in 1998 (Tyrrell 1998: 21), as well as Star TV initiated a radical change in the British media landscape, which made it much easier for British Asians to access South Asian content. This development was then accelerated by the growth of the internet and the general spreading of digital TV in Britain (in the shape of freeview as well as pay satellite and cable TV). Though somewhat sweeping, Taylor’s claim from 2008 that ‘Asian communities [in Western nations] are forgoing terrestrial TV and flocking to sign up to satellite services offering the type of specific programming other networks are simply unable to compete with’ contains a very solid kernel of truth about the reality of media consumption among British Asians, many of whom subscribe to Asian-language TV channels. Among the Asians that participated in the survey for this study, for example, 80 per cent claimed that they subscribed to at least one Asian-language TV channel and that they had access to one or more of the satellite TV channels devoted to Bollywood films. The spreading of satellite TV was a big boost for the Hindi film industry. Many programmes on these TV channels are film-related and act as implicit advertising tools, and there are entire channels which are exclusively dedicated to Indian films. In 1999, for example, B4U (Bollywood for You), a 24/7 digital Hindi movie channel, was launched in the UK (Punathambekar & Kavoori 2008: 5). It was followed by further film-based pay channels dedicated to Indian mainstream cinema. The most prominent among them are Zee Cinema, which provides a mixture of old and new films, and Star Gold, which is devoted to Hindi film classics (the term ‘classic’ is applied very liberally, however, and includes any blockbuster or critically acclaimed film from the recent past). The survey conducted for this study clearly suggests that television, especially via pay channels, is the medium most frequently used for consuming Indian films by British Asian viewers. While TV, along with DVDs, was the most important medium for consuming Bollywood films for non-traditional spectators, it is noteworthy that three quarters of the non-traditional spectators stated that their household did not subscribe to an Asian-language TV channel or a TV channel devoted to Indian mainstream films. This underlines the significance of Bollywood programming on terrestrian channels for non-traditional Bollywood audiences, although several South Asian movie channels such as Zee Cinema, B4U Movies, Star Gold and Sony Max are available in Britain via Sky or Virgin Media. Any effort to outline the DVD market for Indian mainstream films in Britain is thwarted by a lack of statistical data. This, in turn, is mostly due to black or

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grey areas in wide parts of this market, which the British Video Association’s (BVA) yearbooks vividly illustrate. Each yearbook contains a chart that shows the percentage by which specific film genres are represented among retail DVD sales. In 2008 the BVA advised Official Charts Company (OCC), which compiles the chart, to add Bollywood to the genre breakdown. So far, however, Bollywood films have, despite their popularity, consistently failed to produce an entry in the chart! The BVA has quite rightly attributed this to ‘their niche distribution channels which are not picked up by Official Charts Company’ (BVA 2014: 45) and ‘high levels of piracy’ (BVA 2013: 49). The ‘interoperability of legal and nonlegal distribution networks’ that Govil has pointed out so succinctly in relation to the distribution of Indian popular cinema in the global market (2007: 85) obviously has a strong impact in Britain. Pirated DVDs are widely available in many of the numerous specialized shops in Asian quarters (the former socalled Asian video shops, Dudrah 2002: 22) or in Asian corner shops, and at a fraction of the high street retail price of original DVDs. The number of DVDs sold through ‘official’ channels, in contrast, is so small that it leaves no mark in OCC’s statistics. Indirectly, even the phenomenon of DVD piracy therefore contributes to the ethnic coding of watching Indian mainstream films in Britain.

4

Britain and Indian Diaspora Films – Questions of Nostalgia

Moving on from the previous chapter, which mapped the status of Indian mainstream films in the British film market in terms of exhibition, distribution and reception, the present chapter starts with a look at Britain as a place where Indian mainstream films are produced. The term ‘production’ in this context is used as the opposite of ‘reception’ rather than to refer to the overall organization and financing of a film. This does not mean, of course, that these two meanings of ‘production’ are mutually exclusive, especially in light of the UK/India coproduction treaty whose negotiations were completed in 2008 (DCMS & UK Film Council 2008) and which has led to more Indian films employing British talent both in front and behind the camera (cf. Dudrah 2006: 38). Following an overview of the various ways in which British locations have featured in Bollywood films since the mid-1990s, this chapter outlines the role of Britain in the so-called diaspora films and on the basis of an analysis of four exemplary films presents some of the key changes this genre has undergone. Drawing on recent research from the field of Diaspora Studies and on empirical research about British Hindi film spectators, the chapter eventually proposes some modifications to the resilient focus on diaspora and nostalgia in the academic discourse on Bollywood in Britain.

British locations in Bollywood films The Film Distributors’ Association (FDA) pointed out already in 2008 that ‘recent years have seen a sharp rise in the number of Bollywood films shot in the UK, especially London’ (20). If more evidence of Britain’s significance as a shooting location in Indian films were needed, one could find it in the Bollywood Britain Movie Map, which was launched as early as 2001 by the British Tourist

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Authority in an attempt to attract more South Asian tourists to Britain (Dwyer & Patel 2002: 67; see also Martin-Jones 2006: 51). The map listed the British shooting locations of several Indian films and thus offered fans the possibility to visit the sites of some of their favourite movie scenes. It was continuously updated and then more widely publicized in 2007 (in time for the IIFA Awards in Yorkshire) together with a new Bollywood London Movie Map.1 Both maps were obviously the result of the desire that Britain, via its tourism industry and as a location where film crews spend money, should profit financially from the global popularity of Hindi films by association.2 Indian cinema, and especially the version of Bollywood cinema that celebrates consumerism, is ‘part of a larger culture of travel’ (Mishra 2002: 249) among the diasporically dispersed Indian middle class which has developed since the 1990s. The VisitBritain Bollywood maps ultimately express especially the auratic quality that is bestowed on British locations in Hindi films by Indian star actors and/or a spectacular mode of presentation. Many Indian films have in fact used their British locations exclusively, or nearly exclusively, for their visual qualities. In Mohabbatein (Love Stories, 2000), for example, Longleat House in Wiltshire and Queen’s College in Oxford stand in for a fictional Indian private school. The buildings’ classic architectural gravitas is not only visually impressive, it also contributes to the characterization of the fictional setting as grand, austere and hostile to emotionality. The fact that the buildings, despite being recognizably non-Indian, are used to represent an Indian boarding school exemplifies that in many Hindi films the realism of settings is of secondary importance to their picturesque, atmospheric or symbolic qualities. Often it is also quite insignificant that a shooting location is in Britain (rather than, say, France or Iceland) (cf. Dudrah 2006: 71), especially when, as in Mohabbatein, the British setting plays no role in the film’s diegesis.3 A slightly different spin on this technique is the use of unspecified British landscapes or buildings as picturesque backdrops for fantasy song sequences. One famous example is the title song in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai (Some Things Happen, 1998), whose picturization4 contains several Scottish locations. In sequences like this the film jumps from its main setting to a different (often foreign) location in order to mark the sequence as a mindscreen, that is, in order to indicate that the spectators are witnessing the thoughts of one or more of the characters (cf. Hogan 2008: 165–6). It is a popular technique especially for representing love fantasies. Usually the exact setting of the fantasy sequence, and therefore the question of whether the shooting location was maybe in Britain

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or not, is once again insignificant for the diegesis or the meaning of the film. The qualities of the location that matter instead are its picturesqueness and impressive scenery, as well as its potential exotic appeal for the film’s domestic audiences. Yet the landscapes and especially the buildings depicted in such fantasy sequences usually allow at least a rough identification of the geographical and cultural sphere of the shooting location. Even British sites that remain unidentified thus trigger a notion of ‘the West’ and (from an Indian perspective) of foreign traditions. This notion becomes more specific when Britain serves as the setting of entire plot strands or even films. The majority of the second half of Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham (Sometimes Happiness, Sometimes Sadness, 2001), for example, is set in London, and several exterior scenes were indeed filmed on location. The spectators are introduced to the British setting in a song picturization that exemplifies several recurring formal and ideological key features of the representation of Britain in Hindi films. The sequence focuses on the character of Rohan Raichand (Hrithik Roshan), who is in London to look for his elder brother Rahul (Shahrukh Khan), who moved there after being banished from his family. Formally the song picturization follows an established pattern in Hindi cinema: it introduces the foreign setting by aerial shots of landmarks that serve as a shorthand for the location. In the case of London, the most popular of these landmarks are Tower Bridge, the Houses of Parliament and the London Eye, although Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus are also frequently pictured. Due to its metonymic nature, this iconography arguably conveys a reduced version of Britain that simplistically implies familiarity and control: the grandeur of the British capital – and with it the centre of power of the former Empire – is fragmented into visual stereotypes. In K3G (as Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham is commonly abbreviated), the landmark shots are supplemented by images of ‘typical’ London features such as red phone booths, red double-decker buses and hoardings evoking London’s ‘Theatreland’. Shots of food-chain outlets (Starbucks and Burger King) and designer shops, while less specific of London, metonymically characterize the new setting of the film as a consumerist space.5 The Indian characters in K3G move effortlessly within this space, not least because of their wealth. In most Hindi films that have diasporic characters, they are financially at ease. They enjoy at least a comfortable middle-class lifestyle, while many are even presented as super-rich, complete with mansions, luxury cars and designer clothes. This convention has in fact been so pervasive that it has created unrealistic notions

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about the material circumstances and lifestyles of diasporic Indians among Indian audiences. Many British Asian spectators therefore unsurprisingly object to it (Banaji 2006: 175). In K3G, the Indian characters’ cosmopolitan effortlessness in moving around London is enhanced by the film’s implicit construction of the city as an Indian space. The song ‘Vande mataram’ (I hail the mother) in praise of Mother India, for example, plays over the London opening sequence. By superimposing this song on images of the British capital, director Karan Johar effectively commits an act of Indian appropriation.6 In keeping with this strategy, the white extras in the sequence, who are dressed in the colours of the Indian flag or Indian fabrics, serve as a mere backdrop to the Indian star Hrithik Roshan, whose character seems to appropriate his new surroundings in full stride. At the same time, a short scene in which he performs some dance steps together with a group of Indian classical dancers outside the Empire cinema in Leicester Square emphasizes his cultural roots. The heartland of British theatre and film exhibition must cede the centre of the shot to a traditional form of Indian dance and to Indian cinema.7 Moreover, the elder brother’s family, to whose home the audience is introduced at the end of the song sequence, cherish their Indian cultural heritage. The house contains a huge puja room, where the wife, a keen Indian patriot, diligently performs her morning prayers. In the expatriate Indians’ implied struggle against the danger of losing their roots, Indian culture clearly triumphs over that of the former colonizer. The depiction of rites and religious ceremonies further serves to evoke a transnational bond of Indianness (which is, moreover, constructed as Hindu).8 The Indianization of Western spaces is often pushed so far that, despite the foreign setting, the characters engage almost exclusively with other Asians. In addition, they also move in a linguistic cosmos that is strictly South Asian. With the exception of recent films like My Name is Khan (2010), Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara (You Won’t Get Another Life, 2011) or Jab Tak Hai Jaan (As Long As I Live, 2012), the Indian characters tend to speak English only on the rare occasions when they have to deal with minor, usually perfunctory, non-Asian characters, whose whiteness serves as a visual marker of the Western setting. This linguistic near-exclusivity can lead to highly improbable scenes. Kismat Konnection (Fate Connection, 2008), for example, contains an alleged Toronto city council meeting and Shukriya: Till Death Do Us Part (2004) a company board meeting supposedly set in London. In both cases, the participants are mainly played by white extras, but the dialogue, spoken by the Indian actors, is exclusively in Hindi.

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In K3G, the implicitly negative characterization of Britain as a space of potential identity loss, which must be countered by assertions of Indian culture, is reinforced by the fact that for the elder brother Rahul, Britain is a place of involuntary exile – a representational strategy which, according to Banerjee (2008), can be interpreted as ‘postcolonial revenge’. The home he has created for himself and his family in London is merely ersatz since it lacks the warmth that (according to the film’s logic) can only be generated within a harmonious extended family. Other Hindi films have even presented their Western setting as dangerous or downright hostile. Pardes (Foreign Land, 1997) and Dil Chahta Hai (The Heart Desires, 2001), for example, both contain scenes where the heroine, who is out on her own in a Western location, is in danger of being assaulted. Even the Indian protagonist in K3G finds his car tyres stabbed one morning. However, although Britain is presented as a site of (cultural) struggle, it is also a visually glamorous space where Indian aspirations can be fulfilled. In terms of financial comfort and economic success, at least, the Indians in Britain in K3G have ‘made it’. The consumerist way of life associated with the British setting is therefore not represented as negative in itself. Yet, at least in K3G, the loss of cultural roots that may result from living in the West is interpreted as potentially dangerous. Because of their association with different cultural mores and a more liberal attitude towards sexuality than in India, Western settings in Hindi films have also been used to represent lifestyles which would be less acceptable to a mainstream Indian audience in an Indian setting and thus to present alternatives to and challenge the status quo. Salaam Namaste (2005), which is set in Melbourne, for example, presents a young unmarried Indian couple who live together and have to face the consequences of an unplanned pregnancy. An important plot element in Aap Ki Khatir (For Your Sake, 2006), which is set in Britain, is that the diasporic Indian girls at the centre of the story have all had relationships with several men. Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna (Never Say Good-Bye, 2006), set in New York, tells the story of an adulterous relationship between two persons who are unhappy in their respective marriages. Cheeni Kum (Less Sugar, 2007) uses London as the setting of an unorthodox love story whose hero and heroine are separated by an age gap of thirty years. Compared to other Indian mainstream films, the characters in Cheeni Kum are unconventionally straightforward in voicing their sexual desire. More recently, Desi Boyz (2011) featured two protagonists based in London who work as male escorts, and Cocktail (2012), also set in London, had an unashamed womanizer and a completely sexually uninhibited girl

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among its protagonists. They were played, respectively, by superstars Saif Ali Khan and Deepika Padukone, who obviously saw no danger to their careers in playing these characters, which reflects the overall more explicit depiction of sexuality in Hindi films in recent years. Western settings still function as spaces of difference, however. In all examples just mentioned, the Western setting is a site of transgressive desire that ‘insinuates that diasporic subjects are not caged within Indian social norms as such’ (Mishra 2002: 249). It is the main element that allows these films to challenge an implied (Indian) norm of sexual mores. The foreign setting thus combines connotations of difference and modernity. These have been used, for example, in films with science-fiction elements to provide the stories with some probability. The company that designs the computer game at the centre of Ra.One (2011), for example, though full of Indian employees, is situated in London. Since the game goes wrong and becomes a menace, the setting once again also has connotations of danger, however. Another example is the surprise hit Queen (2014), whose female protagonist, an innocent Indian girl on the lines of Pardes’s Ganga, goes alone on a journey to Europe, which becomes a journey of sentimental and moral education and self-emancipation. The modernity of Europe is here a catalyst for growth and self-realization. Even a cursory glance at the Hindi films shot in Britain since 2000 reveals that the film-makers obviously feel under pressure to constantly look for new locations in order not to bore their audience. In the case of K3G, for instance, they managed to film one song-and-dance sequence partly in the then newly constructed Great Court of the British Museum in London before it had even been opened to the public. Other films instead present established locations in new ways. Large parts of Jhoom Barabar Jhoom (Dance Ceaselessly, 2007), for example, are set in Waterloo Station and in Southall, which the film introduces in a montage sequence that ironically replaces the more usual shots of Central London landmarks by motifs like the Iceland supermarket near Southall rail station. In a similar vein, director Vipul Amrutlal Shah plays with the convention of the glossy opening montage in Namastey London (2007). He uses the established device of London landmark shots but intersperses them with footage of everyday people in the street filmed with a hidden camera. Most of them are Asians, so that London is once again represented as an Asian space. The surface implication of this technique is realism. Yet this impression is not confirmed by the rest of the film. After all, as Mishra has pointed out, what ‘Bombay Cinema keeps representing is never the diasporic Other but its own and India’s

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(mis)reading of the diaspora’ (2002: 267). Similarly, Dwyer has claimed that the ‘BrAsian in the Hindi film speaks English with an Indian accent, lives in a house that looks like an upmarket Indian metropolitan house (or just a film set), and lives a lifestyle that would not be recognisably BrAsian to an audience in Britain, but may be to audiences elsewhere’ (2006: 368). British settings therefore are usually more important as a romantic or picturesque backdrop or as a space that connotes a Western, non-Indian (and possibly exotic) cultural space offering the possibilities of alternative lifestyles, usually within a consumerist economic environment. The Indian characters tend to move with ease and success within this generically Western setting, so that the films implicitly celebrate a successful transnational Indian community making the most of the new globalized world order. While it is usually quite unimportant whether a location or setting is British (rather than generically Western), in some films Britain has indeed a special status compared to other foreign settings because of its role as the former colonizer. It offers Indian film-makers the possibility of conveying patriotism and national pride, especially when the films effectively transform Britain into an Indian space and thus exercise a form of counter-hegemonic discursive appropriation or reverse colonialism. However, even when Indian mainstream films recur to British settings to refer to Britain’s role as the former colonizer, this strategy is usually only different in degree but not in principle from the predominant way of depicting the life of diasporic Indians, namely as a struggle. While the cultural element of this struggle may not always be evident on the surface level, it is always at least implicitly present, even when the central conflict or the development of the plot does not seem to hinge on the overseas setting or the characters’ South Asian ethnicity. Even in films like I See You (2006), Kismat Konnection, Cocktail or Desi Boyz, the Western setting paradoxically, yet automatically, highlights, practically ex negativo, that the frame of values, customs and morals that constitute the dominant point of reference for the evaluation of the characters’ behaviour remains ‘Indian’. This feature is especially important in the so-called diaspora films.

Expatriate Indians in diaspora films Though not really an established genre label, ‘diaspora film’ is a useful term for classifying the growing number of Hindi films which, since the 1990s, have put thematic emphasis on the expatriate Indian and his/her relation to the Indian

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homeland and culture. The term is used, for example, by Uhl & Kumar (2004: 53), Dwyer (2000: 146), Dwyer & Patel (2002: 60) and Desai (2004), who distinguishes it from ‘diasporic films’, that is, films made by diasporic South Asian film-makers. Desai and Dudrah have suggested the alternative term ‘NRI film’ for this subgenre of the social film (2008b: 13), yet I will follow the more widely used and established terminology, not least because the different usages of ‘NRI’ render the label ‘NRI film’ somewhat problematic.

NRIs, PIOs and OCIs ‘NRI’ is an official Indian administrative category defining non-resident Indians as citizens of India who hold an Indian passport but reside abroad. The NRI is distinct from the PIO (Person of Indian Origin), a foreign national (without Indian citizenship) who was born in India or whose ancestors (up to four generations removed) were born in India. Under the PIO card scheme, which was launched in 1999, these individuals had the possibility of obtaining a socalled PIO card for themselves and their spouses (the latter regardless of ethnic origin), which offered them, among other things, some privileges concerning visa application and registering over other non-Indian citizens visiting India. In January 2015, the PIO card merged into the OCI (Overseas Citizenship of India) card scheme. The OCI card, which was introduced in 2006, is issued to overseas Indians who migrated from India after 26 January 1950 and allows PIOs of all nationalities (excepting Pakistanis and Bangladeshis) a form of dual citizenship. The OCI card grants even more privileges than the PIO card used to do. Not only does the OCI card effectively give card holders rights that are similar to those of NRIs, but it also facilitates the card holder’s stay in India on a bureaucratic level, since the OCI card provides its holders with a lifelong multiple entry visa to India and exempts them from having to register with a Foreigners (Regional) Registration officer. The extension of OCI rights to PIO card holders has effectively facilitated visa-free travel for PIOs and provides them with the same rights of residency as those formerly held by OCIs. In 2010, the Indian government also gave effect to a law that allows NRIs to register as voters in Indian elections. As of April 2015, it is working out modalities to allow proxy voting and e-ballots for NRIs so that they no longer have to be physically present in their place of origin in order to exercise their right to vote. All these government schemes, which also include the yearly celebration of Pravasi Bharatiya Divas (Non-resident Indians Day, since 2003) sponsored by

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the Ministry of Overseas Indian Affairs, are obviously not disinterested. They are driven by the desire to facilitate and foster the active participation of the Indian diaspora in business and educational activities in India. Their main target is the moneyed group of well-educated and professionally successful overseas Indians. Investments, both financial and emotional, by overseas Indians are actively sought to cultivate what Anderson (1992) has called ‘long-distance nationalism’. The schemes can therefore be interpreted as an attempt to reap a ‘diasporic dividend’. Although some have lamented the emigration of highly trained Indians as a brain drain, it can be argued that their successful performance in their host countries has actually supported economic growth within India by triggering foreign investment from these host countries9 – to say nothing of the direct and indirect financial support of the Indian economy by NRI money.10 The notion of Indianness that underlies these government interventions is a deterritorialized one. Indianness is posited as a national category, yet one that is not dependent on the territory of the Indian nation state. Instead, it is conceived as transnational, global and – as the merger of the PIO and OCI categories shows – genetic. The official distinction between NRI, PIO and OCI as administrative categories was and is not reflected in common language usage, where the term ‘NRI’ is often applied to Indian-born individuals or people with Indian ancestry who are not actually Indian citizens. This is also how the term is used in the critical literature on Hindi films, where Indian diasporic characters are treated as NRIs, regardless of whether they have Indian citizenship or not. It is also the way in which the term is used in the films themselves. The characters’ Indianness is not defined by whether they hold an Indian passport but by their ethnic roots. Punathambekar and Kavoori, among others, have identified Bollywood as an important mediator between the Indian state and the Indian diaspora (2008: 5), the so-called diaspora film being one of the most conspicuous cases in point, as it ‘brings the global into the local, presenting people in Main Street, Vancouver, as well as Southall, London, with shared “structures of feeling” that in turn produce a transnational sense of communal solidarity’ (Mishra 2002: 238).

Representational paradigms: Purab aur Pachhim (1970) and Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (1995) The diaspora films of the 1990s were not the first to thematize the relationship of expatriate Indians to their ‘motherland’, of course, but their construction

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of the NRI and their discussion of Indianness were a decisive shift away from earlier, predominantly negative representations of Westernized Indians. The most famous example of this older representational paradigm is Manoj Kumar’s Purab aur Pachhim (East and West, 1970), a film that polemically juxtaposes the West, as a space of individualism, materialism and debauched hedonism, to the East (i.e. India). Indian society in Purab aur Pachhim is not without conflicts, nor life there without hardships. Yet the film implies that time-proven codes of behaviour relying on respect (i.e. conventionalized power asymmetries based on notions of gender and age) and strategies of avoiding conflicts by compromise create a more inclusive social fabric than in the West. In this binarist ideological set-up, moral corruption is inevitable for any Indian character who is too strongly oriented towards the West. Purab aur Pachhim conveys its juxtaposition of East and West predominantly by opposing its young male protagonist, who is symbolically named Bharat (India) and embodies the ideal of a supposedly authentic Indianness, with a group of depraved second-generation Indians in Britain, whose parents have failed to teach them ‘proper’ Indian values. They have neither respect for elders nor chastity, moderation, patriotism, discipline or altruism. Instead, egotism rules the day, as every man acts for himself and daughters and wives actively oppose their fathers and husbands. Bharat goes to England as a student, where he encounters the Sharma family, which includes a hippie son and a sluttish daughter named Preeti. Their portrayal simultaneously outraged and fascinated a young Gurinder Chadha in Britain, for whom her first viewing of Purab aur Pachhim became a ‘screen epiphany’ (Macnab 2009) about the power of representation: The daughter has got peroxide hair, a miniskirt and high heels. The guy is wearing a flower-power tunic and trousers with a handlebar moustache. It’s hysterical. You can watch it now and laugh at it. At the time, I was absolutely appalled. The whole film talks about how backward and fucked up kids growing up in England are. They have no sense of their Indian identity or sense of India’s struggle against the British and they’re losing themselves into the West … it was one of those films that had it so totally wrong that it was risible. On the other hand, … It was immensely watchable. It was an immensely important film for me … The film was a very extreme fantasy version of what this Indian guy [Manoj Kumar] thought was going to happen to girls in the West. But at the time, I was outraged by it because I thought people in India think we are like that and that I drink and I smoke and do

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things like that – and I don’t … I thought – how dare they accuse us of being like that? So what started happening with that film was my sense of injustice about how people portray me. That really has never left me. (Chadha qtd in Macnab 2009: 51–3)

Purab aur Pachhim’s occidentalist representation of ‘the West as bad’ (Dudrah 2006: 67) manifests itself not only on the story level, where characters that lean towards the West become – explicitly or implicitly – traitors of their Indian homeland. It is also visible on the discourse level, for example in Kumar’s very own iconographic shorthand of London. While later films would rely on the already mentioned landmark shots, Kumar used montage sequences with shots of red-light districts (complete with go-go dancers), so that London is represented as a space of uncontrolled male and, yet more transgressive, female sexuality. In Purab aur Pachhim ‘the West is not so much a place, or even a culture, as an emblem of exotic, decadent otherness’ (Thomas 1985: 126) or, as Anupama Chopra puts it, ‘as dangerous as any Orientalist’s East – seductive but spiritually fatal’ (2002: 11). Since the Westernized Indians in the film are represented as rich but morally depraved and lacking spirituality, they have to be reformed or, if they are beyond redemption, exorcized from society. If reform is still possible, it is achieved by the wholesome influence of India herself: Bharat takes Preeti to India, where she becomes acquainted with the country’s culture and society and changes her ways. Preeti eventually even decides to leave Britain for India altogether, and like prodigal children the rest of her family also decide to relocate. This return to the lap of the motherland as the fulfilment of spiritual and cultural wholeness indicates that the notion of diaspora underlying this film is a very basic one: diaspora is conceived as the spatial scattering of a people and as a geographical category. This notion forms the basis of the ‘geographical teleology’ (Banerjee 2008) of the film’s plot, that is, the return of the characters to India. Lamhe (Moments, 1991) was the first film to deviate from the tradition of representing the expatriate or Westernized Indian chiefly as a negative or a comic figure (Tieber 2007: 130; see Ganti 2004: 43; Dwyer & Patel 2002: 60). It was Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge (The Brave-Hearted will Take away the Bride, 1995), however, that was to become the first film in which the changing social role of overseas Indians for India also manifested itself in new ways of representing the NRI. Instead of a corrupted Other of allegedly true Indians, the new films positioned the diasporic Indian as hero (Uberoi 1998: 325; Chopra  2002:

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11; Kripalani 2001: 41) and put thematic emphasis on the construction of a transnational Indianness. Gangoli therefore claims that ‘while in the 1970s, the West and the East were projected as polarised oppositions, contemporary films in the age of globalisation locate the East and the West in the same person – or they seem to’ (2005: 144). For Uhl and Kumar the films illustrate an implicit conflict between traditional Indian values on the one hand and the pressures of modernity on the individual on the other hand (2004: 53), from which the NRI hero usually emerges as the allegedly culturally authentic Indian (see Ganti 2004: 42–3, 170). Since its first release in 1995, DDLJ, as the title is usually abbreviated, has gone on to become the longest-running Indian film of all times and a ‘modern classic’  – a status that the British Film Institute (BFI) bestowed on it already in 2003, when it included Anupama Chopra’s short book on the film in its eponymous monograph series. It has been so influential that, like Purab aur Pachhim, DDLJ can safely be described as another paradigm for the representation of diasporic Indians in Hindi films.11 DDLJ tells the story of two young British Asians, Raj and Simran, whose affection seems doomed because Simran is promised to a young man in the Punjab. While the first half of the film shows how the protagonists gradually fall in love during an InterRail trip across Western Europe, the second half, which is set in India, presents Raj’s attempts to insinuate himself into the household of Simran’s family and win their hearts, and thus her, in spite of the impending marriage. Among the most remarkable aspects of the film is the hero’s refusal to elope despite entreaties by both Simran and her mother; instead he insists that he will only take away the girl with her father’s blessing. He thus voluntarily subjects himself to traditional hierarchies based on respect for elders and allpowerful fathers and to conservative notions of morality and family. It is this submissiveness which ultimately convinces Simran’s father of Raj’s respect and love, so that he allows him to take her back to Britain with him as his bride. Reduced to its basics, DDLJ follows a familiar storyline in Hindi films: a character falls in love and resists the attempts by one or both parents to enforce a union they desire. However, in DDLJ the British Asian social setting exacerbates the conflict, since both parents and children are caught between sometimes strongly conflicting cultural traditions. The film juxtaposes several ways of negotiating this cultural in-between position. The first is established at the very beginning, as Simran’s father, Baldev Singh, reflects on his life as an Indian immigrant in Britain. The sequence sharply contrasts the grey and rainy British

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capital with yellow mustard fields and brightly clad women in sunny Punjab. The music and visuals underline Baldev’s feeling of alienation and lack. Yet although this depiction opens the film, Baldev is not representative of all first-generation immigrants in DDLJ. Both Simran’s mother and Raj’s father have embraced aspects of the new culture rather than only mourning for what they have left behind. Indeed, in the storytelling logic of the film Baldev ultimately represents a problem, since his notions of Indian culture and honour are the basis of the film’s main conflict. A different way of negotiating the cultural in-between position of expatriate Indians is represented by Raj and Simran. In order to indicate that their lifestyle is strongly influenced by their Western environment, DDLJ recurs to old conventions of representing Westernized Indians: Simran, for example, at one point walks around Leicester Square in an extremely short minidress; Raj consumes alcohol, shows little respect for elders and is sexually experienced (Chopra 2002: 63, 69). Baldev constructs these exterior markers of Westernization as hostile, as diametrically opposed to what he considers Indian, and therefore as fundamentally dangerous. His wife and daughters, in contrast, are open to elements from their host culture. They happily dance in their living room to Western music, even though they immediately switch the channel to Hindi film songs, as soon as Baldev returns home. Their secret indulgence of ‘Western’ pleasures establishes early in the film that their obedience to the patriarch Baldev is not unconditional. This stance is supported by the storytelling logic of the film, for if Baldev’s views were indeed the ideological norm supported in DDLJ, the hero would be unworthy of the heroine, and the spectators might find it hard to empathize with the young couple. Instead, though Westernized, Raj and his father are presented as good Indians at heart. In one of the film’s key scenes, Raj tricks Simran into thinking that they had sexual intercourse the night before while she was drunk. As Simran reacts frantically, Raj only manages to convince her that her virginity is still intact by insisting on his essential Indianness by saying: ‘[Hindi] I am Indian, and I know what an Indian girl’s honour is. Not even in my dreams can I imagine doing that to you.’ (‘Main ek Hindustani hoon. Aur main jaanta hoon ki ek Hindustani ladki ki izzat kya hoti hai. Main sapne men bhi tumhare sath aisi harkat nahin kar sakta.’)12 In keeping with this mindset, Raj later refuses to elope with Simran. The young protagonists ultimately adhere to a traditional code of honour and thus exemplify a cultural Indianness that is independent of citizenship and place.

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Since Indianness is depicted as transnational and even post-national in this way, it is quite unimportant that DDLJ is set in Britain rather than, say, the United States or Australia. The Britishness of the setting is subordinate to its being Western and non-Indian, just as the term ‘NRI’ implies a ‘homogenising tendency of seeing all diasporic Indians as practically the same’ (Kaur 2005: 323) and suggests that diasporic Indians are simply Indians abroad rather than persons with allegiances to other countries. Diaspora films like DDLJ convey the image of an Indian global(ized) village where people are connected by telephone and internet and where migrants or travellers move easily by plane. As soon as those migrants or travellers touch foreign ground, they meet other South Asians and thus hardly ever move outside an Asian social cosmos. This depiction of the Indian diaspora as a global extended family (cf. Rajadhyaksha 2003: 36), including NRIs as well as citizens of other countries who have Indian roots, conveys a message of integration that can hardly be overestimated in the context of both the segregationist tendencies within India, and the fact that rural India has benefitted relatively little from India’s recent economic developments. It also implies a natural solidarity of NRIs and PIOs with India and the existence of a homogeneous pan-Indian culture, which is an extreme simplification of the many different lifestyles of expatriate Indians across the world. The idea that spatial distance from India equals lack, which lies at the heart of Purab aur Pachhim and which in DDLJ informs Baldev’s thinking, is thus replaced by an assumption of global interconnectedness. The diametrical opposition of West and East is superseded by a performative notion of ‘portable’ Indianness (Uberoi 1998: 308) that is independent of geography and citizenship. Overall in diaspora films like DDLJ ‘an authentic “Indian” identity – represented by religious ritual, elaborate weddings, large extended families, respect for parental authority, adherence to norms of female modesty, injunctions against premarital sex, and intense pride and love for India – is mobile and not tied to geography’ (Ganti 2004: 43). Moreover, the films imply that this Indian identity is compatible with an allegedly Western consumerist lifestyle. One may argue that just as ‘Bollywood represents an ideal India in the collective imagination, not the real, problematised nation but the shared cultural fantasy of an idealised India that is constantly striven for’ (Dudrah 2006: 63), its representation of the Indian diaspora is equally reductionist and aspirational. Yet it would be too simple to claim with Dwyer and Patel that the diasporic Indian in Bollywood films is now primarily ‘just … a character who has the means to travel and embodies globalization’ (2002: 217). There are indeed films that feature

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diasporic Indian characters which are open to such an interpretation. As a rule, however, they are faced with the need to engage with their cultural in-between situation, so that the diasporic Indian became the central means by which the relationship of India with the West was negotiated in Indian mainstream films (Kaur 2005: 323).

Changes in the diaspora film Several Hindi films have introduced changes to these representational paradigms, which provide a reinterpretation of (British) diasporic Indians in Hindi films and suggest new purposes for the genre of the diaspora film. It would not be far-fetched, for example, to classify the production trend of films that are set in the United States and engage with the discrimination against and/or the radicalization of Muslims in the wake of the 9/11 attacks as a new and thematically specific group of diaspora films. My Name is Khan, Kurbaan (Sacrificed, 2009) and New York (2009) are, after all, centrally concerned with the negotiation of cultures by Indians abroad. This subchapter will point out some more general trends in the development of the diaspora film, however, by analysing four films. Namastey London (2007), Swades (Own Country, 2004), Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal (Get Set Goal, 2007) and Dil Bole Hadippa! (Heart Says Hurray!, 2009) all have a diaspora angle but approach it in very different ways. Most of them share the key issues of classic diaspora films like DDLJ and Pardes, such as the relationship between first-generation and second-generation diasporic Indians or between them and the Indian ‘motherland’. They discuss the attitudes that the diasporic Indian should assume towards India or ‘Indian culture’, and many, though not all, convey their discussion of ideas by means of a more or less explicit dual structure opposing East and West. Yet their variations on the dominant representational paradigms on the levels of both story and discourse bring new approaches to the diaspora theme in Hindi films that ultimately also shine a light at the development of Bollywood for the diasporic markets. While Namastey London represents a return to representational models like those in Purab aur Pachhim, Ashutosh Gowariker’s Swades illustrates the concept of the diasporic space as a source of enlightenment. Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal is remarkable for representing NRI characters not only as expatriate Indians but truly as diasporic characters, whereas Dil Bole Hadippa! exemplifies what one might call ‘camouflage diaspora films’, that is, movies which contain a diaspora theme that remains disguised behind other plot strands.

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Namastey London – Reverting to Occidentalism Namastey London is certainly the most conservative of the four films analysed here, both in terms of storytelling and ideological outlook. Although the film is firmly situated within the genre of the diaspora film and investigates the position of diasporic Indians between two cultures, it owes just as much to the older representational paradigm of Purab aur Pachhim as to the more recent one of DDLJ. The film exemplifies a trend towards patriotic jingoism, which is coupled with a conservative treatment of gender questions. In Namastey London, elements which seem innovatory at first glance – especially the film’s choice of a female protagonist and the use of white British characters that hold more than merely perfunctory roles of comic relief – actually serve a conservative occidentalist and misogynistic agenda. Namastey London revolves around the heroine Jasmeet, a British Asian girl from a very well-off middle-class family, whose father wants her to get married. While not opposed to marriage per se, Jazz, as Jasmeet prefers to be called, does not want to marry an Indian because she considers herself British and has her eyes on her rich English employer Charlie. She is a party girl who enjoys drinking, flirting and dancing. When her father becomes aware of this behaviour, he takes the whole family on a trip to India, where he intends to find a husband for Jazz. All the candidates they meet are unsuitable, but when they visit the father’s extended family in rural Punjab and encounter Arjun, the son of a friend, Jazz’s father so admires the young man that he arranges his marriage to her. Under pressure, Jazz pretends to give in and goes through a marriage ceremony in India, after which the family and Arjun immediately leave for London (i.e. the marriage remains unconsummated). Back in England, Jazz denies the validity of the ceremony. She wants to marry Charlie. Arjun stands by patiently and even gives her away at her wedding. At the last moment, however, Jazz realizes that the man whom she belongs to and who really loves her is Arjun and leaves Charlie at the altar. The film ends with a shot of Jasmeet and Arjun together in the Punjab. The depiction of Jasmeet’s development from Briton to Indian, which serves as the overarching narrative of the film, is supported by changing visual styles that illustrate Jazz’s acquaintance with India. Director Shah has made the unusual choice of showing India at first as if it were perceived from an outsider’s point of view in order to indicate the distance that has developed between Jazz’s family (and especially Jazz herself, who has never been to India before) and the ‘motherland’. Glossy postcard shots express Jazz’s point of view as a tourist

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and, in a grotesque montage sequence where Jazz meets potential grooms, selfreflexively ironic flashy editing and camera techniques, which satirize Indian soap operas, underline the young men’s ridiculousness and Jazz’s distanced attitude towards them. Later, at the house of her father’s family, this attitude is partly preserved in scenes where we witness Jazz’s disgust, for example when Arjun drinks milk directly from a cow’s udders. Although ‘Indian culture’ always functions as the implicit norm of reference in the film, it can thus be presented as alien, which gives director Shah the opportunity of both celebrating and shining a mildly satirical light at some aspects of Indian life. Despite this distance, there are also indicators, however, that Jazz gradually adapts to India. The first occurs when the family takes part in a candle ceremony during a religious festival, where Jasmeet obviously connects to the spirituality of the event. Given the long line of film heroines whose essential Indianness manifests itself in (among other things) their spirituality and religiosity, this symbolically indicates Jasmeet’s compatibility with India. Style and content thus combine to suggest that Jazz gradually, albeit very slowly, feels more at home in India. The climax of this development is the final shot that shows her and Arjun in the Punjab. This development is harshly interrupted, however, when her father imposes his authority and makes her marry Arjun, that is, when her independence and autonomy are threatened. Her father forces Jazz prematurely out of her chosen role of a British tourist and observer into that of a young Indian, and in light of her earlier statement that she feels British rather than Indian, it is only logical that she rejects this role at this point. Insisting that she will not be governed by (her father’s) notions of proper Indian behaviour, Jazz underlines that her marriage ceremony is not valid in the eyes of the British law. Despite her professions of Britishness, however, Arjun’s presence brings out ‘the Indian’ in her. Where her father’s attempts of being more Indian than the Indians contradict the realities of Jazz’s life and push her into a stance of vehement opposition, Arjun succeeds by impressing her with his respect and constancy. In the ideological set-up of the film, Jazz’s insistence on being British must be overcome in favour of the notion of global pan-Indianness – a notion which in Namastey London seems to subsume all persons of South Asian origin, given the harmonious relations between diasporic Indians and Pakistanis in the film. Namastey London puts more than usual emphasis on the struggles of the parent generation to achieve a balance between adjusting and retaining one’s roots. Shah’s film contains several conversations in which first-generation immigrants reflect on the difficulties of adjusting to Britain and educating their children

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correctly. The film also follows the DDLJ tradition of criticizing patriarchal power structures (see Uberoi 1998: 331–2): whenever a male character tries to insist on his authority for the purpose of safeguarding an alleged cultural status quo against his child’s will, the outcome is counterproductive. The change in Jazz’s attitude to Arjun in Namastey London is thus not enforced but appears like a natural development prompted by Jazz’s slow realization that Arjun’s loyalty makes him superior to Charlie. The basic story dynamics here are similar to those in Purab aur Pachhim, since a young man from India brings a second-generation Indian girl in Britain, who has lost her cultural (and thus implicitly her moral) moorings, back to her senses. From the very beginning the film makes it clear that Jazz is not the moral centre of the film. The song lyrics accompanying her introduction characterize her as a ‘free floating soul’, ‘on top of the world’, yet ‘losing control’. Instead, the Indian hero is the moral centre and acts as a corrective to diasporic confusion. Even though the choice of a female central protagonist in Namastey London might seem innovatory – the hero, despite being cast with superstar Akshay Kumar, is sidelined into a seemingly passive role by the plot – the film seems to look backward, not least in the way it handles the issue of female sexuality as symbolic of the preservation of Indianness. Several diaspora films deal with an Indian woman located in the West who maintains her Indianness in a foreign environment (Gangoli 2005: 147), and many of these films have suggested that especially diasporic women are in danger of moral decay because of alien influences. Those who have already been too strongly influenced, like Preeti in Purab aur Pachhim, assume exterior markers that used to be associated with the character type of the vamp,13 like skimpy clothing, cigarettes and/or alcohol. The preservation of female virginity, even if it was ‘understood in the narrowest physiological sense’ (Uberoi 1998: 322), has played a paramount role in the symbolic representation of the negotiation of Western and Indian thinking in traditional diaspora films – so much so that the films’ attitude towards it has been used to characterize individuals as essentially Indian or un-Indian. Hence, in DDLJ it is the fact that Raj cannot even dream of taking sexual advantage of Simran that proves his Indianness, and in Pardes an attempt to rape the spotless Indian virgin Ganga forms the pinnacle of depravity of the debauched second-generation NRI. In keeping with this tradition, an important component of the presentation of Jazz’s development towards recognizing her Indianness lies in her sexuality. Despite her initial flirtatiousness towards Charlie, Jazz is extremely reticent when it comes to physical intimacy.

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Even though she is engaged to him, she evades his kisses and sexual advances. Jazz blames her behaviour in these situations on being confused due to the marriage ceremony she went through. It is Charlie, however, who points out the influence of Jazz’s cultural roots on her behaviour by accusing her of acting like ‘a bloody Indian bride’. The heroine of Namastey London thus continues a line of diasporic female characters – Poo from K3G would be another example – who, despite a vampish exterior, retain a core Indianness, which is eventually revealed by the actions of an authentic Indian male. The film’s occidentalist attitude is equally conservative. Namastey London highlights the difference between diasporic South Asians and the white majority population in Britain by including a relevant number of white British characters in its social cosmos. Yet all of them are stereotypically represented as upper class, and most of them are characterized extremely negatively. Charlie, for example, is presented as a calculating womanizer and, in an occidentalist reversal of orientalist stereotypes, as oversexed, unreliable and immature. These qualities become all the more obvious when Charlie’s predatory sexuality is opposed to Arjun’s selfless constancy. Although not all white British characters in the film are quite as bad – the notable exception is Charlie’s father, who actually tries to warn Jazz of his son’s character flaws – there is a very obvious tendency to present them as reactionary and highly disrespectful of other cultural traditions. In a sub-plot about Jazz’s friend Imran, for example, Imran is asked by his white girlfriend’s father to convert from Islam and change his name to something ‘more suitable’. Imran’s father, who is also opposed to the couple’s relationship, in contrast, eventually welcomes them back into his home after Imran has refused to conform to these demands. While all of the diasporic South Asian characters in Namastey London have faults or spleens, none of them is quite as morally corrupt or blinded by prejudice as some of the English characters. The most extreme example of British arrogance occurs during Jazz and Charlie’s engagement reception, where one guest, the great-grandson of an East India Company officer, calls India the country of snake charmers and the Indian rope trick, which Charlie complements by his equally stereotypical perception of India as the ‘land of chicken tandoori and call centres’. Arjun counters these clichés with a long speech idealizing various strengths of India, from the politeness and spirituality governing interpersonal relationships, to the country’s religious diversity, the size of its army, the variety of its press, as well as the number of its doctors, scientists and engineers. His patriotic fervour is

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emphasized by the tune of the song ‘Saare Jahan Se Accha, Hindustan Hamara’ (Our India is better than any place in the universe) on the soundtrack. The scene debunks the prejudices and stereotyping that formed the discursive basis of British colonial rule in India. At the same time, however, it merely inverts these stereotypes by juxtaposing the alleged backwardness, intolerance and arrogance of the former colonizer with the alleged modernity, energy and decency within Indian culture. This juxtaposition is constructed as a binary opposition on the model of Purab aur Pachhim, which is even explicitly referenced towards the end of Arjun’s speech: he tells Jazz that he has a DVD of Manoj Kumar’s film for Charlie and his friend in case they need to know more about India. Arjun’s speech is in Hindi, which Jazz translates into English for the sake of Arjun’s English listeners, yet she does not translate the last remark concerning Purab aur Pachhim (nor is it translated in the English subtitles of the DVD), so that it remains an in-joke for the Hindi-speaking audience. Namastey London thus constructs a clear separation and implicit incompatibility between ‘them’ (the white British) and ‘us’ (those who like Kumar’s film and/or understand Hindi), which merely reverses but does not overcome the binary opposition between the Indians and British, which Charlie’s reactionary friend established at the beginning of the scene. In addition, Namastey London constructs the relationship between these two groups as a competition: explicitly in a rugby match between the South Asian and the British characters of the film (which the South Asians win, of course) as well as implicitly in the competition between Charlie and Arjun for Jazz’s hand. In both cases the old colonizer is overcome, forced to surrender to the strength and power of modern India. As in K3G, the caricature of white Britons in Namastey London serves an aggressively patriotic and even jingoistic stance, and despite the film’s message of global pan-Indianness, it clearly jarred with many British viewers. The Sight & Sound review of the film by Naman Ramachandran, for example, highlighted the danger inherent in its extremely clichéd representation of white Britons and young British Asians: It is tempting to dismiss Namastey London as just another trite Bollywood film – or even a satire – and take no further notice of it. However, given the fact that Bollywood is one of India’s most visible cultural exports, and the high profile of the film’s leading man Akshay Kumar (as Arjun), it is impossible to ignore the film altogether. Instead, Namastey London deserves to be named and shamed as an offensive, regressive film that not only reinforces racial stereotypes but also creates new ones (2007a: 69).

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In a letter to the editor written in response to Ramachandran’s review, Sight & Sound reader Shakila Taranum Maan (2007) similarly complained about the ‘degrading depictions of Brit Asians [that] are the norm in such films’, thus echoing Gurinder Chadha’s reaction to Manoj Kumar’s Purab aur Pachhim. Like this older film, Namastey London celebrates India as a morally and culturally superior nation, even though the film sometimes takes a slightly ironic view of individual aspects of Indian everyday life when it adopts Jazz’s outsider perspective. ‘India’ in the film moreover far transcends the actual nation state to include all diasporic South Asians.14 Indianness, finally, is constructed as an essential and stable quality that is independent of place and environment (and thus of diasporic status), as Arjun remarks to Jazz: ‘[Hindi] It doesn’t matter where you live, you’ll always be an Indian.’ Namastey London thus exemplifies a type of diaspora film that, despite visual prowess and flair, which firmly situate it in the twenty-first century, presents diasporic Indians in a way that reverts to the occidentalist and binarist thinking represented by Purab aur Pachhim.

Swades – The diasporic hero as teacher In contrast to Namastey London’s celebratory stance in relation to India and its strategy of positing the non-diasporic Indian as the moral authority within the plot, other recent diaspora films, such as Ashutosh Gowariker’s social film Swades, have adopted a more critical perspective towards the Indian ‘motherland’. Swades tells the story of Mohan Bhargava, a NASA-employed scientist of Indian origin. Mohan has received his university education in the United States, built his working career there and has already successfully applied for US citizenship15 when the audience encounters him at the beginning of the film as one of the leading figures coordinating a satellite programme for Global Precipitation Measurement. He enjoys all the comforts that tend to be associated in Hindi films with professional success in the West, such as a stylish apartment with a view and an expensive car, the means to afford first-class plane tickets and designer clothes. In contrast to NRI characters in many other films, however, Gowariker avoids depicting Mohan as excessively rich or flashy, as this would diminish the film’s impression of realism and hence undermine its didactic purpose. Concerning the setting, the story follows the classic dual structure that juxtaposes India with a Western country. Like in DDLJ and Pardes, the hero travels to India in order to extract a person from there and bring her ‘home’ with

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him into the West. In Swades this person is Kaveriamma, a former maidservant of Mohan’s family, who was like a second mother to him and has in fact been his only ‘family’ since his parents died in a car crash while he was at university. Having ‘lost touch’ with her while he was building his career, he feels that he has abandoned her and wants to bring her with him to the United States. Mohan spends five weeks in Kaveriamma’s village, where he experiences the hardships of rural life in India first-hand. He also falls in love with Gita there, a young teacher, in whose house Kaveriamma lives. When Mohan has to return to the United States because of his job, he can persuade neither of the two women to accompany him: both refuse to leave. Despite thinking earlier that he would be unable to live in India, Mohan eventually decides to quit the United States after finishing his work on the Global Precipitation Measurement project and returns to India to stay with Gita and Kaveriamma. The final scene shows him fully integrated in the Indian village community. This integration is expressed symbolically by the fact that he is covered in Indian dust/soil, which he then washes off in a river. From drinking only bottled water at the beginning of the story, the character has progressed to a full immersion into and cleansing by the waters of a holy river, which marks his rebirth as an Indian. The film presents Mohan’s trip to India not only as a journey back to his roots but more importantly as a means of self-realization. Although he is very successful in his job, Mohan is alienated and lonely in the United States: he lives alone and does not have much of a social life; his apartment seems too large for him, and in the shots where one sees him at work he is dwarfed by the giant halls of the NASA space centre with their massive technological equipment. In addition, the colour scheme in the US parts of the film is dominated by cool colours such as grey, steely blue and white, in contrast to the browns and bright colours of the Indian sections. It is only after Mohan has returned to the United States from India that he realizes both his own alienation and the call on his emotions by the people he encountered in the village. Mohan’s journey therefore appears as a deliberate act of self-fulfilment: by searching for Kaveriamma, the hero ultimately finds himself. The character of Kaveriamma functions as a symbol of India, just like Bharat and his mother Ganga in Purab aur Pachhim and the heroine Ganga in Pardes. (In Hinduism, Kaveri and Ganga are both holy rivers.) Moreover, she shares with the heroine Radha of Mehboob Khan’s epic Mother India (1957), a film to which Swades refers several times, the explicit characterization as a mother, even though Kaveriamma does not have any biological children of her own. By

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making the symbolic ‘Mother Kaveri’ the prime object of Mohan’s journey to India, Gowariker taps into the prevailing metaphor of the nation as family, which pervades most Hindi films featuring NRI characters. Swades is specifically about the relationship between young and highly qualified NRIs, as represented by Mohan, and their ‘motherland’, as symbolized by Kaveriamma. This relationship is not particularly romantic. Despite the sub-plot in which Mohan falls in love with Gita, his actions, unlike those of the heroes in DDLJ and Pardes, are not primarily motivated by romantic love but by his love for Kaveriamma. Despite a cinematography that celebrates the beauties of the Maharastrian landscape, Swades moreover exposes various ills of social life in India. Choosing a village rather than the urban settings that are the norm in Hindi films, Gowariker draws attention to the underdevelopment that still affects India’s rural population. Swades contains several scenes where characters explicitly discuss the state of India and point out systemic problems like illiteracy, corruption, overpopulation, unemployment, administrative failures and political mismanagement. Village life in Swades is not a rural idyll like in Baldev’s fantasy of the Punjab in DDLJ. Seen from Mohan’s outsider point of view, the difficulties of the life he encounters are glaringly obvious. There is a significant lack of infrastructure in the village: ‘No bank, no police, no registry’, as one of the characters remarks, let alone mobile phone networks or internet. The general mindset of the population is not favourable to change. Fatalism and traditionalism support the persistence of discrimination based on gender and caste. In the symbolic set-up of Swades’s parent–child relationship, the necessary consequence of this depiction is that the NRI must recognize his filial obligation of supporting the ‘motherland’ and ameliorate her situation. Thus Mohan, despairing of the poverty he encounters and exasperated by the mindset that engenders it, decides to improve the living conditions in the village. He initiates and supervises the construction of a small hydroelectric power station in order to put an end to the constant power failures. Mohan’s feat of ‘lighting a bulb’ bears the symbolic connotation of intellectual enlightenment, which is central to the programme of amelioration that the film proposes. The two characters from the village who are most strongly socially committed are the ones who run the school: Gita, who has clear (and in her village context progressive) ideas of gender equality, and the wise old teacher Dadaji, a former freedom fighter, are both characterized as motivated by patriotic dedication in their aim to change the living conditions in their environment by means of education. Yet it takes the US-educated outsider Mohan to truly widen

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the villagers’ horizons. He does so quite literally when he allows them to look through his telescope and see the night sky in a completely new way. Yet this small action is merely symbolic of Mohan’s general effect on the villagers. His campaign to recruit new pupils for Gita’s school from non-Brahmin households and to convince the villagers that not only boys but also girls should receive secondary education is the starting point of a general development towards less segregation and discrimination in the village. In stark contrast to the hero Raj in DDLJ, who over-fulfils the expectations of an obedient Indian son by submitting to the paternal authority of Simran’s father, Mohan’s campaign is based on a clear conviction that the aporia he encounters requires opposition against the strict gender and caste hierarchies in the village. The film’s anti-segregationist message16 is explicitly spelt out in the song picturization of ‘Yeh tara, vah tara’ (This star, that star), which develops out of a scene that shows an open-air presentation of a film (Yadoon Ki Baaraat, Procession of Memories, 1973) in the village square by one of the travelling cinemas in India. During the presentation the villagers are seated in distinctly separate groups, with the Brahmins and village elders on one side of the makeshift screen. The members of the artisan castes are seated on the other side, while the disadvantaged dalits may merely hover at the margin of the square, hoping to catch a glimpse of the film. On each side of the screen the spectators are further separated according to sex and age: children, women and men form distinct groups. The striking exception to this rule is Mohan, who sits down next to Gita. When the power in the village once again fails and the presentation of the film is interrupted, Mohan rises to entertain the audience with a parable, which then segues into the song ‘Yeh tara, vah tara’. In its course, Mohan not only removes the screen, which effectively functions as a social barrier (a self-reflexive comment by Gowariker on the responsibility of socially committed film-making). He also unites the two groups of children formerly separated by this screen. The highly emotional reactions by the adult onlookers, which range from wariness and fear to hope and elevation, underline that Mohan’s action is shaking the social foundations of the village. At the same time, the song lyrics symbolically underline the importance of communal solidarity. When Mohan and the children run among the sitting adults, the visual impression is that of a colourful wave rolling over and sweeping away the status quo. The change that comes to the village (and thus implicitly the change which must come to India) is thus characterized as a group effort for whose outcome

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the younger generations will have to play a vital role. Yet it also depends on the individual, as Gita emphasizes when she explains to Mohan that the responsibility for a functioning society ultimately lies with each of its members. Despite his active intervention during his stay in the village, Mohan only really realizes that he is part of this Indian society and accepts the responsibility resulting from this realization after he has returned to the United States (see the song ‘Yeh jo des hai mera’, This is my motherland). His eventual return to India is therefore an act of self-fulfilment that depends on an acceptance of obligation. In the context of the family metaphor that pervades the film, Mohan fulfils his role of the obedient son, and being the designated successor of Dadaji as the visionary activist for the community’s well-being, he also takes on a paternal role (for the village as well as for the family he forms with Gita and Kaveriamma). Although Tieber stated on the basis of DDLJ and Pardes that there is no movement away from the diaspora towards the homeland in diaspora films (2007: 137), the opposite is clearly the case in Swades and several other more recent films, which end with the return of the diasporic hero(ine) to India. Any other denouement would indeed be illogical in Swades, where Gita turns the acronym NRI into a term of abuse by interpreting it as ‘Non-returning Indian’. In this scheme the United States serves as the catalyst of Mohan’s self-realization, and it is the source of the knowledge and liberalist attitude on whose basis Mohan can ‘light a bulb’ in India. Although Gowariker implicitly compares Mohan’s battle against darkness to Ram’s battle against Ravana (in the song ‘Pal pal hai bhaari’, Every moment is a burden), Swades explicitly rejects an attitude that locates Indian greatness in its culture or traditions, since such an attitude entails the danger of turning a blind eye on the systemic ills of Indian society. Mohan returns to India because of the emotional pull that the country and its people exercise on him, yet the comparison between India and the United States is ultimately not in favour of India. One could argue that already in DDLJ the hero Raj managed to change Baldev Singh’s outlook, albeit by hyper-obedience. Yet the transformative powers of the diasporic hero in Swades are of a different calibre because he openly takes on the role of an instructor. Though respectful of the parent generation in India, he is willing to oppose their views and remedy social ills by means of the knowledge he has obtained in a Western country. Since the representation of the NRI figure as teacher provides opportunities for political comments, the strategy is popular with film-makers who wish to give their films an edge of social commentary. We find it, for example, in the already

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mentioned Cheeni Kum, where ageism, narrow-mindedness and the perversion of Ghandian ideals are criticized and remedied by a diasporic hero. Another example is Delhi-6 (2009), which touches on the themes of communal violence between Hindus and Muslims, enforced arranged marriages, gender and caste discrimination and power abuse by the police. In each of these films it takes the intervention of a diasporic character to bring about social change in India based on the ideas and knowledge he has acquired in the West. While it might go too far to claim, as Prasad did in 2008, that the NRI is ‘a more stable figure of Indian identity than anything that can be found indigenously’ and ‘increasingly beginning to look like the sole guarantor of Indian identity’ (44), there is therefore no denying that in contrast to films where the NRI has to be cured by the spiritual and moral powers of the homeland, several Hindi films have depicted the NRI as the potential corrective to ills within India herself. These films are not interventions against brain drain in the sense that they condemn the emigration of highly educated Indians, for only by being abroad can their heroes acquire the necessary detachment from India to produce change. What they do propagate instead is that the privileged NRI should return or give something back to India. They depict the reaping of a diasporic dividend that is primarily intellectual, ideological and moral, and only secondarily financial and economic, and they justify this representation by characterizing India as a still developing country. The solidarity of the NRI in these films is not based on some essential Indianness but on his transnationality and the feelings of responsibility that result from his emotional attachment.

Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal – Beyond India Yet another variation of the diaspora film is Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal (2007), a sports film that received mixed reviews when it first came out and performed below average at the box office. The film deserves attention nonetheless because, unlike most other diaspora films, it is less concerned with the relationship between the diaspora and India than with the relationship of diasporic Indians to their host society. In keeping with this, it dispenses with several typical story elements of the diaspora film or at least tones them down very strongly. Despite an implicit dual structure, the characters do not physically travel between India and a Western country. The love story is not at all central to the plot or the film’s discussion of ideas, and the negotiation of or opposition against traditional patriarchal structures and gender hierarchies plays a decidedly minor role, even though generational conflicts remain important.

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Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal is set exclusively in Britain. The film depicts the struggles of the fictional amateur football club Southall United, which is in danger of losing the lease to its football stadium. The local council has decided to sell the land and have a shopping centre instead, unless the club manages to come first in its league in the new season. Thus spurred into action, team captain Shaan convinces Tony, a former top player, to act as the club’s new coach. Only after Tony manages to hire the exceptionally talented Sunny Bhasin, however, does the club’s fortune begin to improve. Sunny is a disoriented character at odds with both his father and his community. Although the arrival of this misfit initially causes tensions in the club, they are resolved in the end. Even an intrigue by members of the city council to lure Sunny away from Southall United by getting him a contract with a Premier League club cannot prevent the team’s final triumph. Among the film’s most striking aspects are the strategies used to present the Southall setting as normal and Britain as a place of struggle. Visually, this agenda is already apparent in the opening credits, where director Vivek Agnihotri has erased all gloss from the images. On the story level it is manifest in the social cosmos the film presents and in the main characters’ everyday problems. They have small businesses that permit them modestly comfortable lives; they have worries in both their professional lives and on the football pitch. Economic success is conspicuously absent and, more importantly, not even presented as a positive aim. Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal is thus one of few diaspora films without a very wealthy diasporic character. In this film it is much more important to know where one belongs. Thus it is at the very moment when Sunny seems to have achieved his career goal by bagging a contract with a Premier League club that his alienation both from his father and his co-players becomes most pronounced. The struggle that the characters go through in Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal is primarily a struggle for mutual solidarity among the diasporic community, which is depicted as not exclusively Indian (like in Namastey London) but as a space where people of Indian origin and other South Asians live harmoniously together. Like Lagaan (Land Tax, 2001; about cricket) and Chak De India! (Come on, India!, 2007; about women’s hockey), the film employs the metaphorical device of a sports team in order to illustrate the problems of overcoming prejudice and difference for a common goal. In this case, the goal is defending the community’s identity against the British majority culture. The fact that it takes quite a long time before Sunny is accepted by the team and in turn accepts

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his own responsibility for the club indicates that there are also serious tensions within this community, however. As in many other diaspora films, one source of these tensions is a generational conflict, which in Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal is exemplified by Sunny and his father. While Sunny (much like the heroine in Namastey London) considers himself British first, his father is strictly against any interaction with white Britons. Since the film originally provides no reason for the father’s strict attitude, which has, moreover, effectively divided the family (since the father refuses to interact with Sunny as long as he plays football in a ‘white’ club), the guidance of sympathy initially is in favour of the apparently better adjusted and less narrow-minded son. Ultimately, however, the film supports the father’s stance by recruiting all the true villains of the film (the city council lady, racist footballers) from the ranks of the white characters and by presenting British football as a site of institutional racism. Not only is Sunny abused as a ‘Paki’ by white football players; his father’s predictions also come true when Sunny is not selected for the team although he is among the best players. The film thus implies a situation of institutional racism on the level of players and trainers. Moreover, the audience learns later in the film that Sunny’s father was once viciously attacked by white football fans. His rigidly negative attitude towards white Britons is therefore explained and serves to justify his withdrawal into the Asian community and his strict rejection of the British majority culture. Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal and Namastey London both problematize the notion of adjustment in the figure of the young hero(ine), whose approximation to the English environment, which is constructed as white, is presented as potential identity loss. In this set-up, the diasporic community of Southall in Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal is the symbol of an authentic Indian or more generally South Asian identity, which demands loyalty and has to be defended. This only works, however, if the members of the community stay ‘United’. The film states this very explicitly in a passionate speech by Shaan, who tries to convince Sunny to give up his lucrative contract and stay with the Southall team. While Sunny insists that changing clubs is a totally normal event in the world of football, Shaan counters: [Engl.] It’s not about football. [Hindi] It’s about who we are. It’s about how we’ll be known in this country. Our parents, our children – it’s about them. It’s about our identity, which you have traded. [Engl.] It’s not about football. It’s not about football. [Hindi] It’s about our colour and the pride in being who we are. It’s about being proud of our heritage. It’s about our name, about our self-respect, and you have forced us to bow our heads in shame.17

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This quotation encapsulates the main concern of the film, namely the struggle of diasporic identity construction and/or preservation, which it presents as an obligation to defend a South Asian identity within a hostile white environment. The film exemplifies this in the fate of Sunny, who only manages to overcome the confusion that was caused by the conflict between his father’s solipsistic attitude towards British society and his own self-perception as a British national, when he pledges his allegiance to Southall United. Although the film shows relations between white Britons and South Asians that clearly work well (such as Shaan’s marriage), and therefore at least concedes the possibility of a functioning multiculturalism, the film’s message is ultimately marked by a notion of interculturality that is based on a concept of separate cultures and races. By emphasizing the continuing presence of racism and discrimination against South Asians in Britain, the film further suggests that there is no essential difference between the situations of diasporic Indians of the first, second or third generations, even if the latter may suffer from a more heightened form of diasporic confusion. The diasporic community in the film therefore appears as a parallel society. Integration into the majority culture seems unnecessary, since life runs (more or less) smoothly without it. The Asian community in Southall is represented as a cosmos in and of itself, against which all the other locations in the film, like the cities where the footballers travel for their away games or the luxury apartment in the city centre that Sunny acquires with his Premier League contract, are connoted as hostile. In Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal the traditional conflicts between East and West and the typical juxtapositions of Indian and Western lifestyles in diaspora films have been transformed into a portrait of diasporic life as a struggle for pride and against identity loss within the host society. Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal differs from the films analysed so far by representing its NRI characters even more explicitly as a diaspora, that is, as a geographically separate group whose spatial dislocation leads to attempts to formulate a separate group identity in relation to both the alleged homeland and the host culture. This group is not held together by some form of essential Indianness, like in Namastey London, or by the emotional attachment to India and Indians back home, like in Swades, but by an Indianness that is constructed separately from and against the British host society. This approach to representing the Asian diaspora in London was later also adopted in another sports film, Patiala House (2011), but in a way that ultimately contradicts the earlier film. Whereas Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal implicitly advocated a segregationist agenda and urged for resistance against the

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white majority culture, Patiala House suggests that this confrontational attitude must be overcome in favour of cooperation. Racist tendencies within Britain are not denied, but it is suggested that they have been largely overcome and that Indians in Britain are now acknowledged and treated with respect. All three examples discussed so far share what Appadurai has called ‘culturalism’, that is, the ‘conscious mobilization of cultural differences in the service of a larger national or transnational politics’ (1996: 15), which is fully in keeping with the Indian government’s strategies for reaping the so-called diasporic dividend. Yet the films are also markedly different, as they emphasize the common (and allegedly indelible) cultural and ethnic roots between diaspora and Indian homeland (Namastey London), appeal to the NRIs’ responsibility for their ‘motherland’ (Swades) while acknowledging the fundamentally different situation of Indians who live abroad (Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal). The diaspora hence functions, respectively, as an outpost that is not fundamentally different from the Indian motherland (Namastey London), as a resource for Indian development (Swades) or is presented as a geographically distinct unit that is still dependent on the homeland for its strategies of identity construction (Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal).

Dil Bole Hadippa! – A camouflage diaspora film In contrast to the three previous films, the marketing of Dil Bole Hadippa! did not signal its diaspora theme at all, although the topic pervades the entire movie; it is therefore a sort of camouflage diaspora film. Dil Bole Hadippa! is strongly self-reflexive about its status as both a diaspora and Bollywood film and in fact illustrates the importance of the diaspora theme for the concept of Bollywood generally. The story of the film revolves around a Punjabi girl named Veera, a starry-eyed cricket enthusiast who dreams of a career as a top cricketer. Despite her extraordinary talents as ‘right and left hand batsman’, however, she has no team to play in because there is no girls’ team in her village. She gets the chance to make her dream come true when the unsuccessful local cricket coach, whose team have lost their annual friendly match against a neighbouring Pakistani team eight times in a row, convinces his son Rohan, who lives in England with his mother and is a professional cricket player, to come to India and coach his team. Rohan recruits new players, one of whom is Veera in male disguise as Veer Pratab Singh. While Rohan prepares the players for their next match, he also discovers the Punjab. His guide is Veera (as Veera), with whom he falls in love. Rohan only discovers her disguise by chance during the climactic Indian–

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Pakistani cricket match, and although he is initially shocked and appalled by her ruse, he overcomes these feelings and appreciates the extraordinariness of Veera’s playing and commitment. After the match, Rohan reveals to the audience that Veer Pratap Singh is really a woman. The spectators react with shock and even disgust, yet like Rohan they are won over when Veera delivers a passionate speech for female equality. Hence all four main plot strands end happily: the obstacles in the romantic love relationship between Rohan and Veera are overcome; the Indian cricket team wins; Veera is accepted and celebrated as a female cricketer on par with her male teammates; and Rohan, the diasporic hero, finds peace of mind and happiness in the Punjab. Considering the relation between the various plot strands, Veera’s emancipation dominates the film, but Rohan’s development towards self-realization in India is also central because both the cricket match plot strand and the romance plot strand essentially depend on it. Dil Bole Hadippa! shares many basic elements with other films discussed in this chapter, such as the role of the hero as (cricket) teacher, who is himself educated – in this particular case by a Punjabi girl steeped in the culture of her homeland. It transposes the negotiation of the Indian versus the Western, which is a hallmark of earlier diaspora films, into just one setting rather than shuttling between India and the West (as in Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal). It also has a hero who feels confused (like Sunny in Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal and Jazz in Namastey London) because of an upbringing between two cultures and a feeling of alienation caused by his attempts to be English in his British environment. Rohan’s father paints a black picture of London as a cold and brutal city. Since his character is sympathetic but hardly reliable, however, because of his repeated breaches of confidence, this characterization of London is not to be taken at face value. Rohan accordingly points out that England is his mother’s home country, just like India is his father’s. At least on a surface level the film therefore rejects an evaluation of India as superior to Britain, and it implies that any evaluation of this kind would be irrelevant given the transnational reality of the Indian diaspora. When Veera claims that only Indians living in India are truly Indian, Rohan therefore admonishes her (in pidgin English mimicking her own): ‘Today Indians all over the world making the India the proud, so why are you thinking so small?’18 In keeping with its implied valorization of transculturality the film addresses the dangers of an attitude that is ‘rather too Indian’ (‘kuch zyada hindustani’), as Rohan describes himself in some respects. His extreme

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antagonism to Veera’s masquerade is presented in this light, for example. For him dressing up as a boy and mingling with half-naked cricketers in a men’s locker room is unacceptable behaviour for a respectable girl. For the sake of the film’s emancipatory message, Rohan therefore needs to go through an education, which encompasses two stages. The first is his introduction to everyday rural life in the Punjab19 by Veera, whose temperament provides him with a simpler and happier outlook that replaces his diasporic confusion. It culminates in Rohan’s declaration of love for both Veera and India and in the realization that even when he is far from India, India is never far from him. He thus becomes an ideal illustration of the ‘portable’ Indianness that Uberoi (1998) identified as the message of DDLJ and Pardes. The second stage of Rohan’s learning process is his acceptance of Veera’s ruse to fulfil her dream of playing cricket, for which Rohan has to reject his preconceptions of Indian femininity. According to the film, the ideal relationship between the Indian motherland and the diaspora therefore combines an accepting knowledge of Indian ways of life both in India and abroad with the warmth of harmonious, pan-Indian interpersonal relationships and the mutual exchange of knowledge. The mentioning of Purab aur Pachhim in Namastey London provided the film with a self-referential angle. Dil Bole Hadippa! wears its self-referentiality as a diaspora film even more openly on its sleeve. Its chosen means for doing so are quotations from and allusions to DDLJ. Since DDLJ director Aditya Chopra acted as producer on Dil Bole Hadippa!, it might come as a surprise that the film’s take on DDLJ is rather ironic: it deliberately picks up and subverts some of the key notions of the older film. This self-reflexivity underlines, however, that the discourses both on diaspora and the diaspora film have evolved since the mid-1990s films DDLJ and Pardes which formed the genre’s bedrock. The self-reflexive element of Dil Bole Hadippa! is particularly strong in one scene between Rohan and Veera, whose centrality is also emphasized by the fact that it comes right after the interval. Rohan unintentionally bursts in on Veera in the showers of the cricket team’s locker room. Veera is at a triple disadvantage in this scene: she is in danger of being found out, she is only dressed in a towel and as a girl she never had the right to be in the men’s locker room in the first place. In order to turn the tables on Rohan and gain the upper hand in the situation, she chooses to play the izzat card and accuses the hapless Rohan of disrespecting her honour. At this point the film consciously plays with and ironizes the discourse of female izzat from the key scene in DDLJ where Raj underlined his essential Indianness by professing his respect for Simran’s virginity. In Dil Bole Hadippa!

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Veera reformulates the original wording of Raj’s statement as a question and addresses Rohan with the words, ‘[Hindi] This is India. Do you know what an Indian girl’s honour is? (Yeh Hindustan hai. Ek Hindustani ladki ki izzat kya hoti hai, jaante ho?’) Rohan, however, immediately exposes her strategy as a mere play with national stereotypes. At least on a surface level, Dil Bole Hadippa! therefore distances itself from the discourse on Indian femininity in DDLJ and characterizes it as a cliché. A reference by Veera to Britain’s former role as colonial power is similarly debunked, when she answers Rohan’s ironic question whether he should marry her in order to make up for having allegedly violated her honour, with the words: ‘[Hindi] Were 150 years not enough that I should be enslaved again to the English?’ In the context of Veera’s deliberate abuse of the izzat discourse in this scene, her construction of Britain as former colonizer and thus present-day enemy – a stance that can still be found in Namastey London, for example – is equally ridiculed. A further reference to DDLJ occurs slightly later in the film when Rohan wants to apologize to Veera for what happened in the locker room and goes to visit her in the theatre that is her home. He decides to confront her on stage, where she is acting the role of Heer in a stage version of the popular Punjabi love story of Heer and Ranjha. Rohan bursts on stage dressed as Raj from DDLJ, thereby forcing the actor playing Ranjha off stage; instead Rohan and Veera act out scenes from the Bollywood classics DDLJ and Hum Aapke Hain Koun …! (Who am I to You, 1994), which in this situation replace and thus implicitly obtain the same rank as the great love stories from Indian legends. That the films have become canonical texts of Indian culture is suggested in particular by the fact that the theatre audience in Dil Bole Hadippa! immediately joins in the game. The Bollywood classics are presented as a pan-Indian cultural repository on one and the same level as Indian mythology and legends (on which they of course very often draw). When one considers these cinematic references in Dil Bole Hadippa! in the context of those to Yadoon Ki Baaraat in Swades and to Purab aur Pachhim in Namastey London, which all serve to illustrate that the diasporic characters in these films are familiar with Hindi cinema, these cases of intertextuality clearly suggest that Indian mainstream films work as a kind of cultural glue between India and diasporic South Asians around the globe. Hindi cinema is presented as not only a national but global Indian cinema that allows audiences all over the world to construct their notions of Indianness in relation to what they see in Hindi films. In reverse, many scholars have presented the diaspora as absolutely

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central to the development of Bollywood on the basis of the great number of successful Bollywood films with diasporic settings and characters that were produced in the 1990s and 2000s.

Diaspora films and British Bollywood audiences Bollywood and the diaspora theme If one assumes that the emergence of Bollywood is inseparably linked to the diasporic audiences, the diaspora theme is indeed arguably one element in the repertory of formal and thematic features that signal a ‘typical’ Bollywood film. Among those who have claimed that Bollywood was predominantly aimed at diasporic audiences is Gangoli, who perceives a ‘mythicisation of India for the NRI’ (2005: 157) in Bollywood films and suggests that many Hindi mainstream films of the 1990s and early 2000s were specifically targeted at Indians abroad. Rajadhyaksha, too, claimed in 2003 that ‘Bollywood exists for, and prominently caters to, a diasporic audience of Indians’ (29), and Punathambekar and Kavoori have called Bollywood ‘diaspora-destined films’ (2008: 10). In a similar vein, Mishra has identified an ‘implied diasporic spectator’ of Bollywood films (2002: 260), while the overseas setting of films such as Salaam Namaste, Kal Ho Naa Ho (There May or May not Be a Tomorrow, 2003) and Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna made Thussu assume that the ‘film producers appear to be primarily interested only in the “secondary” markets – the demographically desirable NRIs’ (2008: 107–8). Manas Ray states that ‘the diasporic Indian … is now very much part of contemporary Bollywood address’, a phenomenon he calls ‘Diasporizing Bollywood’ (2012: 231). Govil has also proposed that films like DDLJ and Pardes targeted ‘South Asian expatriate audiences with fantasies of middle-class mobility’ (2007: 84), while Bhattacharjya has even gone so far as to suggest that this strategy was actively supported by the government by claiming that the Indian government, ‘already courting NRIs with attractive investment schemes, found films an effective means to advertise their adoption of NRIs as Indian cultural citizens’ (2009: 56).20 Since the aspiring Indian urban middle classes share many of the concerns that allegedly attract diasporic spectators to Bollywood, the films are clearly not exclusively targeted at an implied diasporic spectator (see Uberoi 1998: 325; Dudrah 2006: 69, 91). As Dwyer has cautioned, ‘although many film makers

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are thought to tailor their films towards the diasporic audience, there is little evidence to support this’ (2006: 368). A comparison of the UK and Indian box office results of the top Hindi films since 2001 shows, however, that the diaspora theme may indeed be a strategy that is aimed at the overseas market, as films with strong diaspora themes like Swades, Namastey London and Dil Bole Hadippa! have, on average, tended to do relatively better in the UK than in India.21 The results of the Bollywood Batein report also indicated that respondents ‘born in the UK felt they could identify better with contemporary characters and settings which were a reflection of their own hybrid Asian and Western identities’ (2004: 29).

British Bollywood audiences’ film preferences A look at the box office figures as well as the findings of the survey conducted for this study shows that the spectators of Bollywood films in the UK prefer films that foreground romance and comedy.22 There also tend to be some action-oriented films among the annual top titles. Yet although trailers and the official film web site usually indicate a title’s genre affiliations, genre is a secondary marketing factor at best. It ranges far behind other criteria audiences use to choose the films they are going to watch. The most important selection criteria are topic and story, followed almost immediately by the presence of a particular star. Any new film with one of the Indian megastars, such as Aamir Khan, Shahrukh Khan, Salman Khan, Hrithik Roshan or Amitabh Bachchan, comes with a built-in audience (cf. Bollywood Batein 2004: 25, FDA 2008: 67). Shahrukh Khan is a particular favourite with British spectators, and his films often perform comparatively better in the UK than in India. Production values also seem to play a role for the success of Indian films in Britain. Of course, not all expensive or visually slick films ultimately become economic successes, but the successful films tend to have high production values. British audiences have a predilection for ‘star-studded, big-budget films’ (Thussu 2008: 104) whose technical sophistication is comparable to Western productions, but which nonetheless offer the possibility of losing oneself in the music and the star aura of the film (cf. Kaur 2005: 320). The increased technical sophistication of Indian films – one result of the corporatization of the Mumbai film industry and a means in the fight against the growing competition from television in India – seems to have played an important role for the development of the Indian share of the British film market.

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The British Bollywood audiences have often been called conservative (e.g. Uhl & Kumar 2004: 154–5), because they neglected films like Dil Chahta Hai (The Heart Desires, 2001), Black (2005) or Taare Zameen Par (Stars on Earth, 2007), which were quite unconventional at their time, in favour of romances and family dramas, which indeed dominated the box office in the first half of the 2000s. Moreover, in the second half of the 2000s several glossy but rather vapid films like Laaga Chunari Main Daag (Journey of a Woman, 2007), Aaja Nachle (Come, Let’s Dance, 2007), Jhoom Barabar Jhoom, Salaam-E-Ishq (A Salute to Love, 2007) and Chandni Chowk to China (2009) failed to make a mark in India but ranked highly among the Indian films released in the UK, which prompted the criticism that for UK audiences gloss seemed to be more important than content. However, the success of films like Rang De Basanti (Colour it Saffron, 2006), Singh is Kinng (2008), Ghajini (2008), 3 Idiots (2009), My Name is Khan, Dhoom 2 (Blast 2, 2006), Dhoom 3 (Blast 3, 2013) and PK (2014) in the UK, none of which is a family drama or romance in the traditional Bollywood mould, indicates that the tastes of British Bollywood audiences, too, have broadened as a response to the diversification of Hindi films, albeit with a delay of some years compared to India. The main reason for this delay was simply institutional: the market for Hindi films in the UK is dominated by a small number of well-established production and distribution houses, which face less (Indian) competition than in the Indian market so that small or unconventional films have found it harder to get seen. In British multiplexes, even Indian blockbusters are niche films. Indian multiplex films, which have been an important motor of product diversification in the Hindi film industry, would be truly extravagant programming in a British context and certainly more at home in art house cinemas. It has also been suggested, however, that nostalgia for the world represented in classic Hindi films of the mid-1990s to mid-2000s may have been a reason why diasporic audiences were slower to embrace the diversification of Hindi cinema that gained momentum from the mid-2000s onwards. That Yash Raj Films and others deliberately continue catering to this notion of Bollywood by intertextual references (even if they may be ironical) to Hindi film classics from the 1990s and 2000s or by including an overseas angle in their films can be interpreted as a deliberate strategy of localizing a global product or in fact as a concentrated attempt to appeal to diasporic audiences. Overall, however, it would be wise not to give undue emphasis to the questions of diaspora and nostalgia in examining British Bollywood audiences.

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Questioning the paradigms of ‘diaspora’ and ‘nostalgia’ in Bollywood criticism Banaji’s study of the responses to Hindi films by British Asian youths in London has underlined that the viewers engage with Bollywood on many levels and derive their viewing pleasures from many sources: Intertextual engagement with the star personae of the hero or heroine, emotional linkages between film scenes and personal experience, a sense of having ‘escaped’ from mundane problems, a sense of gaining knowledge or wisdom, the colours and beauty of the settings, release for real frustration via anger at screen characters, a sense of satisfaction at their own proficiency in responding to the narrative cues of the film, the chance to engage with depictions of forbidden or restricted experiences such as travel or romance, and enjoyment of the lyrics, music and dance sequences are only some of the pleasures implied by viewers during their discussions (2006: 58).

Critical engagement with diaspora films in particular and Bollywood in Britain in general, however, has especially highlighted questions about the role of Bollywood for processes of diasporic identity construction (see e.g. Nandy 1998; Dudrah 2002, 2006; Mishra 2002). Verstappen and Rutten, for example, have emphasized the personal connection that many of their respondents (Hindustani youths in the Netherlands) feel to Bollywood films, especially in the sense that ‘[t]heir otherness is in some sense neutralized and even celebrated by Hindi cinema’ (2007: 228). Dudrah in turn has claimed that among his respondents (young British Asians from Birmingham) the desire ‘to see the complex and multifaceted nature of South Asians in and through representation [in Bollywood films] was very strong’ (2006: 73). In contrast to Verstappen and Rutten and to Dudrah, whose assertions are based on empirical research, Mishra’s claims about the alleged reaction of diasporic audiences to diaspora films, though intellectually appealing and taking into account the multidirectionality of cultural flows, are made without concrete evidence. Although his analysis of diaspora films as ‘Bombay Cinema’s reprojection of its own (mis)readings of the diaspora’ (Mishra 2002: 266) is astute, his assertions about processes of meaning-making by the diasporic audiences of Hindi films are ultimately conjectures because he relies on the highly problematic strategy of ‘extrapolating an ideal “diasporic spectator” from the films as texts’ (Hassam 2012: 267). He does not give evidence for his claim that ‘the diaspora’ reads the mother in DDLJ differently from ‘the homeland’

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(2002: 258) and for the rather sweeping statement that when the fantasies of the West conveyed in Hindi films ‘are reconfigured by the homeland as the “real” of diasporic lives, they have the curious role of actually becoming “truths” to which the diaspora aspires’ (2002: 250). It seems also as if Mishra had imposed his own perception of one homogeneous Indian diaspora and its conflicted relation to both India and the West onto the diaspora films. By doing so, he unveils ideological structures in the film texts, but he also makes unwarranted assumptions about their diasporic audiences. The same is unfortunately true of many critical interventions that approach the reception of diaspora films (or Bollywood films in general) from an angle of nostalgia. In their analysis of strategies in musical sequences, which they interpret as strategies of engaging the diaspora, Kao and Do Rozario, for example, follow Mishra, to whom they frequently refer, by speaking of the diaspora as a homogeneous entity, even including essentialist phrases like ‘diasporic sexuality’ (2008: 320). Anupama Chopra, moreover, simply seems to transfer the nostalgia that the character of Baldev Singh feels in DDLJ onto the diaspora as a whole when she claims that the film fed an NRI nostalgia for traditions and rituals and sent a reassuring message that the West could not change India irrevocably or rob diasporic Indians of their roots (2002: 57). Deshpande paints a similarly generalizing picture by claiming that the average NRI carries great nostalgia for an imagined Indian home governed by secure family ties and ritual observances: In having to cope with a system that grants greater prosperity while taking away family ties, servants, grandma-babysitters, the servile office boy, and all the other cushy paraphernalia of middle-class life in India, the NRI starts treasuring that imagination, embellishing it to the point where it becomes totally fetishised … Hindi cinema has become an active manufacturer of such fetishes. (Deshpande 2005: 202–3)

It is this type of writing about diasporic audiences that prompted Banaji’s empirical research on the reception of Bollywood, as she found herself ‘dissatisfied with the manner in which British-Asian audiences of Hindi films were somehow being lumped together into a single category, NRIs …, in a manner which made them all appear to be obsessed with patriarchal tradition and nostalgic desire to be embraced by and worthy of belonging to their homeland’ (2006: 20–1). Bollywood can indeed be characterized as a ‘nostalgia factory’ (Verstappen & Rutten 2007: 215) in the sense suggested by Deshpande. Yet instead of jumping

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to the conclusion that the diasporic nostalgia expressed by characters in diaspora films mirrors diasporic nostalgia on the spectators’ part, one should raise the question whether the spectators’ yearning might not be directed at a specific type of film-making or the glamour of the Bollywood celebrity culture rather than the Indian homeland. The Bollywood Batein report, for example, observed nostalgic yearning among young and old viewers of Bollywood films, none of which was, however, directed at India.23 So, one should ask with Verstappen and Rutten: ‘If Hindi films provide a nostalgia trip, do the intended viewers actually embark on this trip?’ (2007: 215) As Hutcheon (1998) has emphasized, nostalgia is not a quality inherent in a text but an act of emotional response. The fact that Hindi film producers keep introducing the diaspora as a setting or theme into their films therefore does not preclude audience reactions among overseas spectators that fail to embrace or even oppose the alleged potential of identification that these films seem to offer. Verstappen and Rutten are particularly vocal in this regard and repeatedly emphasize that the ‘assumed link between media from the home country and viewers’ identification with that home country is problematic and must not be taken for granted’ (2007: 211, emphasis in original). With particular reference to British spectators of Bollywood, Raminder Kaur has similarly complained that the popularity of Indian films in diasporic markets ‘is too easily read off as indices of nostalgia’ (2005: 312). Instead, Kaur stresses the very selective ways in which British Asian spectators derive their viewing pleasures from diaspora films (and Bollywood films more generally) and demonstrates that these pleasures often occur despite a film’s diaspora theme rather than because of it: ingredients designed with the so-called NRI/‘diasporan’ in mind do not necessarily lead to a concerted series of identifications from British Asians. In fact, it is often the case that it leads to the obverse – a disidentification albeit momentary and contingent, a disassociation that could nonetheless rest side by side with, though in tension, [sic] the emotional and enjoyable affects of films as it relates to performative excesses, romance, songs, and the star appeal of prominent actors/actresses. (Kaur 2005: 315)

Banaji, too, observes that her respondents used deliberate ideological disidentification strategies against traditionalistist representations of gender and marriage (2006: 57, 83–8, 101) and underlines the significance of the auratic and spectacular aspects of the films for the audience: The sets, colours, costumes, music, lyrics, dialogue, choreography and physical attractiveness of the central protagonists may … operate to give young viewers

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Bollywood in Britain in my sample grounds for engagement with and delight in sequences of a Hindi film for one or even two out of three hours, where the primary focus of the narrative would have lost their attention or their liking within minutes. (2006: 156, emphasis in original)

Often critical of the conservative tendencies in many diaspora films, Kaur’s and Banajee’s interviewees responded primarily to what Neale in a discussion of different types of verisimilitude in films has called ‘generically verisimilitudinous ingredients’, namely ‘those elements that are often least compatible with regimes of cultural verisimilitude – singing and dancing in the musical, the appearance of the monster in the horror film – that constitute its pleasure and thus attract audiences to the film in the first place’ (2003: 163). Although some British viewers do regard elements of the representation of diasporic life in diaspora films as realistic (see e.g. Banaji 2006: 58, 62–3), Kaur’s respondents perceived the alleged expatriate Indians in diaspora films ‘as if in “diasporic drag” ’ (2005: 319). This is hardly surprising because even when Indian diasporic characters remain entirely situated in the West (e.g. in Kal Ho Naa Ho, Salaam Namaste, Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna), they usually do not appear like ‘hyphenated Indians’ (e.g. British Asians, Indo-Americans) but like Indians abroad because of their accent-free Hindi and Indian body language (see Mishra 2002: 251). This has only begun to be modified very recently with individual characters like Laila in Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara, Veronica in Cocktail and Vijay in Queen. Generalizing statements about diasporic film audiences like those by Chopra, Deshpande and Mishra seem to result partly from equating these audiences with screen representations of nostalgic diasporic Indians and partly from an impulse to regard issues of diasporic memory primarily in terms of nostalgia. Yet, as Desai has emphasized, ‘not all transnational structures of feeling [in the diaspora] are nostalgia or longings for homelands’ (2004: 19), and, one might add, not all acts of memory are inevitably nostalgic. Research in the field of Diaspora Studies suggests that older concepts of diaspora as a geographical scattering (where the spatial displacement of a community is perceived as causing an automatic and irreversible temporal displacement which renders the remembered homeland irrecoverable) have tended to overemphasize the issue of nostalgia in diasporic relations to the original homeland (Tsagarousianou 2004: 55). Diasporic memory is ‘a privileged carrier of diasporic identity’, and it establishes links among the members of a diasporic community as well as to diasporic groups in other locations and to the imagined homeland (Baronian, Besser & Jansen 2007: 11–12). Constructions of diasporic identities therefore do not occur in

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relation to the homeland alone but to a variety of geographical and cultural spaces (Tsagarousianou 2004: 57). Because of this, Danforth, for example, argues that the building of a ‘diasporic identity’ occurs not predominantly through acts of looking back but by essentially looking forward (qtd in Tsagarousianou 2004: 59), which hints at a more active role of the diasporic subject in relation to the homeland than nostalgia-oriented definitions of diaspora would allow for. Moving on from earlier descriptive definitions of diaspora as a geographical scattering, this concept of the active ‘diasporan’ instead establishes diaspora as a performative category (see Baronian, Besser & Jansen 2007: 9–11). The diasporic group becomes an ‘imagined community’ (Anderson 1983) whose construction does not depend so much on displacement and migration but on strategies of connectivity. Many of these in turn depend on media technologies and their consumption (see Tsagarousianou 2004: 52, 61). Shavit’s empirical study on The New Imagined Community has impressively demonstrated that the ‘developments in the usages of satellite television and the internet … today allow immigrants to continue to imagine from afar their native national community primarily, simultaneously and on an ongoing basis as if they had never left their homeland’ (2009: 1). Diasporic media can establish a sense of temporal convergence and synchronicity between the dispersed groups of a diaspora (Tsagarousianou 2004: 62), and between these groups and the homeland, that may create a feeling of togetherness and of belonging to an (imagined) community. Yet Shavit’s study also illustrates that the ways in which individuals are using this potential differ and that the degree by which they become involved with events in the homeland by means of diasporic media can vary considerably from individual to individual (2009: 95–7). Because of this Verstappen and Rutten have cautioned that transnational meanings may not at all be the most important aspects in the reception of socalled diasporic media (including Hindi films) by diasporic spectators, and they have called the diaspora perspective ‘in fact a faulty framework for media research’ (2007: 212, 231).

Bollywood film-watching and diasporic group identity While Indian diaspora films can be considered outside voices that participate in and contribute to processes of diasporic identity construction by negotiating and debating about what it means to be Indian and/or a diasporic Indian (cf. Tsagarousianou 2004: 60), one should therefore be wary of generalizing claims

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about the role of Bollywood film-watching as a (performative) instrument of diasporic identity construction and the role nostalgia plays in this process (see Kaur 2005: 313). Bollywood film-going, like most cinema-going, certainly has a ritualistic aspect and, in combination with its ethnic near-exclusivity in Britain, has been interpreted as a (re-)articulation and (re-)enactment of South-Asianness (see Dudrah 2002; Harvie 2005: 157–66). The ethnic set-up of audiences for Indian mainstream films in British cinemas indeed indicates that Bollywood film-watching is an ‘enactment of ethnic group identity’ (Hutcheon 1998), as Dudrah (2002) has suggested. He has read Indian film-going in Birmingham as a deliberately emancipatory act of South Asian identity manifestation in relation to the British majority culture. Yet although the empirical research on the consumption of Indian cinema in Britain underlines that Bollywood films are perceived as a distinctly Indian cultural form, there is no reason to assume that the political impetus behind Bollywood film-watching implied by Dudrah is shared by all film-goers. Nor does nostalgia for a homeland necessarily have to play a dominant role in it. Banaji’s findings, for example, show that a wish to connect to an Indian cultural framework in a sort of ‘cultural bonding ritual’ motivated by the ‘need to show loyalty to distinctively “Asian” as opposed to “Western” cultural forms’ can be one reason for watching Hindi films (2006: 53). However, she also states that For many young South Asians in the United Kingdom viewing Hindi films was about much more than experiencing supposedly ‘Indian’ traditions or experiencing representations of the South-Asian diaspora. In fact, … some young South Asians in the United Kingdom, who think of Hindi films as being specifically about Indian tradition, consciously choose not to watch them, while some who do watch them regularly are appreciative of their aesthetics and their narratives far more than they are of their symbolic functions as markers of a ‘homeland’ consciousness. (2006: 177, emphasis in original)

Overall, there is no reason to doubt the ‘important cultural role’ that Indian mainstream cinema seems to fulfil for Asian viewers (Bollywood Batein 2004: 21). The respondents of Bollywood Batein considered it an integral part of Asian culture and many were able to identify with the characters and types of issues (e.g. family, honour and sacrifice) portrayed in the films. The respondents also used the films to keep in touch with their cultural roots, since for the older generation the films played a role in preserving the history, customs and traditional aspects of Indian society for young Asians brought up in the West,

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while young people learned Hindi from them (Bollywood Batein 2004: 22, 23). Implicitly mirroring the representation of diaspora in Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal, for many respondents in the Bollywood Batein report the notion of Bollywood’s cultural distinctiveness was grounded on a separatist concept of cultures that posited ‘them’ (the English) against ‘us’ (Asians). In a discussion about the suitability of the BBFC’s (British Board of Film Classification) guidelines for rating Bollywood films, for example, respondents feared that the BBFC lacked the requisite understanding of Asian culture and respect for Asian families and their values (2004: 37). In addition, they often suggested that it should be Asian examiners who classified Asian films so that they could take account of Asian culture and values. Pakistani viewers wanted the added assurance of examiners who were Pakistani as they felt that this meant the religious and moral sensitivities of Pakistani audiences were more likely to be given its [sic] proper due. While some people were willing to accept that the current guidelines could be adapted for Asian audiences, others felt that there should be separate guidelines altogether. (Bollywood Batein 2004: 36–7)

In the survey conducted for this study, Bollywood was also clearly perceived as distinctly Indian by the vast majority of respondents, who agreed in varying degrees with the statement that ‘Bollywood is a piece of India in Britain.’ Agreement with this proposition was particularly strong among respondents with Indian roots. For most Asian respondents, moreover, Bollywood was a source of pride, albeit in varying degrees. About half of the respondents considered Bollywood films an important alternative to Hollywood, with a slightly higher percentage of non-traditional spectators sharing this view than among traditional spectators. There is apparently a stronger impression of difference between Hollywood and Bollywood among non-traditional viewers because Bollywood has more of an outsider status in their overall film consumption. Interestingly, Bollywood was not generally associated with difference, however, which suggests that for a large majority of respondents (both traditional and non-traditional), Bollywood is fully established as a cultural form and perceived as naturalized in Britain, even though the respondents were strongly aware of the differences between Bollywood and Hollywood film-making. For many respondents of my survey, the awareness of the cultural distinctiveness of Indian mainstream films went hand in hand with concerns about their growing ‘Westernization’, especially in the sense of more explicitly

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sensual content and new approaches to representing gender (and especially femininity) (see also Bollywood Batein 2004: 29). Asked to indicate the three things they liked and disliked most about Bollywood, Asian viewers named as their favourite aspects firstly, the typical structural elements, such as songs, music and dance; aspects of the story (storylines, comedy, drama); and the spectacular features of the films (stars, glamour, different countries, exotic locations). Some also named elements that related to the films’ cultural specificity. For example, some respondents mentioned ‘traditional dress’, ‘languages’, ‘seeing India’, ‘Indian values’, ‘link to culture’ and similar features as their favourite aspects of Bollywood. All in all, however, such answers were much less frequent than the references to the formal, narrative and auratic aspects of the films. In keeping with this, a considerable number of Asian respondents named aspects of ‘Westernization’ as the features they liked least about Bollywood. Strong dislike was expressed towards what respondents perceived to be Bollywood’s practice (or at least its attempt) of copying Hollywood, as this implies both a lack of originality and the loss of cultural distinctiveness. One respondent complained of too much English in the films and feared the loss of Hindi. Others complained that the films were ‘over Westernized’, that they imitated Western values and lifestyles and that the clothes shown in the films were ‘too Western’. The statements about clothing were linked to sex: respondents took issue with what they considered to be too much nudity, raunchiness, obscene scenes, sex scenes and vulgar dances and disliked it when the films were ‘adulty’. Two Asian respondents established a link between these issues and the topic of femininity: while the first took a feminist perspective and complained that ‘women [are] portrayed as sex objects’, the second adopted a more traditionalist stance and disliked it when females in Bollywood films were ‘trying to be too Western’.24 The notion that Bollywood films are family viewing, which was evident among the respondents of the Bollywood Batein report, persisted in the survey for this study. The numerous complaints about Bollywood’s growing frankness in representing eroticism and sexuality also indicated, however, that there has been an at least partial erosion of the belief that Bollywood films are, in principle, a safer choice for Asian family viewing than Hollywood films. Among non-Asian spectators, music and dance (though not songs) also emerged as the favourite elements associated with Bollywood, as well as the films’ glamour and fashion factor. In contrast to Asian respondents, several nontraditional spectators stated that they particularly liked the ‘colourful’ nature of the films and their energy and liveliness, and two respondents particularly

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appreciated the unabashed expression of emotions (especially by male characters). Overall, the survey indicated that the heightened emotionality of many Bollywood films, though attractive to most spectators, is particularly so for non-traditional viewers. They also responded to Bollywood films notably more strongly in terms of escapism than traditional viewers who obviously find in the films more recognizable conflicts and scenarios to which they can relate. This also led to different evaluations of Bollywood’s cultural prestige, which was clearly weaker among non-traditional than traditional spectators. Although the survey conducted for this study underlined that Bollywood is clearly perceived as Indian, the results also showed that a considerable number of British Asian viewers did not watch Bollywood because of its South Asian cultural affiliation or because of some nostalgia for the homeland. So while a majority of the Indian and Pakistani respondents of the survey agreed in varying degrees to the proposition ‘I watch Bollywood because it is a link to the South Asian culture for me’, the single most popular option by far concerning this question was ‘Do not agree.’ Roughly 40 per cent of both the Indian and Pakistani respondents expressed that a desire of linking up with South Asian culture is not a reason for their watching Bollywood films. Among the Indian respondents many went for the lowest grade of agreement with the proposition. This means that about 65 per cent of the respondents with Indian backgrounds did not or did only partly agree that they watched Bollywood because it allowed them to establish some link to South Asian culture. The survey further suggested that among Asian Bollywood viewers an attitude that sees Bollywood as a source of cultural identification or pride is most widespread among NRIs (in the official sense) and viewers who were not born in Britain. The fact that most of the respondents did not deliberately or actively seek out Bollywood because of its Indianness or Asianness renders Dudrah’s interpretation of Bollywood film-going as a political act of Asian identity affirmation slightly problematic. The result also underlines that for most of the non-traditional spectators the films’ Indianness was not a decisive point of attraction, that is, their liking for Bollywood film has not centrally to do with its cultural origin. Because of the widespread critical emphasis on the Indianness of Bollywood and the notion that Bollywood viewing serves as a cultural link between diasporic South Asians and their ‘homeland’, one of the most noteworthy results of the survey conducted for this study was that the vast majority of Asian respondents agreed with the proposition ‘I find Bollywood exotic.’ This underlines that Bollywood, although it is perceived as Indian, is also perceived

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as alien. In contrast, although exoticism is often suggested as one of the most attractive factors of Bollywood for non-traditional audiences, only two of the thirteen non-traditional spectators who answered this particular question in the survey fully confirmed the proposition. At first glance, there seems to be a contradiction between respondents foregrounding Bollywood’s Indianness and their general disagreement with the statement that they watch Bollywood because the films are a link to South Asian culture for them. It is possible, however, to interpret the findings in the sense that allegedly typical Indian elements are an important part of the films’ auratic appeal for the spectators but that they are not consciously sought out by them. If this is indeed the case, then the films’ Indianness is perceived and engaged with as a surface effect rather than an essential quality. This is a further argument for new approaches to the question of nostalgia in relation to diasporic Asian Bollywood spectators. The perception of Bollywood as something exotic, which dominates among the Asian respondents of the survey conducted for this study, should also give us pause, for it suggests that if one wants to continue conceptualizing the reception of Bollywood in Britain as a form of diasporic identity construction based on nostalgia, one has to adapt one’s concept of nostalgia to the performative notion of diaspora outlined above. One very helpful approach to such a reconceptualization can be Dudrah’s notion of a ‘stylized nostalgia’ – a term he uses to describe a form of diasporic self-awareness that he encountered in female second-generation Bollywood spectators he interviewed. They saw going to the movies as a ‘way of connecting to family and culture while simultaneously asserting a stylized nostalgia through which they established this connection’ (2006: 101). Dudrah basically describes an ambivalence of simultaneous connectivity and distance here. It hinges on the concept of active diasporic viewers who recognize a cultural South Asian affinity to Hindi films but who do not ‘passively consume ideologies and products exported by the homeland nation but actively produce meanings through translation, negotiation, and adaptation’ (Desai 2004: 114) and thus adapt the texts and ideologies they encounter in Hindi films in relation to their own (diasporic) situation. The forms of these adaptations, which can also speak back to the homeland, can vary – from the queerings of Bollywood in niches of popular culture described by Dudrah (2006: chap. 5) and Gopinath (2000), to the simultaneous involvement and distancing from the film text experienced by Dudrah’s and Raminder Kaur’s interviewees during the very act of film-watching. All constitute performances

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of Bollywood which uphold and modify it at the same time. By doing so, they also evoke Svetlana Boym’s (2011) distinction between restorative and reflective nostalgia. In contrast to restorative nostalgia which looks firmly backward and ‘attempts a transhistorical reconstruction of the lost home’, the concept of reflective nostalgia is based on what Boym considers the prospective potential of nostalgia, since the ‘fantasies of the past determined by the needs of the present have a direct impact on the realities of the future’ (Boym 2011). Drawing on Fredric Jameson’s concept of ‘nostalgia for the present’, Wiemann (2006) has suggested that non-traditional Bollywood audiences in Germany enjoy Hindi films because they cater to a nostalgia for Hollywood films from the studio era, since ‘Bollywood still does what Western cinema no longer does’, namely grand emotions and musical spectacles. Prasad, too, has claimed that for non-traditional audiences ‘Bollywood serves not only as the aesthetic of the spatial Other, but also as a revisitation of the Hollywood of the past’ (2008: 49–50). While both Wiemann and Prasad refer to non-traditional Bollywood audiences, the notion of Bollywood being both symptom and mediator of spatial and temporal displacement seems also pertinent for Indian diasporic audiences in Britain. In an environment whose film market is clearly dominated by Western films, Bollywood constitutes a different form of film-making representing a different form of modernity. For many members of the second or third generations, in particular, an engagement with Bollywood may therefore manifest as ‘armchair nostalgia’ (Appadurai 1996: 78), that is, as a longing for a (cinematic) past that has never been lived. Concepts like Dudrah’s ‘stylized nostalgia’, Boym’s ‘reflective nostalgia’ and Appadurai’s ‘armchair nostalgia’ allow us to move away from and to problematize notions of simple correspondences between the nostalgia depicted in diaspora films and the alleged yearnings for the homeland they provoke in ‘the diasporic spectator’. They also indicate that we must extend our interest in the reception of Bollywood beyond diasporic spectators. Not only do they invite an examination of the particularities of the reception of Bollywood among nontraditional audiences. They also illustrate that traditional assumptions about a nostalgic diaspora, which are ultimately Western-centric in the sense that they concentrate on the diasporic Indian in a Western country, must be extended, as Uberoi has urged, in order to also address ‘the complementary opposite, that is, the longing for translocation/transnationality and the visualising of family dispersion’ (1998: 307) that may be a central point of interest for Indian middleclass spectators of diaspora films.

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The oscillation between connectivity and distance that Dudrah hints at in his description of ‘stylized nostalgia’ is a pattern that is discernible among traditional and non-traditional British Bollywood spectators alike. Chapters 6–8 will investigate the manifestations of this oscillation in different texts that served to introduce Bollywood in Britain to a wider public beyond the South Asian demographic in the early 2000s and beyond. Before this, however, the next chapter will provide an outline of the development of the Bollywood phenomenon and analyse the salient features of the Bollywood brand in Britain.

5

Beyond Films – The Development of the Bollywood Brand

This chapter introduces a facet of Bollywood in Britain that will dominate the remainder of the book: the representation and discursive construction of ‘Bollywood’ outside the Asian cultural niche. In this context ‘Bollywood’ functions as a discursive marker of qualities that are widely associated with popular Indian cinema. Originally, these derived from a rather limited set of films, but each British text on ‘Bollywood’ helps transport and modify them. The British media have thus established a rather complex discourse on Bollywood that exists quite independently of the activity of actually watching Indian films. The representation of Bollywood in Britain outside the Asian sphere will be addressed from three theoretical angles: branding, transdifference and adaptation. The present chapter focuses on the growth of Bollywood in Britain and its development into a lifestyle brand and will investigate the practice, poetics and politics of branding Bollywood (cf. Grainge 2008: 8). This may appear paradoxical, because Chapter 3 established the rather limited economic role of Indian films within the British film market. Yet this niche phenomenon did develop into a lifestyle brand with a recognizable iconography, helped by the fact that Bollywood had long been an integral part of many British Asians’ ‘everyday social lives’ (Dudrah 2006: 38), especially in the fields of music, dance and fashion (see e.g. Rajadhyaksha 2009). To establish the background for analysing the Bollywood brand, the chapter will first map out how the presence and visibility of events relating to Indian mainstream cinema have developed in Britain since the beginnings of the Bollywood boom in the early 2000s. It will then discuss Bollywood as a brand which has not only affected British representations of Indian mainstream films and/or the Hindi film industry but arguably also of British Asians and India.

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The development of the Bollywood phenomenon in Britain The starting point and the heart of the Bollywood boom were Hindi films. Yet not all had the same impact, and although movies like Dil Se (From the Heart, 1998), Asoka (2001) or Gadar: Ek Prem Katha (Revolt: A Love Story, 2001) produced respectable financial returns, the strongest effect on the subsequent development of the notion of Bollywood in Britain came from a number of films that were particularly popular with British Asians. Movies like Hum Aapke Hain Koun …! (Who am I to You, 1994), Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (The BraveHearted will Take away the Bride, 1995), Dil To Pagal Hai (The Heart is Crazy, 1997), Kuch Kuch Hota Hai (Some Things Happen, 1998), Taal (Rhythm, 1998) and especially Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham (Sometimes Happiness, Sometimes Sadness, 2001) laid the foundation for the image of Bollywood that would become predominant in later years. Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham played an especially important role in this development because its unprecedented success at the British box office prompted several media reports and reviews, which, together with the media coverage of the critically acclaimed Lagaan (Land Tax) of the same year, significantly increased the visibility of Hindi films in non-Asian media.1 Several Hindi films were, moreover, invited to international film festivals (e.g. Asoka in Venice 2001, Devdas in Cannes 2002), and several high-profile Hindi films continued Bollywood’s success at the British box office. Articles on what was perceived as the ‘rise of Bollywood’ therefore became a staple in the film pages of British quality newspapers. At first, it was the economic success and critical recognition of individual Hindi films, rather than the film texts themselves, that caught the attention of the media. Soon, however, a more general interest for Hindi cinema started to develop. Not only films prompted more media coverage, but so did events spawned by and related to them. In order to chart the increasing awareness of Bollywood in Britain, one therefore also has to look beyond the films and acknowledge these ancillary events and materials. Some of the texts and events that deserve mention in this context were actually thought up and created in the Hindi film industry for the purpose of promoting movies and stars abroad. The press junkets that are regularly held for Hindi films in London only play a minor role in this regard, however. They are attended almost exclusively by representatives of British Asian media. Similarly, most of the entertainment shows with Bollywood stars that have been touring the world for decades and have regularly visited Britain have

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made little to no impression outside the Asian communities. Stronger impact in non-Asian media was achieved by awards shows held in Britain and by a growing number of Indian films that were at least partly shot in Britain.2 Especially the IIFA Awards (International Indian Film Academy Awards) in 2007 made headlines in British quality papers, when the top Bollywood film stars descended on the (in the London-centric view of many British journalists) unlikely setting of Yorkshire. Awareness of Bollywood outside Asian circles was boosted especially by the ‘Indian summer’ of 2002. The term describes a series of events relating to the Hindi film industry that coincided although, as Dwyer points out, this had not been planned beforehand (2006: 362). In contrast to the Bollywood exports mentioned so far, these events were created in Britain for a British public. The musical Bombay Dreams (produced by Andrew Lloyd Webber and Shekhar Kapur with music by A.R. Rahman and co-choreography by Farah Khan) was launched in London; Selfridges organized a Bollywood festival of food, furniture and fashion in its London and Manchester Trafford Centre stores; Channel 4 broadcast a series of Bollywood films during the summer; the Victoria & Albert Museum mounted an exhibition of Indian film posters; and the British Film Institute (BFI) ran an eight-month festival of South Asian film, ‘ImagineAsia’, that was accompanied by an exhibition of posters from the BFI archive called ‘Bollywood in Love’, which travelled from London to Bradford, Birmingham and Manchester. All of these events were duly covered by the press and brought to the attention of the public under the sassy label, ‘Indian summer’. Apart from 2002, Bollywood probably had its widest media coverage in the UK in 2007. One reason for this were the IIFA Awards, which spawned several Bollywood-related events in the North. Another was the widely mediatized public outrage that ensued when actress Shilpa Shetty participated in the British reality game show ‘Celebrity Big Brother’ and was exposed to racist slurs by other candidates. Despite her B-list status in Bollywood at the time, Shetty became the best-known Bollywood actress in Britain in the wake of the affair and cleverly followed up her ‘Big Brother’ win with a touring musical, Miss Bollywood, in the same year. Bollywood had admittedly had a stable, albeit smaller presence in Britain before the ‘Indian summer’ and the IIFA Awards in Yorkshire. Stage shows with Bollywood film stars had regularly visited Britain, and Indian mainstream films had regularly featured on British television. Channel 4, in particular, broadcast

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Hindi films and documentaries about the Indian film industry well before 2002. Yet it was in the early 2000s, and especially after the incentive provided by the ‘Indian summer’, that Bollywood started to feature in a greater variety of texts. Various introductions to Hindi cinema and/or Bollywood came on the book market (e.g. Kabir 2001; Ganti 2004; Pendakur 2003; Gokulsing & Dissanayake 2004), as did several first-hand reports from the Hindi film industry by Britons (England 2002; Hardy 2002; Hines 2007; Omar 2006). Even though their number was still small, reports on and reviews of Bollywood films became more frequent in the national media. Several films, novels and plays referred to Bollywood or contained intertextual links to narrative and stylistic elements that are typically associated with Hindi films. Channel 4 even created a casting show, ‘Bollywood Star’ (2004), where contestants could win a role in a Hindi film by veteran producer-director Mahesh Bhatt. Cultural activities related to Bollywood films beyond the actual practice of watching the films, like Bollywood dance classes, also became more widely known. The following timeline, which lists selected events and texts from 1989 until the end of 2014, maps this development and consolidation of the public presence of Bollywood in Britain beyond the British Asian niche:

1989

• TV: ‘The Bollywood Story’ (two documentaries in which actor Shashi Kapoor looks at the development of Indian cinema); ‘Movie Mahal’ (six-part documentary by Nasreen Munni Kabir)3

1990

• TV: ‘Lata in Her Own Voice’ on Channel 4 (documentary by Nasreen Munni Kabir about background singer Lata Mangeshkar)

1991–1992

• TV: ‘The Peacock Screen’ on Channel 4 (critique of Indian cinema, four parts, 30 December 1991–2 January 1992)

1994–1996

• TV: ‘Bollywood or Bust!’ (quiz show about Indian films and the Hindi film industry; four series, 1 January 1994–18 December 1996)

1994

• Novel Show Business by Shashi Tharoor publ. in UK [orig. Viking Press (New York), 1991]

1995

• Stage show with, among others, Shahrukh Khan and Aamir Khan in UK • Bally Sagoo releases album Bollywood Flashback

1996

• Novel The Silver Castle by Clive James publ. by Jonathan Cape

1997

• Yash Raj Films opens distribution office in UK • Several Hindi films shown in BFI’s World Cinema Season

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• Stage show ‘The Awesome Foursome’ with Shahrukh Khan, Juhi Chawla, Akshay Kumar and Kajol in UK • TV: ‘The Black Bag: Highland Bollywood’ (documentary about Indian film team shooting in the Scottish Highlands) 1998

• Dil Se becomes first Hindi film on record to enter the top ten of the British box office charts • Kuch Kuch Hota Hai becomes highest-grossing foreign language film of the year in Britain • ‘Bombay London’ season, showcasing the Asian underground music scene and the best films of the nineties (at Institute of Contemporary Arts) • Theatre: Tamasha’s Fourteen Songs, Two Weddings and a Funeral, adapted from Hum Aapke Hain Koun …! • Song ‘Brimful of Asha’ by Cornershop (about playback singer Asha Bhosle) reaches #1 spot in UK pop charts

1999

• Stage show with Aishwarya Rai, Aamir Khan, Rani Mukherjee, Akshaye Khanna and others in Birmingham, London and Manchester • TV: ‘Indian Summer Balti Bindi Bollywood’ on ITV (‘The London Programme’ special about Asian music, dance, film and food); ‘How to Make it Big in Bollywood’ on Channel 4 (thirteen-part series on Indian film industry, June–December) • Film East is East with Bollywood references

2000

• First International Indian Film Academy Awards ceremony at Millennium Dome, London • Amitabh Bachchan voted ‘Star of the Millennium’ in BBC News online poll (Govil 2007: 85) • Amitabh Bachchan wax figure unveiled at Madame Tussauds London • TV: ‘UK Today: Bollywood’ on BBC (news programme about the growing importance of the Indian film industry in UK cinemas and the production of Indian films in the UK); ‘How to Make a Bollywood Movie’ (fifteen-part series by Nasreen Munni Kabir on Channel 4, 23 April–30 July); three Hindi films shown April–May on Channel 4; ‘Bollywood Chartbusters’ (four-part series looking at some of the major figures in Hindi film music and dance, shown in conjunction with Channel 4’s Hindi film season); ‘The Show: Bollywood Twickenham’ (documentary about Bollywood director Rajiv Rai setting out to make a love story in the Scottish Highlands) • Stage show ‘Millennium Masti’ at Wembley Stadium with Malaika Arora, Sonali Bendre, Saif Ali Khan, Raveena Tandon, Bobby Deol and Salman Khan

2001

• Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham becomes the first Indian film to enter the top three of the UK box office charts • Yaadein premières at British Academy of Film and Television Arts in London (private screening organized by Star TV) • Asoka becomes the first Indian film to be promoted by a British publicity firm in the UK (Thussu 2008: 107) and to have a West End première in Leicester Square (Moledina 2002)

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• Lagaan is nominated for the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film • Pyaar Ishq aur Mohabbat (set in Scotland) has world première in Glasgow Govan (Martin-Jones 2006: 55) • The British Tourist Authority launches a Bollywood Britain Movie Map (Dwyer & Patel 2002: 67) • The Royal Opera House devises a Bollywood version of Turandot (‘Opera meets Bollywood’ 2001) • TV: ‘Bollywood Best’, series of seven Hindi films on Channel 4 (each film is preceded by a short introductory programme including interviews with people in various parts of Britain; July– August); ‘East: Dream Bollywood’ on BBC (current-affairs series on Asian issues; two British Asians travel to Mumbai in search of fame in Bollywood) • Honey Kalaria releases The Power of Dance and Fitness: Bollywood, a four-video set of lessons explaining the steps of a Bollywood dance routine (intended for schools) • Publication of introductory books Bollywood (Pocket Essentials) by Ashok Banker and Bollywood: The Indian Cinema Story by Nasreen Munni Kabir • Publication of play Fourteen Songs, Two Weddings and a Funeral (cf. entry for 1998) • Rachel Shelley’s first-hand report from the sets of Lagaan published in The Guardian as ‘Love in a Hot Climate’ 2002

• Guardian interview with Aamir Khan at National Film Theatre (published as Kapadia 2002a and b) • Shahrukh Khan retrospective at Edinburgh Film Festival • Devdas becomes the first Hindi film to have a mainstream launch in London’s West End (Dams 2004) • Theatre: London stage musical Bombay Dreams launched at Apollo Victoria Theatre • Selfridges Bollywood festival of food, furniture, fashion in London and Manchester • BFI ‘ImagineAsia’ festival of South Asian film • ‘ImagineAsia’ teaching pack for schools published by BFI: Bollywood and Beyond: Teaching Indian Cinema • Exhibition ‘Bollywood in Love’ of BFI film posters at Watermans Arts Centre in London (23 May–16 June) and at the Cartwright Art Gallery in Bradford (21 September–10 November) as part of the ‘ImagineAsia’ Festival; the exhibition is also shown in Birmingham and Bristol. • Film poster exhibition ‘Cinema India: The Art of Bollywood’ at the Victoria & Albert Museum • TV: ‘Indian Summer’ series of Bollywood films on Channel 4; ‘UK Today: Bollywood’ (a profile of Honey Kalaria); ‘Bollywood Women’ on Channel 4 (ten-part documentary series highlighting female screen icons from sixty years of Hindi cinema); ‘East: Bollywood or Bust’ (current-affairs show about highs and lows of making a Bollywood film); feature ‘Bollywood for Beginners’ • Film Bollywood Queen (GB/AUS)

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• Stage show ‘From India with Love’ in Manchester and London (with Amitabh Bachchan, Shahrukh Khan, Aamir Khan, Aishwarya Rai, Preity Zinta); stage show ‘Heartthrobs’ in the London Arena, Docklands (with Hrithik Roshan, Arjun Rampal, Aftab, Karisma Kapoor, Kareena Kapoor) • Publication of Bollywood: The 100 Greatest Bollywood Films of All Time, ed. Asjad Nazir and of Cinema India: The Visual Culture of Hindi Film by Rachel Dwyer and Divia Patel • Publication of first-hand reports Balham to Bollywood by Chris England and Bollywood Boy by Justine Hardy • Honey Kalaria founds the first dance academy in Britain offering classes in film-inspired modern Indian dance and releases fitness video Bollywood Workout • British feature film The Guru with Bollywood elements 2003

• Devdas, nominated for the BAFTA award for Best Film not in the English Language, loses to Hable con ella (Talk to Her, 2002) • Stage show ‘Bollywood Nights’ tours Britain • Theatre: play Bollywood Jane by Amanda Whittington first produced at Leicester Haymarket Theatre

2004

• TV: Four-part casting documentary ‘Bollywood Star’ on Channel 4 (1–22 June); ‘I Love Bollywood’ on Channel 4 (four short films on the attraction of Bollywood films; 21–24 June); Shahrukh Khan season on Channel 4 (August); ‘Sing with Bollywood’ (four short films by Nasreen Munni Kabir to accompany the season of Bollywood films on Channel 4 the same week, 9–11 August); ‘Putting the Fun in Fundamental: Bollywood Goddess’ (documentary feature about Jai Santoshi Maa) • Stage show ‘Temptation 2004’ with Shahrukh Khan, Preity Zinta, Rani Mukherjee, Saif Ali Khan, Arjun Rampal and Priyanka Chopra comes to UK • Eros International joins the UK’s Film Distributors’ Association (Dams 2004) • Exhibition of posters and hoardings ‘Cinema India: The Art of Bollywood’ at Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery (‘Bollywood comes to Birmingham’ 2004) • Publication of introductions Bollywood: A Guidebook to Popular Hindi Cinema by Tejaswni Ganti and Indian Popular Cinema: A Narrative of Cultural Change by K. Moti Gokulsing and Wimal Dissanayake • Feature film Bride & Prejudice with very strong Bollywood elements • Novel Transmission by Hari Kunzru • Wax figure of Aishwarya Rai unveiled at Madame Tussauds London

2005

• Zee Cine Awards ceremony in London’s ExCeL Arena (26 March) • Indian and British governments sign joint agreement to promote film co-productions (Thussu 2008: 109) • Publication of Bollywood by Iris Howden and of BFI screen guide 100 Bollywood Films by Rachel Dwyer

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2006

• ‘BAFTA Goes Bollywood’, a series of films, interviews and Q&As (14–16 July) • Shahrukh Khan attends the world release in London of Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna (a week ahead of release in India) • Stage musical The Merchants of Bollywood tours Britain • ‘Bollywood Steps’, free Bollywood dance extravaganza in Wembley Arena Square, created by Simmy Gupty (18 July) • TV: special festival of Yash Chopra movies, ‘The World of Yash Chopra’, on Channel 4 (September–November) • Book Bollywood: An Insider’s Guide by Fuad Omar • Eros International is listed on the London Stock Exchange (Thussu 2008: 110)

2007

• Several press reports on the launch of a ‘Bollywood Britain Movie Map’ and a ‘Bollywood London Movie Map’ (in April and May) by VisitBritain • International Indian Film Academy Awards ceremony held in Sheffield (June) • Amanda Whittington’s Bollywood Jane staged at the West Yorkshire Playhouse in Leeds • TV: ‘Bollywood Comes to Yorkshire’ (two-part regional TV special looking at how Yorkshire beat New York and Melbourne to host the 2007 IIFA Awards); Channel 4 Bollywood movie season (twenty films, September–October) • World première of Chak De India! at Somerset House (with Shahrukh Khan in attendance) • Red carpet world première of Om Shanti Om in Leicester Square, attended by its stars and film-makers • Life in a Metro has red carpet UK première in West End • Rang De Basanti, nominated for the BAFTA award for Best Foreign Film, loses to El laberinto del fauno (Pan’s Labyrinth, 2007) • Shilpa Shetty on ‘Celebrity Big Brother’ makes news after becoming the victim of racist bullying by other contestants • Stage musical Miss Bollywood with Shilpa Shetty tours Britain • Adlabs Films joins the Film Distributors’ Association (Adlabs will become Reliance Media Works in 2009) • Wax figure of Shahrukh Khan unveiled at Madame Tussauds London • Novel Bollywood Nights by Shobhaa Dé published by Penguin London (first published as Starry Nights by Penguin India in 1992) • Book Looking for the Big B: Bollywood, Bachchan and Me by Jessica Hines • BAFTA Screen Icons week in honour of Amitabh Bachchan and ‘Life in Pictures’ interview with Amitabh Bachchan at BAFTA

2008

• Zee Cine Awards ceremony at ExCeL centre in London • Shahrukh Khan receives honorary doctorate from Bedfordshire University (20 March) • Stage show ‘The Unforgettable Tour’ with Amitabh Bachchan, Abhishek Bachchan, Aishwarya Rai-Bachchan, Preity Zinta and Riteish Deshmukh comes to UK

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• Opening of the Bollywood acting school in Ealing by Indian star actor Anupam Kher • UK/India film co-production treaty • New world record for most people Bollywood dancing is achieved in Trafalgar Square (7 July) • TV: Channel 4 Hrithik Roshan movie special (March); Channel 4 Bollywood movie season (sixteen films, September–October) • Theatre: Play It Ain’t All Bollywood by British Asian company Rifco performed at InvAsian Festival in Edinburgh (cf. Farrimond 2008) • Wax figure of Salman Khan unveiled at Madame Tussauds London 2009

• Composer A.R. Rahman wins two Academy Awards, a Golden Globe and a BAFTA award for his work on Slumdog Millionaire (2008) • Bollywood concert at 115th Proms with Indian movie singer Shaan, his band and a dance troupe • ‘Miss Bollywood UK’ contest offers contestants chance of winning a role in a Bollywood film • Teenage novels Bollywood: Double Take and Starlet Rivalry by Puneet Bhandal and Rags to Bollywood – Live the Dream or Die Trying by Sonny Singh Kalar • Theatre: Tamasha’s Bollywood Wuthering Heights tours Britain • TV: Bollywood movie première season on Channel 4 (three films, May); Bollywood movie season on Channel 4 (twelve Hindi film classics, September–October) • The Bollywood Academy founded by Faraz Chohan in Birmingham

2010

• My Name is Khan, distributed by Twentieth Century Fox, becomes the highest-grossing Indian film in Britain of all times (for then) • TV: Actor Shahrukh Khan interviewed on ‘Friday Night with Jonathan Ross’ on BBC One (promoting My Name is Khan) • ‘Bollywood Britain’ on BBC Radio 2 (3 programmes, February–March) • BAFTA interview with Abhishek Bachchan as part of ‘Tongues on Fire’, London Asian Film Festival (‘A Life in Pictures: Abhishek Bachchan’, 5 March) • Raavan world première in London (BFI) with Abhishek Bachchan and his wife Aishwarya Rai-Bachchan • European première of Kites at Odeon West End in London with Hrithik Roshan on the red carpet • A.R. Rahman gives three concerts in Britain (Birmingham and London) • TV: Bollywood dance group Threebee reach semi-finals on ITV show ‘Britain’s Got Talent’; Channel 4 India season (four films, January); Channel 4 season of 1960s Hindi films (four films, May); Channel 4 autumn Bollywood season (seventeen recent films, September) • Rifco Arts’ musical Britain’s Got Bhangra on tour in the UK • Further ‘Miss Bollywood UK’ competition

2011

• Composer A.R. Rahman nominated for two Academy Awards, Golden Globe and BAFTA award for his work on 127 Hours (2010) • Wax figures of Hrithik Roshan and Kareena Kapoor unveiled at Madame Tussauds London (January and March) • Delhi Belly world première in London during London Indian Film Festival (June)

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• Mere Brother Ki Dulhan UK première at Cineworld Feltham with Imran Khan and Katrina Kaif (September) • Ra.One UK première at London’s O2 Cineworld (on all 11 screens!), with Shahrukh Khan, Kareena Kapoor and Arjun Rampal (25 October) • Bollywood composers Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy’s UK debut performance at the Royal Albert Hall (18 September) • TV: Channel 4 Bollywood spring season (four recent films); Channel 4 Bollywood autumn season (seven recent films); Channel 4 Dev Anand season (eight films, October–November) • New tour of British musical Britain’s Got Bhangra (autumn) • Danish musical drama The Bollywood Trip plays at Queen Elizabeth Hall in London (December) • Teenage novel Stuntman by Puneet Bhandal 2012

• UK red carpet première of Teri Meri Kahani at Cineworld Feltham with Shahid Kapoor and Priyanka Chopra (June) • Tanika Gupta’s musical Wah! Wah! Girls (Sadler’s Wells, Theatre Royal Stratford East and Kneehigh productions) • TV: Channel 4 Bollywood spring season (ten films); Channel 4 South Asian autumn season (nine films) • Wax figure of Madhuri Dixit-Nene unveiled at Madame Tussauds London (March)

2013

• UK red carpet première of Chennai Express at Cineworld Feltham with Shahrukh Khan and Deepika Padukone (ahead of Indian release) • Stage show ‘Showstoppers 2013’ with Bipasha Basu, Atif Aslam, Shaan and Malaika Arora at The O2 London • TV: BBC 3 broadcast of ‘Bollywood Carmen Live’ from Bradford, a live performance of Bizet’s Carmen with Bollywood elements; Channel 4 Satyajit Ray season (five films, May); Channel 4 ‘Centenary of Indian Film’ season (seventeen films from 1935 to 2012, September–November) • Play If Only Shah Rukh Khan by Rani Moorthy performed in Bradford and London fringe theatres

2014

• VisitBritain launches ‘Bollywood in Britain’ app for tourism campaign in India (March) • Screen talk with Farhan Akhtar and masterclass with Santosh Sivan at London Indian Film Festival (BFI) • Bollywood night at Wembley Arena with Indian musicians including star film musician Pritam (presented by Zee Network, April) • Stage show ‘Showstoppers 2014’ with Shahid Kapoor, Sonakshi Sinha, Ali Zafar and Jacqueline Fernandez at The O2 London (August) • Stage show ‘Slam! The Tour’ at The O2 London with Shahrukh Khan, Deepika Padukone, Abhishek Bachchan, Sonu Sood, Boman Irani, Madhuri Dixit-Nene and Malaika Arora (October) • Shahrukh Khan receives the Global Diversity Award at the House of Commons (October) • TV: Channel 4 spring season of South Asian films (four films, May); Channel 4 autumn season of Indian films with emphasis on parallel and art cinema (seventeen films, September–November)

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The texts and events listed in the timeline attest to the growing visibility of Indian mainstream cinema in Britain after the turn of the millennium, with peaks in 2002 and 2007. The fact that the list contains quite a lot of items already for the years 2000 and 2001 illustrates, moreover, that the ‘Indian summer’ did not come out of nothing but was in fact the culmination of a development that had started well earlier. TV had played a particularly important role in paving the way, Channel 4 being by far the most significant broadcaster in this respect. Channel 4 continues its commitment to Hindi films but, much like the programming at the multiplex cinemas, has in the past few years deliberately broadened its scope and now goes beyond contemporary Bollywood/Hindi films by also broadcasting films from other South Asian regions and in other languages. Another conspicuous development since roughly 2010 has been the almost complete disappearance of big UK or even world premières of Hindi films from the West End. Even though there was, of course, the spectacular Ra.One première at The O2 in 2011, the stars now tend to walk the red carpet in suburban cinemas like the Cineworld Feltham instead. This withdrawal to cinemas with heavy Bollywood and South Asian programming ultimately illustrates that Bollywood has, despite its growing exposure in non-Asian media during the 2000s, not managed to cross over from its British Asian niche.

The Bollywood brand Bollywood as a form of cinema has been associated, first and foremost, with Indianness, glamour, exuberance and heightened emotionality. These features transcend the movies, however, so that the Bollywood phenomenon is at least to some degree independent of the Hindi films from which it derives. This, in turn, is a key factor for its efficiency as a marketing tool. Pithy and associative, ‘Bollywood’ has the ideal prerequisites of a brand name. The reference to Hollywood renders it globally recognizable, while the B from ‘Bombay’ conveys the specificity of the product and differentiates it from other entertainment fare. In contrast to more laborious expressions like ‘Hindi cinema’ or ‘popular Indian cinema’ it is a convenient term (Prasad 2003) and potentially wide enough to accommodate a range of commodities and their variations. Yet is it really ‘a brand name like Coke or MacDonald’s [sic]’, as Amit Khanna has claimed (Jha 2005b)? More generally, can Bollywood be characterized as a brand at all?

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The brand characteristics of Bollywood One can certainly argue that Bollywood has many characteristics of a brand. On a basic level, the key commodity of the Bollywood brand, popular Hindi cinema, provides experiences, tells stories and entertains. In this it is like most feature films, but Hindi cinema also has added-on values or attributes – the feature that elevates the mere commodity into a brand (de Chernatony & McDonald 2003: 15) – namely, heightened emotion, glamour, the feel-good factor, tradition and, above all, Indianness. The relative significance of these additional attributes may vary for the individual consumers, but Bollywood obviously fulfils the role of an experiential brand that provides various sensory pleasures (de Chernatony & McDonald 2003: 82). At the same time, it can function as a symbolic brand or identity brand that consumers employ as a means of self-expression and ego identification in relation to others (de Chernatony & McDonald 2003: 82; Holt 2004: 4). If one follows Rajadhyaksha (2003) in conceiving of Bollywood as a culture industry, the development of this culture industry can be described as the transference of these added-on values from a core group of Hindi films onto other cultural phenomena.4 It results in a migration of Bollywood across media (cf.  Grainge 2008: 11) and a medial convergence of the Bollywood phenomenon that resembles the desired synergy effects of modern brand management strategies, which are based on a ‘principle of cross-promotion whereby companies seek to integrate and disseminate their products through a variety of media and consumer channels, enabling “brands” to travel through an integrated corporate structure’ (Grainge 2008: 10). Perhaps the most remarkable aspect of the Bollywood brand is that it has achieved all this without central planning (cf. Andree 2010: 44). This point is in fact the reason why the categorization of Bollywood as a brand ultimately does not fully stand up to scrutiny. Unlike consumer goods by established brands, such as Nike, Mercedes or Ferrero, Bollywood is not created, marketed and managed by one producer; nor is Bollywood under copyright or legally protected. ‘Bollywood’ may be a recognizable label, but it is not a trademark. Bollywood is therefore best considered an unofficial brand – which inevitably renders it a site of disputed (discursive) control and power. Concerning the so-called Bollywood films, for example, there is no concerted effort of brand management, and there cannot be, because no single film company or even group of film companies in any of the Indian film industries has enough power over the film output and marketing to control the image of the respective film industry. Nor can we observe collective attempts by

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the producers to create a sort of corporate identity or a master plan for the management of the Bollywood brand for Indian films. Individual stars and films are sometimes handled like brands. Ra.One, for example, which was produced by its star Shahrukh Khan, had a publicity build-up towards the first week of release that deliberately imitated the intensive transmedial marketing strategies of Hollywood blockbusters. Highly professional production companies such as Yash Raj Films naturally also handle individual films or indeed their company name like brands and have their individual logos and signature tunes. Yet even in the case of Yash Raj Films, the brand to be managed is Yash Raj and not Bollywood, although this company almost paradigmatically represents the type of film that allegedly initiated the Bollywood phenomenon. As a consequence there has been a remarkable discrepancy between the shapers of the core product of the Bollywood brand on the one hand, that is, the filmmakers and producers of Hindi mainstream cinema, and on the other hand the shapers of the Bollywood brand. Mirroring the changes in the film industry and in Hindi films since the early 2000s, the film-makers have tried increasingly to convey originality, innovation, topicality and professionalism as key attributes of their works. However, these new aspects have only very slowly found their way into the image of the Bollywood brand as it is shaped by what Holt calls ‘intermediaries’ (2004: 3): film distributors like Eros International, who market their product with the Bollywood label, the consumers who bring their own perceptions of the values and attributes of Bollywood to the brand, as well as critics, salespeople and those who adopt Bollywood for their own products. The seemingly endless range of these products, which any simple search for ‘Bollywood’ items on amazon.co.uk will illustrate, encompasses everything from jewellery and cosmetics to anti-stress colouring and drawing books, stationery and music, all of which are labelled ‘Bollywood’ because of their real or alleged Indianness. They perfectly illustrate that ‘a brand is not simply determined by those who circulate and co-ordinate mass media representations but is also forged in cultural instances where texts, symbols and images are used by social agents, interpreted by audiences and taken up by fan groups in potentially unforeseen ways’ (Grainge 2008: 12). The key constant in this constellation is the name of the brand, which is also the basic prerequisite for any exchange or communication about it. As Andree has argued, brand communication is especially effective when it develops out of the brand name as the centre of the brand, and when the brand name is both eponymous and metaphorical (2010: 44). ‘Bollywood’ is an ideal brand label in this sense, unique yet recognizable. However, the successful communication

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about and marketing of a brand requires more than this. It will only be effective if not only the brand name but the brand itself is easily identifiable and has a sharp and consistent (yet adaptable) profile that, ideally, can be simply and briefly summed up and therefore easily conveys the message about the brand to potential consumers. It will be particularly effective if the brand has an aura of authenticity, so that the brand is perceived as unique and hard to imitate, and if the presentation of the brand has iconic power (Andree 2010: 12), the prerequisite of a reproducible iconography that functions as ‘brand signifiers’ that can generate buzz or/and ‘operate in residual ways’ to sustain the aura of the brand (Grainge 2008: 6, 10). Normally it is the task of those in charge of brand management to protect the kernel of distinctive elements that defines the brand and to decide, and possibly readjust, which elements or aspects actually form this kernel (Andree 2010: 104) and hence define its ‘authenticity’. With an unofficial brand, in contrast, the elements that are perceived as the brand’s defining aspects emerge indirectly. In the case of Bollywood, some elements and aspects were continually invoked and thus established as central by those who used the Bollywood label for commercial purposes. The defining features as well as the iconography of the Bollywood brand thus developed intertextually, as they were repeated (and varied) across a range of texts and events.

Associated values and iconography of the Bollywood brand One of the most widely publicized events of the so-called Indian summer in 2002 that was marketed under the ‘Bollywood’ label was Selfridges’ festival of food, furniture and fashion, ‘23 and a half days of Bollywood’, that took place in London and Manchester.5 Nitin Desai, one of the Hindi film industry’s most renowned production and set designers, was hired to fit the two stores with a series of Bollywoodesque sets to replicate the world of Hindi film stars and Hindi films. The experiential factor of the event was heightened by live performances of Indian dance and music, film screenings and fashion shows. It served as a showcase of Hindi cinema, as there were master classes and discussions with directors, actors, designers and choreographers in association with the BFI. Not all the displays and commodities marketed during the event were film-related. Yet the Indian handcrafted home accessories, interior furnishings and clothes by Indian fashion designers on offer and the Indian food provided by the Taj Group of Hotels (which was also one of the event’s main sponsors) were all subsumed under the label ‘Bollywood’.

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This short description of the event already conveys some of the most important functions and connotations of ‘Bollywood’ for the Selfridges promotion: ‘Bollywood’ was associated with Hindi films, their expansive splendour and extravagances. More importantly, it also stood for Indianness more generally. One central feature of the Selfridges promotion was that it pretended to convey an authentic experience of Indianness for its customers. The means was the performance of ‘Indian culture’ in two senses: Indian artists presented their work and, because of the sets that had been built in the stores and because of the Indian goods that could be tasted and touched, the customers themselves became performers in this simulated Indian world. Its differences from the presumed British customers’ lives were exploited as a selling point, thus perfectly illustrating Graham Huggan’s concept of the post-colonial exotic (2001) and Desai’s complaint that Asianness ‘serves as a clever gimmick for commercial industries that are ever ready to incorporate difference in the name of profit’ (2004: 63). Rajadhyaksha has accordingly interpreted the Selfridges display as a successor ‘of the great imperial exhibitions of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries’ (2009: 62). In the case of the Selfridges event, the use of ‘Bollywood’ as an umbrella term that subsumed Asianness or Indianness inevitably resulted in an image of India that was significantly influenced by the notions of Bollywood held by those in charge of the event. The key elements of this image are evident in the following statement by Vittorio Radice, the chief executive of Selfridges at the time: Bollywood is a world of incredible, teeming opulence. Its movies never rest, continually attracting you with their colours, contrast, music, extravagant romance and movement. Wonderfully all over the place and full of contradiction and glamour …. The time has come to explore a new attitude, for us to have fun in a world in which there’s a place for everything, and where anything goes. So we have said goodbye to the niceties of taste, to carefully defined categories and restraint. And what we have presented is something different, and because this is Bollywood, it is on a [sic] epic scale. (Qtd in Barat & Dutois 2002)

Apart from the sheer difference of Bollywood, the most important qualities associated with it here are opulence, sensory and emotional extravagance, glamour, absence of logic (‘full of contradiction’) or rigour (‘all over the place’) – or, put positively, freedom from the restraints of rationality and rules – and epic scale instead of tasteful restraint. Opulence and joie de vivre combine with Indianness as the most important implications of the Bollywood label.

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The same is true for the Bollywood Cookbook by Bulbul Mankani, which was first published in 2006 and collects favourite dishes of some of the Hindi film industry’s biggest stars. The book is another example of Bollywood being used to put a new spin on the marketing of ‘Indian culture’. At its core, the Bollywood Cookbook is simply another Indian cookbook. The Bollywood angle that is provided through star biographies and an introductory essay about Hindi films, however, endows the book with additional appeal that the publishers tried to reinforce by the book’s packaging: glossy photographs of dishes and stars (often in traditional Indian dress), bright colours (with a prevalence of orange and pink) and motifs echoing saree embroidery in the layout design convey the impression that the publishers did everything to live up to expectations of Bollywood as colourful, bright, loud and decidedly Indian. In the case of Honey Kalaria’s home fitness DVD Bollywood Workout (2002) the Indian angle of Bollywood is not quite as prominent. In contrast to the Selfridges promotion and Mankani’s Bollywood Cookbook, this programme is, after all, not explicitly presented as a display of Indian culture, and it does not pretend to convey an authentic Indian experience. Bollywood Workout is aimed at the general fitness market and signals its accessibility to non-Asians for example by the fact that two of the five persons who present the exercises in the programme are white (see Figure 5.1).

Figure 5.1 Screengrab from Honey Kalaria’s Bollywood Workout DVD, Momentum Pictures, 2002.

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Where the Selfridges promotion implied the possibility of an ‘authentically Indian’ experience, this programme instead seems like a celebration of hybridity. The Bollywood and bhangra pieces that accompany the exercises combine different musical traditions. The same is true for the workout exercises, which mix aerobics moves with dance moves inspired by classical Indian, Arabic and Western dance forms. The clothes worn by the performers are not specifically Indian, nor are they normal sportswear. It seems as if they were tailored especially for the presenters and, at least in the so-called Bollywood training unit (there is also a bhangra unit), appear generically orientalized. The same is true of the space where the performers are filmed. It features a heavy carpet, rich cushions and colourful drapes. The only Indian element is a statue of dancing Shiva that is discernible in the background behind the performers. However, given the rest of the video, one can argue that this statue only contributes to the programme’s generic oriental look and feel, just like the sparkling bindis that all performers (brown and white) wear on their foreheads. The use of the bindi in Bollywood Workout as a fashion accessory that travels and is appropriated outside the Indian cultural context with which it is primarily associated underlines the programme’s streak of hybridization. However, the sparkly bindi also illustrates one of the aspects of Bollywood that the programme deliberately evokes: glamour, more precisely the glamour associated with the musical scenes in Indian films and the beautiful bodies exhibited in them. Other elements in the programme contributing to this impression are Honey Kalaria’s make-up and hairstyle as well as the slit flared trousers worn by the performers that echo the kind of costumes worn by background dancers in musical numbers of films such as Taal, Bunty Aur Bubli (Bunty and Bubli, 2005) and One 2 Ka 4 (One Times 2 Is 4, 2001). In the case of the Bollywood Workout DVD, the label ‘Bollywood’ therefore primarily serves to imply fun, glamour and music. The connotation of Indianness, too, is taken up, yet not in a way to suggest the possibility of an authentic experience, but as a (admittedly significant) cultural flavouring or colouring. Overall, the examples described so far suggest that Bollywood as a lifestyle brand, in contrast to Bollywood cinema, is targeted primarily at women, because there is frequently a feminine slant in their presentation (e.g. female faces in logos, Bollywood novels that are marketed as chick lit). Moreover, the fields of clothing, furnishing, dance, fitness and possibly even food, which are the central areas of the Bollywood lifestyle brand, are more

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commonly associated with women than men. As a lifestyle brand in the British mainstream, Bollywood therefore appears feminized. One of the more striking pieces of evidence for the development of ‘Bollywood’ into a recognizable label and thus a potential marketing tool was Penguin Books’ re-edition of Shobhaa Dé’s novel Starry Nights from 1992 as Bollywood Nights in 2007. In this particular case, one can say that the use of the term ‘Bollywood’ refers, unusually, first and foremost to the Hindi film industry, which is the main social setting of the novel. However, the cover design of the book conveys several further connotations of the term. Most important among them are Indianness and glamour, signalled by the image of a woman in very rich Indian bridal dress and jewellery and by golden and green floral mehndi tattoo patterns running along the right margin of the front cover and along the top and bottom of the back cover (see Figures 5.2 and 5.3). They find an echo in the curved letter font used for the title and author’s name. The colour scheme is dominated by gold and almost neon shades of pink and green – a bold combination reflecting the fact that strong colours are often

Figures 5.2 and 5.3 Front and back cover of Shobhaa Dé’s Bollywood Nights, London: Penguin Books, 2007. Reproduced by permission of Penguin Books Ltd.

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considered one of the aesthetic hallmarks of Hindi films. However, the loud, contrasting colours on the cover also carry implications of unsubtlety and possibly even a lack of taste. They also suggest exuberance and heightened emotionality, qualities that the cover design relates not only to the Hindi film industry or Bollywood in general but also specifically to Dé’s novel by means of a tagline on the front cover: ‘Passions run high when the lights go down … ’. One can in fact argue that the book cover borders on self-irony because it overfulfils the expectations of exuberance associated with Bollywood and indirectly characterizes the novel as sensational literature, not least by the screaming tagline ‘The Original Bollywood novel’ printed on the front cover inside a bright pink star. Another remarkable aspect of the Bollywood Nights cover is the very fair skin colour of the woman in the picture on the front. In this it resembles prominent images in the advertising campaign of the Selfridges Bollywood promotion, which featured, among others, female faces with a bindi (see Figure  5.4). Although these images were stylized drawings dominated by a red/orange colour scheme, with dramatic touches in turquoise and black, they implied a contrast between fair face and dark hair colour, as in the photo on the Bollywood Nights cover. Fair skin is the beauty ideal in Hindi films. However, in a context where the majority of consumers are white, this very light skin tone does not convey Indianness, which therefore lies exclusively in the clothing and/ or accessories.6 In fact, in the case of the Selfridges images, only the bindis served as a relatively clear marker of Indianness, but as the Bollywood Workout programme shows, bindis can easily be applied to non-Indian foreheads. Both instances metonymically illustrate Bollywood’s nature as a phenomenon of medial, cultural and national translocation and translocality (cf. Krämer 2013). Qualities initially associated with Hindi cinema have been transposed onto other cultural fields and texts; an originally Indian art form has

Figure 5.4 One of the designs used in Selfridges’ 2002 Bollywood promotion.

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developed into a global cultural phenomenon with distinctive local variations and appropriations. In the course of this translocation Bollywood’s initial Indianness may become a mere surface effect, thus rendering the commodities marketed by the Bollywood label accessible for non-Indians by turning potentially alienating cultural difference into an intriguing exotic flavour. The effect is a reification of hybridity for the globalized markets. In the course of this reification, the Bollywood brand has acquired a dominant iconography. Since it is an unofficial brand, Bollywood does not have its own particular logo. Nonetheless, a sort of graphic translation of the brand name (Andree 2010: 44) with frequently recurring elements has developed, which is recognizable as ‘Bollywood style’ (cf. Bollywood Batein 2004: 12). Most importantly, it includes elements that convey Indianness, such as images of or references to traditional Indian dress or jewellery or Hindu deities. Floral patterns, though usually not specifically Indian, are also popular (see, for example, the Bollywood Nights cover discussed above). Other examples include the use of letter fonts imitating Indian scripts and photographs of Indian motifs. Photos of Indian persons, too, establish Indianness, and when they picture Indian film stars, they moreover evoke the initial dimension of Bollywood as mainstream Indian cinema. The colour scheme of ‘Bollywood style’ is bright and often has a tendency towards the colours orange and, in particular, pink, as on the Bollywood Workout DVD cover (see Figure 5.5). As indicated above in the context of Shobhaa Dé’s Bollywood Nights, these bright colours send an ambivalent message: they can be read as expressions of exuberance and vivacity but also as unsubtle or over the top.7 When the label ‘Bollywood’ refers primarily to the aesthetics of Hindi films or the Hindi film industry, rather than more general notions of lifestyle, the visual translation of the label also tends to express this. In cases like this, the layout usually features film stills or images of star actors, or it imitates the look of film posters or hand-painted film hoardings. One example of this strategy is the cover of Jessica Hines’s book Looking for the Big B (2007), which incidentally also exemplifies the use of an Indianized script layout for the author’s name (see Figure 5.6). Most commodities marketed by means of the label ‘Bollywood’, however, refer only indirectly to films – if at all. The brand has developed away from the original product on which it was based and in this process has developed a life of its own. Its stable core is formed by the qualities of exuberance, joie de vivre and most importantly Indianness, where its alleged authenticity is situated. In

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Figure 5.5 Front cover of Honey Kalaria’s Bollywood Workout DVD, Momentum Pictures, 2002.

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Figure 5.6 Front cover of Jessica Hines’s Looking for the Big B. © Jessica Hines, 2007, Looking for the Big B: Bollywood, Bachchan and Me, Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.

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the case of most British uses of the brand, it is an authenticity that is based on (cultural, aesthetic, racial, etc.) otherness and difference and is ascribed from the outside rather than originating from the brand itself.

Interpretations of Bollywood branding Both the development of Bollywood into an unofficial brand and the label’s connotations have caused highly critical reactions. The press coverage of the ‘Indian summer’ and some of its events, for example, were criticized for emphasizing the camp and kitsch aspects of Hindi cinema and for trivializing it into a mere commodity while at the same time neglecting to acknowledge the potential political dimension of empowerment that camp and kitsch might open up (Dudrah 2006: 118). It is of course possible to interpret mainstream British interest in Indian popular culture positively as providing British Asians with emancipatory opportunities to ‘articulate and create the specificity of British Asian hybrid, diasporic cultures … and significantly to destabilise, redefine, and hybridise what it means to be “British” ’ (Harvie 2005: 157). Yet, even at the time, critical voices denounced what they perceived to be the reduction of Bollywood into a fashion trend that was largely independent of Hindi films. The provocative title of Aftab’s article ‘Brown: The New Black!’ (2002) encapsulated this attitude. In a similar vein, Jen Harvie has stated that this kind of interest in popular Indian culture can look ‘suspiciously faddish and fetishistic, ostensibly flattering but suspiciously patronising’ and that it ‘appears opportunistic, symptomatic of a superficial multiculturalism that feigns a liberal interest in “other” cultures while so limiting their representation that it functions, instead, as racist’ (2005: 157). Yasmin Alibhai-Brown therefore addressed the readers of The Independent at the beginning of July 2002 with the words: ‘You have just lived through “Bollywood month”, declared so mostly by people who know nothing about the Indian film industry but who can spot a fad 10,000 miles away …. Suddenly it is cool to be Bollywood if you are white.’8 In both Aftab’s and Alibhai-Brown’s texts, the authors’ criticism of the ‘Indian summer’ exceeded the complaint that Hindi cinema had been reduced into a fashion trend: it took on overtly ethnicized and even racial overtones. Something that had formed an integral part of and had been practically exclusive to the (‘brown’) British Asian minority had, according to these authors, been adopted into the (‘white’) mainstream by people ‘who remain blissfully uneducated about the underpinning myths and morality of these movies’ (Alibhai-Brown 2002).

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Both Aftab and Alibhai-Brown oppose what they perceive as the appropriation and commodification of (British Asian) ‘new ethnicities’. They are afraid of an automatic positive valorization of the hybridities resulting from increased exposure and influence of (British) Asian cultural achievements in Britain, because such an attitude may neglect continuing unequal power structures and racial inequalities (cf. Alexander 2006: 270). One of the harshest critics of the Indian summer has been Rajadhyaksha, who notes that in its course the Indian film industry suffered a ‘relative disappearance into an undifferentiated Bollywood’ (2009: 56) that was no longer represented by film but by fashion, music, entertainment and food, all of which provided a ‘clutch of “Indianness” evocations’ that were really ‘simulations of authenticity’ to be appropriated by Westerners in a form of ‘ “Coolie is Cool”-type regression’ (2009: 57, 64, 53). In a less polemical tone, Dudrah has rightly pointed out that one needs to be ‘careful about simply going along with multicultural celebrations of Bollywood cinema in which it is commodified for safe consumption and in which the possible cultural politics of its films are often ignored’ (2006: 18). One can argue that with the development of Bollywood into a brand revolving around aspects of style, Hindi films, too, were reduced into a bemusing exotic form of mostly trivial mass entertainment. The need to explain the unfamiliar phenomenon of Hindi films in order to introduce people to the background of the ‘Indian summer’ led – maybe inevitably – to superficial and sometimes even incorrect representations (e.g. Moledina 2002) that often emphasized the remarkable quantitative output of the Indian film industry, its stars, the length of Hindi films, their alleged black-and-white morality and their treatment of love and sexuality. They also emphasized the spectacular nature of the films – especially the song-and-dance scenes with their frequent changes of setting and costumes – and tended to comment on the unrealistic and therefore implicitly escapist nature of the films. By the very act of providing such explanations, the media cemented an image of Bollywood as a strange (and possibly slightly silly) other. This reduction occurred despite the fact that individual elements of the Indian summer, like the Selfridges display, which showed a very privileged form of Bollywood in the shape of film stars’ designer bathrooms and bedrooms (Dudrah 2006: 118), actually conveyed a rather exclusive image of Bollywood. Overall, however, the impression of Bollywood films as a somewhat stupid form of mass escapism, which could not be taken completely seriously, persisted. The fact that Bollywood has

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found particular resonance in novels and other published texts intended for a teenage market (e.g. Bhandal 2009a, 2009b, 2011; Dhami 2004; Howden 2005) fits well into this notion that Hindi films are immature, unfinished and emotionally unsubtle. Some commentators have felt that the clichéd view of Bollywood as colourful, sparkling, bright and loud has even extended to the representation of India as a whole. Sathnam Sanghera, for example, opined in a polemic criticism of Bollywood in The Times (2009) that he found it ‘depressing that a country that has produced so much important music, literature and philosophy has become synonymous with its most moronic cultural phenomenon …. Imagine how people in the UK would react if Mr Bean suddenly became a byword for British culture across the globe.’ Bollywood may not be the dominant angle from which India is at present represented in Britain. Danny Boyle’s Academy Award-winning film Slumdog Millionaire (2008) directed the spotlight once again at poverty and slum-dwelling in India, and the recent public outrage over horrific cases of rape has put the topics of sexual discrimination and violence against women and of incompetent and/or corrupt law enforcement in the foreground. Nonetheless, Bollywood is clearly a powerful representative angle on India in the British context because it accommodates ideas of exoticism and otherness as well as the notions of the economic rise of India and of its alleged simultaneous inferiority to the West. Most importantly, this image has been relatively stable since its origins in the early 2000s. Channel 4’s ‘Indian Winter’ season in January 2010, for example, provoked vehement reactions because, in the words of one critic, it ‘smack[ed] of an abject lack of engagement with the subject [i.e., India]’, ‘boil[ed] a subcontinent of one billion people down to a giant slum’ and reduced Indian culture ‘to a samosa’ (Chakrabortty 2010; see also Alibhai-Brown 2010). While the bulk of the season consisted of documentaries, it also contained a series of feature films including the TV première of Slumdog Millionaire. Slumdog was flanked by high-profile Hindi films like Om Shanti Om (2007), Rang De Basanti (Colour It Saffron, 2006), Dhoom 2 (Blast 2, 2006) and Jodhaa Akbar (2008) (most of which were, as usual, shown after midnight). This choice of film was rightly perceived as formulaic and clichéd (Chakrabortty 2010), since it did not take into account the more innovative trends in Hindi cinema, let alone Indian cinema as a whole. All in all, little has changed since Tyrrell’s assessment in 1998 that ‘the British mainstream treats Bollywood as something that belongs “over there”, with television pundits such as Clive James travelling to Bombay (now Mumbai)

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to experience Film City’ (20). Reports on Bollywood in the national press and media, including critical pieces like those just quoted here, therefore raise the question whether they are merely ‘a tokenistic effort’ to attract a British Asian readership.9 They also underline the different ways in which British Asian media and British mainstream media approach the topic. According to Shihab Salim, editor-in-chief of Asiana, mainstream coverage of Bollywood ‘is more to do with the sudden interest generated by the Shilpa Shetty furore. In their minds, Liz Hurley’s wedding and India Fashion Week falls under the banner of Bollywood’ (qtd in ‘Bollywood in British media’ 2007), which therefore remains largely independent of the films themselves. The coverage in British Asian media, in contrast, is far more film- and star-oriented and presupposes the readers’ familiarity with the subject. Moreover, it is pervasive. This raises the question whether there could ‘be a danger … that British Asians are increasingly seen only through the lense [sic] of Bollywood’ (‘Bollywood in British media’ 2007), not only in mainstream media, which have a tendency to subsume any lifestyle phenomenon relating to India in the widest sense under the Bollywood label, but also due to the pervasive coverage of Bollywood films and their stars in British Asian media. Once again, despite the expansion of Bollywood beyond its original cultural context, which some would interpret as a potential spreading of intercultural understanding (cf. Würtz 2008: 10), its connotations of Asianness, and therefore of cultural and ethnic specificity and difference, prevail.

6

The (Trans)difference of Bollywood – British Asians through the Lens of ‘Bollywood Star’

As Chapter 5 has shown, awareness of Bollywood in Britain beyond the South Asian niche really only expanded in a relevant way in the early years of the new millennium. It was the ‘Indian summer’ in 2002 that firmly established Bollywood as a topic in non-Asian media, as they started to explain and present this apparently new and different form of entertainment to uninitiated audiences. This and the following two chapters will investigate these mediation processes in different types of exemplary texts: the TV programme ‘Bollywood Star’ (2004), first-hand reports by Britons from the Hindi film industry and, lastly, selected film reviews from non-Asian British media. Together they illustrate the key features of Bollywood as a discursive complex in the British media beyond the Asian niche. The text analysed in the present chapter is the casting documentary ‘Bollywood Star’ (Channel 4, 2004) whose contestants competed for a role in a Bollywood film. Despite actively contributing to a stereotype of Bollywood films as brash and theatrical, the show was less concerned with the representation of Bollywood films proper than with the principles of film-making in the Hindi film industry. Its most relevant angle, however, which will also be central in the analysis, was the representation of British Asians in relation to Bollywood. The show uses Bollywood as a means of discursive Othering that affects not only a film form and its industrial and cultural production contexts but also a specific group of its recipients: the British Asian Bollywood audience, whose alleged cultural in-between status is deliberately exploited for dramatic potential. Bollywood in ‘Bollywood Star’ is both a starting point and tool for the textual negotiation of cultural difference. Overall, one prominent feature of the texts analysed in this and the following chapters is that most of them explain Hindi cinema or individual Hindi films

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to the reader/spectator. Their implied addressee is unfamiliar with Indian popular cinema. Moreover, most of the texts – the exceptions are therefore all the more noteworthy – establish an implicit dichotomy of a (non-Asian) British cultural sphere against an unfamiliar (British) Asian/Indian other. The following analyses therefore focus on the discursive versions of Bollywood that can be traced in the example texts and on those representational strategies that establish markers of alterity and points of connection between Bollywood on the one hand, and British (or more generally Western) film-making on the other hand. The analyses rely on the concept of transdifference developed by Helmbrecht Breinig and Klaus Lösch, which needs some introduction because it has been interpreted and used in many different ways, ‘perhaps too many if it was to be understood as a precise concept’ (Feldmann & Habermann 2006: 102). Before dealing with ‘Bollywood Star’, the chapter therefore outlines the key developments the concept of transdifference has undergone and the main points of criticism it has attracted in order to then explain how the concept is used and developed for the purposes of this study.1

Transdifference and the persistence of difference Helmbrecht Breinig and Klaus Lösch first introduced transdifference in a 2002 essay where most of the key aspects of the concept are already established. The authors use the difficulty of ‘defining the identity positions of individuals and groups in the face of multiple affiliations … in multicultural contexts’ (2002: 21) as a starting point for reflecting about the role of binary thinking in situations where people try to come to grips with the often contradictory complexities resulting from such multiple affiliations. Distancing themselves from concepts that conceive of identity construction in terms of mixing or ‘melange’, Breinig and Lösch instead wish to hang on to and emphasize the ‘simultaneity of – often conflicting – positions, loyalties, affiliations and participations’ (2002: 21). Most importantly, they insist on the importance of binary logic as ‘an indispensable … tool for human constructions of order’, while at the same time acknowledging the problematic nature of binary models of thinking (2002: 23). According to Breinig and Lösch, the concept of transdifference is designed for the study of phenomena of the in-between. It ‘refers to whatever runs “through” the line of demarcation drawn by binary difference’ (2002: 23),2 and it

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incorporates the double nature of binary difference by simultaneously insisting on and questioning its epistemological potential: Thinking in terms of transdifference may be motivated by a deeply felt dissatisfaction with the reductiveness of binarisms coupled with a longing for the overcoming of binary thinking; it is, however, inevitably redirected towards difference …. Thus, the concept of transdifference interrogates the validity of binary constructions of difference without completely deconstructing them. (2002: 23)

The simultaneous questioning and upholding of binary thinking as a heuristic tool may appear paradoxical at first sight but is in fact expressive of the centrepiece of transdifference: the conceptualization of meaning-making (and of processes of identity-building) in terms of oscillation. Breinig and Lösch employ this metaphor instead of the hermeneutic circle (Lösch 2005: 46), claiming that transdifference does not dispense with binary inscriptions of difference but rather causes them to oscillate (2002: 23). This means that – from a transdifferential point of view – there is no possibility of a final resolution for situations of (intercultural) indecision or attempts to understand the other. Instead, there are only series of moments in which difference may become unstable and be modified. Kalscheuer (2005: 78) has summed up this thought pithily (and somewhat comically) in the double formula: transdifference = difference + oscillation difference = transdifference – oscillation Concentrating on the potential of transdifference as a heuristic tool means zooming in on one facet of the concept offered in Breinig and Lösch’s article. It is the facet most relevant for the purposes of this study because of the nature of the texts examined in this and the following two chapters. Their authors try to make sense, for themselves as well as for others, of Bollywood. They are created from a cultural in-between position, for example by white Britons working in India or by British Asians in Britain or in India. In each case, the difference between self and other is a constitutive element of the text and is not resolved – neither in favour of an either/or resolution of difference, nor in favour of a harmonizing mixture. Instead, the texts represent processes of understanding in flux. One of the main points of criticism against the concept of transdifference is that its authors have never systematically distinguished its various

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dimensions. It seems that transdifference denotes both a heuristic tool and situations of undecidedness (‘moments in which difference becomes temporarily unstable’; Breinig & Lösch 2002: 28). Both versions of transdifference have a temporal dimension, but whereas the latter can be conceptualized in terms of a single moment, the former clearly requires a sequence of moments and ought to be understood as a process. Breinig and Lösch emphasize the ‘temporal index’ (2002: 28) of transdifference yet fail to address the distinction inherent in this implied duality of their concept and therefore blur the distinction between transdifference as a momentary condition and transdifference as a strategy of meaning-making. One can argue, however, that both are inextricably linked and that the possibility of regarding transdifference as a heuristic tool ultimately depends on (and is an effect of) the existence of moments when difference becomes unstable. When Breinig and Lösch published their first text on transdifference in 2002, they suggested that transdifference could serve as ‘an umbrella concept’ (2002: 22) for the investigation of all phenomena relating to intercultural contact. They abandoned this claim later, for example in two texts published in quick succession in 2005 and 2006. The first was a German article by Lösch on the term and phenomenon of transdifference, the second an explanatory article by both Breinig and Lösch (in English) in an issue of the Journal for the Study of British Cultures devoted to the topic of transdifference. Both essays are very similar in content and share many passages which, were it not for the different languages of the articles, could be considered literally identical. Breinig and Lösch now positioned transdifference as one concept among others for theorizing phenomena of (cultural) in-betweenness (see Allolio-Näcke & Kalscheuer 2005: 17) and attempted to justify this claim by establishing what they perceive to be the differences between transdifference and neighbouring concepts such as hybridity, third space, transculturality, creolization and mesizaje (Breinig & Lösch 2006: 114–15; Lösch 2005: 43–6). Despite this modification, they retained the following key elements of transdifference: 1.

2.

A characterization of binary systems of inclusion and exclusion as (probably anthropologically given) indispensable tools of ordering thought and reducing world complexity (cf. Breinig & Lösch 2006: 107–8) Consequently, resistance against models of blending or mixing and against the notion of a ‘complete deconstruction’ of difference (Breinig & Lösch 2006: 106, 114; Lösch 2005: 27)

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4.

5.

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A definition of transdifference as ‘all that which resists or escapes the construction of meaning based on an exclusionary and conclusionary binary model’ (Breinig & Lösch 2006: 108–9; Lösch 2005: 27, 43) The notion that transdifference causes the binary inscription of difference to oscillate or suspends it, while never completely resolving or doing away with it (Breinig & Lösch 2006: 108–9; Lösch 2005: 27, 43)3 The assumption that transdifference is a complement to difference, transdifference being an inherent factor in all processes of constructing and marking difference (Breinig & Lösch 2006: 112). According to this view, difference and transdifference inevitably occur simultaneously, so that ‘there is no transdifference without difference’ (Breinig & Lösch 2006: 116; Lösch 2005: 27) – and vice versa.

Despite the overall similarity of the two articles, they are also different in some respects. One concerns the evaluation of the subversive potential of transdifference. While Lösch claims that transdifferential positionality may be understood as a site where collective mechanisms of inclusion or exclusion may be subverted (2005: 41), the stance in Breinig & Lösch (2006) is quite different. Distinguishing transdifference from Bhabha’s concept of hybridity, the authors now claim that ‘phenomena of transdifference have no intrinsically subversive effect on the practice of hierarchical boundary maintenance’ (2006: 113–14) and thus tone down transdifference’s political and emancipatory potential.4 Another discrepancy between the two articles concerns the characterization of transdifference as a phenomenon of synchronicity rather than diachronicity. In Lösch (2005) transdifference is defined as a more or less fleeting moment of destablilization in the interstitial space (36). In Breinig & Lösch (2006), in contrast, this insistence on the momentary nature of transdifference is undermined when transdifference is defined as the ‘more or less passing moment or phase of destabilisation in the interstitial space’ (113, my emphasis), which reestablishes the double temporality of transdifference that was already implied in Breinig & Lösch (2002).5 Since it refers to ways of making sense of self and other, the concept of transdifference relates to stereotyping. If we assume that the generalizations and fixed ideas that come with and from stereotypes cover up complexities (Pickering 2001: 10, 28), stereotyping effectively obscures the oscillation of difference that is constitutive of transdifference. As Hall has pointed out, ‘stereotyping

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reduces, essentializes, naturalizes and fixes “difference” ’ (Hall 1997b: 258, emphasis in original). However, a closer look at stereotypes will always reveal their instability and distortions. Bhabha therefore speaks of stereotyping as a ‘process of ambivalence’ (1994: 95, emphasis in original), and Pickering ascribes a ‘twin structure’ to stereotypes, which is caused by the stereotypes’ functions as cognitive strategies of symbolic containment by which ‘that which they seek to resolve into steadfast fixity is … potentially reanimated … They … involve attempts to combine and contain contrary themes, but in so doing keep those contrary themes in active view’ (Pickering 2001: xi). Like the concept of transdifference, this description of the stereotype stresses the fundamental and indissoluble role of binary categories for meaning-making. The reference to ‘attempts to combine and contain contrary themes’, moreover, hints at what transdifference scholars would describe as oscillation. Still, it would be wrong to simply equate stereotyping with transdifference. Stereotyping is ultimately one example of transdifference, yet the concept of transdifference also encompasses other forms of Othering, which may be less normative and more flexible. Investigating processes of Othering also raises the question whether it is necessary and indeed useful to distinguish between ‘the other’ on the one hand, and ‘the strange’, ‘the alien’ or ‘the unfamiliar’ on the other. Pickering would advocate such a distinction because he thinks that the disturbing potential of the strange has a different source from that of the other. According to Pickering as well as Bredella, strangers are primarily disturbing because they are hard to place, whereas the other is disturbing because of its difference (Bredella 2007: 15; Pickering 2001: 204). The literature on transdifference does not make this distinction. Its insistence on the importance of binary logic stresses the notion of fundamental differences between self and other and therefore the notion of alterity. Yet the concept of transdifference can accommodate alienity as well as alterity because it assumes the simultaneous presence of difference and its oscillation. If one understands this oscillation not only as a momentary state but as a process, it applies also to the development of the more or less unfamiliar/alien into the more or less familiar (and vice versa) (cf. Kurt 2007: 192). Manifestations and markers of alienity as well as alterity are thus an important point of interest for any textual analysis of transdifference. In the present and following chapters, they are perceived as moments in texts where the difference between the author and the text’s subject, Bollywood, ‘begins to oscillate’.

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If transdifference inevitably comes with difference, as Breinig and Lösch claim, it must be ubiquitous and a constitutive element of (any) culture (cf.  Huck 2005: 54). Understanding transdifference so broadly obviously reduces its practical potential as an analytical tool, however. Huck therefore rightly demands that the meaning of ‘transdifference’ should be restricted to the processual event that occurs in the moment when identity and difference are created (2005: 60). He thus brings together the momentary and process dimensions of transdifference by conceiving the process of identity formation in terms of the moment, and the moment as containing a process. The way in which this book uses transdifference corresponds to this selective approach. The textual analyses concentrate on moments of indeterminacy in the examined texts while taking into account the nature of the texts’ ongoing constructions of self and other. The texts can therefore also be examined diachronically. The assumptions about oscillation and the persistence of binary difference, which Breinig and Lösch have written into their concept, are particularly useful starting points for the analysis of meaning-making strategies in texts that engage with the culturally other or alien, as they draw attention to moments of ambiguities and contradictions as well as to possible changes in and modifications of the binarist set-up in which these ambiguities and contradictions occur. However, transdifference is a theoretical concept rather than a method of analysis. If it is to be applied in textual analysis, it first has to be adapted into a corresponding methodology. This study suggests a four-level method for the textual analysis of transdifference. The first level establishes the institutional context of the examined text and the basic relation between author and subject in order to situate the text appropriately. From where do the authors derive their alleged authority to assume the critical role of intercultural mediator and possibly of gatekeeper, and based on what kind of knowledge can and do they claim this authority? A thorough investigation of this question can tell us a lot about the institutional and contextual factors governing the presence and status of Bollywood both as an art form and as a wider cultural phenomenon in the nonAsian British media. The second level turns the attention to the texts proper and examines what kinds of ‘conceptual maps’ (Hall 1997a: 18) of Bollywood they create, and how they do so, in order to communicate it to their readers and spectators. What elements of Bollywood (e.g. stars, classics and structural features) do the texts refer to? Is this catalogue of reference points stable or does it vary among the

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texts? Which categories do the authors apply to Bollywood in order to translate it for themselves and for their readers and spectators, and what connotations do these categories acquire in the process? Since difference is always relational and therefore changeable, an analysis also has to address the question whether the relation of difference between author and subject changes in the course of the text, and if so, how? Moreover, how do the relations of difference towards Bollywood that are established in the individual texts resemble or differ from one another? The third level of analysis, which is closely connected to and in fact overlaps with the second one, is concerned with the ways in which ‘the co-presence of the other in the own’ (Breinig & Lösch 2010: 38) manifests itself in the texts, that is, with those moments that illustrate how the texts make Bollywood simultaneously more familiar yet still present it as alien or even as a cultural other. The analysis on this level concerns textual features such as ambiguities or metaphors, symbols and metonymies (or indeed all figures that depend on connotation and the defamiliarization of meaning). It also concerns phenomena like changes in focalization, contradictions and faulty argumentation. What patterns and strategies of inclusion (e.g. allusion and intertextual references) and which patterns and strategies of exclusion (e.g. questioning, comic distancing and essentializing) with regard to Bollywood can be observed in the texts? What ambivalences and ambiguities, that is, which moments of transdifference that resist fixing, are inherent in these strategies? The fourth level, finally, is the interpretation of the discursive strategies the analysis has uncovered. The phenomenon of transdifference is always politically charged. It is possible, though not imperative, to ascribe functions of devaluation to exclusionary strategies, for example, or a stance of nostrification and appropriation to strategies of inclusion. One must also ask the question whether the strategies of Othering that are manifest in the texts should be interpreted as attempts to fix and essentialize Bollywood. The explanatory stance of most of the examined texts, for example, implies certainty and effectively serves to hide moments of contradiction by (at least apparently) reducing complexity (cf. Breinig & Lösch 2006: 110, 112). The reductionist tendency that goes with the explanatory stance also raises the question whether it is really an invitation to discover the unfamiliar or whether it possibly simply sustains a reader’s or spectator’s ethnocentrism (cf. Bredella 2007: 26). The TV programme ‘Bollywood Star’ perfectly illustrates this question.

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British Asians through the Bollywood prism: The casting documentary ‘Bollywood Star’ (2004) Broadcast on Channel 4 in 2004, ‘Bollywood Star’ documented the competition for a role in a film made by a leading Bollywood director. The contestants went through several elimination rounds in Birmingham before travelling to Mumbai, where they experienced the industry’s demands on actors and eventually met directorproducer Mahesh Bhatt, who selected the ‘Bollywood Star’ to play in his film. The show is a striking example of how British Asians have been represented in relation to Bollywood. According to the show’s production company, Maverick Television, ‘Bollywood Star’ was conceived as ‘a documentary about the British Asian experience and how the contestants might feel Asian in Britain and British when they finally get to Asia’ (qtd in Barrett 2004). The statement shows that the makers of the programme actively tried to create dramatic conflict based on the perceived cultural in-between position of British Asians. The British Asian contestants’ representation is truly transdifferential, since they serve as representatives of Britishness in the show when they are in India, while in the British viewing context their minority status is exploited to evoke alienity. Hence the programme deliberately used ethnicity as a ‘conscious and imaginative construction and mobilization of differences’ (Appadurai 1996: 14) and as a site of identification. Although the competition was open to British persons from all ethnic groups, the show’s basic concept really derived from the ethnic nigh-exclusivity of Bollywood in Britain. Commissioned by the head of Channel 4 Learning (Barrett 2004), the programme has a broadly educational impetus that is supported by its documentary mode and often authoritative explanatory stance. Unsurprisingly, it evoked harsh criticism, for example by Sejal Mandalia (2004), who complained of a ‘patronising’ and implicitly racist representation of young Asians in the Channel 4 and BBC documentaries ‘I Won’t Marry White’, ‘Bollywood Star’ and ‘Bindis and Beauty Queens’ and dismissed them with the words, ‘when it comes to British Asians, programmers seem to think that marriage and Bollywood typify our lives’. The programme indeed wrongly conveys the impression that Bollywood is an integral part of British Asian life and implies that being Asian usually correlates with liking Bollywood.6 Structurally, ‘Bollywood Star’ is unexceptional. The programme consists of four sixty-minute episodes (including three commercial breaks per episode),

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which were broadcast weekly from 1 to 22 June 2004 on Channel 4. The general structure follows the typical plot development of casting shows, as the number of contestants is whittled down over a number of rounds until the winner is revealed at the end. The basic suspense created by this elimination process is heightened by smaller arcs of suspense and release, which are created when the film-makers single out individual participants by introducing them more fully than others and then closely observing their success or failure. However, like the programme ‘Operatunity’ (Channel 4, 2002), which documented the competition of amateur singers for a role in a production at the English National Opera, ‘Bollywood Star’ comes in the shape of a documentary rather than the more popular casting shows such as ‘Pop Idol’, ‘X Factor’ or ‘Britain’s Got Talent’. It is also directed at a less mainstream audience interested in cultural niche phenomena. Since the programme had no live elements, the TV audience obviously had no possibility of influencing the outcome by voting for one of the candidates. This does not mean, however, that the spectators do not have a powerful position. They can assume the perspective of the jury or audiences in the show and judge the candidates’ performances.7 There is no host in ‘Bollywood Star’ who leads through the programme and interacts with the candidates. Instead, an authorial voice-over explains and introduces new situations and persons. Most importantly, the show does not follow the number structure of typical casting shows, where the candidates’ performances are the showy set-pieces around which everything else revolves. While it is based on the principle that candidates’ performances are assessed by a jury, ‘Bollywood Star’ tones down the show element and instead pretends to merely document the selection process and the participants’ journeys. As in most other casting shows, these journeys are personal. The human element plays a key role for conveying emotional drama, as the spectators are told about the candidates’ backgrounds and aspirations and witness their interaction with the judges, other candidates, friends and family. Yet, as the following summary will show, in ‘Bollywood Star’ the journey of the last six candidates also includes a literal journey to India. Given that the programme was conceived with British Asian contestants in mind, this was presented as a journey back to the candidates’ roots8 and into the Hindi film industry. In the first episode, which shows the initial round of auditions that were held in Birmingham, a panel of four judges, consisting of music producer Bally Sagoo, DJ Bobby Friction, Bollywood dance teacher and choreographer Honey Kalaria and the late actress Sophiya Haque, has to select the twenty best candidates

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(from an initial 1,000) based on a short performance. The participants present a dance and lip-synch to the song, and if they are good enough, they are then asked to act out a scene. Although the average level is rather disappointing, the jury ultimately selects twenty-two candidates. In the second episode, the same jury reduces the number of remaining candidates to six on the basis of their performances in front of a live audience. The candidates have to act out a scene, explain why they think they should win and mime a song. In episode three, the remaining candidates arrive in Mumbai, where they have acting and dancing lessons each day and have to deliver an assessed performance in front of a new panel of judges at the end of their first week. This Mumbai jury consists of persons from the Hindi film industry: choreographer Shamak Devaar, actress Pooja Bhatt and film critic Indu Hirani. At the end of the first week, they reduce the number of remaining contestants to four based on their behaviour during the lessons and an open-air performance before a live audience in a town square in Mumbai’s fishermen’s quarter. The candidates are also given additional tasks that are supposed to create their ‘full immersion into the Bombay experience’ (voice-over). They have to use public transport to get around the city, and each candidate has to work for one day in an allegedly normal Indian job, for example on a building site, as a dance girl or as a maid in a rich family. During the final week in Mumbai, which is presented in episode four, the remaining four candidates have to exercise with a stunt team and get a makeover by top costume designer Manish Malhotra. Depending on their performance in a master class with Pooja Bhatt, three candidates are allowed to stay. They get the opportunity of auditioning individually for Mahesh Bhatt, who eventually selects the Bollywood Star. The points of focus in relation to Bollywood change in the course of the programme. While in the first two episodes Bollywood is mainly presented as a dream factory, an aspiration and a place of yearning, episodes three and four show it as an actual workplace and illustrate the industry’s expectations of actors. At this point the candidates’ idealization of Bollywood as a potential way towards a dream life is modified by their experience of the industry’s egodestroying structures and hard work. The version of Bollywood presented in ‘Bollywood Star’ has been constructed especially for the purposes of an audience who may perhaps be interested in this creative cosmos but who are nonetheless essentially separate from it and regard it as alien or different. This intended audience is not expected to understand

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South Asian languages, for example, because whenever candidates and jurors do not speak English, there are subtitles. Moreover, during the semi-final, a live performance in front of an Indian audience, the candidates act in English for the benefit of the British TV audience, although this means that they may not be understood by their Indian live spectators. The intended audience of ‘Bollywood Star’ is obviously also not expected to be familiar with Bollywood film-makers. If it were, the name of the director for whom the winner will be allowed to perform would have been mentioned at the very beginning of the programme. However, Mahesh Bhatt’s name is only mentioned for the first time in episode three. The creators of ‘Bollywood Star’ obviously assumed that his name was too unfamiliar to warrant an earlier introduction. While the intended audience of ‘Bollywood Star’ therefore clearly exceeds the British Asian demographic, the basic concept of the show relied, as already mentioned, on the assumption that there was a close link between Bollywood and British Asians and on the expectation that the successful candidates who would make it to Mumbai would be predominantly, if not exclusively, Asian. The result is a rather problematic objectification not only of Bollywood but also of British Asians. The most important structural element of the show that produces this effect is the authorial voice-over, which gives basic explanations for those who are unfamiliar with Hindi films. Since these explanations are delivered from a godlike position of authority, they can easily be mistaken for indisputable facts. In reality, however, they provide a reduced version of Bollywood films that lays emphasis on certain selected facets. In episode one, for example, the voice-over tells us that ‘Bollywood is more popular now than it’s ever been in Britain. Each week thousands flock to the cinema to worship the Bollywood greats. Its appeal is simple: epic stories, glamorous stars, massive dance routines and bags of raw emotion.’ In episode two, the voice explains that ‘in keeping with Bollywood tradition, their [the candidates’] performance needs to be highly charged and melodramatic’. This aspect is repeated in episode three, where the voice claims that ‘Bollywood cinema mostly consists of family melodramas which require highly charged emotional acting’. Bollywood movies are called ‘a feast of music and dance’ (episode two) and ‘physically very demanding. In addition to dance, most actors have to perform their own stunts and look like convincing riders’ and need to be able ‘to externalize their emotions, a crucial element in Indian cinema’ (episode four). Overall, the statements stress the films’ entertainment value and musical nature, their ample scope and general larger-than-life quality

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(see expressions like ‘epic’, ‘massive’, ‘bags of ’ and ‘raw emotion’) and, most importantly, their heightened emotionality. Hindi cinema is moreover explicitly characterized as melodramatic and implicitly as formulaic. In contrast to the written texts that will be analysed in the following two chapters, ‘Bollywood Star’ can actually show clips and play music from Hindi films and is not restricted to verbal descriptions. This is relevant for a transdifferential reading of the show, for while its medial similarities to the films result in an approximation to Bollywood in the sense that the TV audience gets to see clips of ‘the real thing’, the way in which these clips clash with the programme’s documentary approach also strengthens the impression of Bollywood’s exoticism. A similar ambivalence occurs when music from Hindi films is used to accentuate emotional moments in the show. The music serves a familiar structural function, yet because of its Indianness it is also a reminder of the cultural specificity of the cosmos presented in the show. Both examples illustrate the oscillation of difference that is the hallmark of transdifference. The impression that the programme effectively constructs Bollywood for the gaze of spectators unfamiliar with Bollywood (and therefore an implicitly white audience) is supported by the fact that some of the tasks for the candidates were devised according to the reductionist notion of Bollywood outlined above. The scenes the contestants have to perform in the semi-finals in front of a live audience, for example, have been chosen to favour over-the-top acting. The presentation of the candidates, too, confirms preconceived ideas of both British Asians and Bollywood. For example, the way participant Tia Kansara is presented reinforces the assumption that second-generation or third-generation British Asians are troubled by their cultural in-between position, and at the same time it characterizes Bollywood as an important means of identity construction for Asians. Kansara claims: Bollywood has actually given me a very good insight into what my country is like. It’s very difficult living in England and not knowing anything about your home country. It’s actually like an identity crisis. Living in the UK, but not knowing what to call yourself. You hold a British passport, but your parents are very kind of, No, you’re Indian, and you stick to your roots. (Episode one)

The programme also has an extremely strong emphasis on the theme of family. It implies that for many candidates, their aspiration of becoming the Bollywood Star is motivated by some deficit in their family lives. Among the final six candidates alone, this applies to three. Rupak Mann, for example, who dreamt

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of becoming an actress but at the age of twenty-one became obese after her mother’s suicide, pleads with the jury: If I had this opportunity to become a Bollywood star, you would enable me to fulfil the most important promise that I have ever made, which is a promise to my mother. Now, she’s not alive today, but she will know that the pain and the sacrifice that she went through to let me pursue my dreams was not in vain (episode two).

Candidate Sofia Hyat, in contrast, exemplifies the Muslim woman who is cast out by her family for deviating from their notions of propriety and insisting on her self-realization. Hyat was sent to university to study science but then enrolled for performing arts instead. As she would not give up what she considers her calling, her parents disowned her. She wishes that by being successful in ‘Bollywood Star’, ‘hopefully I [= she] will get the love and respect of my [= her] family’ (episode two). The family theme makes the programme accessible because of its universality, but it can also establish a distance of difference, since it ultimately reinforces Asian stereotypes. The show in fact propagates several heterostereotypes of British Asians, such as the Muslim woman who is emotionally blackmailed by her family. Moreover, because of the authorial framework created by the voiceover and the observing camera, British Asian autostereotypes also assume the role of heterostereotypes, for example the jury’s comment, ‘You never get Indians out of bed at seven in the morning unless they’re opening a shop, so these guys, they gotta be real keen’ (episode one). Hence, (self-)deprecating remarks about British Asians by British Asians can become deprecating views of British Asians held by others. One effect of this is the objectification of the predominantly British Asian candidates for a mainstream British audience. Once the programme reaches Mumbai in the third episode, however, the British Asian candidates also become the representatives of the audience, who can discover this new cosmos with them. Although ‘Bollywood Star’ plays on the candidates’ Asianness and according to the show’s web site interprets this trip as a ‘journey of self-discovery and cultural identity’ (‘About Bollywood Star’), the stay in Mumbai is also presented as a culture clash for some candidates because it underlines their alienation in ‘the chaos of Bombay’ (voice-over, episode three). Yet, once again, this alienation has been orchestrated at least in part by the programme’s creators, in the sense that they have designed a competition that relies on situations that deliberately challenge the candidates’

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self-perception. When one contestant has to spend a day as a dance girl in a men’s club or another has to work on a building site, for example, it forces them to reassess their conceptions of themselves and their Indian surroundings. The lessons they have to undergo in their training as actors in Mumbai have the same effect. Two candidates find it very difficult, for example, to assume the attitude of humility and deference that drama teacher Asha Chandra and choreographer Shamak Devaar demand. Chandra emphasizes the need to break one’s ego and admonishes that ‘the more humble you are, the more you’ll be liked’ (episode four). When Sofia, who had to give up her family in order to pursue her dream of acting, cracks and protests that she feels being manipulated into giving up her identity, she is accused of being unprofessional (episode four). Casting programmes thrive on the inevitable conflicts between candidates and judges. In ‘Bollywood Star’ these clashes are intensified when the British contestants’ aims of self-realization collide with structures that demand not only resilience but also humility and a seemingly paradoxical combination of self-effacement and readiness to expose one’s deepest emotions. It is in the scenes with Mahesh Bhatt that Bollywood is presented most strongly as alien. This is down to two reasons: the key criterion on which Bhatt bases his choice and the way he ‘announces’ the winner. Bhatt sees all three candidates individually and has highly personal conversations with them before they have to act some lines for him. His main selection criterion is that candidates must be able to access their deepest feelings and at the same time be ready to allow him access to these emotions. He is not looking for professionalism and judges neither the candidates’ acting technique nor their work on the character. Instead, his priority is the candidates’ depth of feeling and their ability to exteriorize emotions. The one contestant who is ready to expose his or her soul most completely gets the role. Because of this way of baring candidates, ‘Bollywood Star’ pushes the exhibitionism of behind-the-scenes casting shows to a whole new level under the guise of honesty and authenticity. It contradicts the widespread assumption that the most refined and professional performer should win and at the same time confirms Bollywood’s reputation for heightened emotionality. These factors affirm the difference between Bollywood and Western films and underline the different priorities of the Hindi film industry. However, the Othering of Bollywood in ‘Bollywood Star’ goes even further because an almost esoteric note is introduced at the moment when the winner is selected. In other casting shows these announcements are usually dragged out and orchestrated

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to create as much suspense as possible. Mahesh Bhatt, in contrast, never actually announces the name of the winner. Instead, he addresses the final three contestants and says: ‘One of you knows that he or she is the winner, and the others, who have not won, know that they haven’t won. Listen to your heart, don’t listen to your desire, not to your fear. Listen to your heart …. One of you has won. Can that person who has won raise up his or her hand?’ As an answer, Rupak raises her hand and says that she has won by being there that day. Bhatt confirms that Rupak has indeed won. In this scene familiar principles of the casting show genre are overturned, as it is the candidate who announces that she has won. This role reversal underlines the exceptional quality of Bhatt’s selection process, and as he is the most prominent member of the Hindi film industry in ‘Bollywood Star’, his approach appears representative. Due to the esoteric note introduced at the moment of selection, which caters to the Orientalist stereotype of the spirituality of Eastern wisdom (see Pickering 2001: 148), the industry seems alien and possibly even unfathomable, especially because it clashes with the programme’s documentary mode. That it is obese Rupak who wins the show despite the industry’s rampant ‘body-fascism’ (the jurors, episode one), conveniently establishes Bollywood as a place of wish-fulfilment where dreams come true for the emotionally most authentic person.9 Presenting its British Asian contestants moreover in a way that oscillates between approximation and distancing, ‘Bollywood Star’ thus contributes to a Bollywood stereotype that highlights the musical, exuberant quality and heightened emotionality of Hindi cinema as well as its escapist function. Its explanatory mode also underlines Hindi cinema’s basic otherness, which the programme pretends to render familiar while nonetheless playing on the (for the British majority audience) unfamiliar and alien features of Bollywood films and their place of production.

7

Representations of the Hindi Film Industry in British First-Hand Reports

The second type of texts analysed here in terms of transdifference is firsthand reports by Britons about the Hindi film industry, several of which were published in newspapers and in book form between 2001 and 2007.1 The focus in these works is less on the films themselves or, as in ‘Bollywood Star’, on the role of Bollywood for British Asians, than on the films’ production contexts and the practical aspects of making movies in India. In many of them Bollywood therefore also serves as a prism for looking at India. Whereas the previous chapter highlighted the strategies in ‘Bollywood Star’ that cause a simultaneous approximation to and distancing from Bollywood films and the show’s British Asian contestants, the following analysis of first-hand reports concentrates on the textual devices that illustrate their writers’ oscillating relationships towards both the Hindi film industry and, in extension, India. The texts show Britons interacting with Indians in this production space, so that Bollywood takes on the role of a ‘contact zone’ in a literal sense, that is, a social space where ‘disparate cultures meet, clash, and grapple with each other’ (Pratt 1992: 7).2 The moments of transdifference caused by these encounters express themselves in distinct textual strategies and different versions of Bollywood. Taken individually, all of the first-hand reports discussed in this chapter are merely spotlights on Bollywood because of their inherently subjective nature. However, taken together their common elements as well as their differences hint at larger discursive trends in the representation of Bollywood as a social cosmos. The analysis encompasses five texts, which can be divided into two camps on the basis of their implied readerships. One, Fuad Omar’s Bollywood: An Insider’s Guide, presupposes that its readers are familiar not only with the cinematic conventions of mainstream Indian cinema, its star actors and film-makers and with tie-in phenomena such as stage shows, but also with the social and moral conventions underlying the film narratives. Omar’s book, which was published

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in 2006, is a collection of on-set reports, interviews, reviews and other articles that the author had written some years earlier (most are from the years 1999– 2002) and had been published in British Asian print media such as AsianXpress and Asiangigs. It is a clear sign of the spreading awareness of Bollywood in British mainstream culture in the early years of the new millennium that by 2006 the reprinting of these texts in book form was considered potentially profitable. According to the foreword, the book is conceived as a tour of Bollywood, with Omar acting as the guide (Omar 2006: 9). Yet there is very little background information about the industry or the types of films or persons he writes about, apart from him pointing out different aspects of the term ‘Bollywood’ at the beginning (2006: 11–12). Omar’s alleged aim is to de-glamorize life in the industry by emphasizing the hard work that its representatives invest in creating the dream world of Hindi films (2006: 12–14). The four other texts examined here are considerably different. While they are of some interest for readers who know about Hindi films and the mechanisms of the Hindi film industry, their distribution of information is clearly designed to also include readers that have no such previous knowledge. Two of the texts are by British actors who worked on Lagaan (Land Tax, 2001) and wrote about their experiences during the shoot. Rachel Shelley, who was one of the two female leads in the film, published excerpts from her set diary under the title ‘Love in a Hot Climate’ in The Guardian in 2001; Chris England, who played a British soldier participating in the film’s climactic cricket match, wrote a humorous cricket-tour-diary-cum-travelogue entitled Balham to Bollywood (2002), which charts his involvement on Lagaan from his audition to the film’s release eighteen months later.3 Both texts are diaries with a twist, since the conventionally private form was reworked or even written for publication from the very beginning. Nonetheless the texts follow the basic traits of the genre, as they give the reader apparently immediate and authentic access to their authors’ experiences that are presented from their subjective point of view. In autobiographical stories about the encounter with unfamiliar surroundings, like those by Shelley and England, the readers can come along on the journey. Those who approach the texts without previous knowledge about the Indian film industry or India thus discover it along with the authors. While Shelley’s report rarely goes beyond her experiences within the film unit, England’s text allows the reader more glimpses at life in India outside the film set. This wider perspective, where Bollywood serves as a catalyst for a more extended representation of experiences in India, also occurs in the

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book Bollywood Boy by Justine Hardy (2002). Hardy is a British journalist and author with a long track record of work in South Asia. Bollywood Boy charts her attempts to arrange an interview with actor Hrithik Roshan, who became an overnight superstar when his first film, Kaho Naa … Pyaar Hai (Say … You Love Me), was released in 2000. After more than one year of waiting and being told by Roshan’s management to call back later, Hardy finally succeeds. While it would go too far to say that after all this time the interview seems slightly anticlimactic, its status in the book is nonetheless not as central as the original premise would suggest. Instead of a book about Hrithik Roshan, Hardy has created an ‘anatomy of stardom’, as she puts it in the preamble to her book (2002: n.p.). She has collected a wide range of attitudes and opinions on Hrithik Roshan and presents them together with her own observations on the workings of stardom in the Hindi film industry. The kaleidoscope of persons whose input has shaped this presentation includes, among many others, a juice vendor in Mumbai, a middleclass housewife who is a patron at Hardy’s beauty salon in Delhi, a British Asian actress hoping for her break in Bollywood, a former film choreographer, a film magazine editor, a Mumbai prostitute who used to be an actress and two Asian girls from Milton Keynes. In a multitude of personal encounters Hardy illustrates the interconnectedness of movies and audiences and presents both the human and inhuman side of the Hindi film industry. Shuttling between London and India like Hardy, Jessica Hines is also on a quest in her book Looking for the Big B: Bollywood, Bachchan and Me (2007). In her case it is the quest for the truth about Amitabh Bachchan, possibly the greatest star of the Hindi film industry and probably the best-known man in South Asia. Hines first met her subject for an interview when she was still a BA student at the University of London’s School of Oriental and Asian Studies (SOAS). Later she became Bachchan’s ‘own academic’ (Hines 2007: 31), met him regularly in this role and had access to film sets and the social cosmos of the Hindi film industry. The book is about her attempt to write Bachchan’s biography and to get hold of him. On a basic practical level this means that she tries to arrange interviews with him, which, as in Hardy’s case, turns out to be a time-consuming and frustrating experience. Yet, on a metaphorical level, it also means that she tries to capture the truth about her subject – a task and process she keeps reflecting about in her text, so that Looking for the Big B is also a metabiography. Unfortunately, Hines’s version of her subject’s life did not meet Bachchan’s approval so that she ultimately settled for publishing Looking for the Big B: a highly subjective account of her experience of Bachchan and of India

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on and beyond film sets. Instead of the academic book Hines set out to write, and which has left its traces in her use of footnotes and reports about archive research, the book is a self-deprecating and highly comical testament of her relationship with Bachchan and an insightful investigation of the construction and reception of his star persona. In contrast to England and Shelley, Hardy and Hines are hence less concerned with the film-making process than with specific stars. They use them as the starting points for a more general dissection of the pervasive presence of mainstream cinema in India, the mechanisms of film-making in the Hindi film industry and, most importantly, the production and reception of (male) Bollywood stardom. While this approach might seem more distanced than Shelley’s and England’s, the reverse is the case. Both Hines and Hardy are motivated by a fannish impulse towards their subjects (Hardy 2002: 14, 23, 28; Hines 2007: 7, 25) which persistently colours their research and writing and renders their texts strongly experiential. Some of the writers examined here move regularly between India and the UK in their texts and negotiate (cultural) difference in the social cosmos of the Hindi film industry. Even the titles indicate that most texts are about (attempts of) intercultural understanding and that they work with a dichotomy of ‘them’ and ‘us’. Expressions like ‘looking for’, which implies a quest motif, ‘from … to’, which conveys distance and the motif of a journey, or ‘An Insider’s Guide’, which posits an opposition between insiders and outsiders, highlight the theme of difference. How the writers oscillate between the relative states of insider and outsider in relation to Bollywood conveys a complex picture of the incomplete and relational nature of intercultural understanding.

Approximation as re-emphasis of difference: Shelley, England, Hardy and Hines The texts by Rachel Shelley, Chris England, Justine Hardy and Jessica Hines share so many aspects that it makes sense to analyse them as a group. As mentioned above, they are written by relative outsiders (in relation to the Hindi film industry) for an implied readership that does not have a lot of background knowledge about Hindi films and their production context. Moreover, they are all from the early years of the millennium. Shelley’s diary excerpts appeared in The Guardian in 2001, the books by England and Hardy were both published

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in 2002, and although Jessica Hines’s book about Amitabh Bachchan only saw the light of day in 2007, most of the work documented in it dates from 2002 and 2003 and was pursued on the basis of a contract that Hines had obtained shortly before. All four texts are therefore the result of the growing interest in Bollywood in Britain in the very early 2000s. Despite these similarities, the texts have several basic differences because of their writers’ respective expertise and main interest. England and Shelley are British-based actors (to which England adds his expertise as a proficient amateur cricketer) out in India for a one-off job and write about their experiences during the film-making process on Lagaan through this lens. Since Shelley and England both went to India for the first time for Lagaan, their texts are full of expressions of alienation. By the time Hardy wrote her book, in contrast, she had already been based in South Asia for many years, and Hines informs us on the first page that she is an ‘Old India Hand’ (2007: 26; see 5). Both speak and understand Hindi. However, despite this closer affinity to India, both also explicitly position themselves as others within the Indian context. In the very first scene of her book, for example, Hardy claims: In London I am average to short. In India I am tall, and bars seem perfectly constructed so that I can prop myself at just that beautiful-people angle. Even so I’m still about as wrong as you can get for Bar Indigo. I am over thirty, the wrong colour, the wrong type and definitely in the wrong clothes. (2002: 5, my emphasis)

In a similar vein, Hines keeps mentioning her non-Indianness, for example in her attitude towards Indian food, concerning which she feels a ‘yawning cultural void’ between herself and her Indian acquaintances (2007: 135), or in her perception of the monsoon: ‘If you are Cornish you do not think of rain as romantic. If you are Indian, you do. And never the twain shall meet’ (2007: 196; see also 276). In keeping with the writers’ in-between position that these statements convey, the four texts share a remarkable range of textual features that can be interpreted as expressions of transdifference. In addition, they all resolve the transdifferential oscillation by means of re-emphasizing their subject’s difference. The markers of difference they employ range from the writers’ language, sense of religion, assumptions about gender and evaluation of Indian film(making) to their very bodies, because their skin colour and (in the case of Shelley and England) their physical reactions to the unaccustomed heat and food in India position them

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as outsiders. Since these markers of difference are in all cases presented from a firmly European perspective, they encourage the impression that the Hindi film industry is an elusive other. Because of their different subjects and points of emphasis, the dimensions of ‘Bollywood’ that are covered in the four texts vary. Shelley’s focus is on the practical aspects of the film shoot, but she also includes some information about the conventions of film-making in the Hindi film industry in general and about Lagaan in particular. Readers unfamiliar with Hindi films are informed, for example, that ‘all Indian actresses are classically trained dancers too’ (because of the central role of song picturizations) and that the female beauty ideal in Hindi films used to be rather curvaceous. One learns that Lagaan is breaking new ground by shooting entirely on location, by using synch-sound (as opposed to the usual practice of re-dubbing the dialogue in post-production) and by ‘shooting in one continuous schedule – no one will be slipping off to complete the other 15 films they have on the go, as is usual’ (Shelley 2001). All these things would of course strike an actor accustomed to working in Britain as unusual. It is not surprising therefore that the norm of post-synching and the fact that it is common for star actors in the Hindi film industry to work on several films at the same time4 are also taken up by England (2002: 72–3, 171, 198, 224–5) as two of many pieces of general information that form the backdrop to his acting experience on Lagaan. Like Shelley, England intersperses his basically anecdotal presentation with passages that provide additional general information. In contrast to Shelley’s text, however, this background information does concern not only the practices of film-making but also the films themselves, general traits of the Hindi film industry and especially the status of stars among the adoring public, who is presented as film crazy (England 2002: 63, 131, 167–8, 204). Where Shelley and England concentrate on the events on set, Hardy and Hines lay more stress on the workings of the film industry and the celebrity culture associated with it. In keeping with this approach, Hardy bookends her text with a characterization of Bollywood as the ‘fantasy fodder factory of the Subcontinent’ (2002: 3) and celebrates its showy song picturizations, emotionality, eroticism and visual celebration of stars: Okay, come on then, bring on the dancing girls. Let them burst out in a sea of sequins. Swell the music over an alpine slope, just one more time, one more wiggle, a final twirl. A last dewy-eyed close-up. A lingering gaze. Lips to neck. A Mercedes Benz. Hazel eyes that turn on and off …. Welcome to Bollywood. (Hardy 2002: 262)

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Through conversations with persons from diverse walks of life, who nonetheless all talk about film, Hardy illustrates the pervasive presence of film in Indian popular culture. Hines, too, paints a vivid picture of the general obsession with film in India (2007: 61) and presents the extent to which many Indian film fans carry their devotion for individual stars. Both Hardy and Hines, moreover, engage with the role of film magazines for the public discourse about films and their stars. The notions of Bollywood as an industry governed by power struggles and as a site of celebrity culture come together in Hines’s claim that Bollywood resists definition – it is whereever [sic] the power happens to be concentrated that month, that year, depending on which producers and directors are making hits, which actor is currently number one, which actress can claim to be Queen Bee. But most of all, it is a state of mind …. It operates in a more or less closed ecosystem, and can only be negotiated with a finely developed transactional mentality. (2007: 79)

A lot of general information in the four texts (for example, about the key structural features of Hindi films, the shift system, film financing and the importance of personal relations in the industry) is presented by the authors in what seem mere summaries of explanatory facts. The impression of objectivity and dispassionate distance conveyed in these passages distinguishes them from others that are more anecdotal and usually written in a scenic or descriptive and commenting mode. They express the authors’ personal experiences and encounters with Bollywood. So while one can argue that the mere presence of explanatory passages, as well as the authors’ first-hand insight into the industry, hint that they attempt to overcome difference, the passages that depict the authors’ personal encounters with aspects of Bollywood clearly reveal moments of transdifference.5 Textually, this transdifference manifests in several ways. One of the most obvious cases is that expressions of wonder about the unfamiliar or other are combined with (unsuccessful) attempts to make sense of it. For example, referring to an article in an Indian film magazine from 1975, Hines finds that ‘[r]eading it with a twenty-first-century Western brain it is amazing that they didn’t get their asses sued’ (2007: 145, 147, my emphasis). She then tries to find an explanation for the text’s nastiness but never arrives at a convincing explanation (Hines 2007: 147, 151–4; see also England 2002: 47–8, 228–9). Since she also jokingly characterizes being in India as a ‘head fuck’ (Hines 2007: 159), her emphasis on confusion seems to be programmatic.

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Another salient textual feature illustrating the authors’ simultaneous connection with the unfamiliar aspects of their Bollywood experience and their insistence on its otherness is that they relate alien phenomena to familiar aspects of Western culture by means of references or comparisons. These cases of similarity transfer are examples of what cognitive theory considers ‘blending’, namely the ability to connect different conceptual spaces in the mind on the strength of certain shared cultural elements (cf. Feldmann & Habermann 2006: 101). In this way Western readers as well as the authors themselves can access unfamiliar phenomena without having to give up their Western viewpoint. As Hardy and Hines obviously know a lot about India and Indian films it is clear that in their texts this strategy is mostly employed for the reader’s benefit. Hence they are more openly explanatory than England’s book, where the technique really underlines the impression that the writer himself is trying to come to grips with something unknown. Overall, the four texts contain a multitude of cases illustrating this technique, for example when Hardy characterizes Indian film magazines as ‘Hello magazine with teeth and claws’ (2002: 39) or when she explains that Hrithik Roshan’s picture with the headline ‘Heartthr❤b Hrithik’ on the cover of India’s leading English-language weekly news magazine India Today ‘was as if the latest boy band had appeared on the cover of The Economist with bambis hopping around the title words’ (2002: 26, 27). Another instance is England’s comment on Aamir Khan’s acting style: ‘All I could say after watching a bit of Mela was that if he [Aamir] was the naturalistic one, then the rest of Bollywood must be populated with hams that would give Messrs Sinden and Callow a run for their money’ (2002: 20).6 Hines also uses this technique, for example when she characterizes producer-director Yash Chopra as ‘the Indian Richard Curtis but, thankfully, without the comedy swearing’ (2007: 58, 60). However, she also hints at the epistemological limits of such comparisons when she calls Amitabh Bachchan a ‘cross between Clint Eastwood, Al Pacino, Elvis, but with more than a hint of John Travolta. Nah, that doesn’t come close’ (Hines 2007: 7, my emphasis). Even when the writers attempt to underline the universality of certain forms of behaviour or of cultural phenomena, they may implicitly reaffirm cultural difference, as in England’s description of American and Indian film fans: ‘Americans are just as crazy about the glamour of cinema as the Indians, only in more of a jumping on the spot, pissing themselves with excitement, screaming kind of way, as opposed to a silently following people around … kind of way’ (2002: 102, my emphasis). In a truly transdifferential moment, cultural

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differences are here destabilized but not completely abolished (cf. Breinig & Lösch 2006: 113). Comparisons and references of this kind ground the four texts firmly in a British or more generally Western frame of cultural reference. The writers themselves occasionally underline this perspective by (over)emphasizing their impression of alienity. Both Shelley and England, for example, do so when they speak of washing clothes in India as bashing them against a rock (England 2002: 67; Shelley 2001). In a similar vein (and as a running gag) England only ever speaks of the digestive problems that he and his British co-actors experience in India as ‘the shits like you wouldn’t believe’ (2002: 31, 34, 117, 139, 207, 252). Another example is Shelley trying to feel her way into the alien form of song picturizations but never completely managing to overcome her distance: My ‘song’ continues to make me laugh. I twirl in circles on the beach in my nightwear, skip around pillars and fountains and dance with scarves on a high, blustery turret. They’ve even got me kissing roses and clasping doves (pigeons, really) and declaring ‘Yes, I’m in Looove!’ before releasing them to the heavens. […] It is all over just as I am really beginning to love it. (My emphasis)

Moreover, even the writers’ alleged attempts to broaden their perspective do not ultimately lead to understanding. England, for instance, repeatedly tries to put himself into other people’s heads and work out the thoughts behind their behaviour. He wonders about the business plan of an Indian vendor selling toilet bowls on the side of a road (2002: 66), for instance, and imagines the thoughts of a horse on the set of Lagaan which refuses to pull ‘two pale specimens from the mother country’ (2002: 132).7 The comic absurdity of these reflections effectively underlines the impossibility of understanding, and their temporary destabilizing of difference never leads to its abolition. Hines’s reflections about her efforts to write Amitabh Bachchan’s biography confirm this impossibility, too. Despite her spatial proximity to Bachchan, underlined in the text by her writing to the moment (‘Shhh … got to type real quiet – Amitabh is sleeping next to me’; 2007: 189), Hines at the very end of the book still fails to anticipate Bachchan’s thoughts although she has engaged with him as an academic and a friend for several years (2007: 286). A theme of miscommunication and misunderstanding that runs through all four texts underlines the writers’ experience of alterity. Hines reports, for example, that she watches Lost in Translation (2003) with Amitabh Bachchan but that he ‘didn’t enjoy the film, didn’t really see the point. Ah, the irony’

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(2007: 282). The texts’ implicit reflections on the nature of language also contribute to this theme. Shelley’s experience of Hindi is symptomatic in this respect: she needs a lot of time to learn lines in Hindi because although she can access the language intellectually and analyse its grammatical structures, she is unable to feel it intuitively. In another example of implicit metalinguistic reflection, England constantly refers to allegedly universal means of communication such as ‘the international language of horse’ (2002: 91), the ‘International Language of Soap’ (2002: 202) or more frequently ‘the international language of mime’ (2002: 64, 84, 133, 142). He himself ironically negates their ‘internationality’, however, in scenes of misunderstanding and a long passage elaborating the indeterminacies and ambiguities of ‘the Indian head wobble’ (2002: 133–4). Examples of miscommunication abound, due either to the fact that the authors do not speak Hindi (Shelley and England) or to the lack of some other common code. Very often, these scenes of miscommunication are presented in direct speech. For example, after her doctor advises Rachel Shelley to wash her corset regularly because she has developed boils and lesions, she tries to talk to the ‘wardrobe guys’ (Shelley), who do not speak English very well: Please wash this many times. No, no wash madam. Yes, please wash. And please call me Rachel. Ok, OK. So you will wash it tonight? NO, madam, cannot wash. OK, I’ll wash it then. No no, Bhanuji [the costume designer] say corset no washing. Why? Bhanuji say. Never. What, ever?! Never madam. You’re telling me you have never washed this corset? Never madam, we never wash corset. It get damage, madam, Bhanuji say.

All four writers transcribe grammatical and phonetic peculiarities of the English spoken by the Indians they talk to (e.g. England 2002: 12, 89, 253, 288; Hardy 2002: 55–9; Hines 2007: 6). By doing so, they insist on difference despite a shared linguistic code. In the example from Shelley the miscommunication occurs not only because of linguistic factors, however. The scene also stereotypically pitches English common sense against blind and irrational obedience prompted by strict hierarchical structures. In the texts examined here, this reinforces the implied difference between the British authors on the one hand and their Indian surroundings on the other. The autobiographical stance of the texts has a similar effect. Since it creates the impression that the authors are telling personal stories or anecdotes about themselves and therefore put the reader in the role of confidant, they construct

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an in-group against which the Indian surrounding appears as an other. In all texts except Hardy’s, this effect is further supported when the authors repeatedly use an informal, conversational style, which often seems to be directed straight at the readers although they are never explicitly addressed (e.g. England 2002: 19, 82, 177; Hines 2007: 5, 19, 31, 35, 95, 171). While the theme of miscommunication and the autobiographical stance implicitly emphasize difference and alienity, the use of humour, another key strategy in the representation of the intercultural encounters in all the texts quoted so far, is more ambivalent. As humour always relies on the juxtaposition of an in-group (i.e. those understanding the joke and/or wielding the power of representation) and an out-group (i.e. those not in on the joke and/or the butt of it), it creates an implicit boundary. Hence humour seems to underline the separation between the writers and their subjects. On the content level, the inability of the authors to laugh about Indian comedy, for example, repeatedly underlines their cultural exclusion. On the stylistic level, the strategy is more ambivalent. The writers work with contrasts, incongruence, exaggerations and sometimes excessive concreteness (cf. Berger 2008: 12) in order to create humorous effects. As the British authors hold the power of representation in the texts, it is tempting to interpret their use of humour as a textual expression of defence against an other that they perceive as implicitly dangerous because of its alienity (cf. Berger 2008: 61–83). Given that the humour in the texts is also often directed against the writers themselves, however, this interpretation is problematic, unless one interprets their selfdeprecating stance as an implicitly self-gratulatory celebration of their own understatement and wit (e.g. England 2002: 229–30, 232). In any case, the use of humour as a textual strategy is an assertion of representational power and thus exemplifies what Said has termed a ‘flexible positional superiority’ which puts the authors in a whole series of possible relationships with their subject without ever losing them the relative upper hand (2003: 7, emphasis in original). Among the milder examples is Hardy’s ironic statement that in song-and-dance scenes in Hindi films ‘[a]t the slightest opportunity the playback singers are cranked up and the costume cupboard is raided’ (2002: 11). Here the double passive construction and the logical incongruence created by the metonymic use of ‘playback singers’ create, together with the hyperbole ‘is raided’, a relatively mild effect of condescension. Similarly, Hardy’s presentation of mature Indian women who lust after Hrithik Roshan (2002: 157–61) or compare him to Jesus Christ (2002: 24) seems more

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good-natured than aggressive. Sometimes, this humour is also directed against Hindi films, for example when Hardy describes the protagonist of Fiza (2000) as ‘peaceful in death, his pristine white T-shirt remarkably free of blood, given that he has just been shot point-bland in the chest’ (2002: 135). Other cases come across as more openly derogatory and aggressive, designed to show off the author’s wit or intelligence, like Shelley’s and England’s comments about the Indian military’s security measures in the border region where Lagaan was shot. England, for example, comments as follows on the camouflage of Bhuj airport: The camouflage itself is interesting, as it isn’t done in the traditional irregular and random lines intended to break up the form of the buildings so much as in the shapes of giant puzzle pieces in beige, pale green and dark green. It’s as if they hope that a Pakistani bomber pilot, if he notices at all, might think: ‘No, I won’t drop a bomb on that, it’s just a jigsaw factory.’ (2002: 52)

Once again this passage demonstrates England’s attempts to put himself into other people’s heads, which culminate in overly concrete and therefore comical ventriloquism. It also exemplifies comedy of superiority, however, as it relies on the supposed deficiencies of other people’s logic. Still, one can argue that by making fun of others the writers compromise their own respectability because it makes them appear like show-offs. This kind of comedy is therefore inherently double-edged. The same is true of most passages in which the humour seems directed against the writers themselves. England, for instance, often makes fun of his own and the other British actors’ incompetence or unfamiliarity with Bollywood and India, which can lead to scenes of acute second-hand embarrassment for the reader (e.g. England 2002: 239–40; see also Hines 2007: 21). Yet as the British actors were chosen despite their imperfections by the Indian film-makers, they, too, are made to look incompetent by this. Double deprecation of this sort is another striking feature of the four texts. Shelley provides a particularly memorable example in a scene that apparently revolves around her meagre knowledge of Hindi. Having been told at very short notice (and on a day that was supposed to be her first day off ) that she will have to perform a pivotal scene with Aamir Khan, into which, moreover, a brand new line in Hindi has been inserted, Shelley is angry but has to accept the situation. As she cannot master the new line quickly enough, the text is written on a cue board for her: ‘Aamir steps aside briefly to reveal a small and very badly written cue board. Our gal reads it once, and then again, because it’s all just too

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unsettling and quite a tough line …’ After she has delivered the line, ‘Aamir steps back into my eye line for me to deliver the rest of the script … Filming is so often like this. Last minute changes wipe out months of preparation. Our director, Ash, was very happy so I had to accept it. But I could have been much better.’ Shelley’s use of self-irony (‘Our gal’), the description of her panic at having to cope with a new Hindi line and of her attempts to understand what she is actually saying, together with the slightly absurd scene in which her co-actor must accommodate her incompetence by stepping aside for her so that she can read the cue board, make Shelley the object of comedy. We are invited to laugh at her. Yet at the same time Shelley suggests that it is really the circumstances that are ruining her performance. Her acting partner behaves with impeccable professionalism in the scene, yet the lack of organization and communication on the Lagaan set and the fact that the director has lower standards than herself (at least this is what the passage implies) prevent her from delivering her best work. The passage is therefore also an example of yet another prominent representational strategy in the first-hand reports analysed here: the strategy of compromised praise. One of the simplest and most obvious examples of this occurs when England praises the skills of Kutchi craftsmen and then immediately follows this by their characterization as ‘the most inept salesmen I have come across on my travels anywhere in the world’ (2002: 189). Moments of approximation are thus followed by a retreat to a more distanced attitude (be it because of the erection of a comic boundary between the writer and his subject or because of a retreat onto a plane of logical reflection). A similar form of oscillation is caused by a further representational device: the texts seem to deconstruct stereotypes of Bollywood and India in individual passages, but their overall effect contradicts this. A good example comes at the beginning of Rachel Shelley’s text: ‘I am told that the shoot was already three days behind schedule even before I arrived – and that the production is horribly disorganised and the food is inedible. So far, then, it’s really no different from any other film I’ve been in.’ In this passage, Bollywood’s reputation of chaos and mismanagement is deflated by a claim that this is normal, as Shelley concedes that going over schedule and bad organization are no exclusively Indian phenomena. The cumulative effect of her diary, however, is an impression of chaos, because she keeps pointing out those aspects of the production that seem alien to her and that she perceives as the results of lacking professionalism. Already on day 1, she mentions that it is normal for Indian actors to play in several films at the same time. Day 3 brings the realization that nobody is in charge of continuity on the

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film. Not knowing how to proceed, she talks ‘to the Indian actors who tell me they are keeping their own continuity because no one else will. Although that’s not the official line, it’s what always ends up happening in Bollywood.’ On day 11 she again complains about disorganization, wardrobe issues and being bullied by the assistant directors into performing a scene she was not yet ready to play, and on day 34 she faces another ‘nightmare’ when, as described above, she is forced, despite her day off, to go on set and deliver an emotional scene with a new Hindi line. The general impression of the Lagaan set as it is described in Shelley’s diary is that bad organization and miscommunication keep the undeniable individual talent of those working on the film from flourishing. Shelley seems to interpret this implicitly as disrespect for her as an artist.8 In Chris England’s book, too, many individual cases of disorganization ultimately outweigh his verdict that ‘this production has certainly not lived up to Bollywood’s reputation of being gung-ho and disorganised’ (England 2002: 304). Like Shelley’s text, England’s book practically teems with impressions of chaos. Already at the casting cricket match, things are not going as expected: the Indians are unpunctual (2002: 8), and he perceives a ‘vacuum of organisation’ (2002: 10). Once he has been chosen for the film, there is no script (2002: 30) to prepare for the role, and no one can tell him precisely for how long he will be needed for shooting (2002: 16). Before he leaves for India, he is measured minutely by the costume designer only to discover on set that ‘there is a sort of lucky-bag approach to the costume side of things’ (2002: 30–1, 83). Like Shelley, England is struck by the cavalier attitude of the film-makers to continuity (2002: 198), and the readers witness the production go over schedule with him. All of these elements ultimately raise questions about the professionalism of those involved in the film. One point in the shooting when the disorganization actually turns dangerous is a crowd scene with ten thousand extras who have been carted to the set from surrounding villages (England 2002: 162–7). The extras, who have no idea how a film shoot works, want to see the film’s star, Aamir Khan, and soon become bored and rebellious, so that the director has no chance of getting through his shot list for the day. England’s representation of this crowd scene leaves an ambivalent impression which ultimately tips towards the negative. On the one hand, the deficient organization creates a situation in which the unruly extras turn into a concrete physical threat for actors and crew (England even uses the term ‘mob’ to describe them, 2002: 162–3, 165–6). On the other hand, the director has perfected a form of improvised shooting that allows him to make

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the most of the situation (England 2002: 164). This paints a very favourable picture of the director’s skill, yet it is one that he had to acquire because the industry runs on limited means compared to Western productions, which ultimately reinforces the image of Bollywood as ‘Hollywood’s poor relation’ (Milmo 2001). In contrast to Shelley and England, Hardy and Hines never set out or even pretend to deconstruct negative stereotypes of the Hindi film industry. Yet they, too, accumulate details that ultimately stress the dark and unappealing aspects of Bollywood. Hardy’s representation of Hindi films, for example, underlines those aspects that are most different from Western films and emphasizes their formulaic nature. She presents Hindi cinema as a cinema of attractions for the masses that constantly rehashes the same romantic plots and characters (2002: 10–11, 13, 17, 19). Its formulae restrict the creative possibilities of film artists (2002: 215), and its representation of sexuality is sublimated into dance scenes (2002: 227–8) because of censorship (2002: 17, 201). Yet at least it gives the luxury of ‘maximum escapism and minimum reality’ (2002: 16) to its core audience of uneducated and poor spectators (2002: 22) – double-edged praise because it constructs Indian mainstream cinema also as lowbrow and unsophisticated.9 The ubiquity of mainstream cinema in Indian popular culture and the films’ offers of escapism are the basis of the star adoration in India that Hardy deals with in anecdotal passages. They show the devotion of individual fans to their objects of adoration (e.g. 2002: 14–16, 23–5, 100) and emphasize the importance of the Indian film press. The reader learns that ‘Bollywood rides on a river of gossip kept at full spate by countless film magazines’ (Hardy 2002: 37), and Hardy writes at length about the magazines, their tendency to stray from the truth and their vast influence (e.g. 2002: 27–8, 37–40, 47–53, 103–4, 111, 179) that also leads to grotesque examples of spin (Hardy 2002: 106–8). Repeated references to advertisement hoardings featuring the industry’s top stars (Hardy 2002: 104–5, 188–9, 247) underline the economic dimension of this celebrity culture. The industry itself is not only depicted as a dream factory. It also emerges as a place that is governed by a merciless sense of business to which everything and everybody in it is subjected, including Hardy herself. After more than a year of waiting she eventually gets the permission to interview Hrithik Roshan because she provides his manager-father, who is trying to sell a film to a British TV station, with a contact at Channel 4 (Hardy 2002: 239–41). She has to bring something to the table in order to get a slice of Hrithik’s time: this is a

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business transaction. What remains is the impression of an industry that is under the heavy influence of organized crime and runs on black money,10 and which inhumanely exploits its less privileged members, like technicians working on film sets without appropriate safety measures (Hardy 2002: 233–4) or actresses who are sexually harassed by directors and producers (Hardy 2002: 90). Lowbrow films catering to the lowest common denominator, criminal and abusive structures within the film industry and a celebrity machine that runs on gossip and lies – it is not a very appetizing or flattering image that Hardy paints of Bollywood in Bollywood Boy, despite her palpable fascination. A similar clash marks Looking for the Big B, where Hines repeatedly states that she is addicted to what she calls ‘the fantasy world of Bollywood’ (2007: 15) – yet the very metaphor of addiction combines the enjoyable with the compulsive, agony with ecstasy and flights of fancy with disillusionment. For Hines, the world of Bollywood encompasses the films, being in Mumbai, travelling abroad with film units and enjoying the luxurious lifestyle that comes with being in Amitabh Bachchan’s entourage, but also the less enchanting practical aspects of film shoots and the industry’s harshness. Hines writes about the dilapidated and dirty sets and dressing rooms in Film City, for example, and describes several dangerous situations caused by missing safety precautions (2007: 50, 57). She evokes ‘Stone-Age technology and extras in tacky costumes’ (2007: 61) and the many ‘thin little men’ hauling heavy equipment around on set (2007: 51) and describes how crowds of fans make location shoots in India something of a nightmare for the film-makers (2007: 54–5). In a more positive vein than Hardy, Hines presents the industry as a place of sheer creativity, where everyone just lives and breathes films (2007: 61, 277) and as ‘an enormous psychological extended family’ (2007: 62–3). Yet she also insists on the damaging consequences on films caused by power struggles between stars and producers, on the role of black-market money in film financing and the industry’s general harshness (2007: 110, 199, 200). This is exacerbated by the film magazines’ power to make or mar careers because of their influence on a mass of naïve readers (Hines 2007: 130–3, 139, 145–50, 166–7, 171). Once again, the cumulative effect of the unappealing aspects of the Bollywood industry that Hines presents in her text ultimately outweighs the attractive features. In all four texts, Bollywood plays an important role for the representation of India on a more general level. Since Shelley’s diary is almost exclusively about her life within the Lagaan film unit, the cumulative impression of disorganization and difficult interpersonal relationships dominates her Indian experience.

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England’s stay in India falls into three spheres: his work on set, his leisure time with other members of the film unit off set and his travels alone as a tourist. Only the latter is untouched by Bollywood. Despite the goodwill and friendliness he seems to encounter almost everywhere, and despite his admiration and envy for the achievements of Indian high culture (2002: 118, 120, 298–9), England’s disenchantment with all the things that do not work on set seem to be mirrored in his representation of Indian life. It includes numerous examples of inefficient bureaucracy, pollution, bad hygiene and unsatisfactory organization and technology (e.g. England 2002: 61, 63, 67, 72, 113). Hardy investigates the role of Bollywood films in Indian everyday life. While she provides a lot of information about the industry, follows the production of an unsuccessful film and ultimately meets Hrithik Roshan, her focus is in fact on the manner in which people outside the industry connect with the films. Ultimately this results in an image of India that is always coloured by a Bollywood angle and pitches impressionable, naïve and often uncritical consumers and exploited victims of the industry against calculating, astute and in some cases ruthless film producers and perpetrators of celebrity gossip, in a cosmos where the dictates of business override everything else. Compared to Hardy, the social radius of the persons Hines deals with in Looking for the Big B is more restricted, since she writes predominantly about encounters with persons from the Hindi film industry or its celebrity and gossip apparatus. In contrast to Hardy’s text, Hines’s encounters with normal people, for example at a beauty parlour or in a yoga class, therefore become mere interludes between her meetings with persons who are more important for the purposes of her book and who live in privileged circumstances. Yet in contrast to Hardy, whose India is thoroughly coloured by Bollywood, in Hines’s text Bollywood appears as only one facet of the larger Mumbai cosmos, which she characterizes as ‘chaos theory in action, anarchy in its purest form’ (2007: 78) and as a place where everything ‘is fraught with the possibility of difficulty and frustration’ (2007: 78). She thus underlines the uncertainty principle behind the glamour of ‘the fantasy world of Bollywood’ (Hines 2007: 15) and applies the Orientalist stereotype of the fascinating yet dangerous East to both Bollywood and Mumbai. Charges of latent Orientalism can be made against all four texts but especially against those by Shelley and England, because they repeatedly connote Bollywood as primitive, infantile, backward, corrupt, despotic and exotically mysterious.

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Attempts to erase difference: Omar Fuad Omar’s book Bollywood: An Insider’s Guide (2006) differs from the other first-hand reports described so far in several remarkable ways. Most importantly, while Omar, too, positions himself as a mediator, he does not stress distance or difference but, in contrast, pretends to erase them. His basic approach to the industry is also generally celebratory. He presents Bollywood not as an inherently elusive other but as a social cosmos whose members are accessible despite their star status. Omar serves as the link between his readers and Bollywood (and especially Bollywood stars), since he positions himself as a representative of both. He claims to speak for the British Bollywood audience, for example, when he states that actress Preeti Jhangiani ‘stole our hearts’ with only one film (2006: 125, my emphasis). But he also speaks for Bollywood, for example in a text about the ‘Heartthrobs’ stage show: Believe me, the heartthrobs[,] and I mean everyone from Hrithik to Aftab and Arjun, Kareena and Karisma and Raageshari[,] thank all the UK fans for coming out and supporting them, they are touched by your affection and have left extremely charged. Thanks for making the final days of a long world tour very memorable, and know every scream, every cheer and all the placards were appreciated. (Omar 2006: 160)

Omar proclaims that the aim of his collection of texts, which mostly comprises interviews, set reports from film and photo shoots and reviews of films and stage shows, is ‘to entice everyone – the casual Bollywood fan, the devotee and the newbie ’ (2006: 8). However, it is really a tour of Bollywood for the initiated (cf. Omar 2006: 9). Unlike the texts by Shelley, England, Hardy and Hines it contains no explanations of the basic features of Hindi films or the film industry. Omar presupposes that his readers know stars that do not belong to the A-list (e.g. 2006: 58), and when he references classic Hindi films from the 1950s and 1960s, these references are not explained, nor are passages in Hindi translated (e.g. 2006: 76, 128). The other first-hand reports thrive on their exposure of cultural difference between author and subject and reinforce it. Omar’s book in contrast seems to deny or at least reduce both difference and (spatial and cultural) distance in order to justify his claim of being an insider. Omar attends functions presenting tie-in products (music and books); he is on set with film-makers and actors, and he interviews them in face-to-face meetings. He is so up close and personal

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with the stars of Hindi cinema that he can describe, for example, ‘the sparkle in Shah Rukh’s eye as he enthusiastically reveals the nirvana of being on stage’ (Omar 2006: 145). Unlike Hardy and Hines, who can claim similar contacts, Omar emphasizes the warmth in his personal encounters with industry members (e.g. 2006: 53, 111, 253). Whereas Hines’s ‘friendship’ with Amitabh Bachchan is marked by a feeling of never really reaching him and ultimately by disillusionment after he attacks her work, Omar keeps mentioning the personal warmth, sincerity and humility he experiences from industry members (2006: 28, 187, 205, 271). He suggests that he has immediate personal and emotional access to these persons and that he feels and is ‘at home’ with them (Omar 2006: 113; cf. 237, 253). In keeping with this, Omar’s proclaimed ambition is to bare his interviewees’ psyche (2006: 17–18, 136) and to ‘take the fan [sic] beyond the silver screen and into the world they do not often get to see behind the curtain’ (2006: 9). In contrast to Hardy and Hines, the result is a glorification rather than demystification of the Bollywood world. Omar calls Bollywood personalities such as directors Karan Johar and Nikhil Advani (among others) his friends (Omar 2006: 10, 11, 129–31, 260) and describes how he literally gets hugged by established star actors like Vivek Oberoi and Hrithik Roshan (Omar 2006: 129, 176). Doing so, Omar underlines his personal links to significant members of the industry – an important asset in an environment where personal relations are the key foundation of business relationships. He even presents himself as a part of Bollywood. He may not be an insider in the sense that he co-creates films, yet he implicitly insists on his own status as somebody who (like the film-makers he interacts with) creates texts that move and entertain and are extraordinary. In this sense, he contributes to the spreading of Bollywood. In this scenario, Omar’s texts serve as an extension of the films he writes about. The way he describes the emotions he witnesses at the making-of book launch of Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham (K3G) (Sometimes Happiness, Sometimes Sadness, 2001), for example, mirrors the heightened emotionality associated with Hindi films. The book author’s mother’s eyes ‘sparkle as she speaks, with floodgates of tears glistening in the dimmed light, waiting to flow when resistance gives way’ (2006: 54). Not only does this florid style and emphasis on empathetic emotion create a continuum with K3G. By presupposing that his readers will be able to understand and appreciate this stylistic choice, Omar also implies that they themselves already belong to the in-group that is the Bollywood film industry, even if they do not belong to its social cosmos.

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He serves as a mediator in this constellation, even though he is aware that he cannot always fully convey his experience (e.g. Omar 2006: 49, 149). Omar’s constant expressions of respect towards his subjects and the fact that he repeatedly presents his interviews as situations where he learns new things (e.g. 2006: 81) might be read as an expression of difference and distance. However, in the wider context of the book, even these elements can be interpreted as contributing to his self-positioning as an insider, since this behaviour mirrors codes of interaction (e.g. respect for elders and the importance of family relations) that play an important role in the Hindi film industry. Moreover, Omar often emphasizes the importance that his subjects attribute to interpersonal and especially to family relationships. Thus Hrithik Roshan’s admiration and love for his father is a central factor in Omar’s glorifying portrayal of the actor, whom he presents as ‘growing actor and … loving son’ (2006: 18; see 24, 27, 156), with the word order stressing the latter. Similarly, in his K3G set report, Omar describes how the director’s father, Yash Johar, ‘is quietly watching, blessing every one of his son’s shots’ and that Karan Johar ‘becomes the son’ when his parents are present on set (2006: 37, 42). Character portrayals like this are in keeping with the image that Omar projects of the film industry as a whole, namely, and this is an important parallel to the Mumbai episodes of ‘Bollywood Star’, as a place of extremely hard work that only an outsider could consider glamorous. He has nothing but disdain for the Indian film press, but he defends the actual film industry against the condescending and cynical attitudes it often encounters, and he emphasizes the discipline, the will to improve oneself and the enthusiasm, self-awareness and self-reflection that lie at the bottom of what he perceives to be the best work produced there.11 Omar thus tries to position himself as an insider based on his qualities as expert and connoisseur, as admirer and possibly even fan, as mediator and friend and as somebody who is familiar with the principles that govern the interpersonal and therefore business relationships in the industry. Even when he writes about Bollywood in Britain, he tends to assume the point of view of Hindi film-makers (2006: 67). He reflects about the niche position of Hindi cinema in the British film market, for example, and speculates about the ways by which Indian films might find wider exposure in Britain. He also wonders what a film would have to look like ‘that we can take our non-Asian friends to see and know they’ll enjoy it too as much as they would any piece of international cinema’ (2006: 87). It is at points such as these that Omar’s cultural

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affiliations manifest most openly. On a basic level, he creates an opposition between those who are into Bollywood and those who are not, a distinction with explicitly ethnic overtones (‘our non-Asian friends’) that therefore supports the perception of Hindi cinema as a distinctly Asian cultural form. In addition, although most of Omar’s on-site reports relate to events in Britain, and although he repeatedly positions himself as a British Asian (e.g. 2006: 68), most of his reporting evokes a cultural framework that transcends these national boundaries. By presenting the members of the Hindi film industry as hard-working and adhering to traditional behavioural norms like filial duty, respect for elders and hospitality, Omar basically constructs Bollywood as a social sphere whose members may have achieved an extraordinary status, but who are not essentially different from other South Asians because they subscribe to the same emotional regime, independent of where they may be living. Since this implies the cultural exclusion of non-Asians from the happy Bollywood family, Omar’s text, too, indirectly establishes the basic cultural difference that marks the texts by Shelley, England, Hardy and Hines. However, in contrast to the analysed texts by non-Asian authors, where the Indianness of the presented subject and persons evokes strangeness and difference, Omar uses Indianness as a familiarizing trait. Bollywood may be an other for the British Asian Omar, but he pretends that it is neither alien nor unfamiliar to him and even uses it as a point of identification. In his text Bollywood functions as a sort of global pan-Indian cultural glue, not only in the sense that the films convey culturally specific behavioural conventions and their ideological backgrounds to spectators all over the world, but also in the sense that the interpersonal relationships and the industry members’ behaviour are governed by the same cultural assumptions as those of other South Asians across the world. From a transdifferential perspective, Omar’s text therefore illustrates the attempt to evade oscillation by asserting similarity and erasing difference.

8

The Changing Image of Bollywood in British Film Reviews

Many of the linguistic expressions of transdifference that could be identified in the first-hand reports of the last chapter also feature prevalently in British film reviews of Bollywood films, the last text type to be analysed from a transdifferential perspective in this study, and the one where the mediating function is probably most obvious. The examples discussed here are from nonAsian British national newspapers, film magazines and web sites. They exemplify the major strategies that have been used to represent Bollywood films or the alleged Bollywood genre (rather than the industry or the films’ consumers and creators) in non-Asian media. Adding to the texts of the two previous chapters, they also open up a diachronic perspective, since the analysed reviews date from the late 1990s to the present, thus illustrating the changes and developments the reviewers’ discourse on Bollywood has undergone. As the key site of contemporary media convergence, the internet has become the most important site for reviewing. It is a source of professional reviews, but amateur reviewing, too, flourishes like never before, in blogs, on free video-upload platforms and in the user comments of specialized film web sites. In the context of this study, these forms of amateur reviewing raise several methodological questions. There is no denying that (at least quantitatively) the internet is nowadays the most important medium where exchange about Bollywood takes place. It is used extensively by the film producers themselves for promotion and advertising. Gossip sites focusing on the stars’ private lives and more respectable discussion forums abound. Their contributors usually remain anonymous, however, and especially with sites where the global lingua franca English is used, there is no telling where contributors come from unless they mention it in their entries. This internationality obviously clashes with the national framework of analysis applied in this book. Moreover, the study

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is primarily interested in the mediation of Bollywood to British viewers who have little or no experience with it, whereas the blogs and discussion forums are dominated by fans. Because of this focus, the study does not engage with reviews posted on such sites and instead restricts its choice to internet sites run by British media institutions, such as thetimes.co.uk, theguardian.com or bbc.co.uk.1 In terms of genre, reviews are defined by their function, the critical evaluation of a work, based on the reviewer’s impressions and opinions. The vast majority of texts selected for analysis here are reviews of individual films (or, much less frequently, groups of films) that are exclusively devoted to the artistic evaluation and contextualization of the respective movies. The sample also includes a few texts about Hindi films that contain the element of evaluation even though their focus may be on something else. Many articles about Hindi films in The Independent, for example, concentrate on their economic aspects but will sometimes also comment on and evaluate their artistic peculiarities. In a similar vein, articles about or interviews with Indian star actors often critically assess their latest films. Reviews of Hindi films became a regular feature in non-Asian British media only in the early 2000s. Despite the extraordinary successes of Hum Aapke Hain Koun …! (Who am I to You, 1994) and Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (The BraveHearted will Take away the Bride, 1995) in the Asian community, it is hard to find any reviews of Indian mainstream films before the new millennium. A rare text about Dil Se (From the Heart, 1998) in Sight & Sound (Sawhney 1999) is an exception to the rule. There are some purely practical reasons why reviews of Hindi films were such a rarity, as it was only after the critical and financial success of Lagaan (Land Tax, 2001), for example, that it became normal for Hindi films to have English subtitles, which even nowadays do not always include the song lyrics. This naturally restricted not only the films’ potential audience but also their potential number of reviewers. In addition, as mentioned in Chapter 3, preview screenings for the British film press are rare. In an article published in The New Statesman in 2004, film critic Mark Kermode therefore complained about a form of ‘cultural apartheid regarding Bollywood’ in mainstream British film criticism and described the consequences of the absence of preview screenings as follows: Despite the huge financial success of movies such as Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham … and Kal Ho Naa Ho, reviews of these films have often remained absent from the pages of many of the UK’s leading magazines and newspapers. If you want the lowdown on the latest Bollywood arrivals, you need to turn to such

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specialist Asian publications as Eastern Eye, Stardust, CineBlitz or Filmfare, or to internet sites such as radiosargam.com, which (I am reliably informed) offers excellent coverage of forthcoming treats …. many British reviewers (myself included) have found out about the films only when they have shown up in the Screen International chart. When the Guardian film critic Peter Bradshaw wanted to review Lagaan in his influential weekly column, for example, he had to wait until it opened at a north London multiplex, then queue up to buy a ticket. (Kermode 2004)

Kermode’s anecdote about Peter Bradshaw’s Lagaan experience, as well as Anil Sinanan’s description of his own journeys to cinemas in the London suburbs to review Hindi films (2006), underlines that reviewing a Hindi film usually requires extra effort on the part of the critic. It is understandable that, given these circumstances, reviews of Bollywood films in the non-Asian British press and even in specialist film magazines have been rarer than one might assume, given Bollywood’s stable presence in British cinema programmes. Among the sources of Bollywood reviews, there are several magazines. Sight & Sound, possibly Britain’s most prestigious film magazine, still has a comparatively broad, though selective, coverage of mainstream Indian films. It is ‘comparatively broad’ because in other non-Asian film magazines, Bollywood is nearly nonexistent. Empire, the largest British film magazine in terms of readership, for example, has reviewed only one Hindi film, My Name is Khan (2010), since 2010. Empire predominantly targets mainstream British film audiences, yet the main reason for its scarcity of Bollywood reviews is, once again, of a practical nature: especially monthly film magazines rely on film previews.2 Time Out, in contrast, a weekly magazine which caters predominantly to a London readership, regularly carries Hindi film reviews because of the commitment of its Bollywood reviewer Anil Sinanan. Whenever a new Hindi film with one of the biggest stars is released, it will almost certainly feature in Time Out.3 As Hindi films have a status of ‘specialised films’ (see the British Film Institute (BFI) and UK Film Council yearbooks) in the British film market, it is comprehensible that the space devoted to reports and reviews of Indian mainstream films in national newspapers is restricted. The Sun, The Daily Mail, and The Daily Mirror have been practically Hindi cinema-free zones,4 while The Telegraph features occasional reports about films and star actors, although it is thin on reviews. Several papers, although they do not feature Hindi film reviews, regularly bring articles on Bollywood, which sometimes may also have an evaluative slant. One example of this is The Independent, which has run a

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number of articles on Bollywood yet not in the shape of conventional reviews. They tend to be more concerned with the business side of Indian cinema in Britain, giving information about release dates and about box office records and awards for specific films, for example. One exception to this rule was an article on Bollywood as an art form by Philip Hensher (2002), which was one of many texts published in the early 2000s intended to introduce Bollywood to a public unfamiliar with the form. For the analysis in this chapter those articles that contain an element of evaluation have been included in the corpus. Hensher’s article, for example, will be discussed at some length as exemplifying textual and argumentative manifestations of transdifference. The Financial Times’s Bollywood coverage has a similar slant to that in The Independent and is even more firmly business-oriented. It has been mainly concerned with the development of corporatization in the Indian film industry and most especially with the synergies and investments between Indian and Western entertainment companies. Since Eros International is listed at the London Stock Exchange, there are regular reports about the company’s performance in the paper. When it picks out Indian films for reporting, The Financial Times concentrates especially on international co-productions and films that deliberately attempt to cross over to a nonIndian audience. Film stars, too, are written about less as actors or artists than in their function as economic assets (e.g. as brand ambassadors) or as film producers in their own right. Among the national newspapers, Bollywood film reviews as well as other types of articles relating to Bollywood have been most frequent in The Times (and The Sunday Times) and The Guardian, that is, two quality papers with aspirations to middlebrow or even highbrow readerships. It is telling, however, that The Times has largely abandoned reviewing Bollywood films since losing Anil Sinanan as Bollywood critic. It is also telling that since the late 2000s both newspapers have extrapolated the majority of their texts about Bollywood onto their online platforms. In the case of The Guardian, the occasional article and review still make it into the print version, yet most of the Bollywood-related texts are now originally published online. This underlines the continuing niche character of Hindi cinema in Britain as well as The Guardian’s awareness of the strength of the ‘Bollyweb’ (Mitra 2008). Another source of extensive Bollywood reviewing is the web site bbc.co.uk, which not only features reviews but also allows internet users to rate fi lms. Compared to the other media mentioned so far, this web site features the

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greatest number of Hindi film reviews. It also provides so-called previews of Hindi films, in which basic information about upcoming films is announced. It is therefore a resource to keep up with new releases, which is why the Bollywood pages on bbc.co.uk appear to be directed predominantly at an Asian audience. It would, by the way, be short-sighted to assume that the Hindi film reviews published in non-Asian national media since the early 2000s were exclusively targeted at non-traditional audiences. According to Rana Johal, former key examiner of South Asian movies at the British Board of Film Classification, mainstream press coverage may also make Hindi films more attractive to younger South Asian spectators (qtd in Kermode 2004) because it bestows prestige on the films and hence cultural capital on the audiences. However, while one can theoretically argue that the reports about and reviews of Hindi films in the non-Asian British press were an attempt to attract more British Asian readers (cf. ‘Bollywood in British media’ 2007), the vast majority of the texts themselves convey a different impression. Especially in the early 2000s, many reviews were clearly addressed to an implied readership that was unfamiliar with Indian cinema.

The early 2000s: Introducing Bollywood to newcomers The starting point for consistent Bollywood reporting and reviewing was the release of Lagaan in Britain in June 2001, followed in December of the same year by Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham (K3G) (Sometimes Happiness, Sometimes Sadness), by far the most successful Hindi film in economic terms in Britain at the time. The two movies spawned an unprecedented number of articles and reviews in non-Asian British media, which in turn established a picture of Bollywood films that would remain unchallenged for several years. The tone was set by texts such as Peter Bradshaw’s review of Lagaan in The Guardian (2001) and the articles about the British success of Lagaan and K3G by Cahal Milmo in The Independent (2001) and Maev Kennedy in The Guardian (2001). The texts hover between detached and enthusiastic interest in the films, which the authors present and explain to their readers. Their attempts and simultaneous inability of coming to grips with the films’ difference (i.e. moments of transdifference) manifest in a variety of textual ambiguities, ambivalences and contradictions.

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The authors are relative outsiders5 in relation to their subject because none of them has any particular expertise in Hindi films. Peter Bradshaw is one of the best-known and respected British film critics. He writes about films from all over the world, but his main field of interest and work are the North American and European films that dominate the British film market, and he is no specialist in Indian cinema. Maev Kennedy was arts and heritage correspondent for The Guardian in 2001, covering a broad range of subjects in her writing – a trait she shares with Cahal Milmo, who has been writing for The Independent on a variety of subjects and in various areas, among them arts and entertainment. None of these writers has any particular affinity to Indian films, but Indian films fall into their general fields of expertise. Because of this they were, arguably, especially well placed, in the early noughties, to mediate the subject to their newspapers’ predominantly white and middle-class readerships, who could not be expected to have specialist knowledge about Indian mainstream cinema. The articles accordingly give the impression that the writers generally assume their readers to be unfamiliar with Hindi cinema. For example, using the strategy of blending already mentioned in Chapter 7, Hindi films are constantly compared to other types of film-making better known in Britain, in order to offer the readers entry points of understanding. By using this strategy, the critics acknowledge the difference of Indian mainstream films and offer a way of approaching them while never giving up their own fundamentally Western viewpoint. Bradshaw (2001), for instance, describes Lagaan as combining ‘a dash of spaghetti western, a hint of Kurosawa, with a bracing shot of Kipling’.6 His broad range of references establishes Lagaan as a text which will appeal to anybody with an open mind and offers his readers various points of recognition. However, it also characterizes the film as exotic, not only because of its Indian origin but also because it combines diverse cultural and structural elements in an unusual way. In Kennedy’s article about the unprecedented box office success of K3G the point of comparison are the Hollywood movies that Johar’s film competes with economically: Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham was beaten last week only by Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone and the 51st State. According to the trade journal Screen International, it opened at 41 sites last week, and took £473,355. Although dwarfed by Harry Potter, still showing at 537 sites and taking £2.4m – and certain to be pushed down the charts by

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the release this weekend of Lord of the Rings – it has become easily the most successful Indian release in the UK. ‘It has been very heavily promoted, and unusually widely distributed, but it is still absolutely phenomenal’, Robert Mitchell of Screen International said. (Kennedy 2001)

Despite the apparent focus of the article on the success of K3G in Britain, the very emphasis on the extraordinariness of this success underlines the film’s outsider status. Putting K3G beside the Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings films paints a David-and-Goliath picture, albeit one in which Goliath is never in any serious danger of losing his predominance. A similar impression emerges from Milmo’s article (2001) about the success of Lagaan, in which he quotes Cary Rajinder Sawhney, former Head of Diversity at the BFI, as saying that the ‘old perception of Indian film as Hollywood’s poor relation is dying’. However, Milmo goes on to claim: ‘Reviewers in India and Britain have raved despite the film having a budget of just £3.8m – large by Bollywood standards but a drop in the ocean compared with the special-effects jamborees of Hollywood.’ As in Kennedy’s article, the praise is double-edged. Milmo lauds the efficiency and artistic achievement of Lagaan, yet the numbers he quotes and the comparison with the (admittedly also deprecatingly titled) ‘special-effects jamborees of Hollywood’ re-establishes precisely the image of Indian cinema as Hollywood’s poor relation that the article apparently tries to undermine. All these comparisons therefore illustrate a simultaneous questioning and reaffirmation of difference that can be interpreted as a manifestation of transdifference. Already at this early stage of reporting on the Hindi film industry ‘Bollywood’ was the ever-present catchword by which the phenomenon was packaged. According to the title of Kennedy’s article, K3G is a ‘Hit from Bollywood’; Milmo’s headline claims that with Lagaan ‘Bollywood scores its first British hit with tale of tax and cricket’; and Bradshaw states in his first sentence that the film has been ‘touted as the most expensive Bollywood musical ever’. ‘Bollywood’ was apparently a term that the readers were expected to know or recognize, a term that served as a shorthand expression for mainstream Indian cinema and especially Hindi cinema. Given the authors’ Eurocentric standpoint, it is also a term that encompasses the double tendency of familiarization (by reference to Hollywood) and simultaneous differentiation (B instead of H) that is at the heart of the concept of transdifference.

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In contrast to Bradshaw, whose playful and enthusiastic style and emphasis on Lagaan’s viewing pleasures underline the subjectivity of his review, Milmo and Kennedy try to keep up an impression of objectivity. Their respective subject is how Lagaan and K3G have performed in British cinemas, and they back their reports with apparently solid data, such as budget and box office figures and numbers of prints, and by quotes from experts on British cinema.7 Thus their subject becomes comprehensible, and they can pretend to manage and contain it. In their texts Hindi films appear as economic commodities just like Hollywood movies. However, due to the strategies already mentioned, the articles always also present them as different. In their descriptions of Lagaan, K3G and other Hindi films the authors single out several aspects which the uninitiated reader could easily mistake for an inventory of typical features of Hindi films. (After all, why would they be singled out, if they were not representative?) Kennedy, for example, calls K3G a ‘Bollywood spectacular’ and thus underlines the film’s cinema-of-attractions qualities. The expression implicitly ascribes an over-the-top quality to the film (‘spectacular’), which is also present in its characterization as a ‘sentimental saga’, that is, a sprawling and expansive story, ‘of a family shattered by an unapproved marriage, and eventually reunited in time for the mandatory happy ending’. Kennedy emphasizes the melodramatic exposure of emotionality in K3G (‘sentimental’) while commenting on the film’s storytelling. Its denouement is characterized as formulaic in an expression which wrongly implies that all Hindi films end well (‘mandatory happy ending’) (cf. also Young 2000). The reader is moreover informed that the basic conflict is based on family relations that (from a Western viewpoint) can seem to be more at home in the eighteenth, nineteenth or early twentieth century than in the twenty-first. Kennedy’s text therefore also establishes an implicit temporal distance between Bollywood and the dominant forms of contemporary Western film-making and viewing. Milmo’s article (2001) about Lagaan echoes many of these features yet in a slightly more openly pejorative tone. Although the article mentions the competent craftsmanship and critical prestige of Lagaan, the film is presented as the exception to the rule. The article says that, generally, Bollywood films are ‘slushy romances’ and ‘song-filled epics’, only palatable to ‘niche Asian audiences’. Lagaan, in contrast, manages to go beyond this clientele because it is more sophisticated and also appeals to ‘fans of high-brow weepies’. Not only does this expression implicitly exclude the aforementioned ‘niche Asian audiences’ from the highbrow bracket, it also ascribes heightened emotionality even to Lagaan

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and therefore presents this factor as a central characteristic of all Bollywood films. Despite all the details the text mentions in order to demonstrate that Lagaan is not a run-of-the-mill Hindi film, it is still presented as the product of formulaic mass production, since Milmo calls the film ‘the latest heroic Hindi yarn to reach these shores from the prolific studios of Bombay’ (2001). The expression ‘heroic Hindi yarn’, besides referring to the relatively meandering nature of the film’s narrative, also characterizes the productions of the Hindi film industry as larger-than-life and possibly as containing elements of the fairy-tale or epic romance, which in turn connotes a deficit in realism and historical veracity. Echoing elements from the other texts, Bradshaw characterizes Lagaan as ‘a lavish epic, a gorgeous love story, and a rollicking adventure yarn’ and calls it ‘outrageously enjoyable’ (2001). He, too, emphasizes the larger-than-life qualities of the film that apply both to its visuals (‘lavish’) and its dramaturgy (‘epic’). He also underlines Lagaan’s storytelling peculiarities (mixing of genres, ‘rich musical dance numbers’). Despite all of Bradshaw’s protestations about how enjoyable Lagaan is and despite his recommendation ‘Go and see it’, however, some doubts about the wholesomeness of so much entertainment value and viewing pleasure seem to be lurking in the review. At least there are hints at such doubts in the modification of the adjective ‘enjoyable’ by the adverb ‘outrageously’ in the quotation above, which seems to characterize watching Lagaan as a somewhat guilty pleasure because the visceral impact of the ‘gorgeous love story’ and ‘rollicking adventure’ clearly takes precedence over intellectual reflection. That Bradshaw feels compelled to state that Lagaan is ‘virile, muscular storytelling’ also hints at a feeling of discomfort at liking the film, as the gendered expression implies that the reviewer needs to assert his alignment with the energy, rigour and artistic originality of the film rather than with its (implicitly feminine) heightened emotionality and escapist entertainment value. Bradshaw’s reference to Lagaan’s ‘virile, muscular storytelling’ is a perfect example of a strategy that shows how a reviewer is trying to come to grips with the strangeness of a film (and to make it familiar both to himself and his readers), although he fails to understand it. Ultimately, the phrase is the result of applying genre categories from Western film criticism to a work from a cinematic tradition with a different genre system. By framing Lagaan in terms of the Hollywood melodrama and musical, Bradshaw in a sense translates the film into a Western film idiom. Yet by doing so he also ascribes the connotations

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and implicit evaluations that come with these genres onto Lagaan, that is, a lack of realism and a tendency towards escapism (musical), the dominance of heart over brain, excessive sentimentality, formulaic plotting and a predominantly female spectatorship (melodrama). The reviewer obviously realized, however, that this did not reflect his own viewing experience of Lagaan, hence the film’s characterization as ‘masculine’. What all the articles, and especially Bradshaw’s review, underline is their authors’ efforts to convey the strangeness or difference of Lagaan and K3G while making them accessible to a readership unfamiliar with Hindi cinema. The resulting image of Bollywood stresses the films’ entertainment value, musical nature, heightened emotionality, formulaic storytelling, melodramatic tendencies, lack of realism, ample scope and general larger-than-life quality. Slightly later than the articles just discussed, Philip Hensher reflected on the proper attitude towards Hindi films in an article entitled ‘Bollywood is one of India’s greatest pleasures’. Published in The Independent in June 2002 (i.e. right before the Indian summer), it basically swarms with moments of transdifference. The texts’ explicit message is that Bollywood films are an art form that commands respect. Yet this is repeatedly undermined by stylistic elements in Hensher’s writing that imply the opposite. After a short outlook at the Bollywood-related events of the upcoming summer, which serves as the introduction to his article, Hensher outlines his own position in relation to Bollywood. He acknowledges the artistic inferiority of Bollywood to Indian art cinema and explains that the image of Indian cinema in the West is completely lopsided. His point of view is that of a Westerner who has spent some time in India and has a competent knowledge of various branches of Indian cinema and who therefore understands why ‘Indian friends get extremely cross when Europeans go on about how marvellous Bollywood movies are’. Yet he also characterizes himself as ‘being completely mad about the Bombay cinema’, and it is from this position as a well-informed European fan of Hindi films that he undertakes a defence of Bollywood films against Western patronizing and misreadings. Hensher’s praise of the pleasures of Bollywood is double-edged, however. Because of his fannish commitment to the form it can impress a more detached reader as overly enthusiastic and therefore suspicious. The repeated use of the words ‘wonderful’ and ‘wonderfully’ in relation to Indian mainstream films underlines his bias. The metonymic presentation of the films he loves as something that ‘has seven song-and-dance numbers, lasts the whole afternoon

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and stars the wonderful Hrithik Roshan taking his shirt off ’ is obviously joking but nevertheless results in a stereotypical reduction of Bollywood cinema to some of its most striking features – length, song and dance and (eroticized) star spectacle. To be fair, Hensher extends his notion of Bollywood beyond the films proper to include the whole film-going experience in India in his fannish yearning. However, by raving about ‘the huge, peanut-throwing enjoyment of an afternoon at the flicks in Calcutta’ and claiming nostalgically that the ‘endless interviews with one impossibly glamorous star after another’ in Indian film magazines make him feel like being ‘transported back to the early days of Hollywood’, Hensher effectively supports the stereotype of Bollywood as strange, exotic, deviant from Western norms of civilization (peanut throwing) and as old-fashioned or backward. He is also quite ready to admit that many of the films he likes are nothing more than ‘a piece of froth’. By means of a comparison Hensher explains to his British readers quite how offensive most educated Indians find it when Westerners praise Indian cinema on the basis of such films: ‘It would be rather like being told by a foreigner that his great love for English film-making rested on that great classic, Carry On Camping.’ Comparisons like this (Carry On films, old Hollywood magazines) can render Bollywood relatable for readers unfamiliar with it. This comparative approach becomes even more pervasive in the second half of the article, which attempts a more distanced explanation of the basic structure of Bollywood films. Hensher contends that while a Western viewer might consider the plots and characters in Bollywood films ‘naïve’, ‘unsubtle’, ‘completely conventional’ or even ‘absurd’, the films are nonetheless ‘original and inventive’ in other fields. Hensher adopts the role of a cultural mediator who is able to assume the point of view of both an Indian and a (presumably uninitiated) Western Bollywood spectator to explain the different points of emphasis in Hollywood and Bollywood films. Basically, he suggests that if his readers want to understand and appreciate a Bollywood film like Lagaan correctly, they need to reverse their priorities, as the artistic value ‘is all in the incidentals; the dance, the song, the imagery, and the heart-soaring score by A.R. Rahman. Except that, of course, from an Indian viewpoint, they are not incidentals at all; they are the fundamentals’. On a purely logical level, this argumentation is sound, and Hensher seems to provide his readers with a simple recipe for dealing with Bollywood’s difference: they merely have to reverse their critical priorities. However, because of Hensher’s jovial, sometimes even flippant style – especially

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in those parts illustrating his enthusiasm for Hindi films – his position is undermined. How he writes about himself in relation to Bollywood further implies that he is somewhat cagey about his own position. On the one hand, in the first half of the article there is no doubt about his fannish enthusiasm, as he uses the first person singular in his almost-confession of love for Bollywood. On the other hand, he switches to a more indirect way of expressing his viewpoint in the second, more analytical half of the article, writing that ‘there is definitely a place for the Bollywood spectacular, and I think one’s taste for them is not entirely a camp taste, or a patronising one’. The switch from ‘I’ to the more formal (and impersonal) ‘one’ introduces a hint of stiltedness into the sentence that suggests unease and even insecurity. For despite Hensher’s constant assertions that one must not patronize Bollywood films, is not the existence of his text proof of the assumption that it takes an outsider to defend them because they clearly do not (manage to) do so on their own? Hensher tries to come to grips with Bollywood’s difference by means of both head and heart in this article and also offers both approaches to his readers. Yet despite his double approximation to the form, he remains firmly positioned in the Western camp, which in the last sentence of the article is constructed as the ‘us’ to which Bollywood is the ‘it’ (‘This is not a film, or an industry, we are in any position to patronise’; my emphasis). Because of this basic asymmetrical constellation in which Bollywood is the Other, while Western film is the implicit norm behind the argumentation, Hensher’s earlier presentation of Hindi films can ultimately support a notion that Bollywood is (in several, if not in all respects) naïve and unsophisticated. Like Bradshaw’s reference to Lagaan’s ‘virile, muscular storytelling’, Hensher’s binary of ‘us’ and ‘it’, together with his joking style and his lapse from ‘I’ to ‘one’, opens up a room of ambiguity that expresses the oscillation of difference in his relation to Bollywood and to his own position as cultural mediator. With the exception of Hensher’s text the reviews and articles analysed so far mostly only describe the films and their stories and do not refer to the classic evaluative categories of film reviewing. For example, Bradshaw fits in the information that the acting in Lagaan ‘is a bit broad-brush, especially for the British chaps’ (2001), but there is no word about the quality of the camera work, editing, production or costume design, music, etc. Because of the authors’ relative outsider status and limited specialist knowledge (and possibly their expectation of uninformed readers), one is quite lucky if one learns the names of the main actors and/or the director from these articles.

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Naman Ramachandran’s review of K3G in Sight & Sound (2002), in contrast, and the reviews of Lagaan and K3G on bbc.co.uk follow a different approach. Most importantly, they do not explain Hindi films as an artistic form or attempt to somehow translate the workings of the Hindi film industry. Moreover, they usually do not contextualize the films by references to Western types of filmmaking but in relation to phenomena, artists and films from the Indian film industry itself. The texts’ implied reader is familiar with both Bollywood and Hollywood films. In contrast to the articles mentioned so far, these reviews therefore refer to the names of, for example, actors, directors, musicians and choreographers as naturally as a critic like Bradshaw would in a text about a film from Hollywood or Europe. In the case of less sophisticated reviews on bbc.co.uk, writers sometimes even refer to actors by their first names (and also to a character by the name of its actor). Some reviews on this web site also contain information as to whether the films will be suitable for family viewing. All this indicates that the reviewers presuppose that their readers do not need a basic introduction to the form of Hindi films. Instead they expect them to be familiar with and probably to have affection for Indian films and their stars. These reviews are written by and for relative insiders. In his review of K3G in Sight & Sound, for example, Ramachandran8 discusses the jingoism and female characters in K3G in relation to Karan Johar’s earlier film Kuch Kuch Hota Hai (Some Things Happen, 1998) and the production trend of ‘a line of films that have an eye on the Non Resident Indian (NRI) audience’ (2002). He also points out that K3G borrows from plots of other recent box office successes and evaluates the actors’ performances in comparison to their work on other films. Ramachandran obviously knows the film’s stars and has an overview of the recent developments in Hindi films. In contrast to Kennedy, Milmo and Bradshaw, who are busy trying to provide a general picture of the films they write about, these reviewers also take the time to systematically pass judgement on the contributions of individual departments. Singh (2001) evaluates the camera work, production design, choreography and acting in Lagaan to substantiate his claim that the film is ‘anything but standard Bollywood fodder’. Ramachandran (2002) writes about the actors, director, music and production design of K3G, and the anonymous reviewer of the same film on bbc.co.uk (2002) comments on the actors’ performances, the music, song picturizations and production design. Besides a plot summary, the greater part of these reviews is usually reserved for the stars’ performances. They usually also contain at least one paragraph about the

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film music (see e.g. Sawhney 1999; Ramachandran 2002) in contrast to the very unspecific references to film music by non-specialist Bollywood reviewers. Yet another difference lies in the reviewers’ attitude towards the films’ alleged deficit in realism. It has been pointed out earlier that the characterization of Lagaan or K3G as larger-than-life yarns constructs the films as fairy tale-like, exuberant and unrealistic stories, albeit with high entertainment value. The BBC reviewers of K3G and Lagaan acknowledge the stylized and even fantasy nature of the films, but this does not mean that for them the films are unrealistic. Kuljinder Singh (2001) perceives a kind of realism in Lagaan, for example, when he claims that the film ‘captures the beauty and simplicity of rural life in India at the turn of the century’, and the anonymous reviewer of K3G on bbc.co.uk insists on the film’s emotional authenticity. The image of Bollywood films emerging from these texts is therefore more detailed and informed and slightly more nuanced than in the texts by Bradshaw, Kennedy and Milmo, even though – with the exception of the articles in Sight & Sound – it is not necessarily more sophisticated or reflected. Their main difference from the first group of texts is that they do not treat Hindi films as culturally alien and that they expect their readers to be familiar with the stars and structural features of Hindi films. The key inclusive strategy for establishing this pact between author, subject and reader is the knowing reference to artists’ and especially actors’ names.

Phase two: Fossilization of the Bollywood stereotype and the persistence of two camps In Bollywood articles in non-Asian media after the early 2000s one can observe two developments that would continue well into the second half of the decade. One, the Bollywood stereotype established by non-specialists reviewers fossilized, even though texts about Bollywood by non-specialist writers were now often less about Bollywood in general and more about individual films. This also meant that their stance became less openly explanatory. Secondly, the articles continued falling into two major camps depending on their implied readership, which can be deduced from the degree of Bollywood knowledge they require. The first phenomenon can be illustrated very clearly by a comparison between the reviews of Lagaan from 2001 and those of The Rising (= Mangal Pandey),

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another historical film starring Aamir Khan, from 2005. As a historical film – one might even call it a heritage film – about the Indian sepoy mutiny in 1857 (or, from an Indian point of view, the First War of Independence), The Rising had more than average cross-over potential and was reviewed by a relatively large number of film critics in non-Asian publications. Similar to the articles by nonspecialists from the early 2000s, there is still no systematic critique of the film’s craftsmanship in these reviews. Instead, the reviewers are content to outline the key elements of the story, commenting on the lead actors’ performances and the musical scenes and pointing out the topicality of the film’s implicit comments about globalization. Yet there is a striking novelty: the reviewers have largely given up their openly explanatory stance. As in the earlier reviews, the authors use the term ‘Bollywood’ to trigger specific associations, but since most of them still go on to put these associations into words, one can assume that they do not expect all their readers to know the key features of Hindi films. These passages are particularly interesting. They reveal which features the critics consider the prime features of Bollywood. The resulting reduced version has become a sort of shorthand. Bradshaw (2005), for example, claims that in The Rising history is ‘given the full Bollywood treatment in a brash musical epic, shaped around a romanticized myth of star-crossed friends’. Geoffrey Macnab (2005), in a review article that also discusses the historical veracity of the film, calls it ‘a historical epic with all the Bollywood trimmings’ and describes the spectacular battle scenes and song-and-dance sequences. The terms ‘treatment’ and ‘trimmings’ in the reviews by Bradshaw and Macnab are particularly interesting because they implicitly characterize the handling of history in Mangal Pandey as a deformation. The term ‘trimming’ moreover conveys excess. Steve O’Hagan in Empire (2005) is appreciative of the film yet warns his readers that ‘despite its crossover scope, this is still a Bollywood production. And while comparatively light on musical interludes, the cast still have a habit of launching into the odd song-and-dance number, which to those not familiar with the genre can bring a jarring aura of music hall’. Punning on the theme of the film – Muslim and Hindu soldiers resist the introduction of cartridges creased with cow and pig fat, which they would have to put into their mouths – O’Hagan warns the readers that they will have ‘to bite the Bollywood bullet’ (2005). Apparently, this might be lethal for their enjoyment; the image certainly does not suggest a very pleasurable experience. Generally, the critics’ characterization of the film repeats many of the elements that were already

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present in the Lagaan reviews. The Rising is called ‘a thumping yarn’ (O’Hagan 2005) and is said to provide ‘[a]ll manner of entertainment’ (Bradshaw 2005) and a ‘riproaring narrative’ (Macnab 2005). The image of Bollywood films conveyed by these statements consists of several stock elements: song and dance, spectacle, epic scope, romance, strong emotional investment and stories dealing in myth and archetype and combining scenes of very different moods in a way that is unusual in Western films. The texts further imply that Bollywood is an established presence in British cinemas (and beyond), but that it still takes a leap of faith from the spectators because it is so different. This in turn underlines the critics’ Eurocentric point of view and suggests that they are writing for readers who are not overly familiar with Hindi cinema. Their Western bias is also still manifest in the application of Western analytical categories, resulting in cultural misreadings. Macnab (2005), for example, calls The Rising a musical and worries that the musical scenes in the film are too upbeat for the dark subject matter. In a similar vein, Bradshaw (2005) questions ‘the taste of having a hanging scene choreographed quite so lavishly’. Once again, the associations of the Hollywood musical and the expectations concerning the atmospheric quality of film music in Hollywood films are inappropriately transposed onto a Hindi film. The critics still evaluate the song-and-dance sequences in terms of the functions and conventions of musical elements in Hollywood and consequently consider the result in The Rising ‘jarring’ (O’Hagan 2005) or of questionable taste (Bradshaw 2005; Macnab 2005). The reviews of Hindi films in national newspapers clearly show that in the course of the decade the formerly non-specialist reviewers gradually became more familiar with the conventions of Hindi films and Bollywood film-makers. As we have seen, by 2005 they knew to expect musical numbers and abrupt changes of tone. It was also already more common to find the names of actors, directors or composers in the review than at the beginning of the decade. By the time of Salaam-E-Ishq (A Tribute to Love) and Namastey London, both released in 2007, this trend had progressed even further. However, while the critics now seemed to be technically more knowledgeable, they still viewed Hindi films as someone whose habits of film-watching had been shaped by Western film-making. In fact, in many reviews they never give up their outsider’s perspective and established grid of evaluation. Wendy Ide in The Times (2007), for example, is able to identify a running gag about director Karan Johar in Salaam-E-Ishq

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yet still characterizes the film as ‘Hindi cinema at its showiest’ and somewhat condescendingly judges its dance sequences as ‘suitably vigorous’. In a review of the same film in The Guardian, critic Steve Rose (2007) bandies about actors’ names yet is surprised that one of the film’s song-and-dance numbers ‘bizarrely’ switches between Trafalgar Square and Oxford and that Salman Khan ‘has the sex appeal and dress sense of Jean-Claude Van Damme’. Anybody who has seen some Bollywood films should be surprised by neither and would not feel compelled to comment on these points unless they presupposed an uninformed readership. There are some surface gestures signalling that the reviewers (and the papers they write for) acknowledge that Bollywood is an art form deserving serious reporting and that the reviewers have therefore informed themselves about the films. Yet neither Ide nor Rose ever abandons or modifies the evaluative critical grid they have developed on the basis of Western films. The difference between ‘outsider’ reviewers such as Ide, Rose, Bradshaw or Macnab on the one hand, and ‘insider’ reviewers like Anil Sinanan (Bollywood critic for The Times and Time Out) on the other, can result in almost diametrically opposed judgements. In the case of Cheeni Kum (Less Sugar, 2007), for example, Peter Whittle (2007), who reviewed the film for The Sunday Times, Phelim O’Neill (2007a) in The Guardian and Anthony Quinn in The Independent (2007) uniformly slammed the film, while Anil Sinanan on Times Online (2007a) and Poonam Joshi on bbc.co.uk (2007) both found good things to say about it. Sinanan praises the film because he is able to recognize its innovatory potential in relation to Bollywood and Indian cinema. Sinanan (2007a) appreciates, for example, that although ‘[a]ge disparity in relationships has been the theme of many Hollywood movies … this is the first major Bollywood film to address the subject. Male actors over 60 in Bollywood films tend to play the asexual caring patriarch of the extended family. [Amitabh] Bachchan breaks this mould’. He also welcomes how director Balki manges ‘to question the respect some Indians have for the Gandhian practice of “Satyagraha” or the achievement of one’s goal via self suffering’. Sinanan by no means embraces all elements of the films. He finds several, including an entire plot strand, ‘unsubtle’. In his opinion, however, these weaknesses are balanced by the film’s original subject matter and by what he considers its dignified presentation by ‘deadpan humour’. The most striking differences of opinion between Whittle, Quinn and O’Neill on the one hand and Sinanan and Poonam Joshi on the other concern the quality of the film’s script, the performance of its male star Amitabh Bachchan and the

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film’s humour. For the non-Asian critics the story is the paramount evaluation criterion, and they react very harshly to any illogical or inconsistent elements in Cheeni Kum’s various plot strands. The Asian reviewers, in contrast, are more willing to look beyond plot inconsistencies in order to appreciate other factors like the star actors or humour, presumably because they are familiar with the actors’ work and star images and better understand the (cultural) conventions that the film challenges and uses as a comic foil. Where Whittle (2007) disparagingly opines that ‘With his silly 1980s hairdo and leisurewear, the Indian superstar Amitabh Bachchan is definitely old, but, unfortunately, decrepit old rather than Sean Connery old’, Poonam Joshi (2007) hence admiringly (and somewhat starstruck) states that ‘Amitabh excels in every scene.’ Where Joshi (2007) sees ‘a gem of a script’ and Sinanan (2007a) appreciates the film’s innovatory theme, O’Neill (2007a) complains that the ‘story tends to veer away from potentially interesting points’. And whereas Quinn (2007) considers the film ‘tormentingly witless’ and complains of ‘leaden dialogue’,9 Sinanan (2007a) enjoys the ‘deadpan humour’ in the film and Poonam Joshi (2007) appreciates the boldness of the dialogues’ double entendres.10 While reviews like Joshi’s can appear a little overenthusiastic to a critical reader because she does not really back up her praise by a detailed analysis, reviews like the ones by Whittle or Quinn raise even more questions. Because of their almost exclusive concern with aspects of story and plot, they disregard other pleasures the film might provide through, for example, its music, stars or cinematography. These reviewers seem to approach the film with almost total disregard for its artistic background and unconditionally impose their temporal and cultural situatedness on a foreign film and art form. One can safely assume that the points of criticism or praise singled out by all reviewers reflect their assumptions about how their readers will approach the reviewed movie. Critics like Sinanan are aware that traditional Bollywood audiences appreciate many elements beyond plot and story and enjoy in particular the movies’ auratic qualities. Critics like Whittle and O’Neill, however, mostly neglect this and instead approach Bollywood films as they would niche art house films, that is, with a focus on story and rather fixed expectations of probability or realism. While earlier Bollywood reviews by non-specialists often made concessions to the films on the basis of their difference, this tendency to hold back had therefore all but disappeared by 2007. In the reviews examined here Bollywood no longer had an alterity bonus based on the reviewer’s unfamiliarity with the

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form or its cultural difference. The novelty factor and exoticism had worn off, and the judgements had become harsher, as the critics judged the films on their (Hollywoodian) terms, most importantly their expectations of realism and plot logic. Most of the basic textual manifestations of transdifference already present in the non-specialist reviews of the early 2000s, such as comparisons with Western film-making, were still there. Yet the oscillation of difference now occurred increasingly between, on the one hand, the established presence of Hindi films in the review columns of non-Asian newspapers and the reviewers’ surface gestures at inclusion, and, on the other hand, the reviewers’ insistence on a Hollywood-oriented grid of evaluation that made no allowance for the films’ Indian production context. Critics with South Asian cultural backgrounds do of course also write from a specific cultural position that manifests itself implicitly and/or explicitly in their texts. In Anil Sinanan’s negative review of Namastey London (2007b), for example, which was just as damning as those by most other critics (see Ramachandran 2007a; French 2007; O’Neill 2007b), the author deliberately positioned himself as a British Asian, claiming that the film’s stereotypical depiction of Asians in London was ‘unreflective of our daily lives’ (my emphasis). Yet in contrast to critics like Whittle and Quinn, who practically insist on their outsider position, this does not result in a similarly insular stance, due to Sinanan’s cross-over position as a British Asian film critic who is familiar with both Bollywood and Hollywood. Sinanan’s reviews are not only interesting because of this in-between position or ‘cross-over knowledge’ (Banaji 2010), however. They also illustrate perfectly the continuing niche status of Hindi films in British cinemas, because depending on the presumed cross-over appeal of the respective film, they make different allowances for readers who know nothing or only a little about Bollywood. Whether these differences are due to editorial interference or Sinanan’s own decision is quite irrelevant. The important fact is their existence. Thus some of Sinanan’s reviews appear completely neutral concerning their implied readership, for example those of Love Aaj Kal (Love Nowadays, 2009) and Delhi-6 (2009) in Time Out (Sinanan 2009a, 2009b respectively). These texts contain no elements requiring previous knowledge of Hindi films, nor do they explain Bollywood. If a Hindi film has a (comparatively) wide release or transcends the formulas of romance, gangster story or action film and has assumably at least some crossover appeal, the review generally includes explanatory gestures towards readers who know little about Hindi films. Otherwise these gestures remain minimal.

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There are many examples of this strategy. In his review of Salaam-E-Ishq for Times Online (2007c), for instance, Sinanan explains that, like many others, the film is partly set in London to cater to the lucrative NRI market, and he warns that there are ‘numerous bolly in-jokes, references to classic Hindi chartbusters, which non-fans will not understand’. Sinanan’s review of My Name is Khan, too, demonstrates more awareness of non-traditional spectators than some of his other texts, as it explains that Karan Johar is ‘Bollywood’s biggest director’ and warns that the songs in the film are ‘frustratingly not subtitled’ (Sinanan 2010). In the review of Jodhaa Akbar (2008) on Times Online, a historical film with consequently heightened cross-over potential, Sinanan compares it to ‘a Cecil B DeMille entertainer’ to provide a basic impression of the movie’s elaborate production design and scope. The text explains the resonance of the film’s message for modern India and moreover caters to non-Asian readers by translating Indian terms: ‘Jodhaa insists on maintaining her religion, cooking vegetarian dishes for her man and singing bhajans (Hindu devotional songs) in her specially constructed bedroom mandir (temple)’ (Sinanan 2008a). Similarly, Sinanan’s Om Shanti Om review (2007) on Times Online nods to Bollywood beginners, as he explains that the film is a humorous homage to all things Bollywood and is stuffed with numerous laugh out loud in-jokes which may get lost on viewers not familiar with the massala [sic] formula. But there is still enough savvy to engage newcomers with knowing references to Singing [sic] in the Rain, Phantom of the Opera and Gone with the Wind. (Sinanan 2007d)

Sinanan also indirectly acknowledges that by 2007 Shilpa Shetty had become the most famous face of Hindi films in Britain, as he singles her out for mention among the film’s many cameo appearances. Not only does he not explain the ‘massala formula’, however, he also writes quite explicitly for readers with at least a basic smattering of Bollywood knowledge when he calls the film’s star Shahrukh Khan ‘his usual hammy self ’ (2007d). Most importantly, he adopts an attitude that is diametrically opposed to the plot-and-story fixation so pervasive among non-Asian reviewers: he openly admits that the story of Om Shanti Om is ‘preposterous’ and defies all logic but claims that this does not detract from the film in any way because of the other pleasures ‘this shamelessly shallow but wonderfully entertaining film’ offers (Sinanan 2007d). Celebrating the viewing pleasures of Hindi films despite their weaknesses is an attitude that Sinanan also adopted in his reviews of Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi

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(A Match Made in Heaven, 2008) and 3 Idiots (2009) for Time Out. Neither of them made any concessions to uninitiated Bollywood spectators. On the contrary, the text on Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi is full of insider references. It opens with the information that the ‘ “King Khan” is back’ (a reference to a nickname bestowed on the lead actor, Shahrukh Khan) and ends with an enthusiastic ‘Welcome back Raj!’ (an allusion to the type of romantic characters Khan specializes in and that especially in his earlier films were often called Rahul or Raj) (Sinanan 2008b). The review of 3 Idiots (Sinanan 2009c) even states openly who its intended readership is, as Sinanan announces: ‘Discerning Bollywood fans are in for a treat.’ So both reviews are for advanced Hindi film spectators, and these, it seems, are expected to put their priorities differently from inexperienced (re)viewers who get bogged down by plot holes. Hence in the 3 Idiots review Sinanan acknowledges that the film is ‘overlong’ and its premise clichéd. Nonetheless he considers 3 Idiots a treat because it is quirky and well acted. A similar rhetorical strategy of seeming contradictions runs through the entire Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi review: Khan’s acting is characterized as ‘hammy antics’, yet Sinanan claims that ‘he never fails to amuse’; Khan’s character makeover ‘is unconvincing but comic and camp’; Sinanan calls the film as a whole ‘[s]illy, lightweight, overlong and unoriginal’ yet also welcomes this ‘shameless romantic entertainment’ (Sinanan 2008b). In all cases, harsh points of criticism are mitigated by other factors, weaknesses accepted and overruled by greater pleasures. The parts of the film appear more important than the whole. This is only possible because Sinanan does not put plot and story first but locates the enjoyable aspects of Bollywood exactly in the qualities of campness, quirkiness and unmitigated romanticism. What he celebrates as the most appealing qualities of the films plays once more into the Bollywood stereotype: a frothy, exuberant over-the-top quality. Where other critics present this as something strange or different, however, in Sinanan’s reviews these qualities seem completely naturalized as they are elements he recognizes emotionally and welcomes back, not something he newly discovers (like the early non-Asian reviewers) or recognizes intellectually (like the nonAsian reviewers in the second phase). At the same time there is no denying that this attitude also supports an image of Bollywood films as webs of pleasant surface effects with little or no substance at their core. Sinanan’s attitude of tolerating plot holes or inconsistencies as long as the films are entertaining or enjoyable for other reasons persists in more recent reviews. Happy New Year (2014a) is characterized as ‘enjoyable nonsense’ (Sinanan 2014a); the plot in PK (2014b) is ‘preposterous’ and ‘demands some suspension

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of disbelief, but the execution is always engaging and credible’ (Sinanan 2014b); and in Dhoom 3 (Blast 3, 2013) it is ‘irrelevant that we know where the familiar plot is headed; it’s the roller coaster explosive ride that matters’ (Sinanan 2013a). Several reviews also show, however, that Sinanan has become increasingly critical of what he considers ‘the usual bolly-oddities’ (2013b), ‘bolly-excesses’ (2011) and ‘everything that is reprehensible about mass commercial Hindi cinema’ (Sinanan 2013c), such as inordinate length, unnecessary songs, a tendency to overexplain, miscasting, excessive product placement, unfunny jokes and cheesy dialogue. Whenever a film comes along that tries to be different, Sinanan therefore underlines how the film is ‘pushing the envelope’ (e.g. Sinanan 2011, 2012). His reviews thus reflect that in recent Hindi cinema, the borders between mainstream and middle cinema are becoming increasingly porous.

Phase three: New directions One general tendency of Bollywood reviewing in non-Asian media since roughly 2008 is that it has become sparser. This probably reflects the fact that the audiences of Bollywood films in Britain have not really grown and that there has been hardly any crossover to non-Asians. The dwindling can be seen in Sight & Sound, for example, where after a high point in 2007 the number of Bollywood reviews rapidly decreased and reached a low point in 2013 with only one review in the entire year. The trend can also be observed in non-Asian newspapers. They certainly have not given up Bollywood reporting, but most of it has been moved to the newspapers’ online platforms, and reviews proper have become scarce. Hence Iqbal complained already in 2010 that even an Indian blockbuster like Om Shanti Om from 2007 was largely overlooked in the mainstream Western press or ‘described with typically condescending cliches where it wasn’t (“camp entertainer”, or “colourful vibrance” if you’re feeling particularly cheesy)’. We can therefore interpret it as a sign of a new phase in the reporting on Bollywood that an article like Leo Mirani’s on changes to the alleged Bollywood formula (2010) made it into the paper version of The Guardian. Along with several other articles it shows that the (especially) thematic changes in the output of the Hindi film industry, which had already become manifest around 2006, were finally registered by the British press at the end of the decade. These changes concerned the treatment of sexual relations in Hindi films, for example, which had gradually become more daring. The trend

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started with glossy productions like Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna (Never Say GoodBye, 2006), which tackled the theme of adultery, and Dostana (Friendship, 2008), a comedy playing with the subject of male homosexuality. It has led to a situation where more and more films have couples in premarital sexual relationships, such as Love Aaj Kal, Band Baaja Baaraat (Wedding Planners, 2010), Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara (You Won’t Get Another Life, 2011), PK and even Yash Chopra’s Jab Tak Hai Jaan (As Long As I Live, 2012). Rang De Basanti (Colour It Saffron, 2006) was the starting point for a production trend of films that explicitly discuss the criminal structures within Indian politics, along with other works like Sarkar (Overlord, 2005), Sarkar Raj (Reign of the Overlord, 2008) and Raajneeti (Politics, 2010). Other films drew attention to neglected issues, such as Taare Zameen Par (Stars on Earth, 2007; about dyslexia), Peepli Live (2010; about farmer suicides) and Aarakshan (Reservation, 2011; about caste quota systems). A further development was the production of films with a high degree of self-reflexivity. Movies like Om Shanti Om, Luck By Chance (2009) and I Hate Luv Stories (2010) were set in the film industry and reflected on its mechanisms and prevalent storytelling conventions. Others, like Dabangg (Fearless, 2010), Tashan (Style, 2008) and Singham (2011), playfully exaggerated the conventions of 1970s and 1980s Hindi films. There has also been an important trend of remaking both older Hindi films and films from the South Indian film industries (a practice that really kicked off with Ghajini in 2008). A recent production trend of biopics and more literary adaptations further reflects the new demands on original content and stories created by the approximation of mainstream and middle cinema. The reviews of Hindi films in Sight & Sound, even though they are not particularly numerous, had always reflected these changes and continually placed and evaluated new films in the context of current trends in Hindi cinema. By 2010 these changes finally also seeped into the reporting on Bollywood in the British newspaper press, resulting in articles and reviews that called for revisions of the Bollywood image that had been established in the early 2000s. This old image was now the background against which writers could position their descriptions of the new developments, as in Mirani (2010): When Indian cinema was repackaged as ‘Bollywood’ some time in the 1990s, the word became shorthand for film-making that mixed high drama, slapstick comedy, family values, ill-concealed sexuality and dozens of elaborate song-anddance sequences into a nifty three-hour package. The appeal of these movies baffled some, seduced others and amused many.

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One of this summer’s biggest Bollywood hits, Dabangg, would appear to fall squarely into that stereotype, but with one important addition: it seems Bollywood has discovered irony. Dabangg is a pure pastiche of classic 1980s Bollywood, with OTT dialogue, outrageous fight scenes, chaste romance, rural politics and thumping songs.

Mirani puts a reduced version of an already highly reduced image of Bollywood at the very start of his article. It is overcome in the course of his text because Mirani represents the changes Indian mainstream films have been undergoing (the main strands of which he identifies as ‘nudge-nudge-wink-wink cheesiness’, experimental multiplex movies and ‘[t]ributes to and remakes of 1970s and 1980s films’). As we already saw in Chapter 4, Bollywood is often presented as a phenomenon that belongs fully in the present but is nonetheless oldfashioned in relation to Hollywood for providing pleasures associated with studio-era classic Hollywood. Mirani, in contrast, seems in turn to suggest that this notion of Bollywood emerged because Western reporters and reviewers lagged behind the times and were not up to date with what was really going on in the Hindi film industry. He writes: ‘Just as the stereotype of Bollywood’s multi-genre chaos was taking hold in the west in the early 2000s, Indian cinema began to take risks, experimenting with shorter movies, songless films and single-genre features aimed at a more sophisticated urban audience’ (Mirani 2010). He backs up his argument with references to and quotations from experts like Mayank Shakhar, film critic and national culture editor at the Hindustan Times, to provide Indian insider perspectives on the phenomenon. In a 2011 article in The Guardian about a trend in Hindi films towards socially relevant topics like poverty, corruption and the caste system, Nirpal Dhaliwal shows less willingness to dispense with the notion of a ‘Bollywood formula’ than Mirani (Dhaliwal 2011). Although his article is primarily an attempt to find reasons for this new trend and sketch out the forms of opposition the respective films had to face, Dhaliwal stresses that the films in question are all made ‘within the conventional Bollywood model – songs, dance, romance, comedy and action all rolled into one’. It is striking, however, that all the elements he mentions refer to structure and genre rather than other qualities formerly associated with Bollywood, such as heightened emotionality or being over the top. Although he maintains the notion of a Bollywood formula, it has therefore been reduced to a merely structural level.

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Another significant change from earlier reviews lies in the fact that like Mirani (2010), Dhaliwal’s piece is only concerned with the Indian reception and production context of the film trend he writes about. Moreover, as in Mirani’s case, the specialists he quotes are Indian and from the Hindi film industry, thus providing a double insider perspective onto the phenomenon. Hindi films are thus still perceived as quintessentially Indian in these articles yet no longer in terms of their possible international appeal or as ogling diasporic spectators. The articles are not concerned with the possible reception of Hindi films in a British or generally overseas market. Instead, the authors locate them in the context of the growing influence and financial power of the new middle classes in India, which has opened up an increasingly lucrative domestic market for Indian filmmakers that is interested in specifically Indian themes. Whereas the reviews of Hindi films in Sight & Sound had always treated them primarily as Indian films and in the context of other Indian films, this view was new in British newspaper reports around 2010. How this change should be interpreted is by no means clear. Is this type of reporting addressed to readers with greater knowledge of Hindi films than older articles, which used to be conceived with an uninitiated Western readership and the niche character of Hindi films in Britain in mind? Or does the emphasis on the films’ Indianness in these articles reflect that Indian cinema has not crossed over and is still perceived as different and ‘over there’, that is, as belonging to a different culture and part of the world that should be approached from an anthropological perspective of dissection rather than in a spirit of affective engagement? The mere fact that both answers are possible underlines the oscillations of transdifference in these articles, as they insist on Bollywood’s Indianness while adopting an openly explanatory stance. They share this stance with the non-specialist reports and reviews of Bollywood films from the early 2000s. There is a key difference, however: these articles no longer demonstrate any inclusivist impetus to acknowledge Bollywood as a part of British culture. Instead, the texts cement Bollywood’s Indianness and, thus in a British context, its otherness. The most likely explanation for this development is that the growing diversification of Hindi cinema undercut the Western notions of Bollywood that had developed in the early 2000s. The fact that Bollywood reviews and reporting in non-Asian British media have become comparatively sparser since then as well suggests that with notable exceptions like Sinanan and Ramachandran most reviewers have failed to adjust to these changes. From the point of view of transdifference this would imply that with these critics there is no longer any moment of oscillation, only difference.

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Overall, the textual analyses in this and the previous two chapters have shown that in texts directed at readers or spectators who know little or nothing about Bollywood the way in which the films are represented is marked by the oscillation of difference that Breinig and Lösch have described as the key hallmark of transdifference. Textual features that create a simultaneous approximation and distancing from their subject by seeming to erode but indirectly reaffirming alterity or alienity also mark the representation of the Hindi film industry, of India and/or of British Asians. By implying an Asian exclusivity of Bollywood even a text like Omar’s Insider’s Guide to Bollywood further confirms the connotations of difference ascribed to Bollywood in relation to the British majority culture. The Bollywood stereotype that developed in the early 2000s outside the Asian niche and then became fossilized in the course of the decade was only modified around 2010, when comparatively few critics and commentators in Britain began to react, with a delay of several years, to changes in Hindi cinema and the realities of film production in India. In the course of this and the previous two chapters, transdifference emerged as a useful theoretical concept and methodological tool for analysing the representational strategies dominating the discursive complex relating to Bollywood in Britain. The following chapter, in contrast, will suggest yet another theoretical angle to make sense of the British constructions and versions of Bollywood: adaptation.

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While the previous chapters approached Bollywood as a lifestyle brand and as a trigger for negotiations of difference, the present chapter provides a methodological framework for theorizing Bollywood in Britain via concepts of adaptation. The chapter relies on a concept of adaptation that deliberately goes beyond traditional methods of comparing ‘original’ and ‘adapted’ texts. It starts with an introduction outlining the most important recent developments of the concept of adaptation in the field of Adaptation Studies, which is then used to propose a rhizomatic model of adaptation in order to describe the long-term process of the reception of Bollywood in Britain. This model is complemented by an investigation of adaptation processes in specific texts including what one can tentatively call ‘Bollywood novels’ as well as several Bollywood stage productions with structural, aesthetic and/or thematic references to Hindi cinema.1 The chapter therefore examines the adaptational processes shaping Bollywood in Britain on both a macro level and a (textual) micro level. This approach not only makes it possible to analyse in detail precisely which elements and connotations are perceived as essential for Bollywood; it also further illustrates the width of textual genres influenced by Hindi cinema and adds to our understanding of who the implicit addressees of British fictional texts with Bollywood references are.

Concepts of adaptation In her seminal study A Theory of Adaptation (2006), Linda Hutcheon laid particular emphasis on the double meaning of the term ‘adaptation’ as both a process and a product: it denotes a process of repetition with variation that mixes the familiar with the new and results in a palimpsestic text whose recipients may, if they choose to consume this adaptation as an adaptation,

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knowingly experience more than one text simultaneously (Hutcheon 2006: 5–9). There is no longer a clear line in Adaptation Studies, however, on the aspect of the adapted text to which the process of repetition with variation, which is constitutive of adaptation, refers. Conservative definitions understand adaptations as stories transferred from one medium into another. They conceive adaptation as medium change, like the Penguin Dictionary of Literary Terms and Literary Theory, for example, which defines adaptation broadly as ‘the re-casting of a work in one medium to fit another, such as the re-casting of novels and plays as film or television scripts’ (Cuddon 1991: 9). This definition is illustrated by examples including stage, TV and film adaptations of literary texts, which not only reflects that the book is a dictionary of literary terms but also exemplifies the literary orientation that dominated the study of adaptations well until the late twentieth century. More recent studies on adaptations have deliberately attempted to transcend this literary focus and have proposed concepts of adaptation that extend beyond medium change while at the same time eroding the formerly dominant critical paradigm in Adaptation Studies: fidelity criticism. On the one hand, these new concepts of adaptation open up fresh perspectives on the pervasiveness of adaptation processes in Anglo-American culture and beyond. Yet on the other hand, by opening up the field of adaptations, they also create new areas of indeterminacy and raise questions that demand further discussion. In her study Adaptation and Appropriation (2006), Julie Sanders deliberately avoids a definition of the term ‘adaptation’, for example. Instead, she circumscribes the phenomenon by pointing out not what adaptation is, but what it can be or do: Adaptation can be a transpositional practice, casting a specific genre into another generic mode, an act of re-vision in itself. It can parallel editorial practice in some respects, indulging in the exercise of trimming and pruning; yet it can also be an amplificatory procedure engaged in addition, expansion, accretion, and interpolation … Adaptation is frequently involved in offering commentary on a sourcetext. This is achieved most often by offering a revised point of view from the ‘original’, adding hypothetical motivation, or voicing the silenced and marginalized. Yet adaptation can also constitute a simpler attempt to make texts ‘relevant’ or easily comprehensible to new audiences and readerships via the processes of proximation and updating. (Sanders 2006: 18–19)

According to Sanders, several different activities can therefore be classified as adaptational practices, such as genre transposition (which in her book also includes media transposition), trimming, amplification, proximation, updating

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and rewriting a text from a different point of view. These practices may have functions such as revision, commentary on the source text, clarification or providing the source text with relevance. Methodologically this description of adaptation is representative of Sanders’s study as a whole, which, as Leitch has pointed out, raises more questions than it answers (2008: 72–3). However, by asking its questions, it also opens up fields for thought, for example on the political functions of adaptation in the widest sense. Sanders’s concept of adaptation includes a large variety of texts beyond examples of medium change while restricting the field of analysis to texts with definite intertextual references (rather than espousing broader post-structuralist concepts of intertextuality on the lines of Kristeva and Barthes). Hutcheon similarly leaves out the aspect of medium (change) in her definition of adaptation, which lists three constitutive elements. According to Hutcheon, adaptation is • An acknowledged transposition of a recognizable other work or works • A creative and an interpretive act of appropriation/salvaging • An extended intertextual engagement with the adapted work (2006: 8, emphasis in original)

Based on these criteria Hutcheon explicitly excludes allusions and brief echoes of other works as well as musical sampling from the category of adaptation, since for her these do not fulfil the criterion of an ‘extended’ engagement with another text or texts. She also excludes plagiarisms, which are by definition not ‘acknowledged’, as well as sequels and prequels because, according to Hutcheon, there is ‘a difference between never wanting a story to end – the reason behind sequels and prequels … – and wanting to retell the same story over and over in different ways. With adaptations, we seem to desire the repetition as much as the change’ (Hutcheon 2006: 9).2 As this passage shows, Hutcheon’s concept of adaptation is strongly story-oriented, despite eschewing medium change as a defining criterion. Given the breadth of Sanders’s and Hutcheon’s concepts of adaptation, the present study needs to address the question where it should best draw the boundary of the concept of adaptation it uses for examining Bollywood in Britain. Which texts can be classified as British adaptations of Bollywood and which cannot – especially if medium change is no longer part of the basic definition of adaptation? This study suggests that the answer depends on the basic model of long-term adaptation that one chooses to adopt and that this

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model in turn determines the answer to possibly the most important question emerging when one wants to conceptualize the reception of Bollywood in Britain in terms of adaptation. Which source is rewritten? What exactly is the text that is transposed and adapted in the case of Bollywood?

The Bollywood rhizome Where the field of Bollywood adaptations ends, or whether a particular text can or cannot be classified as a Bollywood adaptation, are questions whose answers very much depend on the concepts and models one chooses to adopt both for describing individual texts as well as the long-term reception of Bollywood. A good starting point for this discussion is Sarah Cardwell’s seminal study Adaptation Revisited (2002), where she outlines two widely used concepts of adaptation and the forms of evaluation they seem to trigger. The first is the concept of biological (genetic) adaptation (relating to the perpetuation of species); the second is the concept of cultural adaptation (relating to man-made texts). Both rely on ‘the existence of a source, an origin(al), and both instances of adaptation serve to perpetuate a more or less recognisable collection of certain “original” features’ (Cardwell 2002: 13). In the biological model, adaptation (in the sense of evolution) is interpreted as a movement away from an original, as ‘a linear process of progression, with each new organism in the chain being genetically (causally) linked to its predecessors’ (Cardwell 2002: 13). Linked to evolutionary biology, this model brings with it the assumption that adaptation is a progress towards perfection, that is, greatest fitness in the sense of the best possible adjustment to an environment. The cultural model of adaptation, in contrast, is not one of linear progression but of a centrebased spreading in multiple directions (Cardwell 2002: 14). It is based on the assumption that each adaptation refers back to and thus ultimately serves to uphold the supposed original at the centre of the model – a notion that is also the basis of fidelity criticism. While it is theoretically possible to apply both the biological and the cultural model of adaptation to the reception of Bollywood in Britain, an adaptation model based on the post-structuralist concept of the rhizome by Deleuze and Guattari (1980) would appear to correspond better to the realities of the phenomenon. Though based on a botanical metaphor, it avoids the idea (inherent in the biological model of adaptation outlined above) of a linear development away

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from an original. Instead, it allows that there can be multiple branchings away from the original from the very beginning. Yet the original is always present and constantly informs and is informed by the development of the overall phenomenon. The rhizome expands by an open process of proliferation that contradicts the dualistic categories and binaries forming the basis of the more traditional tree models of genetic or biological adaptation. A rhizomatic model moreover offers the possibility of analysing this development and the changes to the original caused by the adaptations without implying a hierarchical order of source and/over deviations (cultural model) or of origin and ameliorated versions (biological/evolutionary model). Regarding our subject, it accounts for the coexistence, equivalence and mutual interconnectedness of multitudinous forms of Bollywood of diverse ages and stages, thus harmonizing notions of Bollywood as both unique and manifold. Individual texts within this rhizomatic structure may share different kinds of intertextual relationships (cf. e.g. Stam 2005: 27–31; Leitch 2007: 123–6), while always contributing to what Cardwell would call the Bollywood ‘meta-text’ (2002: 14, 25). A rhizomatic model of adaptation accommodates a multiplicity of transitional and adaptational practices as well as the various concepts of Bollywood already outlined in this study, like the notion of Bollywood as a specific type of Hindi cinema originating in the early 1990s; of Bollywood as Hindi cinema in general; or of Bollywood as mainstream Indian cinema. It takes the internationalization of the Bollywood phenomenon into account and incorporates Bollywood’s different manifestations in various markets and regions. As such, the model also accommodates the very extended concept of Bollywood that can be observed in the international marketing of films by diasporic South Asian directors and in, for example, The Bollywood Britain Movie Map. This map not only included mainstream Hindi films or Gurinder Chadha’s Bride & Prejudice (2004), which drew on structural features of Hindi films and employed on-screen and off-screen talent from the Hindi film industry. The map also included Chadha’s Bend It Like Beckham (2002) and Chicken Tikka Masala (2005), another British film set in a British Asian community, neither of which contains references to Hindi cinema in either form or subject matter. The reductionist thinking behind this classification highlights the Indianness of Bollywood. The train of thought jumps from the notion that Bollywood is Indian, to the awareness that Indians are distributed all over the globe, and then to the idea that Indian diasporic cinema can therefore be classified as Bollywood, even when it has no formal or other references to

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Hindi cinema. Following this rather simplistic logic, diasporic films like Mira Nair’s Vanity Fair (2004) and Monsoon Wedding (2001) are frequently classified as part of Bollywood or as ‘Bollywood spin-offs’ (Desai & Dudrah 2008b: 15). They contribute to international versions of Bollywood.3 A broad rhizomatic model of Bollywood also extends well beyond films to include very diverse forms of productive reception in different genres and media.4 All the texts treated in this study, like the diaspora films analysed in Chapter 4, the diaries and reviews from Chapters 7 and 8 and the branding processes described in Chapter 5 can be interpreted as nodes within the ever proliferating Bollywood rhizome. The same applies to the growing phenomenon of Bollywood fan fiction, for example, as well as the novels and stage shows analysed in this chapter. One may not like all these versions of Bollywood and wish to excise some of them from the rhizome for being wrong or inauthentic. Yet they do exist, and the model of the rhizome is a helpful means to describe the extent of the Bollywood phenomenon, its various manifestations and their interrelations.

Bollywood novels Since the mid-1990s a growing number of books have emerged that can usefully be called ‘Bollywood novels’. They have been set in the Hindi film industry, used this ‘dream factory’ as a metaphorical concept or have been structured according to the narrative or generic conventions of Hindi films. ‘Bollywood novels’ can thus refer to Bollywood in a variety of ways and often do so within one and the same text. While it would be too early to consider these books a proper genre, the heightened visibility of the Hindi film industry since the early 2000s has led to the publication or re-edition of a growing number of novels with Bollywood references that constitute at least a production trend (cf. Altman 1999: 38–48). Predictably, several carry the term ‘Bollywood’ in their titles for instant brand recognizability. US American author Sonia Singh’s chick-lit book Bollywood Confidential (2005) is one example of this, even though possibly the most striking one was Penguin’s re-edition of Shobhaa Dé’s book Starry Nights from 1992 as Bollywood Nights in 2007.5 In order to avoid methodological misunderstandings it should probably be mentioned that Bollywood novels are not an exclusively British phenomenon: the examples mentioned in this chapter alone are from India, Britain and the

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United States. So this study does not claim that this is a specifically British form of Bollywood reception, but it is one that also occurs in Britain and therefore has a legitimate place in the framework of the book.

Bollywood in Bollywood novels Bombay cinema has of course featured in different ways in many novels. Among the most famous examples are probably Salman Rushdie’s The Satanic Verses (1988) and The Moor’s Last Sigh (1995) with their allusions and references to Hindi films and film stars, both fictional and real. Also, due to the prominent status of the cinema in India, most novels that deal with urban life in India in a more or less realistic manner will very likely feature at least passing references to film stars, hoardings or cinema-going at some point, even if their narrative focus lies elsewhere. To include works like this in the category of the Bollywood novel would make it inefficient as an analytical tool. Instead, echoing Hutcheon’s strategy of reserving the status of adaptation to works that are an ‘extended intertextual engagement’ with their pretext(s), we should reserve the label for novels whose engagement with Bollywood is in fact extensive, such as the ones analysed here. Because of this not all novels whose titles contain the term ‘Bollywood’ can automatically be classified as a Bollywood novel. Narinder Dhami’s teen novel Bollywood Babes (2004), the follow-up book to her earlier novel Bindi Babes (2003), is an example in point. Bollywood Babes tells the story of three British Asian teenage girls who convince their father to give shelter to a destitute former Hindi film actress living in a London suburb. However, the book is really about the conflicts arising from this change for the family, while the Bollywood theme is hardly developed. The book’s engagement with Bollywood is therefore far less extensive than in those texts that are categorized as Bollywood novels in this study. Most of these novels use the sphere of the Hindi film industry as a social setting. In the books, this social cosmos does not only consist of the actors, the film-makers and their entourages but also includes the Indian film press and the people who exercise influence on the industry behind the scenes, for example underworld criminals. The novelists have used this social setting in different ways. Most of them create personal intrigues between industry members and include underworld crime in order to create suspense or shock. The most interesting themes that result from this choice of setting, however,

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concern the nature of stardom, and especially the highly irrational and quasireligious adoration that many fans in India feel for movie stars. Gazing behind the glamorous facade of this cosmos can both appeal to a reader’s voyeuristic desire and/or create a debunking stance of disillusionment. Shobhaa Dé’s Starry Nights and Shashi Tharoor’s Show Business (1991) are two prime examples of novels that refer to Bollywood in this particular way. Both texts revolve around fictional Hindi film stars whose lives illustrate the scandalous aspects of the Hindi film industry, where the only behaviour one can reliably expect from others seems to be treason. Dé and Tharoor depict the film world as fundamentally hypocritical and fraudulent, as a place of insincerity and (sexual) exploitation and prostitution, where the will to money overrules morality and artistic aspiration. Dé, a well-known Indian film journalist, depicts the underbelly of the Bombay glamour world as a misogynistic and corrupt cesspit. Tharoor’s criticism goes even further, since he presents the film industry not only as a vital part of Indian society, where films and film stars serve as opium for the masses, but also as its mirror. Writing in the early 1990s both authors underline the rule of organized crime in the industry, but Tharoor also includes the sphere of party politics, which in his book appears just as corrupt and criminal as the film world: Tharoor’s fictional hero Ashok Bajara is a star actor who becomes a politician – a career that used to be not uncommon among Indian film stars in real life, especially in South India – but he is only a dummy for the party leaders, who employ his popularity to win votes and use him to transfer illegal money to a Swiss bank account.6 The critical stance towards the film industry and the Indian political establishment in Show Business is reinforced by Tharoor’s strategy of providing his hero Ashok with a fine sense for the parallels between film and politics on the one hand and for the absurdities of his life on the other. Ashok seems perpetually bemused and introduces each chapter, which always maps out a new phase in his life, with the statement: ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this.’ For example, he describes his first steps as a film actor as follows: I can’t believe I’m doing this. Me, Ashok Bajara, product of the finest public school in independent India, secretary of the Shakespeare Society at St. Francis’ college, no less, not to mention son of the Minister of State for Minor Textiles, chasing an aging actress around a papier-mâché tree in an artificial drizzle, lip-synching to the tinny inanities of an aspiring (and highly aspirating) playback-singer. But it is me, it’s my mouth that is moving in soundless ardor, it’s my feet that are scudding treeward in faithful

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obeisance to the unlikely choreography of the dance director. Move, step, turn, as sari-clad Abha, yesterday’s heartthrob, old enough to be my mother and just about beginning to show it, nimbly evades my practiced lunge and runs, famous bust outthrust, to the temporary shelter of an improbably leafy branch. I follow, head tilted back, arms outstretched, pretending to sing: I shall always chase you To the ends of the earth, I want to embrace you From Pahelgaon to Perth, My love! My arms encircle her, but, as my fingertips meet, she ducks, dancing, and slips out of my clutches, pirouetting gaily away. (Tharoor 1992: 3, italics in original)

Ashok’s mantra ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this’ can be translated as: ‘This person is not really me.’ It hints at a theme of identity loss in Show Business that is also metaphorically conveyed by his status as an actor (and which unsurprisingly also afflicts Shobhaa Dé’s heroine). With Ashok, the states of seeming and being constantly seep into each other, both in his private and his public life, which in turn are inseparable. Hence the only authentic element of Ashok’s personality is his constant acting. The above quotation from Show Business has already introduced the second strategy by which Bollywood is incorporated into Bollywood novels: references to the film-making process. In order to signal that the text is really about the Hindi film industry, references to the shooting of song-and-dance scenes, the most important hallmark of Hindi film-making, are a popular tool. If a writer, like Tharoor in the above quotation, wants to suggest that this particular type of scene (and in extension Hindi film-making) is surreal and absurd, he or she will also draw particular attention to its incongruence and stylized and non-realistic nature. Here, the readers are invited to adopt Ashok’s bemused point of view and witness the shooting of the scene with all its ‘artificial’ and ‘improbable’ elements and ‘inantities’ through his eyes. Many Bollywood novels also introduce their readers to the economic imperatives that govern film-making in the Hindi film industry and the resulting speculations about audience taste that shape the production of Hindi films. As in the scene presented by Tharoor, the readers moreover become witnesses to the shooting process and practically see the actors and crew at work. Since the novels often include scenes where dance numbers are shot, background dancers

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and especially choreographers are nigh-indispensable characters. Scenes like this moreover usually depict the power structures on set and the conflicts that can arise from clashing egos. Because of this they often serve a purpose of debunking and demystifying the film industry. The same effect occurs when a novel depicts the film production as chaotic. In Bollywood novels the shooting very often proceeds without a finished script, actors work on several films at the same time, stunt persons are in danger because of insufficient safety regulations, and extras, set builders and other helpers are severely underpaid. Moreover, these conditions not only occur in novels written before the effects of corporatization made themselves felt in the Hindi film industry, but also in books published around and after the middle of the 2000s. One example is Sonia Singh’s novel Bollywood Confidential, which lays the satire on thickly and whose presentation of Bollywood film-making frequently borders on the grotesque. Bollywood Confidential is a novel about a D-list Hollywood actress with an Indian family background, who goes to Mumbai to star in a film. The novel is basically about her struggles to come to grips with life in Mumbai and with the film work there, which the reader sees and discovers from the protagonist’s point of view as a Western outsider. This perspective remains dominant throughout. A good example of it is the following excerpt, which describes the first meeting of the heroine, Raveena Rai, with the director of the film she is supposed to star in, Randy Kapoor (a telling name). Raveena is in for a surprise since Randy’s original plans for his film have radically changed: ‘I knew you would be perfect for my film.’ … ‘Well, considering your main character is a girl from America, I’d say I’m absolutely perfect.’ ‘We’re not doing that film any longer,’ Randy corrected … ‘Romantic films are out.’ He waved his hand dismissively. ‘The audience wants action. They want lavish sets. They want larger than life.’ She gripped the arms of her chair. ‘No one told me about this. Does my agent know? I was never sent a new script.’ ‘There is no script as of yet,’ Randy said. ‘I’ll begin working on one after we start shooting.’ … Randy took note of her shocked look. ‘The story is the least important aspect of the film.’ (Singh 2005: 80)

Instead of a family melodrama about an American girl finding her Indian roots, Randy will film the love story of Shah Jahan and his wife, Mumtaz Mahal, whose symbol is the famous Taj Mahal. He also plans to film Mumtaz

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like Xena, the warrior princess, because of her great popularity in India, with Mumtaz defeating Shah Jahan in hand-to-hand combat in HongKong style action sequences (Singh 2005: 81–2). Randy thus metonymically represents Bollywood’s unprofessionalism and lack of originality. The reader is encouraged to adopt the heroine’s viewpoint, so that Randy seems disorganized, incompetent and unoriginal, throwing a very poor light at the artistic quality of Bollywood film-making, which in Bollywood Confidential appears derivative and shamelessly commercial. Besides the social setting of Bollywood and scenes showing the actual film production process, another prominent element of Bollywood novels is the audience’s investment in films. The roles of Hindi films and of the film press in establishing Bollywood as a public domain and as a field of dreams are therefore often major themes in Bollywood novels. Important film stars are often treated like demigods by a devoted audience in India. In Bollywood novels, not only individual stars, but the general air of celebrity and glamour associated with the film industry function as points of identification and longing for characters who are not part of the industry but dream of just this. Bollywood thus serves as a potent metaphor of aspiration and dreaming. A good example of this is The Silver Castle by Clive James (1996). The novel’s hero is Sanjay, a pavement child, who early in his life, on one of his rambles, happens to enter Film City, a film production complex in Mumbai. He observes a film shoot. The film being made is a historical with a lavish set, from which the novel takes its title: ‘The Silver Castle’ is how Sanjay sees this different world, and it will be the place he yearns for in the ensuing years. Sanjay leaves his parents when he is still a child; he survives by begging, later becomes a rent boy and during all this time is an avid cinema-goer. Having received occasional lessons in Hindi and English at a Christian charity institution, he is also able to read, and his reading material of choice is film magazines. He is completely immersed in film when he is not striving for survival. Through one of his clients, Sanjay gets the chance of working for foreign film and television crews as an adviser. At first, these teams come to make documentaries about the poverty in the city. After the slums have lost their novelty value, however, they discover the film industry as a topic, and since Sanjay turns out to know not only about poverty but also about the people in the film business, he is a popular adviser. Nothing he says, however, comes from himself. He does not think much about the film industry but remains on the level of accumulating facts and regurgitating comments from film magazines. Sanjay eventually goes back to Film City as

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an extra, begins an affair with a star actress and is slowly gaining larger parts when he is horribly disfigured during a stunt, which forces him back onto the streets as a beggar. So Sanjay ends where he began. The Silver Castle thus uses Bollywood as a metaphor of (futile) dreaming and underlines the role of the film press in creating the Bollywood ‘myth’.7 A further set of references in Bollywood novels concerns the narratives of Hindi films. Several novels mirror well-established plots and themes, such as Puneet Bhandal’s Double Take (2009) from her Bollywood Series teen novels, whose main characters all work in the Hindi film industry. Double Take has a storyline of twins separated in their early childhood, a staple of Indian mainstream film-making. Another example is the youth novel Rani & Sukh (2004) by Bali Rai, whose structure mirrors the prevalence of flashbacks in Hindi films and combines it with the typical themes of family honour and love.8 Rani & Sukh also contains some rather general references to Bollywood films and Bollywood stars that establish Hindi cinema as the novel’s key frame of intertextual references besides Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Apart from adopting and adapting typical Bollywood storylines, many authors of Bollywood novels also refer to the storytelling peculiarities of Hindi films by inserting summaries of (fictional) film plots into their books. This strategy is the closest thing Bollywood novels have to adaptation as medium change: film plots are verbalized and put into print. These fictional plots are usually inspired by real films, but they are not one-to-one transpositions. Even though they often contain clearly recognizable references to specific films, they are made up by the authors and rather appear like heightened versions of real movies emphasizing typical aspects of Bollywood films. Especially Tharoor and Hari Kunzru in Transmission (2004) have managed to create movie plots that perfectly imitate the episodic and formulaic nature of most Hindi films along with their genre mixes, plot and character improbabilities, emotional texture and value systems. Since Hindi films are usually long, these plot summaries also often cover several pages. These invented plots are never presented in a neutral way. Instead, the authors rely on more or less explicit distancing techniques in order to underline the artificiality of Hindi films – and artificiality in this context refers both to the plots (marked by improbabilities and coincidence) and to the generally ‘made’ nature of feature films. The Hindi film plots in Bollywood novels are formulaic, as the fictional films are merely variations on and recombinations of features from well-known real Hindi films. The ‘written films’ in Tharoor’s Show Business, for example, show

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similarities to several classic Hindi films from the 1970s and 1980s. Another example, Naughty Naughty, Lovely Lovely (N2L2), which Hari Kunzru invented for his novel Transmission, sports all the key elements of diaspora films set in Britain since Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (The Brave-Hearted will Take away the Bride, 1995), including the shorthand iconography of British landmarks and Punjabi mustard fields, wealthy NRIs and the Indian appropriation of British spaces. The characters in these fictional films are recognizable types; the plot is marked by coincidences and little care for consistency or realism (e.g. the Brighton Pavilion as gangster den in Transmission’s N2L2). The intertextuality is only recognizable to readers who know the pretexts and is therefore an implicit distancing technique. More explicit distancing occurs, however, when conventions of Hindi film-making are spelled out, for example in references to montage techniques, song sequences, improbable location changes and the use of costume. The effect of such passages is primarily comic because the retelling of a Hindi film plot on the page that lists merely the events of the story without providing insights into the characters’ psyche is a process of simplification that automatically foregrounds a plot’s improbable elements and inconsistencies. In addition, as in the earlier quotation from Tharoor’s Show Business, songs are reduced to their lyrics, which are moreover given in English, and thus lose their musical core and any exotic appeal they might otherwise have for readers who do not understand Hindi or Urdu. This strategy also underlines the lyrics’ simplicity or, if put negatively, their ‘inanities’ (see Tharoor 1992: 3). When one watches a Hindi film, there are other elements to turn to if the plot does not satisfy. One can concentrate on the human factor, the actors. One may wallow in emotional scenes or enjoy the music and song picturizations. Potentially, all references to the narratives of Bollywood films in novels can thus contain a reflection on the role of storytelling per se. In the context of a realist novel, the fictional film plot summaries represent a different mode of storytelling and support the theme of Bollywood as alien (and potentially incomprehensible). This is yet another hallmark of Bollywood novels, in many of which this theme is, moreover, linked to Bollywood’s Indianness. Bollywood then appears as representative of India, often an India between tradition and modernity in the age of globalization. In this sense Bollywood also serves as a symbol of media globalization: Indian migrants extend Bollywood’s global market (e.g. in Kunzru’s Transmission), which in turn leads to increased interest in Bollywood among Western media. In several

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novels, Bollywood is thus ‘discovered’ by the West, for example by the foreign television crews in The Silver Castle but also in Luke Jennings’s Breach Candy (1993), where a British TV journalist goes to Bombay in order to make a documentary about a rising actress. The notion of Bollywood as something alien is pervasive in Bollywood novels, regardless of their origin. It is manifest in the distanced and bemused attitude of Tharoor’s hero Ashok towards his work and career, as well as in the life of the heroine in Shobhaa Dé’s Starry Night, who seems alienated by most events in her life, which she can only bear by retreating into herself. It also occurs in the novels by non-Indian authors, such as Sonia Singh’s Bollywood Confidential, where we see the events from the perspective of the (American) heroine Raveena, or in Keating’s Filmi, Filmi, Inspector Ghote and Clive James’s The Silver Castle. The majority of Bollywood novels have protagonists who are outsiders or newcomers to the industry, which the reader can discover along with them, and it would be wrong to suppose that British Bollywood novels are categorically different from those by Indian writers in this respect. The difference is rather a gradual one and concerns especially the distribution of information about Bollywood (its institutions, films, stars, etc.). Tharoor and Dé take it for granted that their readers have previous knowledge and voyeuristic interest in Bollywood. The texts by (among others) Singh, Keating and Jennings, in contrast, actually spell out factual information and spoon-feed it to the readers in order to ease them into the novels’ social setting and plot. In this respect they are very similar to the first-hand reports and early reviews analysed in Chapters 7 and 8. Also, both Indian and British writers tend to relate Bollywood symbolically to Indian culture more generally, yet the points of emphasis are different. In contrast to Tharoor and Dé, who use the Hindi film industry to reflect on Indian society, writers like James, Jennings and especially Kunzru are more interested in the intercultural encounter between Indians and ‘Westerners’. Bollywood in this context becomes a springboard for reflections on the themes of globalization, representation and intercultural understanding.

Transmission by Hari Kunzru The best example of this is Hari Kunzru’s Transmission (2004), which also contains all the other typical aspects of Bollywood novels mentioned so far. It uses the cosmos of the Hindi film industry as a social setting dominated by keen business interests, rigid and exploitative power structures and links to the world

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of organized crime, thus debunking the alleged glamour of the film business. It takes the reader behind the scenes of Hindi film shoots and revels in the personal conflicts among the members of a film team that are governed by egotism and financial interests. It reflects on conventions of Hindi film storytelling by means of fictional film plot summaries (Kunzru 2005: 33–6, 121, 151), and it addresses the trappings of stardom and the effects of excessive fan devotion and adoration. The story of Transmission revolves around a set of three protagonists who, at first glance, seem to have little in common, but whose stories are carefully interlinked to create a complex picture of the globalized world and the struggle of individuals to come to grips with it. The first protagonist is Guy Swift, a British marketing executive, who is in a crisis after several of his international business projects have failed and because the relationship with his girlfriend Gabriella Caro is on the verge of breaking apart. Second is Leela Zahir, a young Bollywood star, who is in Britain to shoot a song sequence on the battlements of a Scottish castle for her most recent film. Arjun Mehta, finally, is a young Indian computer specialist and clandestine hacker, who has been hired by an Indian firm and lured to the United States on what another character calls a ‘slave visa’ (Kunzru 2005: 64). Arjun is truly the victim of a new form of indentured labour. Far from being supported by his Indian employer, he has to look for work in the United States himself, and when he finds a job, he has to give a considerable amount of his salary to the Indian firm that brought him there in the first place. In this precarious situation, Arjun’s life seems to take a turn for the better when he finds employment with a software company specializing in computer viruses. The lives of these characters, who live and move in completely different places and social spheres, become unexpectedly intertwined when Arjun is made redundant. As a reaction, he launches an extremely complex computer virus, hoping that once computers all around the world will have become infected, he will be able to provide his employers with the solution to the problem and get his job back. The virus is hidden in an e-mail attachment containing a looped five-second clip from a dance scene in one of Leela Zahir’s films, and various types of the Leela virus, which has the ability to metamorphose, affect computers all over the world. Among them are the computers in Guy Swift’s marketing agency and his notebook. The transmission of the Leela virus thus links all the major characters of the novel as well as Guy’s girlfriend Gabriella, who works for a London PR firm and is called to Scotland to help the Indian film team deal with the press onslaught that hits the production after the Leela virus has been unleashed.

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As this plot summary indicates, one of the main topics of Transmission is interconnectedness or convergence. It is reflected in the novel’s many locations, which span four continents. The characters moreover constantly use the technical infrastructure of globalization, such as air travel, telephony and, most importantly, the internet, which, as the means of spreading the Leela virus around the world, is the book’s most obvious symbol of global interconnectedness. This theme is also mirrored in the novel’s structure, which is non-linear and keeps jumping from one character to the next. Very often this leads to narrative transitions that are reminiscent of film cuts. In one passage, for example, the story jumps from Leela Zahir rising into the air in a balloon during a film shoot, to Arjun Mehta riding on a bus in Delhi and watching the vapour trail of an aeroplane, back into the air to Guy Swift sitting in the first-class compartment of this very aeroplane (cf. Kunzru 2005: 10–11). This emphasis on simultaneity, coupled with narrative techniques that suggest the collapse of linearity, entails the theme of porous borders. In the novel, this refers to the borders of nation states, which are crossed by legal and illegal migrants, as well as ontological borders, for example between man and machine. Arjun tries to ‘reboot’ himself when in crisis (Kunzru 2005: 7), and Guy Swift reverts ‘to his default setting’ (Kunzru 2005: 209). Repeated references to cultural hybrids like fusion food (Kunzru 2005: 29, 68) stand next to allusions to McLuhan’s equation of man and message in order to underline the multifaceted nature of this topic.9 The contact of formerly separate entities caused by the porosity of borders creates the danger of misunderstanding, which is where Kunzru’s central metaphor of noise comes into play. According to the narrator, ‘Perfect information is sometimes defined as a signal transmitted from a sender to a receiver without loss, without the introduction of the smallest uncertainty or confusion. In the real world, however, there is always noise’ (Kunzru 2005: 257). The reasons for noise in Transmission are manifold, ranging from the ambiguity of language to a lack of a common (cultural) code or the difference between one’s self-image (of individuals, nations, corporations) and the way one is seen by others. Bollywood, as one of the most conspicuous phenomena associated with media globalization, is a perfect vehicle for these themes, for while its distribution spans several continents, its reception remains culturally specific. Kunzru takes this up in Transmission when Gabriella muses on the fact that film star Rajiv Rana is mobbed by crazed British Asian fans while the Scottish hotel staff have no idea who he is (cf. Kunzru 2005: 160). Another example is Gabriella’s reaction to Rajiv

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in a Ferrari Testarossa, which she experiences as ‘a sight so macho it was almost a period piece, a poster memory of the moneyed eighties’ (Kunzru 2005: 159). For her, it basically situates Bollywood in a different modernity from her own. Despite being with Rajiv in the same place and moment, Gabriella experiences a temporal slippage. Rajiv’s fans, in contrast, react with ‘a burst of high-pitched hormonal squealing’ (Kunzru 2005: 159). Similar culturally founded differences of interpretation occur in a scene where Arjun and Chris, a friend from work, watch a Hindi film together, which shows several similarities to Karan Johar’s Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham (Sometimes Happiness, Sometimes Sadness, 2001). It is Chris’s first experience of a Hindi film, which she perceives as a movie that involved two boys and two girls who took three and a half hours to persuade their parents to let them marry each other in the correct combination. Chris was bored. Was the guy in the see-through organdie shirt really supposed to be cool? He had a mullet, for chrissakes. And how precisely did they make it to the pyramids? Since it was shown without subtitles, Arjun had to whisper the important plot points to her, and while he sat entranced, she drifted in and out of the story, following trains of thought about the reality or otherwise of the older guy’s beard, the stones in the mother’s necklace, the vaguely Dynasty salmon-pink palace where much of the action took place. Finally the nuptials were completed, and the audience spilled out into the muted evening lightingscheme of the mall. Chris looked around at the young Asian couples and singlesex clusters of teenagers and saw that everyone was animated, smiling. Arjun had the same look. Satisfied. Emotionally replete. ‘That,’ he said, humming one of the tunes from the film, ‘was just too too good.’ Chris spotted three other white faces, a man and two women, each half of a couple, each looking as mystified as she felt. (Kunzru 2005: 74–5, emphasis in original).

The passage describes not merely a misunderstanding, but the non-understanding of Hindi film conventions, and despite Chris’s spatial proximity to Arjun in the movie theatre, her position in relation to him in this scene is one of alienation. The passage also clearly spells out that this alienation is due to ethnic differences (‘Asian couples’ vs. ‘white faces’). Bollywood thus is a means of writing about difference for Kunzru, about the difficulties of intercultural understanding and alienation. Yet he also uses Bollywood references to characterize storytelling in general as a human need. Various characters in Transmission, independent of their cultural

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backgrounds, model their lives in relation to fictional texts and escape into alternate universes. Arjun, for example, tends to think along the line of Hindi film plots (e.g. Kunzru 2005: 30, 65, 138–9). He identifies so strongly with what he sees on screen that the border between fact and fiction dissolves for him, for example when he claims to be (and not only be like) Dilip, the hero of Naughty Naughty, Lovely Lovely: ‘Dilip was him. It was as simple as that’ (Kunzru 2005: 36, emphasis in original). Kunzru also uses Bollywood to reflect on the fluidity of identity (or even identity loss), firstly because Arjun allows his life to be dominated by film, and secondly via Kunzru’s treatment of Bollywood stardom as performance. Both Leela Zahir and her colleague Rajiv Rana struggle with the discrepancy between their star personae and lives. Leela does not only act on screen but is forced by her mother to distort herself against her will in order to keep up her star image (e.g. Kunzru 2005: 219), and in Rajiv’s case his awareness of his multiple roles (e.g. Kunzru 2005: 159, 191) has even seeped into his language: ‘Having been a hero for so long, he had developed the habit of referring to himself in the third person, shortening himself to his initials, a fan’s affectionate nickname’ (196). The star persona, just like the acronym, is merely a contraction, a reduced version of the original. Leela, while deified by her fans to the status of Leeladevi (e.g. Kunzru 2005: 47–8, 277–8), is even threatened by extinction. Having attempted suicide to escape her situation before, she ultimately runs away and disappears (Kunzru 2005: 223). Unlike most of the Bollywood films that Transmission refers to, the novel has no clear resolution but an open ending. When the narrator recapitulates various theories about the disappearances of Leela Zahir and Arjun Mehta, Kunzru plays with the readers’ awareness of narrative conventions and their horizon of expectation. He provides hints that we may construct, for example, into a murder story ending with Arjun’s death or into a romantic happy ending for Arjun and Leela Zahir. Yet the riddle remains unsolved. This implicitly metafictional device is closely linked to the novel’s theme of the indeterminacy of representation. Just as there are multiple ways of watching Bollywood films, exemplified by the clashing experiences of Arjun and Chris, and just as the guidance of sympathy towards the characters in the story vacillates according to Kunzru’s switches between various character focalizers, the spreading of the Leela virus spawns a multitude of ‘explanations’, which are really merely emplotments on the basis of default scripts. For example, while the US government and media represent the launching of the virus as a terrorist attack,

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the Indian film press interprets it as a marketing stunt by the producer of Leela Zahir’s new film. Since the reader knows that the virus has really originated as a desperate act and homage to Leela by Arjun, these explanations all appear ridiculous. Together with the novel’s open ending, however, they are also potent reminders of the fact that representation is never innocent. Transmission’s complexity renders it an exception among the Bollywood narratives published since the turn of the millennium. For although the production trend of Bollywood novels is by no means over, most of the books published after 2000 were designed for easier reading and belong in the categories of young adult fiction, chick-lit or Mills & Boon romances (e.g. Dev 2014; Vasudeva 2013; Carr 2014; Lakhani 2013). Especially in the past few years, they have also often been either self-published or only available as e-books. Yet Bollywood seems to retain its fascination especially to British Asian writers. As the group of novels stands at the moment, its similarities or, as it were, family resemblances lie in their shared points of reference to Bollywood: as a social setting, a film industry, a storytelling mode, a source of fan adulation and a metaphor of alienation. The key differences between the novels result from their different thematic points of focus and lie in the scope that the novelists have attributed to the novels’ different reference points to Bollywood. Moreover, the books differ in the stances they adopt towards Bollywood films and the Hindi film industry, which range from the voyeuristic and satirical to the absurd, hilarious or tragic (and often combine them).

Bollywood stage productions Bollywood stage productions that actually see the light of day require more money and manpower and are therefore, purely for practical and economic reasons, less likely to actually materialize than Bollywood novels. Britain has nonetheless seen a remarkable variety of stage productions with Bollywood references, and they have come in several different shapes. One type is exemplified by shows like ‘Heartthrobs’ (2004), ‘Temptation 2004’, ‘The Unforgettable Tour’ (2008), ‘Bollywood Showstoppers’ (2013 and 2014) and ‘SLAM! The Tour’ (2014). As mentioned in Chapter 5, big Bollywood entertainment shows of this type have been touring the world for decades and have regularly visited Britain, where they have sold out large venues like Wembley stadium, The O2 and Old Trafford. They are usually headlined by four to five big stars, who front dynamic

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dance numbers with large ensembles of background dancers. These numbers can be interspersed with live music, comedy acts, re-enactments of dialogue scenes from well-known movies or stars interacting with fans on stage.10 The link of the shows to cinema is always present via the stars and the material presented on stage, especially the lavishly choreographed dance numbers. They rely on well-known film songs (often medleys from the performing stars’ films) and often replicate famous dance moves from song picturizations. Even when they are performed in Britain, these shows are predominantly conducted in Hindi even though they may incorporate isolated routines in English (cf. Shahrukh Khan qtd in Omar 2006: 144). This does not diminish their success, however. Like no other form of Bollywood stage productions, these shows tap into and adapt the auratic quality associated with Bollywood celebrity culture for the stage. A touring British stage show called ‘Bollywood Nights’ took up this basic model in 2003, yet on a far smaller scale and without Indian stars. Even though the production mixed music and dance numbers with comedy and magic acts and thus had structural similarities, it was ultimately a completely different kind of show since it lacked the key characteristic of its models: star power. A second type of Bollywood stage production is the musical whose song-anddance numbers, which are the show’s main attraction, are actually connected by a plot. Examples include the Australian production The Merchants of Bollywood, which came to Britain in 2006, and Miss Bollywood, a musical Shilpa Shetty used to exploit her ‘Celebrity Big Brother’ victory in Britain in 2007. British productions in this group include Bombay Dreams (2002), which will be explored at more length below, and Tanika Gupta’s Wah Wah! Girls – The Musical (2012). The various shows in this group differ with regard to plot coherence and music (some combine original scores with already existing music, while others rely on popular film songs throughout). With odd exceptions like Miss Bollywood, they cannot depend on Bollywood star power to attract spectators and must therefore attempt to tap into the auratic and experiential qualities of Bollywood in other ways.11 Stage adaptations of specific Hindi films are extremely rare. Yet because of Fourteen Songs, Two Weddings and a Funeral (2001), a stage version written by Sudha Bhuchar and Kristine Landon-Smith of the film classic Hum Aapke Hain Koun …!, one can identify the transposition of a specific film to the stage as a third category of Bollywood stage productions. The play, which contains a lot of musical numbers, as its title suggests, also has affinities to the second

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category of plays described above. It was first produced in 1998 by the British Asian theatre company Tamasha. A more frequent phenomenon is stage adaptations of canonical nonIndian texts that, much like Gurinder Chadha’s film Bride & Prejudice, recur to aesthetic, structural and thematic features commonly associated with Hindi films or transpose plays into the social setting of Bollywood. A production of Turandot devised by The Royal Opera House in 2001 in a project with south London schools (cf. ‘Opera meets Bollywood’ 2001) would fall into this category, as does ‘Bollywood Carmen Live’, an adaptation of Bizet’s Carmen, in which the eponymous heroine yearns to become a Bollywood actress. The show, which mixed Bizet with Western and Indian pop music and dance, was performed across Bradford city centre and broadcast live on BBC Three in June 2013. Another prominent example, which will be analysed in more detail, is Tamasha’s Bollywood Wuthering Heights adaptation, which toured through Britain in 2009.12 Yet another type of Bollywood stage productions is plays that (like most of the novels analysed above) use Bollywood as a theme (and a metaphor) in the framework of an original story. Although their mode of presentation is predominantly realist, these plays also recur to stylistic features of Hindi films, especially song-and-dance numbers. Since these numbers are rather isolated, however, and clash with the realist mode in the rest of the play, these productions are categorically different from the musicals described above. Since they use Bollywood as a central structural, aesthetic, thematic and symbolic feature, they should, moreover, be distinguished from plays like Robin Soans’s Mixed Up North (2009), where Bollywood is only briefly mentioned or visually and musically alluded to and used mainly to underline the play’s (Asian) cultural setting. One example representing this category is It Ain’t all Bollywood by Rifco Arts, which was presented in 2008 in the Edinburgh Festival Fringe (Farrimond 2008). Another is Bollywood Jane by British playwright Amanda Whittington. It is the first of three plays which will be analysed and compared here in order to work out the key adaptation strategies in British Bollywood stage productions. Bollywood Jane, Bombay Dreams and Tamasha’s Wuthering Heights have been selected for analysis for partly practical reasons, because unlike some of the other shows mentioned, they come with a solid base of textual and visual material. Moreover, they represent different categories of Bollywood stage productions and illustrate major trends of adapting Bollywood for the British stage. They also throw into relief the ambivalences of Bollywood adaptations

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caused by the shows’ amalgamation of different media, modes of presentation, genres and languages. These amalgamations are often highly ambiguous for the shows’ positioning in relation to British ‘mainstream’ or niche cultures and can therefore also be interpreted politically as vehicles of identity politics.

Amanda Whittington’s Bollywood Jane (Leeds 2007) Amanda Whittington’s play Bollywood Jane was first produced in May 2003 with a successful run at the Leicester Haymarket Theatre. It was subsequently rewritten for a production at the West Yorkshire Playhouse in Leeds, which ran from 2 to 30 June 2007 as one of the events surrounding the IIFA Awards in Yorkshire. Not only was the setting of the play changed from Leicester to Bradford for this production, but the relationships between several characters and some plot points were also revised. The following analysis is based on the 2007 Leeds production and its text.13 The plot of Bollywood Jane revolves around the eponymous heroine Jane, a sixteen-year-old teenager who has just moved to Bradford with her mother Kate, with whom she shares a tense and volatile relationship. A conversation between the two characters in the opening scene reveals that this move has occurred against Jane’s will and on very short notice because Kate felt the need to leave their old home due to financial and romantic troubles. Jane feels uprooted and alienated within her new Asian environment. Yet on her first day in Bradford she already bonds with the young British Asian Dini, who takes her to the Star of Bollywood cinema, where she is initiated into the pleasures of Bollywood by a screening of Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge. (In the theatre, this experience could be shared by the spectators, as clips from the film were projected onto a screen lowered over the set.) Egged on by Kate to find a job, Jane becomes an intern at the cinema; the Star becomes a sanctuary for her where she can feel at home. The cinema is also a breeding ground for conflicts, however. Not only is it in financial trouble; it is also the site of a problem-laden on-off relationship between Dini and the cinema’s owner Aamir Desai. Both respond quite differently to the social pressures resulting from the homophobic discrimination within their community. Aamir continuously tries to push Dini away and plans to marry a woman eventually. Dini, in contrast, is quite clear that he does not want to bow to the community’s expectations. For Jane, too, the Star leads to trouble because she lies about her work to Kate by pretending that she earns money there. This leads to a big eruption at the end of the play, when Kate finds out the truth. It

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is also revealed that Kate needs Jane’s money in order to pay for an abortion, since she is pregnant by a married man, Mac. Jane moreover learns that Kate has already had two abortions. To her this means that she, too, was unwanted, and she interprets Kate’s continued hostility towards her in this light. The character of Mac, who enters the scene towards the end of the play as a deus-ex-machina figure, triggers the resolution of the conflict. In a long conversation with Kate, he provides her with a considerable sum of money as well as emotional release. Kate, in turn, is then able to open up to her daughter and tells Jane the story of her father, who died in an accident when she was a baby. Jane learns that she was conceived in a relationship of love. Kate’s new money also means that she can help renovate and invest in the cinema where Jane feels so much at home. The play thus seems to finish with happy endings all around, since Dini and Aamir reconcile, the cinema will potentially be saved, and Kate will keep her baby and bring it up with Jane, who is looking forward to enjoying ‘real’ family life for the first time. Bollywood Jane is a multi-coded play. It is culturally multi-coded in the sense that the means it uses to evoke Jane’s new Asian environment are comprehensible to Asian spectators but not necessarily to others. Dini may give Jane some rudimentary explanations and translations, so that one can discover her new environment with her, but ultimately not all non-English passages are translated or jokes relying on Bollywood knowledge explained (Whittington 2007: 10, 12, 16, 22, 25, 26–7). Multi-coding also occurs on the level of theatrical form because the play is dominated by kitchen-sink realism that is interspersed with Bollywoodesque musical numbers. On the one hand, the characters, as well as the settings of the rundown cinema and the ‘squalid kitchen of a rented 19th century terraced house’, where everything is ‘filthy and broken’ (Whittington 2007: 2), firmly ground the story in an economically disadvantaged environment. On the other hand, three lively dance sequences and a celebratory dance at the end establish an obvious formal link to Bollywood. In the Leeds production of Bollywood Jane this last dance fittingly came with loud costumes, stylized props and lip-synching as well as a well-trained background chorus of twenty local amateur dancers. Having a big chorus of singers and dancers was a deliberate artistic choice, ‘so we could do the musical numbers … in true Bollywood style’ (‘Jane goes to Bollywood (via Bradford)’ 2007). The musical numbers in Bollywood Jane are based on the songs and choreographies from Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge, that is, the paradigm of Jane’s Bollywood experience, and present Jane’s dream fantasies where Dini takes over

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the role of DDLJ’s Raj as the perfect romantic lover. These extradiegetic song numbers function like cinematic mindscreen. However, there are also a number of scenes where music or dialogue from the film is replayed between Dini and Jane as part of the diegesis of the play. These scenes demonstrate the characters’ emotional investment in the film, and both are keen to use the opportunity of (escapist) role playing that these re-enactments offer. Dini and Jane respond especially to what they perceive as the life-affirming qualities of the film, where obstacles are overcome and wishes eventually fulfilled. Whittington is keenly aware of the formal and narrative conventions of Hindi films. Besides song-and-dance numbers her stage directions specify cinematic fades and dissolves (2007: 2, 49), for example, as well as Bollywood riffs (e.g. 2007: 19, 58) imitating the use of background music in Hindi films to highlight specific moments. She is also versed in the dominant themes of Hindi films and incorporates, for instance, self-denial for the sake of family honour, the prominent role of kismet/fate for the characters’ lives (e.g. 2007: 74), the notion of rebirth, as well as the decisive role of faith for the development of characters. By including a near-kiss between Dini and Jane, a kiss between Aamir and Jane and even a kiss between Aamir and Dini, she also consciously plays with the widespread idea that there is no kissing in Hindi films and deviates from it. This underlines the simultaneous co-presence and discrepancy of the realms of Bollywood and social realism in her play. References to DDLJ are the most important means used to evoke this dual nature of the play. In Bollywood Jane, the primary function of the film is giving Jane the opportunity of escapism: Jane immediately and enthusiastically responds to the heroine’s chance of fulfilling her dream and living with her beloved. In fact, Jane literally cheers Simran on to go with Raj (Whittington 2007: 27). Overall, the film changes Jane’s life, as she begins to think on the lines of DDLJ, for example when she decides her own course of action based on the question, ‘What would Simran and Raj do?’ (Whittington 2007: 44). To Jane, DDLJ thus becomes a model to imitate. Dini, in contrast, embodies the spirit of adaptation rather than imitation. This becomes obvious in a scene where he and Jane hatch the plan of replaying a scene from DDLJ out in the street in order to attract visitors to the Star cinema. While Jane wants to perform the scene exactly as it is in the film, Dini suggests switching roles, so that he would play Simran while Jane would impersonate Raj (Whittington 2007: 46). The passage encapsulates Jane’s and Dini’s differing opinions about the function of Bollywood. While Jane regards DDLJ as a model to emulate, Dini cherishes its

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ludic potential and intends to use it as a starting point for challenging norms. Despite these different approaches, however, both ultimately employ Bollywood as an alternative to their everyday experiences. In Bollywood Jane the role of Hindi cinema within the plot is strongly linked to the space of the Star cinema. In the Leeds version, the play begins and ends there, so that the cinema is its key setting. Since the Star is explicitly characterized as a Bollywood cinema, one can interpret its symbolic value as representative of the qualities that the play ascribes to Bollywood in general. The Star is a space of escape (for Dini, Aamir and Jane) as well as a space of indulgence, where Dini and Jane enjoy Hindi films and Dini and Aamir can consummate their homosexual relationship; it is therefore also a space of transgression. It serves as a retreat where aliens or misfits can dream and re-enact fictional worlds. However, their role playing is only acceptable as long as it is contained within the space of the Star and does not spill into the streets of the Asian quarter where they live. In this set-up, Jane’s mother Kate embodies the principle of the anti-dream and admonishes her daughter in their very first conversation, ‘You can’t dream your life away’ (Whittington 2007: 8). In keeping with the setting’s symbolism, the empty Star becomes Jane’s place of refuge after the harshest dispute with her mother. At this moment the border between real life and film collapses for her, as she calls out for help in an imploring conjuration: ‘Mr Desai? Are you there? Mr. Desai? Dini? Simran? Raj? Someone come!’ (Whittington 2007: 72). In the process of this collapse, plain Jane transforms herself into ‘Bollywood Jane’ (‘I’m not Jane. I’m Bollywood Jane.’ 78) She escapes into the realm of Bollywood, which she characterizes to Kate as a happy place where people sing and dance, fall in love, smile, are kind to each other and, if they are good, get what they want, namely ‘Friends. Family. Love’ (Whittington 2007: 79). Whittington grants her heroine and the spectators the pleasure of seeing these conventions fulfilled. The play ends with friendship between Kate and Jane and between Dini and Aamir; with family, as Kate keeps her baby, which Jane will help her bring up; and with renewed love, both romantic (Aamir and Dini) and familial (between Kate and Jane). Yet despite the celebratory dance at the end, the social realism of the play is never completely effaced. Instead, the obviously contrived happy ending, ‘in which the shabby cinema is transformed into a Bollywood palace’ (Whittington 2007: 88), actually evokes the disenchanting reality that lurks dangerously close underneath the surface, for even despite Kate’s investment, the future of the Star looks dire, and despite Dini and Aamir’s

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commitment, the social hostility towards their relationship continues. In spite of the crowd-pleasing qualities that the reviewers attested the play (see e.g. Boys 2007; Hutera 2007), the grittiness in the characters’ lives, which is developed throughout the play, thus never fully disappears. Concerning its adaptation strategies, Bollywood Jane therefore appears as a site of deliberate mixtures and amalgamations. This refers to language and cultural practices as well as modes of presentation (kitchen sink realism vs. expressionistic mindscape), genre (realist drama vs. film or stage musical) and even the ontological spheres of the real and the unreal. It is precisely the flaunting of this in-between position of the play, however, which frees it from accusations of not being authentic enough in the handling of its Bollywood elements. Tamasha’s production Wuthering Heights, in contrast, whose main selling point was the Bollywoodization of Emily Brontë’s novel, laid itself open to precisely such criticism, due to a marketing campaign that tried to sell the show as Bollywood Brontë.

Tamasha’s Wuthering Heights Written by Deepak Verma and first produced at and by Oldham Coliseum Theatre, where it played for several performances after its first night on 13 March 2009, Wuthering Heights toured various British cities in the spring and summer of the same year.14 The stage musical transposes Emily Brontë’s story into a South Asian social and geographical setting. While the temporal setting of the novel remains unchanged, the story now takes place in the Rajastani Desert, which is haunted by sandstorms. The names of the characters in the adaptation have been Indianized accordingly, so that Heathcliff, Cathy, Edgar Linton and Nelly Dean are now, respectively, Krishan, Shakuntala, Vijay and Shakuntala’s Ayah. Like the 1939 film adaptation of Wuthering Heights by William Wyler, the Tamasha play ends at the middle of the book with Cathy’s death. Like Hindi films, it comes in two parts. The first act ends after Krishan has left Shakuntala after overhearing that she has agreed to marry Vijay. The ensuing interval covers a gap of three years in the story time, and the second part of the play then presents the events beginning with Krishan’s return until Shakuntala’s death. This event does not mark the end of the play, however, because of a frame structure in which an old man (Baba) narrates the story of Shakuntala and Krishan to a young street urchin (Changoo), who has stolen an urn from the old man and will only return it after learning about its history.

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This frame serves as a mirror for the main story because like Krishan, Changoo is a disenfranchised young man reflecting on his fate and his wish for revenge. It also provides the space for metafictional self-reflection, for example on the qualities that renders a hero heroic (behaviour or the fact that he gets the girl) or what constitutes a ‘happy’ or ‘appropriate’ ending in terms of viewer satisfaction (Verma 2009: 50). Ultimately it is revealed that Baba is old Krishan, who has been wandering the country with Shakuntala’s ashes since her death, refusing her the final funeral rite of releasing her ashes and thus her soul into flowing water in order to keep her with him always. The play ends with Baba releasing Shakuntala’s ashes into a sandstorm and walking into the storm himself, so that the two are finally reunited, ‘for many lifetimes’, as the character of Ayah puts it (Verma 2009: 71). The Indianization of Brontë’s story in Tamasha’s production thus obviously exceeds the setting and characters’ names. While their basic dispositions from the source novel have remained intact, they manifest differently, due to the Indian cultural setting. The character of Joseph, for example, presented as an unkind and irrational Christian bigot in the novel, is turned into the slightly kinder but equally superstitious and irrational Muslim Yusuf. Further transpositions include that in Tamasha’s version the social gap between the Cathy and Heathcliff characters is explicitly formulated in terms of caste (Verma 2009: 42). References to Indian culture abound (e.g. the Mahabharata, kaliyug, customs; Verma 2009: 20, 24, 36), and while some of these appear as a more or less perfunctory means of establishing the cultural setting, some may also resonate in relation to (British) Asian life today, such as an unhappy love between the Ayah and her fellow servant Yusuf that remains unfulfilled because of their different religions (Verma 2009: 24, 41).15 Some, like the notion of rebirth, for example, may also act as transcultural links. Wuthering Heights was explicitly marketed as a Bollywood version of Emily Brontë’s story – a claim that rested on a number of alleged parallels between the stage production and Indian mainstream films. The songs in the play, for example, were not actually performed by the actors on stage but had been prerecorded by background singers in Bangalore while the actors on stage merely lip-synched. The characters’ states of mind were illustrated by a background score. The stage directions repeatedly emphasize the colourful nature of props and costumes (Verma 2009: 3, 8, 29, 36), and the play’s frame structure relates to the source novel as well as to Indian mainstream films, where extended flashbacks and complicated frame structures are no rarity. However, despite

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these structural and aesthetic features, the most obvious factor signalling the Bollywoodization of Brontë’s story in Tamasha’s Wuthering Heights was the packaging of the show. The cover picture of the play text and the posters, for example, were designed as pastiches of the hand-painted film hoardings that used to be a hallmark of Indian film advertising before they were abandoned in favour of printed ones.16 As in Bollywood Jane, a principle of amalgamation is at work. The play mixes texts from three different media (book, film and theatre), as well as various genres relating to these media, namely the (Gothic, psychological and/or romantic) novel, Bollywood films and the stage musical. The most interesting interaction concerning medium and genre occurs in the show’s relationship between theatre and film. Wuthering Heights is an explicit attempt to adapt Bollywood, and thus a cinematic mode of presentation, to the theatre. Yet although both theatre and film are audio-visual media and share many semiotic codes on the performance level, transferring the modes of presentation associated with Bollywood onto the stage does not necessarily result in a show that is recognizably ‘Bollywood’. Tamasha co-founder Kristine Landon-Smith, who directed the play, was obviously wary of this, since according to the programme she explored ways of using the language of the theatre, including lighting and music – both folkloric and innovative – to achieve the feel of film. She and her cast … experimented in matching ‘the effect of close-ups, of running through the desert in dance’ and in ‘underscoring’ and ‘framing’ important moments, elevating them without being cheesy, all the time attempting to keep a balance between emotion and the heightened effects of Indian film. (Neill 2009)

Despite these attempts, the play was overall criticized for not being ‘Bollywood’ enough. Generally speaking, many of the qualities that render Bollywood movies specific within cinema, such as their often expressive acting styles, long dialogue scenes and strongly externalized emotions, are quite normal in theatre. The attempt to reproduce the relative theatricality and filmi quality of Bollywood movies on the stage therefore requires even more heightened forms of theatrical expression. Yet even in those parts of Wuthering Heights where emotions run high, such as the scene where Shakuntala’s father dies and much weeping and lamenting ensue (Verma 2009: 21–2), the presentation on stage did not produce an effect of emotional excess but instead seemed normal in the context of a theatre show.

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Especially the musical numbers showed the difficulty of transferring Bollywood as a genre onto the stage. There was a lot of effort to imitate Bollywood films in these numbers: the stage directions indicate that these scenes are meant to be spectacular and, along the lines of the Bollywood stereotype, ‘colourful’ and ‘vibrant’ (Verma 2009: 56). They are partly non-diegetic, ‘almost dreamlike’ sequences (Verma 2009: 31) that grant the spectator insight in the characters’ fantasies. Regardless of the lip-synching and the Indian influences on the instrumentation and style of singing, however, the songs in Wuthering Heights had little in common with music sequences from Bollywood films. The mere fact that the characters sing in English is a harsh deviation from the Bollywood norm. Similarly, the costumes may have been colourful, yet the production lacked the money to deliver the spectacle associated with Bollywood and its musical numbers. In the films, costume changes, different spectacular locations and groups of background dancers create an impression of spectacular richness, which is further heightened by camera movements, precise framing and editing strategies showing off stars and sexualizing them. Replicating the effects of Bollywood song-and-dance scenes in the theatre is therefore a challenge at the best of times, and especially when, as in the case of Wuthering Heights, one has to work with a cast of eleven, no professional dancers and only one set.17 In the words of one reviewer: ‘we realise with mounting disappointment that there is to be almost no dancing. What’s Bollywood without a good ensemble number? Where’s the wet sari scene?’ (Mountford 2009). Another warned potential spectators: ‘As for the “Bollywood” angle in the advance publicity, don’t expect too much’ (Genty 2009). In a similar vein, Davis (2009) criticized that ‘Kristine Landon-Smith’s direction delivers little of the visual energy that is the hallmark of the Bollywood industry.’18 The reviewers’ impression that Bollywood was abused as a selling point for Wuthering Heights clashed with a discourse of fidelity and authenticity on the part of the play’s director and writer. They presented their combination of the best-known contemporary South Asian art form with Brontë’s text as an approximation rather than a culture clash. The notion of Bollywood they presented remained superficial, however. To them, ‘Bollywood’ stood for Indian films with music as well as an Indian art form which tends towards a rather limited set of plot types (all striving towards a happy resolution) and is characterized by heightened spectacle, emotionality on an epic scale and a ‘mixture of tension and excitement’ (Neill 2009). Director Kristine LandonSmith thus claimed quite simplistically, ‘I thought of the harsh landscape in

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the original book, and if you put some swelling Bollywood music behind it you already have a Bollywood film … There are points where the emotions get so high that they have to sing instead of speak. It’s natural why it should be a musical’ (qtd in Tibbetts 2008). Landon-Smith may indeed have intended to ‘celebrat[e] the Bollywood genre’ (qtd in Tibbetts 2008), yet the difference in the respective status of the main source texts of Wuthering Heights paints a different picture. Even though only half of the storyline of Brontë’s novel is retained, it has inspired some of the dialogue of the play and its flashback structure. More importantly, it provides the title, the content and the mythical and archetypical subject matter that is presented as transculturally valid and transposable into most diverse cultural contexts. Bollywood, in contrast, merely (and only allegedly) provides the mode of presentation. Tamasha’s Wuthering Heights is therefore ‘Bollywood Brontë’ rather than ‘Brontë Bollywood’. Does this imply that in Tamasha’s Wuthering Heights Bollywood is only an exploitable and malleable quantity, a fashionable gimmick used for the sake of product differentiation? Have the author and director aggressively appropriated and abused this art form for commercial purposes? Does the Bollywood mode of presentation as it is practiced here really open up a view at South Asian art, or does it merely render the spectacle more musical? There are good reasons for answering all of these questions in the affirmative. Yet this would mean neglecting the ambiguities of adaptation mechanisms, as the act of transposition potentially contains an element of resistance on the levels of production and distribution as well as reception. As in Bollywood Jane, the dialogue in Wuthering Heights mixes languages. According to the programme, the code switching was intended ‘to underline the cross-cultural nature of the exercise’ (Neill 2009), but it was also perceived by some as a divisive device underlining the difference between the Asian and non-Asian spectators of the play. Although foreign phrases are usually at once repeated in English, this is, as in Bollywood Jane, by no means always the case. While the readers of the play are treated to a seven-page glossary at the end of the book providing translations for all the non-English phrases in the play, spectators of the play have no such help. They will most probably still recognize the emotional gist of most of the untranslated speeches, but they will not always be able to access their symbolic meaning. The same is true for a lot of the comedy in the play so that one reviewer complained: ‘My Indian wife has taught me quite a few [expressions] over the years, but I was still left in the dark as my neighbours

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chuckled away’ (Davis 2009). Wuthering Heights thus appears as an ambiguous exercise simultaneously eroding and underlining cultural difference and thus resembles many of the texts analysed in Chapters 6–8 of this book. In contrast to the Leeds production of Whittington’s Bollywood Jane, its overemphasis on Bollywood as the show’s main selling point resulted in disenchantment because it failed to deliver the experiential qualities associated with the spectacular and auratic elements of Bollywood. The reviewers’ disappointment thus implicitly revealed that these experiential qualities are at the very core of what is expected from a Bollywood text.

Bombay Dreams Several years before Wuthering Heights, the West End musical Bombay Dreams, which was first produced in June 2002 and ran for two years at the Apollo Victoria Theatre in London, had already faced similar criticism of abusing Bollywood as a marketing ploy and of failing to deliver the real thing. Coproduced by renowned British musical composer and producer Andrew Lloyd Webber and Indian film director Shekhar Kapur, Bombay Dreams is the kind of show that it is easy to be cynical about: it was an unashamedly economically oriented enterprise, designed as yet another West End musical money-making machine. To this purpose, renowned Indian and British Asian talent was actively sought out and hired on the basis of both their expertise and popularity, such as Meera Syal, who wrote the show’s story and dialogues.19 Before accusing Bombay Dreams of opportunism, however, one should acknowledge that the show did not in fact exploit a fad but was conceived and planned well before the ‘discovery’ of Bollywood by the British mainstream started to gain momentum. In contrast to shows that emerged after the ‘Indian summer’, the producers of Bombay Dreams could not expect that a wide audience would be familiar with the concept of Bollywood, let alone Hindi films. The in-built audience of the show was practically exclusively Asian, that is, a niche audience, and not even die-hard Lloyd Webber fans could necessarily be counted on to attend, since not he but A.R. Rahman composed the show’s music. The plot of Bombay Dreams is rather convoluted, mirroring a Hindi film. It revolves around Akaash, a young Mumbai slum dweller, who dreams of becoming a movie star – an aim he achieves with the help of his friend Sweetie, a hijra, and several lucky coincidences. Akaash’s rise to stardom is followed by his disillusionment about the film business, however. He also

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feels guilty for abandoning his family and friends: Akaash betrays his slum origins once he has risen to fame. On his way to stardom Akaash falls in love with Priya, a Bollywood mogul’s daughter, who is dismissive of mainstream cinema. She dreams of making politically committed documentaries instead, and in Bombay Dreams there are enough corrupt characters to justify this wish. Akaash’s slum, for example, is in danger of being razed to make way for the latest property development scheme by the show’s villain, JK, who will do everything to save his interests, including bribing the lawyer who pretends to be fighting for the cause of the slum dwellers (and is engaged to Priya). The Hindi film industry, too, is presented as a criminal cesspit, where mafia bosses rule the day together with corrupt producers and directors. In the end, however, the slum is saved, and Priya and Akaash learn to respect each other’s views of mainstream cinema. Like the musicals The Merchants of Bollywood and Miss Bollywood and like many Bollywood novels, Bombay Dreams has a strong self-reflexive element and comments on the Hindi film industry and its products. In the song ‘Happy Endings’, for example, Priya and her father discuss their clashing views of the function of movies. Priya wants ‘motivating’ and ‘penetrating’ didactic films that encourage people to think, while her father defends escapist entertainment films with spectacle, poetic justice (‘Heroes flying, villains dying’) and happy endings (CD Bombay Dreams (2002)). Like Whittington, the makers of Bombay Dreams were very aware of the conventions of Hindi films and of the celebrity culture and social cosmos related to it. As in Bollywood Jane, they regarded these conventions as something to be adapted to the purposes of the new show; they could be used or discarded at will. As a consequence, the show contained a thirty-second kiss between the two leads, for example. Moreover, according to designer Mark Thomas, the stylized set was intended to create a completely non-realistic, theatrical space in order to evade the trap of representationality. One key element of the set was film hoardings that covered the top half of the stage and were used as an expressionistic device. They changed throughout the show to indicate the career development and emotional state of the hero. Some stereotypical elements of masala films were transposed directly onto the stage, such as clichéd characters (e.g. the one-dimensional villain in eccentric costumes) or the expressionistic sound effects that often mark key events in Hindi films. The moment when Akaash denies his slum origin in front of his old neighbours, for instance, was marked by thunderclap and rain. In contrast to Tamasha’s

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Wuthering Heights, the £4.5m production Bombay Dreams was also able to transpose the spectacular elements associated with Bollywood song-and-dance numbers onto the stage. Towards the end of the number ‘Shakalaka Baby’, for example, water drenched the performers in imitation of rain songs and wetsaree scenes in Hindi films. In light of this, it is hardly surprising that among the overall middling reviews the greatest praise was reserved for the show’s dance numbers, especially for ‘Chaiyya Chaiyya’, the opening number of the second act. Based on one of Hindi cinema’s best-known song picturizations from the film Dil Se (From the Heart, 1998), this number stands out. It is the only part of Bombay Dreams where an already existing film song, which is also one of Rahman’s best-known tunes, was retained with its original form and lyrics. In terms of adaptation strategies, the number is particularly interesting because it exemplifies the ambivalence of fidelity and the question of which ‘original’ has been adapted. The film picturization’s fame relies on Rahman’s song but also on Farah Khan’s choice of filming the choreography, which was performed by Shahrukh Khan with Malaika Arora and an ensemble of background dancers, on a moving train. In Bombay Dreams, the ‘Chaiyya Chaiyya’ number represents the ultimate cinematic Bollywood music sequence, a status reinforced by the number’s fidelity strategies. The film song is retained in its entirety and the stage choreography contains a lot of the dance moves from the original song picturization. In order to imitate the moving train from the film, parts of the number are performed by the actors and background dancers on a curved staircase that moves in a circle around the stage. The dynamism created in Dil Se by the moving train and bodies and by lighting, camera work and editing is translated for the theatre by the dancers’ movements and blocking, by lighting and by stage devices like the moving staircase and trapdoors. In one respect, however, the number does not only transfer the cinematic original onto the stage but adds to it. As has been mentioned before, song-and-dance numbers in Hindi films are famous for jumping between locations and for putting their performers (and especially their heroines) through several costumes, which may vary in colour and style. This is not actually the case in ‘Chaiyya Chaiyya’ in Dil Se, where the performers sport the same clothes throughout. Sharukh Khan wears a pair of beige trousers, a black T-shirt and a red jacket, while the other dancers have costumes in a generically ‘rustic’ style. In Bombay Dreams, in contrast, the spectacular nature of the ‘Chaiyya Chaiyya’ number is extended to costume, which means that

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the performers have to go through costume changes. From the rustic style of the film, they change into golden clothes (for the protagonists) and finally into generically ‘modern’, ‘Western’ pink disco outfits. The ‘Chaiyya Chaiyya’ number in Bombay Dreams thus modifies the original film picturization in order to better confirm prevalent notions about Bollywood song-and-dance scenes. The scene adapts both a concrete film sequence and the Bollywood stereotype. Despite the underlying conservationist attitude that pervades the number, it is therefore actually more stereotypically ‘Bollywood’ than the film on which it is based. Fidelity thus emerges as highly ambivalent, leading to a form of stereotyping rather than textual empowerment. This ambivalence was representative of the show’s depiction of Bollywood, as many commentators and reviewers, both amateur and professional, were quick to point out. Harvie, for example, proposes in her study Staging the UK that ‘Bombay Dreams exploits Bollywood’s – playful, spectacular, moving – conventions and simultaneously holds itself aloof from them, as though they are embarrassing’ (2005: 182). She interprets this as ‘a classic Orientalist practice: Bombay Dreams indulges the Eastern form as a means of portraying its own superiority to that form’ (2005: 183). Harvie’s impression was shared by an anonymous reviewer on the internet platform whatsonstage.com who thought: ‘It may have begun as a stage hommage [sic] to the joys of Bollywood films, but has somewhere along the line tunred [sic] into an embarrassing condescenion [sic] of it instead.’ In a similar vein the Guardian’s Michael Billington (2002) considered the show ‘a touch presumptuous’ because it mocked the fantasy world of Bollywood movies despite relying on the appeal of escapism itself. Beyond the Bollywood references proper, ambivalence was also the hallmark of the use of ‘Indian’ elements in the show, for ultimately, Bombay Dreams was not a stage adaptation of Bollywood films but an Indianized or Bollywoodized stage musical. Much like the Bollywood angle remained subordinate to Brontë’s text in Tamasha’s Wuthering Heights, the references to (Hindi) films in Bombay Dreams played a subordinate role to the medial and generic requirements of a West End musical. The overall impression left by Bombay Dreams is therefore one of a flashy but basically conventional stage musical, whose attempt at product differentiation relies on a veneer of romanticized and exoticized Indianness. On a very basic level, this effect occurs because the show relies on several of the most stereotypical Indian themes in Western media. Slum life and Bollywood are the focus points of the story, hijra characters provide

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additional exotic and sexual colour (Harvie 2005: 182–3). In the London production the sense of ‘Indianization’ was further supported by the acting style in the show, as the British Asian actors adopted Indian mannerisms in their body language, gestures and accents,20 so that they basically appeared in Indian drag (a feature also observable in Tamasha’s Wuthering Heights). The dialogues, too, are meant to suggest Indian colour, as the English lyrics are interspersed with Hindi words and lines, which, however, usually merely reduplicate English lines.21 The principle that Indian elements are subjected to the requirements of the London stage musical is also present in those songs in Bombay Dreams for which Rahman reworked some of his earlier pieces. One of these numbers is ‘Are you sure you want to be famous?’ This duet between Priya and Akaash about stardom in the Hindi film industry is a remake of the song ‘Sona Nahin Na Sahin’ from the film One 2 Ka 4 (One Times 2 Is 4, 2001). In the Bombay Dreams version, the singers’ melodies are less elaborately ornamented, the rhythms less intricate. The background music, moreover, seems to function predominantly as Indianizing colouring. The reason for this effect is first and foremost a different relationship between voices and instruments than in the film: the stage musical demands that other elements of the song recede behind the singing and lyrics. As a consequence – and this is a general principle in Bombay Dreams – the predominant element of the song is its English voices. The same tendency can be observed in songs that were written especially for the show (e.g. ‘I could live here’). For some spectators this had a disorienting effect, because they perceived a clash between the type of music they were expecting based on their familiarity with Hindi films and its re-contextualization in a British stage musical. One reviewer observed, for example: The inventiveness of his [Rahman’s] film tracks just wasn’t there on stage – it was like he’d watered things down, or he’d run out of creativity. For me, it particularly didn’t work in the ballad-y [sic] numbers, as you’d get intrinsically Indian melodies fitted up with strangely scanning English words – it somehow didn’t work’. (Bombay Dreams reviews)

The discrepancy between Hindi film-style music and English lyrics even affected the dance choreography. According to an interview included in the bonus material of the DVD Salaam Bombay Dreams, choreographer Farah Khan was keenly aware that she had to change her usual practice of fitting dance

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movements in love songs to the lyrics. In her opinion, this ‘could look a little ridiculous’ for songs with English lyrics.22

Adaptational strategies and politics of Bollywood adaptations Taken together, the analyses of Bollywood novels and stage productions in this chapter reveal several key transpositional processes at work on the micro-level of Bollywood adaptations. First of all, the adaptation mechanisms one can observe in the analysed texts exceed the definitions of adaptation suggested for example by Sanders and Hutcheon. While all the texts discussed in this chapter constitute ‘extended’ and ‘acknowledged’ (Hutcheon 2006: 8) transpositions of Bollywood elements into a non-filmic medium (thus also fulfilling more traditional notions of adaptation as medium change), Hutcheon’s description of adaptation as a transposition of a ‘recognizable other work or works’ (2006: 8) is far from unproblematic in relation to Bollywood adaptations. Hutcheon and Sanders moreover share a concentration on story and plot as the key subjects of adaptation. Bollywood adaptations, however, go beyond this. The stage productions and novels presented in this chapter rarely adapt individual works or storylines from specific films, even when they intertextually refer to specific scenes from existing Hindi films. Instead, they transpose the alleged formula elements of Bollywood films. These include convoluted, episodic or slow-paced plots, an emphasis on romance (often interpreted as saccharine kitsch), boy-meets-girl storylines and happy endings. They also include character types, such as the troubled but ultimately good hero, the selfless and chaste, yet sexy heroine and the one-dimensional villain with loud costumes and idiosyncratic one-liners. Even though the adaptations usually do not explicitly reference individual films, they take up dominant presentational paradigms and engage with Bollywood conventions such as the item number, wet-saree scenes or the alleged no-kissing rule. The stage productions analysed here suggest that the breaking of this ‘rule’ has been a particularly popular strategy of underlining the artistic autonomy of British Bollywood adaptations. In the context of Bollywood’s changing representation of sexuality and intimacy in the past few years, a kissing couple in a Western Bollywood adaptation should no longer be perceived as challenging Bollywood, however – unless the actual films are overlooked in favour of the Bollywood stereotype. As is to be expected, the most recognizable feature of mainstream Hindi films, the musical sequences, is a major reference point in all adaptations

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analysed here, both in the novels, where they figure via presentations of the shooting process or fictional plot summaries, and in the stage productions, which all incorporate song and dance numbers. Two further reference points of Bollywood adaptations are often linked with song-and-dance sequences. The first are the visuals associated with Bollywood. As is shown by the stage directions in many Bollywood plays as well as by Bombay Dreams’ ‘Chaiyya Chaiyya’ number and the fictional film plot summaries in Bollywood novels, Bollywood is generically perceived as colourful and spectacular. This spectacle includes especially the films’ costumes, choreographies, locations and their stars’ bodies. Strategies to incorporate these visual qualities in Bollywood adaptations vary according to the adaptation’s target medium but can nonetheless be found in all the texts discussed in this chapter. The second reference point of Bollywood adaptations that is often associated with song-and-dance sequences is the films’ emotionality. All the adaptations engage with the notion that Bollywood films are a sensuous experience and marked by heightened emotions. This quality may be satirized by exposing the films’ strategies of emotional manipulation, as in many Bollywood novels. It can also be presented as a positive force, however, like in Amanda Whittington’s Bollywood Jane. In whichever mode, heightened emotionality is a constant reference point of Bollywood adaptations. Like in the films themselves, the adaptations moreover often connect it to the themes of family, friendship and loyalty. Besides these structural and thematic features, another of the key elements taken up in Bollywood adaptations is the auratic quality of Hindi films that is especially related to songs and stars. It is the central attraction of the stage shows headlined by Bollywood stars, as well as the frequent Indian film award ceremonies broadcast all over the world. Spectacle is also incorporated in the stars’ performance of stardom beyond stage and film, which is picked up and perpetuated by Indian film magazines and TV programmes that latch themselves exploitatively to Bollywood’s celebrity culture. The Bollywood ‘text’ that is adapted into plays, novels or other films is therefore already multi-medial in the sense that it exceeds the structural and thematic features of Hindi films to include an essential aura of spectacle and celebrity. In Bollywood adaptations for predominantly non-Asian audiences, this spectacle may include an Orientalist presentation of Indianness, as in Bombay Dreams. Even in works that evade the trap of Orientalism, however, the Indianness of Bollywood is a key reference point. Indian characters and (in stage

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productions) Asian performers are the key carriers of this Indianness. It usually also figures in Bollywood novels and stage productions via Indian dialogues, Indian music and references to prominent and/or recognizable aspects of Indian or diasporic Indian culture. The hybridity resulting from the aesthetic and cultural amalgamations in most Bollywood adaptations produced in British contexts has led to discussions about their politics. Harvie, for example, has interpreted the effect of the artistic choices in Bombay Dreams as cultural vagueness that she regards as ‘culturally disrespectful’ towards Indians and British Asians (2005: 181). Despite acknowledging the opportunities that the show provided for British Asian stage performers, she clearly regards the whole production as an exercise in cultural exploitation and appropriation that never portrays nor respects Indian culture with any complexity (2005: 181). To suggest, as she does, that some of the problematic issues concerning the play’s representation of Indian characters and its condescending ambivalences towards Bollywood might have been suspended if the production had hired an Indian or British Indian director and lyricist (2005: 180), seems overly simplistic, however. As Tamasha’s production of Wuthering Heights shows, strategic ‘Bollywood’ labelling and attempts to create local colour by means of ‘Indianization’ also occur in adaptations of Bollywood for the stage that originate in the niche of British Asian theatre. Harvie is indeed in danger of throwing out the baby with the bathwater. Not only does she advance a very generalizing notion of British Asian culture and British Asians. She ultimately ascribes Bollywood ownership to persons of South Asian ethnicity. This stance is central for her positive opinion about the potential of adapting Bollywood in Britain, which she formulates as follows: First and foremost, to adapt Bollywood cinema in Britain is to acknowledge and pay respect to both Bollywood’s phenomenal cultural importance in India and throughout the Asian diaspora, and the distinctive cultural attitudes, values, and ideologies that Bollywood articulates. It is to endorse the value of Asian cultural differences and to do so in a way that challenges the long-standing oppression of those differences within Britain … Second, to adapt Bollywood in Britain is to explore the fundamental hybridity of both Asian cultures and British cultures … At its most productive, Bollywood in Britain has the potential to change British Asian identities, British identities, and British cultural practices. It can improve Asian cultural experience in the UK by promoting Asian cultural difference … it can diversify and hybridise British cultural practice. (Harvie 2005: 184–5)

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In her criticism of Bombay Dreams, which Harvie sees an example of how exactly this potential was not realized, she forgets that while the slum set and hijra dance moves may have been created by a white set designer and a white choreographer with little previous knowledge of India, the characters and dialogue were created by Meera Syal and the overall show co-produced by Shekhar Kapur. Suggesting that only fully (British) Asian talent behind a production can guarantee the emancipatory potential of British Bollywood adaptations, Harvie neglects that, as the example of Tamasha’s Wuthering Heights shows, the Bollywood label may indeed be just that – a label to attract an audience and to justify ‘Indianization’ strategies that from a non-Asian point of view can appear as no less Othering than the ones in Bombay Dreams. Despite her problematic ascription of ownership, Harvie’s arguments underline once again, however, the ethnically marked nature of Bollywood within the British context. As this chapter has shown, in many British theatrical adaptations Bollywood is constructed explicitly as an Indian text in an ethnic and, indeed, racial sense, for example via language, the actors’ skin colour and body language, their costumes and the setting of plays in Indian or diasporic South Asian locations. The linguistic code-switching and the references to elements of Indian culture in all productions consolidate, in a British reception context, a distinction between insiders and outsiders. The very notion of (cultural) adaptation relies on a concept of separate cultures, after all. Regarding the shows’ reception, this principle means that theatrical Bollywood adaptations tend to attract more South Asians than usual into British theatres.23 At least in the purely physical sense of bringing together spectators from different ethnicities, these productions therefore serve as an intercultural, possibly even transcultural exercise. Yet it would be a mistake to regard the plays as evidence of an erosion of difference. On the contrary; it is no wonder that touring productions of Bollywood plays and stage shows tend to play in cities with sizeable Asian population groups: their scale and attraction radius are limited. This emphasizes rather than erodes cultural differences and gaps and underlines once again that the consumption of Bollywood content in Britain is strongly ethnically marked. Even a play like Bollywood Jane, which was produced outside the niche of Asian theatre, exemplifies the role of ethnicity as an abiding category of difference, on the levels of both text and reception.

10

Conclusion

This study intended to address several dimensions of Bollywood in Britain in order to provide an extensive survey of the various manifestations and facets of the phenomenon. Given the prevalent meaning of the term ‘Bollywood’ as a synonym of Indian mainstream cinema and especially Hindi cinema since the mid-1990s, the study has examined the role and status of the films within the British film market as well as their audiences. However, as Rajadhyaksha (2003) has pointed out, Bollywood can also be understood as a culture industry that has spread beyond its cinematic origins, which is evident in Bollywood’s development into an unofficial brand. The discursive complex of Bollywood in Britain, finally, was the third and most prominent angle of Bollywood examined here. It was approached based on the assumption that detailed readings of multiple Bollywood texts (in the widest sense) would illustrate the different ways in which Bollywood has been adapted for British contexts as well as the constants and changes in the ways Bollywood has been represented especially for non-traditional audiences. From each of these three angles, Bollywood in Britain has emerged as a phenomenon of difference, distance and Othering. In the films themselves, the representation of the West tends to hinge on a binarist comparison with the more positive East – an evaluative approach that has been challenged, however, in some diaspora films that present the diasporic hero as a teacher who uses the knowledge acquired in the West to ameliorate life in India. Some films like Queen (2014), which do not have a diasporic angle, similarly present the West more positively as a space of education and emancipation but ultimately still fall back on the assumption of a basic difference between India and the West. The investigation of Indian cinema in the British film market has revealed that Indian mainstream films (and especially Hindi films) have a small but stable presence. It began to grow in the late 1990s and has developed into a very solid

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niche status, even though the extent to which Bollywood film consumption occurs in Britain is regionally unequal. It is concentrated in areas with large Asian communities (e.g. London, Leeds-Bradford and Birmingham-Leicester), since the cinema audiences for Indian films in Britain are almost exclusively Asian. Even though the theatrical exhibition of these films is now firmly in the hand of the multiplexes, which attract an ethnically mixed clientele, the cultural practice of Bollywood cinema-going in Britain is still an experience of segregation. The watching of Bollywood films is ethnically coded as a nearexclusively Asian activity, and not only at cinemas. Due to the comparatively marginal role of Indian films on British TV stations, despite Channel 4’s regular South Asian and Indian film seasons, Bollywood on TV is mainly consumed via specialist Asian-language satellite channels and increasingly via other forms of subscription Video on Demand. Even the phenomenon of Bollywood retail DVDs in Britain ultimately supports this ethnic coding, due to the different pricing strategies for DVDs (and the treatment of piracy) at high street shops and Asian DVD shops. The Bollywood culture industry was originally based on the success of several Hindi films that originated between the mid-1990s and the early 2000s and shared several thematic and stylistic features. It soon surpassed its cinematic origins, however, so that the films and the other facets of ‘Bollywood’ developed apart. Hindi films had long been an influence on the cultural life of the British Asian communities beyond the activity of film-going, most prominently in the fields of music, dance and fashion. In the early years of the new millennium, Bollywood in this sense also gained attention outside Asian circles. This time saw the development of a stereotypical image of Bollywood films, whose core qualities were transferred onto other texts and commodities, leading to the development of Bollywood into an unofficial lifestyle brand, complete with its own iconography. This development was fed by various kinds of texts, many of which have been the subject of this study. They include the early reviews of Hindi films in quality newspapers, the first-hand reports from the Hindi film industry by Shelley, England and Hardy, Honey Kalaria’s fitness DVDs, the musical Bombay Dreams, Hari Kunzru’s novel Transmission and the TV show ‘Bollywood Star’. Not only did these texts contribute to the general rhizomatic spreading of the Bollywood meta-text that is created by the constant proliferation of Bollywood adaptations. They also established an image of the Hindi film industry as usually badly organized, unsophisticated and exploitative, which contrasts

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with the glamorous celebrity culture that surrounds it. Most importantly, they created a stereotypical image of Bollywood films that emphasizes their entertainment value, musical nature, heightened emotionality, simple and often formulaic stories, tendency towards melodrama, deficit of realism, ample scope and general larger-than-life quality. Based on this image of the films and the glamorous aspects of the film industry, ‘Bollywood’ came to stand for exuberance, colour, opulence, glamour, an in-yer-face version of joie de vivre and, most importantly, Indianness (with sometimes more and sometimes less acknowledgement of its hybridization). Although Hindi films and the Hindi film industry changed markedly after the early 2000s, the Bollywood stereotype in mainstream British culture did not. The films and the Bollywood brand therefore drifted ever further apart. Hindi cinema has diversified and, as a consequence, the categories of mainstream and middle cinema have become less distinct. This has also been acknowledged in film reviews and reports about new tendencies in Bollywood in non-Asian British media. However, although one can now observe a distinction between socalled old Bollywood and new Bollywood especially in specialist film reporting, the Bollywood brand label is still used simplistically to market, for example, jewellery or clothes on the ground that they are Indian. When one examines British texts that contributed to the formation of the Bollywood stereotype and helped expand the notion of Bollywood beyond the sphere of cinema, it becomes clear that these texts tend to foreground the Indianness of Bollywood. In most British versions of Bollywood, this Indianness is not perceived or engaged with as an essence but rather as one of Bollywood’s surface effects. This should warn us to not simply ascribe the diasporic nostalgia that is presented in diaspora films to the films’ real spectators. In keeping with notions of diaspora as a performative category, nostalgia in diasporic Bollywood spectators is more usefully thought of in terms of Dudrah’s concept of stylized nostalgia (2006: 101) or Boym’s concept of reflective nostalgia (2011). In contrast to the simplistic notion that the consumption of diasporic media means their passive acceptance, these concepts emphasize diasporic viewers’ active engagement with the texts and ideologies they encounter in Hindi films in relation to their own situation. Despite its global spread, in Britain, at least, Bollywood has become a metonymy of Indianness that colours the representation not only of Indian films and the Indian film industry but also of India and British Asians. In the context of British mainstream media, which have a tendency to subsume any

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lifestyle phenomenon relating to India in the widest sense under the Bollywood label and usually uphold a firmly Eurocentric point of view, an approach like this leads to corroborations of cultural and ethnic specificity and thus of difference. The textual manifestations of transdifference examined in this study illustrate, however, that these corroborations often occur indirectly. Many texts that on a surface level seem to shake or even overcome cultural difference and otherness by translation and explanation do in fact contain contradictions and ambivalent attitudes that effectively confirm difference and otherness. The reductionist tendency that comes with the explanatory stance that can be found in many early texts about Bollywood, for example, is not necessarily an invitation to discover the unfamiliar but sustains an ethnocentric attitude on the reader’s or spectator’s part. Possibly as a logical consequence of this impossibility of overcoming difference, later texts about Bollywood in British mainstream media often do not even pretend to modify their Eurocentric position or to acknowledge Bollywood as a part of British culture. Instead, they cement Bollywood’s Indianness and, in the context of British mainstream culture, therefore its implicit otherness. Even those British texts about Bollywood that presuppose an audience familiar with the form and its stars – and the large majority of this audience would be Asian – still illustrate that Bollywood is a divisive phenomenon. For example, the differing approaches to Hindi films by film reviewers with and without extensive Bollywood experience, who tend to fall clearly into two different ethnic camps, illustrate this division. The often condescending engagement with Bollywood films in reviews in non-Asian media, for example, is exacerbated by the critics’ refusal to deviate from their Hollywood-oriented evaluative grid, which they apparently also expect to determine their readers’ horizon of expectation. These are reviews by Westerners for Westerners who are nonetheless willing to engage with niche cultural phenomena, and therefore the texts imply a middlebrow or highbrow intended readership, even though they generally present the films themselves as lowbrow entertainment. In reviews by critics like Fuad Omar and Anil Sinanan, the emphasis on plot logic, realism and character psychology that governs most British film reviewing is usually set aside in favour of an appreciation of other viewing pleasures and an approach that considers the parts of the film to be more important than the whole. These texts reflect that for the majority of British Asian Bollywood spectators the films’ auratic appeal, which derives from their songs, music and especially stars, is paramount for their viewing pleasure. This does not mean that the qualities these

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critics ascribe to Bollywood are necessarily very different from their colleagues’. Bollywood films still emerge as frothy, exuberant and over the top. However, these qualities do not appear strange or alien in their texts. Indirectly, therefore, texts like Omar’s Insider’s Guide to Bollywood (2006) as well as some (though by no means the majority) of Anil Sinanan’s reviews confirm the connotations of difference that Bollywood has in relation to the British majority culture because they suggest that Bollywood is almost exclusively Asian. The elusiveness that results from this persistent insistence on cultural difference is one of Bollywood’s main selling points in Britain, and this applies to the films as much as it does to the larger Bollywood brand, which therefore perfectly illustrates Graham Huggan’s concept of the post-colonial exotic, where the difference of other (in this case formerly colonized) cultures is exploited as a selling point and commodified. The transculturality of Bollywood can thus be understood as a marketing strategy in the course of which hybridities are reified for safe consumption in the globalized market. Indianness is reduced to external markers, such as the salient visual features associated with so-called Bollywood style, which become travelling metonymies of India that are disposable to be used as marketing labels (e.g. in Tamasha’s Wuthering Heights). The use of Bollywood as a metonymy of Indianness in marketing, combining issues of representation with issues of economic exploitation, is responsible for many of the negative reactions against the ways in which Bollywood is treated and used in the British mainstream. Among the more harmless examples of criticism is Dudrah’s, who is afraid that the political dimension of Hindi films is often overlooked in favour of their more eye-catching and entertaining qualities (2006: 118). The more vehement reactions, according to which the reception of Bollywood by the British mainstream has reduced India and Indianness into a fashion trend, a spectacle (in which Bollywood serves as an exhibit) or even a mere exotic flavour, seem to be based on the idea that Bollywood is a form of Asian property. The adaptation of Bollywood by the white mainstream is then perceived as theft, and Bollywood explicitly constructed as Indian in an ethnic and indeed a racial sense. Despite Bollywood’s apparent transculturality, the image of its reception in Britain so far has therefore not been one in which difference is eroded but constantly confirmed. Once in the literary marketplace, even fictional texts that seem to use Bollywood merely as a starting point for reflections about issues like interculturality, transculturality, globalization, connectivity or the pleasures of different forms of storytelling cannot escape this political dimension of

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Bollywood in Britain. It pervades the exhibition, distribution and reception patterns of Bollywood films, it is evident in the commodification of Indianness in the Bollywood brand, and it has been absolutely central in the discursive complex on Bollywood in Britain that has developed since the so-called Indian summer first brought Bollywood to the attention of a large non-Asian British public.

Notes Chapter 1 1 2

3 4

5 6 7

8

See the title of his book, Mythos Globalisierung (2005). See, for example, Bühl (2005: 16, 21). See also Flew’s questioning of theories of media globalization (2007: 80–5) and his cautioning against ‘equating overseas expansion with globalization’ (2007: 61). For more information about Bollywood in Germany see, for example, Fritz (2007), Würtz (2008), Wessel (2011) and Krauß (2012b). In keeping with general language usage in Britain, I will be using the terms ‘British Asian’ and ‘Asian’ to refer to the ethnicity of persons and groups settled in Britain with cultural roots in South Asia. As Sayyid has pointed out, terms like ‘British Asian’ or ‘Asian British’, with or without a hyphen, are not unproblematic. For this reason he himself advocates the label ‘BrAsian’ instead. One can argue, for example, that these terms ultimately insist on a distinction between West and non-West and are used to imply that persons of South Asian heritage, even if they live in Britain, are ultimately defined by their Asianness, that is, by cultural practices that are perceived to work in contrast to the British majority culture (Sayyid 2006: 5–7). However, given that many of the findings in this book indicate that Bollywood in Britain often serves to uphold just such an emphasis on cultural difference, it seems not unsuitable to employ the established terms. For an overview of earlier work see Shakuntala Banaji (2006: 1–18) and Rajinder Dudrah (2006: 25–6). For example, Dwyer (2000, 2014), Gopal (2011), Mishra (2002), Nandy (1998), Uberoi (1998, 2001), Vasudevan (2000), Raghavendra (2014) and Joshi (2015). For example, Fay (2011), Ganti (2004, 2013), Gokulsing & Dissanayake (2004), Kabir (2001), Pendakur (2003) and Varia (2012). Publications for the sector of secondary education (rather than higher education) are Howden (2005) and the BFI teaching guide Bollywood and Beyond (BFI 2002). See also Ganti (2012), which focuses on the contexts and practices of film production in the contemporary Hindi film industry. See Banker (2001), M. Bose (2007), Dwyer (2005), Jha (2005a), Nazir (2002), Rishi (2012), Peach (2015) and Stadtman (2015). Print-on-demand and electronic publishing have encouraged several authors to publish lists of alleged must-see films.

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9 See also Dissanayake (2004), Verstappen & Rutten (2007) and Krauß (2012a). 10 For example, L.M. Joshi (2001), Devraj, Bouman & Duncan (2010), Pinto & Sippy (2008), Raheja & Kothari (2004), Torgovnik (2003) and their forerunner Garga (1996); see also Geoffroy-Schneiter (2004) (originally published in French). 11 A possible complement to the Bollywood Batein report concerning young Bangladeshi viewers is David Garbin’s report on Identities and ‘New Ethnicities’ among British Bangladeshi and Mixed-Heritage Youth in London, which is also based on interviews and contains a subchapter on the consumption of cinema, television and visual media (2009: 21–3). 12 I indicate the year of release and translate the title whenever I mention a film for the first time in a chapter but omit this information in the course of the chapter. 13 This means that apparently homogenizing expressions like ‘Indian culture’, ‘British culture’, etc., in this study should always be understood as containing cultural multitudes. The use of the singular reflects, however, that in many of the texts examined in this book, constructions and discussions of Indianness or other forms of cultural belonging are in fact conducted as if there were clearly distinguishable, separate cultures. This study rejects this notion along with the assumption that there might exist some essential Indianness or Britishness. Whenever terms like ‘Indianness’, ‘Asianness’ or ‘Britishness’ are used in this book, they express the discursive construction of homogenizing images of peoples and cultures; they are not meant to denote an allegedly real quality.

Chapter 2 1 2

3

4

See Vasudevan (2011), which critically discusses this convention and the embracing of the term ‘Bollywood’ in scholarly discourse. A few words on the use of the terms ‘Mumbai’ and ‘Bombay’ in the present book are necessary here. I generally use ‘Mumbai’, which has been the city’s official name since 1995, when I talk about the city, but retain the name ‘Bombay’ in connection with the discussion of the term ‘Bollywood’ and when I refer to the city and/or its film industry before 1995. See, for example, Shahrukh Khan, who criticizes the term in the documentary The Inner World of Sharukh Khan (Nasreen Munni Kabir, 2005) but employed it in conversation with Western media representatives during his 2008 Berlinale press conference for Om Shanti Om (2007). See also director Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra, who is quoted as rejecting the term in Hu (2007) but used it later in the title of the documentary Bollywood – The Greatest Love Story Ever Told (2011). According to Prasad, the term ‘Tollywood’ seems to have carried no implications of derivativeness (Prasad 2008: 42). This contradicts Derek Bose, who claims

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that ‘The Journal of the Bengal Motion Pictures Association had coined the word, Tollywood – way back in the thirties – to describe a certain kind of “progressive” (read “Westernised”) cinema produced by Calcutta’s Tollygunge Studios. Those movies supposedly approximated the kind of productions Hollywood was then known for, only that they were not in English but in Bengali. From Tollywood came Mollywood …, Lollywood …, Kollywood …, and somewhere along the way Bollywood gained currency’ (2006: 11). 5 About 40 per cent of the Indian population understand Hindi. Hindi films are moreover dubbed into other Indian languages (Würtz 2008: 58). 6 The category of the Indian art cinema, which is also called ‘parallel cinema’, started to emerge with the rise of the New Indian Cinema around 1970. The New Indian Cinema attempted to avoid the rules of mainstream cinema and to work outside its commercial structures. Its representatives eschew the typical stylistic and narrative elements of Indian popular films in favour of politically committed film-making that derives from more ‘realist’ (Western) forms of cinema, such as Italian Neorealism, the French New Wave, British Free Cinema or East European Soviet Films (Thoraval 2000: 139–42). ‘Middle cinema’ is a (very fuzzy) concept used to describe films that lie somewhere between the so-called commercial, popular or mainstream cinema on the one hand and the more elitist art cinema on the other (Uhl & Kumar 2004: 149). Because of recent institutional changes within the Hindi film industry and especially because of the growing number of multiplex cinemas, the boundaries of these categories, which were never clear-cut, are becoming increasingly blurred. 7 Govil (2007: 87, 88), Lorenzen & Taeube (2007: 26, 29) and Punathambekar & Kavoori (2008: 4). 8 For a short outline of the development of the corporatization process in the Hindi film industry, see Govil (2007: 87–90). For an extensive description and analysis of the process and its consequences, see Punathambekar (2013). 9 On further government measures for the promotion of the Indian film industry, such as the active fight against film piracy, the lowering of entertainment tax and tax incentives for the construction of multiplexes, see Lorenzen & Taeube (2007: 27). 10 Wright, in contrast, reserves the term ‘New Bollywood’ for what she considers ‘postmodern’ works from Bollywood, an aesthetic style ‘used as a means of internally commenting on and critiquing the industry in its current form’ that she considers dominant in Hindi cinema since 2000 (2015: 6). 11 A fundamentally different concept of Bollywood has been proposed by Priya Joshi (2010, 2015: 91–124), who uses Bollywood as ‘a heuristic device: neither epochal nor Bombay cinema tout court, it is a clarifying term to refer to a popular cinema made in Bombay that has claimed a social purpose and enjoyed a certain kind of popularity that it has maintained across time and audiences’ (2015: 94), which she sees exemplified especially by social films from the 1970s. For Joshi, films like

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Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham, which are firmly part of Rajadhyaksha’s concept of Bollywood, in contrast exemplify what she calls ‘Bollylite’, a highly problematic category both because of its normative foundation, which is already indicated by its name (according to Joshi’s moralistic discourse of lack, ‘Bollylite’ films have given up the social purpose of ‘real’ Bollywood films and instead put form and consumerism before anything else) and highly disparate set-up (Monsoon Wedding, Bride & Prejudice, Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham, Devdas are all labelled ‘Bollylite’) (2010: 250). As an analytic tool, the category is therefore of little use. Still, Joshi’s idiosyncratic appropriation of the term ‘Bollywood’ further illustrates its openness. For criticism of both Joshi’s ‘Bollylite’ and Gopal’s ‘New Bollywood’ concepts see Gehlawat (2015: 12–31). 12 Pace Gehlawat (2015: 31), I would like to suggest that the method used by Rajadhyaksha and Punathambekar of approaching Bollywood primarily in terms of industrial contexts rather than in terms of film aesthetics is a useful way of evading the possibly central problem in defining and periodizing Bollywood that Gehlawat himself has succinctly formulated as follows: ‘Part of th[e] difficulty lies in the fact that Bollywood is used to refer to the formalization of a style but also to the thing being formalized – the as-yet-undefined form itself. Thus it calls forth its referent in its naming, implying a style and a process – a stylization – that ambiguously hover over a vague timeframe, falling somewhere between, in the extreme, the silent era and the current one or … the period between Indian independence and now … or … somewhere between the 1970s and the 2000s and, now, even (it is possible to say) the post-2000s.’ (2015: 31) 13 Thussu (2007: 27), Thussu (2008: 111), UK Film Council (2008b: 102), UK Film Council (2009: 110–11), UK Film Council (2010: 106), BFI (2011: 121–2), BFI (2012: 136–7) and BFI (2013: 163–4). 14 As Sarazzin demonstrates with regard to changes in conveying Indianness through music in Hindi films, this localization strategy may even involve the adoption of foreign ideas of Indian music, resulting in a new exoticism that renders Indian elements as exotic or foreign (2008: 211, 213).

Chapter 3 1

2 3

Figures and statistics about the British film market presented in this chapter are, unless otherwise indicated, derived from the annual statistics published by the British Film Institute (BFI) and UK Film Council. Tyrrell uses the term ‘Bollywood’ as a synonym for ‘popular Indian cinema’. Piracy of Hindi films in Britain was exacerbated by a new law in 1988, which required that videos from South Asia be submitted to the BBFC for classification.

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Not only did this lead to the almost complete disappearance of Pakistani films from the legal film/video market; marked discrepancies between British Asian spectators’ opinions and those of the BBFC about the classification of erotic and violent scenes also encouraged piracy (Tyrrell 1998: 21; see Bollywood Batein 2004: 44–53). 4 I follow the classification by the BFI and the UK Film Council of Indian mainstream films in Britain as foreign language films, although they differ from the other foreign language films in the sense that the majority of their audience speak or understand the language spoken in the movies with native-speaker or nearly native-speaker competence. Their categorization as foreign language films is nonetheless useful in the context of this study’s attempt to map the status of popular Indian cinema in the British film market. 5 The Indian titles that have topped the annual box office for foreign language films are Kuch Kuch Hota Hai (1998), Mohabbatein (Love Stories, 2000), Devdas (2002), My Name is Khan (2010), Ra.One (2011), Dhoom 3 (Blast 3, 2013) and PK (2014). 6 In the cinema week from 20 November 2009, for example, only three Odeon sites (Leicester, Trafford Centre and Bradford) screened any Bollywood films at all. In the cinema week from 20 March 2015, none of the Odeon sites screened any South Asian films. 7 Bollywood or South Asian programming by further British cinema chains (e.g. Reel Cinemas, Picturehouse Cinemas, Empire Cinemas, Showcase Cinemas) is negligible or non-existent. 8 Geographically unequal Bollywood programming leads to spectators filling the gap by watching films at home and to cases of what may be termed ‘Bollywood tourism’. I was told in a private conversation by a Vue Star City patron in Birmingham in 2010, for example, that her family lived in Bournemouth but regularly travelled to Southall to watch Hindi films there because the Bournemouth cinemas did not show any. (The Himalaya Palace Cinema in Southall was still running at the time.) On the evening of our conversation, she was in Birmingham on private business and had decided to make the best of the opportunity by watching two Hindi films in a row at Star City. 9 For example, the total box office shares of the most successful Indian distributors in Britain in 2007 were 0.7 per cent (Eros International) and 0.3 per cent (Yash Raj Films). In 2010 the box office shares of the most successful Indian distributors were 0.34 per cent (Eros International) and 0.26 per cent (UTV Motion Pictures); in 2013 the figures were 0.36 per cent (Eros International), 0.33 per cent (UTV Motion Pictures) and 0.25 per cent (Yash Raj Films) (cf. FDA 2008: 9; BFI 2011: 78; BFI 2014: 97). 10 In 2009 a non-Indian distributor, Optimum, topped the list for the first time in ten years. In 2010, Momentum took the top spot. In both years, Eros International ranked at number two and bounced back to number one in the following years.

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11 Information about box office figures and films’ width of release are derived from the BFI’s records at http://www.bfi.org.uk/education-research/film-industrystatistics-research/weekend-box-office-figures. 12 According to a statement by Shekhar Kapur at a London symposium about ‘India as a Soft Power’ in February 2011, 75 per cent of all viewership of Indian films is pirated. Bollywood Batein confirms that pirate films are widely available and consumed in Britain and that their viewers are largely unconcerned about piracy and often scarcely aware that they are watching illegal copies of films (2004: 33–4). 13 According to the findings of a Film Distributors’ Association (FDA) survey, ethnic minority audiences have different media preferences for getting information on films and cinema than ethnic majority audiences: ‘Local/ethnic newspapers, rather than national titles, and outdoor poster panels are significantly more influential’, and film and cinema web sites ‘are especially engaging to those of Indian origin’ (FDA 2008: 67). The question whether this is due to choice or necessity remains. 14 See the findings of the FDA that with ‘Bollywood (and other ethnic) films, the Indian and Pakistani communities account for 90 per cent of the cinema audience. 18 per cent of Indian people and 31 per cent of Pakistanis aged 16–60 go to such films at least 2–3 times a year’ (FDA 2008: 66). The conversations with non-Asian cinema patrons and HMV customers I had in the course of collecting material for the survey conducted for this study suggest that their main reasons for not consuming Bollywood films are the language barrier and the spectators’ unwillingness to watch films with subtitles, which many considered tiring. 15 The predominant South Asian languages spoken in the British Asian communities are Punjabi and Gujarati for people with Indian backgrounds, Sylheti for people with a Bangladeshi background, and Urdu, which many Pakistanis in Britain learn (Dwyer 2006: 366). See Garbin (2009: 22–3) and Banaji (2006: 49) for peculiarities in the reception of Bollywood by Bangladeshi spectators. 16 Minority ethnic groups have been over-represented in relation to the general public as buyers of cinema tickets for years (see UK Film Council 2009: 121). A survey has confirmed that in 2013 Asian audiences in Britain were ‘over-represented among buyers of cinema tickets, video rental and digital, and under-represented among video buyers, ie [sic] they comprised a greater proportion of consumers of these platforms than their proportion of the total population’ (BFI 2014: 167). While their DVD purchase level has tended to lie below the national average, it will remain to be seen whether more digital download-to-own offers will in the future change anything about the under-representation of Asians as video buyers. 17 One must point out that this quotation is taken from an article examining Bollywood cinema-going in independent Bollywood cinemas in Black/South Asian

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inner city Birmingham. Dudrah interprets the location of these cinemas as ‘part and parcel of the ongoing struggles of marking a sense of space and making a claim to notions of “Britishness” on the terms of minority social groups themselves’ (2002: 26–7). Yet while this argument maybe applied to independent Asian cinemas and Bollywood cinema-going in the 1990s, the changes in Bollywood film exhibition since the early 2000s have overtaken it – as Dudrah suggested they might (2002: 35). The multiplexes are generally situated in the (ethnic) no-man’s land of shopping and leisure complexes. Bollywood cinema-going and urban space politics as interpreted by Dudrah thus no longer coincide. 18 The survey, whose main results are presented in this and the following chapter, was conducted by questionnaire, in February and March 2010. It is not statistically representative, but the results are of interest nonetheless because they illustrate some basic differences between traditional and non-traditional Bollywood audiences. The questionnaire aimed for quantitative data concerning Bollywood consumption habits. Several questions contained a qualitative angle, however, since they concerned consumers’ attitudes towards and opinions about Bollywood films.The questionnaires were distributed in (i) two specialist Indian cinemas (in Southall and Leicester), (ii) three multiplexes with regular Bollywood programming (Odeon Greenwich, Cineworld Bradford and Vue Star City), (iii) several specialized Indian DVD shops (in Southall) and (iv) two HMV branches selling Hindi film DVDs (Birmingham High Street, Leicester). The multiplexes and HMV shops were chosen in an attempt to increase the chances of reaching non-Asian Bollywood consumers with the survey, but this strategy had only limited success because the multiplex audiences as a whole were certainly more ethnically diverse than those at the specialist South Asian cinemas, but hardly anybody among the non-Asian cinema-goers there ever watched Hindi films. The assumption that there would be a greater percentage of non-Asian persons among the Bollywood consumers populating DVD departments of HMV shops turned out to be correct, yet overall their number was small. The survey therefore underlined firmly that Hindi film-watching in Britain is an almost exclusively Asian activity, with hardly any crossover into other ethnic groups, even among regular film-goers and persons interested in world cinema. All in all, the survey yielded a sample of ninety-four respondents. Eighty-nine respondents indicated their ethnicity and country of origin and could on this basis be classified as ‘traditional’ (76) or ‘non-traditional’ (13) spectators. The terms ‘traditional’ and ‘non-traditional’ have a diachronic and a geo-cultural dimension. For the purposes of this study, the term ‘traditional’ applies to spectators from cultural backgrounds in which Indian mainstream films have been established as the dominant or a widely available cinematic form over a long period of time

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and have been widely consumed (though not necessarily by the respondents themselves). The term ‘non-traditional’ refers to spectators from backgrounds in which Bollywood has been a niche phenomenon. The classification is independent of how long the individual respondent has been a consumer of Bollywood films. As is to be expected, most of the respondents classified as traditional respondents came to Indian mainstream cinema at a very young age; 73 per cent had seen their first Bollywood film by the age of ten or younger. The majority of the respondents in the non-traditional camp were relative latecomers and in some cases watched their first Bollywood film only in their thirties, forties or even fifties. However, for the majority of non-traditional spectators, their acquaintance with Bollywood had also started well before the ‘Indian summer’. Many of these respondents therefore had a very long-standing and regular acquaintance with popular Indian cinema, even though the films play a less central role in their film consumption than in the case of the so-called traditional spectators. 19 There are no concrete figures to illustrate the role of Indian film titles for the British non-physical video market. Generally speaking, although physical discs still clearly dominate home entertainment viewing (BVA 2014: 75), the official download-to-own and the Video-on-Demand (VoD) markets in Britain have both expanded in recent years, with significant growth especially in the subscription VoD category, that is, VoD content ‘accessed either through online or pay-TV services on a pay-weekly or pay-monthly basis’ (BVA 2014: 74). Besides the payTV services mentioned in the text, Indian films can, for example, be accessed as subscription VoD offers in Britain via Eros Now, which is available on the Talk Talk Player, or via Netflix UK, which also offers some Bollywood titles. In the survey for this study, Bollywood consumption via non-physical video was an almost exclusive prerogative of Asian respondents. However, since the market has developed significantly since 2010, this result needs to be treated with some caution.

Chapter 4 1

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The national tourism agency, VisitBritain, provided even more regionally specified information on its web site by separately listing shooting locations of Indian films in London, England, Scotland and Wales. Meantime, the maps have been medially adapted to the rise of the smart phone: in March 2014, VisitBritain launched a ‘Bollywood in Britain’ app for a tourism campaign in India. This wish is by no means far-fetched, as the example of Switzerland has shown. See Bhattacharjya referencing Srinivas’s claim that while the number of foreign visitors

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to Switzerland between 1995 and 2000 increased by 8 per cent, the number of Indian visitors to Switzerland during the same period more than doubled, and those locations frequently featured in films were particularly efficient tourist magnets. The growth of Indian tourism to Western locations is the result of more wide-reaching economic and social developments in India, but in selected cases it can also be linked more specifically to the portrayal of these locations in films (Bhattacharjya 2009: 55). While one could argue in the case of Mohabbatein that the choice of English buildings supports their symbolism of oppression and coldness because of an implicit link to the topic of colonialism, it would be an undue generalization to ascribe this symbolic function to all instances where British buildings are used in Hindi films. ‘Song picturization’ is a term used by Indian film-makers to refer to the setting of songs to images in musical scenes. See in this context also the readings of the ‘Vande Mataram’ sequence by Hogan and Gehlawat. They interpret the references to international brands as signs that London in K3G does not stand specifically for London. For them, it is instead a symbol of the ‘exchangeability of cultures’ (Hogan 2008: 179) or of ‘a global amalgam of products and chains’ (Gehlawat 2010: 119). See Bhattacharjya (2009) for a more wide-ranging analysis of song sequences set in diasporic settings by which diasporic space is reclaimed ‘as being within the Indian nation’ (58) by means of musical style, instrumentation, patriotic songs, lyrics inspired by Indian poetry and songs and music associated with traditional Indian rituals. Linking this scene to the theme of consumerism, Bhattacharjya claims that the ‘Vande Mataram’ song picturization ‘almost suggests an attempt to position Indian identity and culture as yet another high-end commercial brand that can be marketed in the West’ (2009: 59). Hogan reads the ‘Vande Mataram’ sequence differently as supporting ‘a general critique of identity categorization’ (2008: 177) and interprets the combination of London shots with the song as ‘both highly suggestive and highly ironic’ (2008: 178) and as a ‘laugh-out-loud funny’ device to underline the ‘absurdity of insular nationalism’ (2008: 179). In the same vein, Mazumdar reads the sequence as ‘rather ridiculous’ (2007: 140). These readings, however, disregard statements by Karan Johar himself, who, asked about the jingoism in K3G during an interview at BAFTA in 2006, admitted that he deliberately included these elements in the film to appeal to a sense of Indian patriotism. He meanwhile regretted having handled them somewhat heavy-handedly (see ‘Bollywood Goes BAFTA, Karan Johar’).

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Notes Sarmila Bose (2011), for example, claims that India is not the receiver but the disperser of the diasporic dividend, since the changes in India made the ascription of potential to the diaspora possible (which in turn resulted in foreign investments in India). According to World Bank data, India has for several years been the top receiver of migrant remittances in absolute numbers (World Bank 2015: 5). See in this context the diaspora comedy Aloo Chaat (Potato Chaat, 2009), in which the hero, a Hindu, wants to marry a Muslim girl he has met during a stay in the United States, although his family is strictly opposed to inter-caste or interreligious marriage. As a ruse, he pretends that he is planning to marry a completely unsuitable white girl, in order to make his family recognize the good qualities of the Muslim girl he is really in love with. The white girl who agrees to play the role of the impossible Westerner as well as the Muslim girl are trained for their performances with repeat screenings of Purab aur Pachhim and DDLJ, so that they can live up to the family’s prejudices of, respectively, debauched foreigners and obedient Indian youngsters. Concerning the reaction of (especially female) young viewers to this scene, Banaji has remarked that the ‘crude insertion of a discourse of nationalism and prudish morality into the “morning after” confusion in the Swiss hotel scene in DDLJ clearly jarred even viewers in my sample who delight in the film’ (2006: 119). The formerly separate character types of the heroine and vamp in Hindi films have been merging since the 1990s (see Kabir 2001: 52, 94). This stands in contrast to the conflict-laden relationship between Pakistanis and Indians and between Hindus and Muslims in India. It also plays down fault lines between various Asian groups in Britain. Mohan is therefore an NRI in the official sense, who is about to give up this status by becoming a US citizen – a symbol of his inner emigration from India, which is to be reversed in the course of the film. A favourite theme of Gowariker’s, which also plays a central role in his films Lagaan (2001) and Jodhaa Akbar (2008). Language is used to create an opposition between Shaan and Sunny in this scene. Sunny, the character who is about to leave Southall United, makes his most important points in English. Shaan, who insists on the necessity of South Asian solidarity, merely repeats one of Sunny’s English phrases, while the rest of his speech is in Hindi. However, the fact that India still has an edge over the diaspora in Dil Bole Hadippa! and constitutes the centre in relation to the diasporic margins is obvious in their gendered representation: the growing centrality of the Punjab for Rohan is underlined by his growing insistence on the fact that he is the Punjabi son of

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a Punjabi father (‘apne Punjabi bap ka Punjabi beta’). His mother, meanwhile, leaves her English home and travels to India in order to watch her son play cricket. The impression of Indian centrality is also supported by the way in which the film depicts the cricket matches between the Pakistani and Indian teams: despite the ostensive message of fraternization linked to these matches, the guidance of sympathy is clearly in favour of the Indian team. Like in Swades, the ‘real’ India in Dil Bole Hadippa! is rural India. It is in fact striking that up until the late 1990s the Indian government’s media policy towards the film industry was one of neglect, disdain and exploitation. Although the state had been a stable presence in the realm of film for decades, most obviously in the shape of censorship, it granted Indian film production industry status only as late as 1998. It is not unlikely that the growing success of Indian films in overseas markets and the hope that state support of the film industry might be an indirect means of acquiring more revenues for India from NRIs influenced this decision. Further critics who posit the NRI as the implied spectator of Bollywood films are, for example, Verstappen & Rutten (2007: 212), Dissanayake (2008: 90) and Kao & Do Rozario (2008: 320). Swades was number five among all Indian films released in the UK in terms of box office in 2004, while it achieved only rank number twelve at the Indian box office. Namastey London was number three in the UK and number ten in India. In the case of Dil Bole Hadippa! the difference was even greater, with rank five for the film in the UK and rank seventeen in India. The information about box office rankings used in this chapter is based on statistical data provided by the UK Film Council and by boxofficeindia and ibosnetwork. Indian box office figures are notoriously unreliable since it is common, especially for non-multiplex cinemas, to pass on wrong admission numbers to the distributors. This circumstance also explains the discrepancies between the figures provided by boxofficeindia and ibosnetwork. The fact that there are no precise data on box office results of Indian films in India does not affect the present comparative ranking, however, for which absolute numbers are of secondary importance. Interestingly, the audiences’ predilection for comedy has gone largely unremarked in academic circles, while a lot of scholarly criticism has been written about key Bollywood romances. This may have to do with a general stigma attached to comedy as opposed to drama or with the often lowbrow and slapstick nature of the comedy in Indian mainstream films. Another reason may be, however, that most comedies simply do not fit into the critical and thematic agenda of most critics, who prefer examining Bollywood films in relation to issues regarding the Indian state and Indian society, including prominently the question of diaspora and diasporic identity politics. While the successful romances often deal explicitly with

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topics like family conflicts or cultural displacement and its dangers, and thus lend themselves very well to an analysis in terms of identity construction, the plots of most comedies resist this theoretical triggering, even though the comic mode relies on the creation of groups of (cultural) insiders and outsiders. 23 ‘Young and older people alike felt a sense of nostalgia when watching Bollywood films. Young people, because it was a key part of family life growing up; the older generation because it reminded them of life as it was in their youth, particularly when they watched the older classics’ (Bollywood Batein 2004: 22). See also Derek Bose’s claim that in contrast to first-generation immigrants the present generation ‘suffers from no … pangs of longing or nostalgia. For them, Bollywood is a remote concept and at most represents a lot of bhangra-pop and swirling ghagra cholis. So any Hindi film that does not provide these basics can be very disappointing’ (2006: 28). 24 See, however, the reactions among Banaji’s respondents to simplistic representations of female dress: ‘Most notably, the tendency to represent women in skimpy Western clothing before marriage and in sarees afterwards, to show them covering their heads with their sarees in front of family members or hiding their faces with veils when outside the house, was singled out by several young viewers as obnoxious and frustrating’ (2006: 103).

Chapter 5 1 2

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See, for example, Kennedy (2001) and Milmo (2001). There seems to be a craving in certain parts of Britain to attract Bollywood film productions. See, for example, the research by Jaideep Mukherjee (University of Leicester) on the possibility of attracting Bollywood productions to the Leicester region or Satnam Rana (2004) reporting about the contact between Screen West Midlands (from Birmingham) and Bollywood producers. The information about TV programmes relating to Hindi cinema and Bollywood in this chapter is from the National Film and Television Archive catalogue. See in this context also the coinage of the term ‘Bollystan’ by Parag Khanna (2004) to denote a celebratory concept expressing the growth of India as a world power based especially on its soft power and global diaspora. The information about the Selfridges Bollywood promotion in this chapter is based predominantly on Barat & Dutois (2002). See in this context Osuri’s discussion of Aishwarya Rai’s construction as a beauty in Western media, which, seemingly paradoxically, combines Rai’s approximation to whiteness with placing her as Indian. Osuri emphasizes that ‘[w]hite femininity is used to market the desirability and seductiveness’ of material goods (2008: 200).

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From a German point of view it is interesting that in Britain these Bollywood graphics do not extend to the covers of Hindi film DVDs. In contrast to Germany, where the films and their layout are adapted to make them attractive for German audiences (e.g. by dubbing, cuts, ‘Bollywood-style’ cover designs) (cf. Würtz 2008: 80–4, 178), there are no such adaptations in Britain. The (usually imported) international-version DVDs are marketed with the same layouts as in India. This further underlines the separation of the Bollywood brand in Britain from the films it initially derives from. See also Aftab (2002: passim); Dudrah (2006: 117); Hines (2007: 215–6). The Indian summer should be seen in relation to the phenomenon of ‘Asian kool’ in the British music scene of the early 2000s, which was quickly appropriated by white mainstream musicians for elements of styling and musical influences. See, for example, Madonna sporting hennaed hands and appropriating Talvin Singh’s sounds on ‘Frozen’ or Holly Valance’s single ‘Kiss Kiss’, an English version of an originally Turkish song by singer Tarkan (Kalra & Hutnyk 1998). ‘Bollywood in British media’ 2007. This charge of tokenism is supported by a statement made by journalist Andrew Whithead at a symposium on ‘India as a Soft Power’ at the University of Westminster in February 2011, where he claimed that the Indian diaspora in Britain does not really figure in the quality papers’ editorial consciousness. They assume that British Asians get their information from the internet or Asian sources rather than from national media.

Chapter 6 1

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The main site of engagement with transdifference has been the interdisciplinary Research Training Group Kulturhermeneutik im Zeichen von Differenz und Transdifferenz (Cultural hermeneutics in the light of difference and transdifference), which was established at Friedrich-Alexander-University Erlangen-Nuremberg in 2001 (Allolio-Näcke & Kalscheuer 2005: 15). Even though the concept’s reception has been almost exclusively restricted to Germany, it has already gained a respectable degree of scholarly attention outside the circle of the Erlangen-Nuremberg group and has been explored and adapted for the investigation of subjects ranging from literature to transplantation surgery to experiences of transsexuality (cf. Breinig, Gebhardt & Lösch 2002; Allolio-Näcke, Kalscheuer & Manzeschke 2005; Alvarado Leyton & Erchinger 2010; Breinig & Lösch 2010; Hein 2012). See Kalscheuer, who states that the prefix ‘trans’ in ‘transdifference’ means ‘through’ (‘quer hindurch’) rather than ‘beyond’ or ‘between’ (2005: 76).

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Notes The notion of transdifference as a ‘juxtaposition of two presences and two absences’ (Breinig & Lösch 2006: 113) has links to the concept of abjection, if we assume that the expunged abject continues to haunt, unsettle and imperil the subject (see Pickering 2001: 172). In a later article, Breinig and Lösch continued to emphasize that transdifference was not per se emancipatory or subversive and that all statements about the subversive or emancipatory potential of transdifference therefore required precise and detailed social and cultural contextualization (Breinig & Lösch 2010: 52). The possibly harshest attack against the theorization of transdifference has been Schulze-Engler’s (2006) criticism of the mixing of meanings ascribed to the term. Besides its role as a heuristic tool and as a contradictory state of indeterminacy, he identified a third meaning of ‘transdifference’ which transposes the concept into the aesthetic realm by focusing on transdifference in the creative use of language and thus shifts the transdifferential enterprise towards literary theory (2006: 125). The key aspects of Schulze-Engler’s critique are that the diverse meanings proposed for the term ‘transdifference’ are not only widely divergent but ultimately incompatible (2006: 124) and that the proponents of transdifference have failed to address this incompatibility. However, the notions of transdifference as a condition and as a heuristic concept are inextricably linked and interdependent. Moreover, the possibility of their analysis is predicated on their (in the widest sense) textual manifestations, which renders textual analysis of transdifference a logical and probably inevitable consequence.Two further points of criticism that SchulzeEngler mentions, and which are more immediately related to his own field, Postcolonial Studies, are more justified. The first concerns what he perceives to be the persistent misunderstanding of the concept of transculturality in the writings on transdifference (2006: 123, 128–9). Secondly, he criticizes a failure by writers on transdifference ‘to enter into a dialogue with broad and increasingly important currents of globalisation theory that have begun to explore the possibility of an erosion or at least a deep-going transformation of difference in an increasingly globalised world’ (2006: 127). With this criticism Schulze-Engler implicitly addresses a point that Breinig and Lösch themselves have acknowledged as needing more clarification in an article from 2010. In this text, they conceded that the concept of difference, to which transdifference is inextricably linked, needed more precise clarification (Breinig & Lösch 2010: 55). This thought was echoed by Walter Sparn (2010) in an article providing both a summary and critique of the achievements and theorizations of transdifference within the Erlangen-Nuremberg Research Training Group (Sparn 2010: 319, 320, 322, 325). These notions are widespread. See, for example, the confession by (British Asian) Guardian writer Nirpal Dhaliwal that ‘Bollywood films have always felt like a test

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of my identity, one I’ve consistently failed. Despite my family ties, love of India and fascination with it, my inability to enjoy Bollywood has highlighted just how unIndian I am’ (Dhaliwal 2010). As is frequently the case in casting shows, this implicit position of power is used to ridicule candidates or to produce second-hand embarrassment. See, for example, a voice-over in episode one that asks ‘Can Britain deliver a star?’, followed by a cut to a very corpulent, decidedly un-starlike blonde lady in a sparkly red top. Cf. a voice-over in episode two according to which ‘Bollywood Star’ is a ‘unique chance for them to return to their roots and live out their Bollywood dream’. An impression that, once again, has been orchestrated for ‘Bollywood Star’ as the show conveniently ignores reality at this point. Among the final three candidates, Heidi, as a white girl without Hindi, would not stand a chance in the industry, nor would Rupak normally have got the role in Bhatt’s film because of her body shape. In fact, the alleged Bollywood Star could not get any other roles in Mumbai after the one she had won in the contest. Despite Bollywood’s characterization as a place of wish-fulfilment where emotion is king, it was Channel 4 that made Rupak’s dream (temporarily) come true, not Bollywood.

Chapter 7 1

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The scholarly introductions to popular Indian cinema published in this period for the higher education market would be another potentially fruitful group of texts to examine. However, since they are mainly targeted at film scholars and students, their role for the popular construction of Bollywood analysed in this chapter is naturally restricted. Pratt’s definition of the contact zone does not fit this study perfectly, however. For her, a ‘ “contact” perspective emphasizes how subjects get constituted in and by their relations to each other … in terms of co-presence, interaction, interlocking understandings and practices, and often within radically asymmetrical relations of power’ (1992: 8). In many of the texts examined here, the power of representation is admittedly one-sided, but it probably goes too far to speak of ‘radically asymmetrical relations of power’. Similarly, Pratt’s concept of transculturation, which she adapted from ethnography, would be less appropriate for the present study as an analytic tool than transdifference because of its emphasis on ‘how subordinated or marginal groups select and invent from materials transmitted to them by a dominant or metropolitan culture’ (1992: 7). While both concepts share their interest in intercultural contact and interaction, transdifference is a less explicitly political tool and ‘differs in crucial respects: transdifference means

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Notes neither synthesis, nor syncretist combination’ and bears a stronger ‘synchronic index’ (Breinig & Lösch 2006: 115). An interesting companion piece to Shelley’s and England’s texts is the book The Spirit of Lagaan by Satyajit Bhatkal (2002), which is the official diary report of the film’s gestation. The book is a counter-text to Shelley and contains the production’s view of the project. Often this leads to completely different accounts of individual episodes presented by Shelley and England. Moreover, Bhatkal’s claims about the British actors’ opinions are not always borne out by Shelley’s and England’s texts. One particularly striking facet of the book is that (in contrast to the impression conveyed by Shelley and England) it suggests that the ‘Brits are more and more Indianised by the day’ (2002: 183). This was the norm in 2000. Several years later, Hines can already include the information in her book that it has become normal for serious actors to do only one film at a time (2007: 202). This happens in various degrees. When statements by members of the industry are quoted in the scenic mode of presentation, they seem to give immediate access and convey unproblematic and reliable pieces of information – from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. Yet the presence of the authors still ensures that the information is mediated from their point of view. This is less obvious in Hardy, who usually refrains from explicit comments and evaluations and only inserts them when she considers it absolutely necessary (see e.g. her remarks about what she considers Anupam Kher’s self-delusions concerning drug use in industry, 2002: 218). The extremely personal mode in the texts by England and Hines, in contrast, leads to much more explicit comments and modifies such information much more strongly. For other examples of this technique in England, see his characterization of autorickshaws, which according to him ‘combine all the manoeuvrability of a shopping trolley with the pulling power of a Lego train set’ (2002: 108) or his description of the state of the road out of Bhuj: ‘The main road north past the airbase is reasonably well surfaced, like a poor-standard British country lane’ (2002: 55). It is quite difficult to evaluate the references to British colonial rule, of which there are several in England’s text. Most of them, like the one quoted here, are basically self-ironic yet leave a fundamental impression of incompatibility (England 2002: 59, 185, 220). They all seem motivated by the fact that Lagaan itself is a film about colonialism. Their comedy derives especially from the changed power relationship between India and Britain since Indian Independence. This explains the defensive stance and accusations against Shelley in The Spirit of Lagaan (Bhatkal 2002: esp. 131–2). See in this context also Gehlawat’s criticism of Hardy’s representation of Indian film audiences (2010: 35–41). He rejects the ‘invocation of the cultural sphere of “dung cakes” by media-ethnographers like Hardy who, though acknowledging the presence

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of other contingencies/audiences (for example, urban audiences and non-resident Indian [NRI] viewers), insist that these “people in the dust … make up the core of Bollywood’s audience”, whose implied desires (as invoked by Hardy) are used to re-situate the Bollywood film within a model of remystification’ (Gehlawat 2010: 40). 10 Hardy’s book was published before the effects of corporatization described in Chapter 2 changed Indian film financing and made the Hindi film industry less dependent on underworld money. 11 For example, Omar (2006: 11–15, 25, 32, 111, 118, 122, 134, 205, 212, 224, 233, 261, 262).

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When a review published on one of these sites is combined with a blog and therefore leads to user comments, the question of the clash between the potential internationality of the comments and the national framework of my analysis recurs. As the user comments are sometimes very helpful leads regarding the analysis of transdifference, because they point out argumentative fault lines, ambiguities and contradictions, they are used in the analysis of the reviews. However, they are not part of the corpus of reviews that forms the basis proper of the analysis. It is telling in this respect that Empire’s My Name is Khan review was published online and not in the magazine’s print version. While one might argue that the magazine’s local focus detracts from its status as a national magazine, the reviews have nonetheless been included in the analysis because they are freely available on the Time Out web site. The most noteworthy exceptions have been Hastings & Bisset (2001), Hastings & Jones (2005) and the coverage of the Shilpa Shetty/‘Celebrity Big Brother’ affair. Because of the Anglocentric focus of these papers, this relative absence of Bollywood-related texts is little surprising. When they have engaged with Bollywood at all, they have often adopted a somewhat belligerent stance defending Britain or British institutions against their alleged misrepresentation by members of the Hindi film industry (e.g. Hastings & Bisset 2001; Hastings & Jones 2005; Gordon 2010). The present study understands ‘outsider’ and ‘insider’ status as always relative. Here it is constructed in relation to a variety of criteria, such as film expertise in general and Hindi film expertise in particular (which include, for example, experience, knowledge and cultural affinity). As Banaji (2010) has emphasized, ‘there are a range of different ways of being an insider or an outsider’ (emphasis in original).

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Compare in this context also the characterization of Asoka in Alan Morrison’s review for Empire: ‘it’s like Kurosawa goes Bollywood’ (2001). 7 Kennedy quotes Robert Mitchell from industry magazine Screen International, and Milmo quotes Cary Rajinder Sawhney, then cultural diversity manager for the BFI. 8 Ramachandran has extensive experience as a film critic and has worked for TV and film projects as a screenwriter and producer. Hence he can claim an insider status in relation to Bollywood on multiple grounds. 9 This although Quinn does not seem to understand Hindi. See his statement, ‘ “Cheeni Kum” apparently means “less sugar” ’ (2007). 10 This is not to suggest, of course, that British reviewers with South Asian cultural background automatically evaluate Hindi films more leniently than their colleagues. Naman Ramachandran’s review of Cheeni Kum in Sight & Sound (2007b) was scathing, for example. But since he contextualized the film artistically in relation to the director’s and cinematographer’s other work, his picture of the film inevitably appeared rounder and more nuanced than the one conveyed by Whittle or Quinn.

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Further examples of the adaptation processes in question can also be found in several British films, such as Bride & Prejudice (2004) and Bollywood Queen (2002), which this study neglects, however, in favour of the novels and stage productions which have so far received less critical attention. For wide-ranging critical discussions of Hutcheon’s definition of adaptation, see Diamond (2010: 95–8) and Leitch (2012). See, however, Desai (2004: 36, 42) for a more exhaustive introduction to the relationship between Bollywood and South Asian diasporic cinema. Compare in this context also Gehlawat’s concept of ‘Bollywood’ as ‘referring to transhistorical and transnational moments that periodically surface and resurface in ever-new iterations in multiple films that, through their formal hybridity and innovation, transcend any limited or limiting paradigm, e.g., national, or transnational or global’ (2015: 31, italics in original). Bollywood would thus be a latent possibility within film texts to be activated by film spectators (2015: 32). While this concept, with its notion of Bollywood moments as nodes (2015: 31), usefully complements the Bollywood rhizome model suggested in this study, Gehlawat’s concept is restricted to film texts, whereas the rhizome explicitly also accommodates other sorts of texts. Penguin’s advertising tag ‘The Original Bollywood Novel’ for Dé’s text is problematic because Starry Nights was by no means the first novel about or set in

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the Bombay film industry. This title goes instead to H.R.F. Keating’s Filmi, Filmi, Inspector Ghote (1976), the tenth from Keating’s successful series of novels with his most famous fictional creation, Inspector Ghote of Bombay CID, in which the protagonist has to enter the cosmos of the filmi duniya (film world). Following the growing momentum of the Bollywood boom in Germany between 2004 and 2006, Keating’s novel was first published in German in 2005 as Inspector Ghote geht nach Bollywood. In contrast to the original title, the new one unsurprisingly contained the term ‘Bollywood’. While Ashok’s political career in Show Business remains spectacularly unsuccessful, the hero of Allan Sealy’s satirical fable Hero (1992), another actor who turns politician, ultimately rises to the rank of prime minister of India. Hero is another text in which the acting profession and the intrigues and superficial glamour of the Bombay film industry serve as metaphors for the tawdriness of Indian politics. A further novel whose protagonist aspires to work in the Hindi film industry (and which also has the term ‘Bollywood’ in its title) is Sonny Singh Kalar’s self-published Rags To Bollywood (2009). Its hero, a young British amateur actor, dreams of a break in Bollywood but is spited all the way by his evil foster-parents, a criminal bully and jealous competitors. The book takes up some typical plot ingredients of Hindi films (one-dimensional villains, evil family members) but is ultimately predominantly an orgy of violence, whose underlying conflicts could easily be transferred to other environments than Bollywood. The Bollywood element in Rekha Waheed’s My Bollywood Wedding (2010) similarly derives from the novel’s plot structure rather than any concrete references to filmmaking or the social cosmos of the Mumbai film world. Maya, the heroine, has to overcome various social and familial obstacles as well as faults in her own character before a dream wedding with her beloved Jhanghir. Shantaram by Gregory David Robert (2003), which is set in the Mumbai underworld and has a Bollywood sub-plot, also has similarities to Bollywood films, especially because of its stereotypical characters and the pervasive presence of music and song. In contrast, Ameena Meer’s novel Bombay Talkie (1994), whose title suggests that the text is modelled on Hindi films (‘Bombay Talkies’ was the name of a movie studio founded in the 1930s; it also gave its name to the 1970 Merchant Ivory film Bombay Talkie), has nothing specifically cinematic about it, nor does it resemble typical Hindi film plots. Filled with a large cast of characters and sprawling storylines that are set across three continents (in India, the UK and the United States), the novel engages primarily with the themes of Indianness and of living according to one’s culture in an alien environment. For a more exhaustive analysis of the novel in this respect, see Krämer (2013).

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10 See Dudrah (2012: 77–97) for an analysis of how Bollywood is performed in these shows. See also The Outer World of Shah Rukh Khan (2005), the second part of Nasreen Munni Kabir’s documentary, which follows Khan while he is on tour with ‘Temptation 2004’ and provides interesting information on the everyday backstage and onstage life of the show. 11 Bollywood 2000 by Parvesh Kumar, which was revived as Bollywood – Yet Another Love Story in spring 2003 (both shows played at the Riverside 3), can also be seen as representing this category. A dance-filled spoof of Bollywood film conventions for the stage, which intercuts the goings-on on stage with snippets of film created especially for the show, the play garnered mixed reviews. Most critics agreed, however, that the film sections of the play were superior to its theatrical components (‘Bollywood 2000’ 2000 and ‘Bollywood – Yet Another Love Story’ 2003). Should one want to extend the list of Bollywood shows presented in the main text by ‘Bollywood mockeries’, that is, plays that send up the thematic, aesthetic, formal, structural and auratic features associated with Bollywood, Kumar’s play would belong in this group. So would Parv Bancil’s Bollywood or Bust … Innit, which ran at Waterman’s in spring 1999 (‘Bollywood or Bust … Innit’ 1999). 12 British Asian theatre company Phizzical Productions has created several stage productions with Bollywood elements that fall into different of the categories established in this study. While its Shakespeare adaptations What You Fancy (2008, based on Twelfth Night) and Cymbeline (2013) transpose the plays into a Bollywood context, the production Precious Bazaar (2003) was a musical with showy Bollywood-style dance numbers. 13 Unlike some of Whittington’s other works Bollywood Jane has not been published. The author has very kindly provided me with the play texts. Besides the two stage versions, there is an adaptation of the piece for radio (also by Whittington). The radio version was broadcast in several instalments in BBC 4’s ‘Woman’s Hour Drama’ series in 2008. 14 After Oldham, the play went on to Exeter, Glasgow, London, Newcastle, Southampton, Coventry and Harrogate, where it ended on 20 June 2009. My analysis is based on the play text as well as the performance of the play at the Lyric Hammersmith in London on 8 May 2009. 15 At first glance, Wuthering Heights does not seem to engage with the social problems of present-day British society like many of Tamasha’s other plays do, yet one can argue that the play implicitly discusses topics such as violence, identity construction, gender or classism. 16 The notion of Bollywood that the play refers to is therefore partly a nostalgic one and harks back to the Hindi films of the 1970s. See also Verma’s identification of

Notes

17

18

19 20 21

22

23

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Hindi films from the 1950s and 1970s as a reference point of the production in the play’s programme (Neill 2009). The play had only one set with a backdrop representing the sky with a scorching sun, while several ramps on stage represented sand dunes but could also be used to station characters on various levels, for example, in order to emphasize the themes of caste in the play. This set remained static but was diversified by lighting and props. Interestingly, no reviewer objected to the play’s combination of one of the most canonical texts of English literature with an (allegedly) Bollywoodesque mode of presentation and the connotations of ‘low’ culture that come with it. After the plethora of adaptations of Wuthering Heights in the past we seem to have reached a point where reviewers acknowledge that adapting Brontë in unexpected ways is fine. It also shows that by 2009 Bollywood was apparently established well enough as a mode of presentation and an art form not to engender automatic disapproval. This is at least the impression left by Lloyd Webber in the making-of video of the show. It can be found on the DVD Salaam Bombay Dreams (2003). This feature was frequently commented on in reviews, for example in those posted on the platform whatsonstage.com (Bombay Dreams reviews). This happens for example in the song ‘Don’t release me’. The exceptions to this rule are ‘Chaiyya Chaiyya’ and the song ‘Shakalaka Baby’, where many lines towards the end are in Hindi. I would like to thank the anonymous reviewer of the manuscript for pointing out that Farah Khan also provided ‘typical’ Bollywood picturizations of songs in English for the American-produced film Marigold (2007) and that therefore the particular challenge in Bombay Dreams may have had more to do with the different medium (theatre) than with the English language. According to a survey conducted during the run of Bollywood Jane in Leicester, the ‘audiences at “Bollywood Jane” were significantly more ethnically diverse than the general theatre audiences’ (Cultivate 2008). See also Bombay Dreams reviews for comments on the audience make-up for Bombay Dreams.

Filmography 3 Idiots (2009), Dir. Rajkumar Hirani, India: Eros International, Reliance Big Pictures & Vinod Chopra Productions. 127 Hours (2010), Dir. Danny Boyle, UK/USA: Pathé et al. Aaja Nachle (2007), Dir. Anil Mehta, India: Yash Raj Films. Aap Ki Khatir (2006), Dir. Dharmesh Darshan, India: Venus Films. Aarakshan (2011), Dir. Prakash Jha, India: Base Industries Group & Prakash Jha Productions. Aloo Chaat (2009), Dir. Robby Grewal, India: Mirchi Movies & Maverick Productions. Asoka (2001), Dir. Santosh Sivan, India: Dreamz Unlimited & Arclightz and Films. Atithi Tum Kab Jaoge (2010), Dir. Ashwani Dheer, India: Warner Bros. Pictures & Wide Frame Films. Avatar (2009), Dir. James Cameron, USA: Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation et al. Band Baaja Baaraat (2010), Dir. Maneesh Sharma, India: Yash Raj Films. Bend It Like Beckham (2002), Dir. Gurinder Chadha, UK: Kintop Pictures et al. Black (2005), Dir. Sanjay Leela Bhansali, India: SLB Films & Applause Entertainment. Bollywood – The Greatest Love Story Ever Told (2011), Dir. Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra, India: UTV Motion Pictures. Bollywood Queen (2002), Dir. Jeremy Wooding, UK: Spice Factory et al. Bride & Prejudice (2004), Dir. Gurinder Chadha, UK: Pathé Pictures International et al. Bunty aur Bubli (2005), Dir. Shaad Ali, India: Yash Raj Films. Chak De India! (2007), Dir. Shimit Amin, India: Yash Raj Films. Chandni Chowk to China (2009), Dir. Nikhil Advani, India/USA: Warner Bros. Pictures et al. Cheeni Kum (2007), Dir. R. Balki, India: Sunil Manchanda. Chennai Express (2013), Dir. Rohit Shetty, India: Red Chillies Entertainment & UTV Motion Pictures. Chicken Tikka Masala (2005), Dir. Harmage Singh Kalirai, UK: Seven Spice Productions. Cocktail (2012), Dir. Homi Adajania, India: Maddock Films et al. Dabangg (2010), Dir. Abhinav Kashyap, India: Arbaaz Khan Productions & Shree Ashtavinayak Cine Vision. Delhi Belly (2011), Dir. Abhinay Deo, India: Aamir Khan Productions, Ferocious Attack Cow & UTV Motion Pictures. Delhi-6 (2009), Dir. Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra, India: Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra Pictures & UTV Motion Pictures.

Filmography

255

Desi Boyz (2011), Dir. Rohit Dhawan, India: EROS International. Dev.D (2009), Dir. Anurag Kashyap, India: Anurag Kashyap Films & UTV Motion Pictures. Devdas (2002), Dir. Sanjay Leela Bhansali, India: Mega Bollywood. Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal (2007), Dir. Vivek Agnihotri, India: UTV Motion Pictures & Aim Films. Dhoom 2 (2006), Dir. Sanjay Gadhvi, India: Yash Raj Films. Dhoom 3 (2013), Dir. Vijay Krishna Acharya, India: Yash Raj Films. Dil Bole Hadippa! (2009), Dir. Anurag Singh, India: Yash Raj Films. Dil Chahta Hai (2001), Dir. Farhan Akhtar, India: Excel Entertainment. Dil Se (1998), Dir. Mani Ratnam, India: India Talkies & Madras Talkies. Dil To Pagal Hai (1997), Dir. Yash Chopra, India: Yash Raj Films. Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (1995), Dir. Aditya Chopra, India: Yash Raj Films. Dostana (2008), Dir. Tarun Mansukhani, India: Dharma Productions. East is East (1999), Dir. Damien O’Donnell, UK: FilmFour, BBC & Assassin Films. El laberinto del fauno (2006), Dir. Guillermo del Toro, Mexico: Telecinco et al. Fiza (2000), Dir. Khalid Mohamed, India: The Culture Company & UTV Motion Pictures. Gadar: Ek Prem Katha (2001), Dir. Anil Sharma, India: Zee Telefilms. Ghajini (2008), Dir. A.R. Murugadoss, India: Geetha Arts. Good Luck Chuck (2007), Dir. Mark Helfrich, USA: Lionsgate et al. Grown Ups 2 (2013), Dir. Dennis Dugan, USA: Columbia Pictures. Hable con ella (2002), Dir. Pedro Almodóvar, Spain: Antena 3 Televisión et al. Happy New Year (2014), Dir. Farah Khan, India: Red Chillies Entertainment. Hum Aapke Hain Koun …! (1994), Dir. Sooraj R. Bajatya, India: Rajshri Productions. I Hate Luv Storys (2010), Dir. Punit Malhotra, India: UTV Motion Pictures & Dharma Productions. I See You (2006), Dir. Vivek Agrawal, India: Chasing Ganesha Films & K Sera Sera. Jab Tak Hai Jaan (2012), Dir. Yash Chopra, India: Yash Raj Films. Jhoom Barabar Jhoom (2007), Dir. Shaad Ali, India: Yash Raj Films. Jodhaa Akbar (2008), Dir. Ashutosh Gowariker, India: Ashutosh Gowariker Productions & UTV Motion Pictures. Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna (2006), Dir. Karan Johar, India: Dharma Productions. Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham (2001), Dir. Karan Johar, India: Dharma Productions. Kal Ho Naa Ho (2003), Dir. Nikhil Advani, India: Dharma Productions. Kaho Naa … Pyaar Hai (2000), Dir. Rakesh Roshan, India: Filmkraft. Kismat Konnection (2008), Dir. Aziz Mirza, India: Tips Films. Kites (2010), Dir. Anurag Basu, India: Filmkraft & Reliance Big Pictures. Kuch Kuch Hota Hai (1998), Dir. Karan Johar, India: Dharma Productions. Kurbaan (2009), Dir. Renzil D’Silva, India: Dharma Productions & UTV Motion Pictures.

256

Filmography

Laaga Chunari Main Daag (2007), Dir. Pradeep Sarkar, India: Yash Raj Films & Apocalypse Filmworks Productions. Lagaan (2001), Dir. Ashutosh Gowariker, India: Aamir Khan Productions, Ashutosh Gowariker Productions & Jhamu Sughand Productions. Lamhe (1991), Dir. Yash Chopra, India: Yash Raj Films. Life in a Metro (2007), Dir. Anurag Basu, India: UTV Motion Pictures. Love Aaj Kal (2009), Dir. Imtiaz Ali, India: Eros International & Illuminati Films. Love, Sex Aur Dhoka (2010), Dir. Dibakar Banerjee, India: ALT Entertainment & Freshwater Films. Luck By Chance (2009), Dir. Zoya Akhtar, India: Reliance Big Pictures & Excel Entertainment. Mangal Pandey (2005), Dir. Ketan Mehta, India: Kaleidoscope Entertainment & Maya Movies. Marigold (2007), Dir. Willard Carroll, USA/India: Hyperion Pictures et al. Mela (2000), Dir. Dharmesh Darshan, India: Venus Records & Tapes. Mere Brother Ki Dulhan (2011), Dir. Ali Abbas Zafar, India: Yash Raj Films. Mohabbatein (2000), Dir. Aditya Chopra, India: Yash Raj Films. Monsoon Wedding (2001), Dir. Mira Nair, India et al.: Mirabai Films et al. Mother India (1957), Dir. Mehboob Khan, India: Mehboob Productions. My Name is Khan (2010), Dir. Karan Johar, India: Fox Searchlight Pictures et al. Namastey London (2007), Dir. Vipul Amrutlal Shah, India/UK: Blockbuster Movie Entertainers. New York (2009), Dir. Kabir Khan, India: Yash Raj Films. Om Shanti Om (2007), Dir. Farah Khan, India: Red Chillies Entertainment. One 2 Ka 4 (2001), Dir. Shashilal K. Nair, India: Glamour Films. Pardes (1997), Dir. Subhash Ghai, India: Mukta Arts. Patiala House (2011), Dir. Nikhil Advani, India: Hari Om Entertainment. Peepli Live (2010), Dir. Anusha Rizvi & Mahmood Farooqui, India: Aamir Khan Productions & UTV Motion Pictures. PK (2014), Dir. Rajkumar Hirani, India: Rajkumar Hirani Films & Vinod Chopra Productions. Provoked (2006), Dir. Jag Mundhra, UK/India: Sunanda Murali Manohar. Purab aur Pachhim (1970), Dir. Manoj Kumar, India: V.I.P. Films. Pyaar Ishq aur Mohabbat (2001), Dir. Rajiv Rai, India: Trimurti Films. Queen (2014), Dir. Vikas Bahl, India: Viacom 18 Motion Pictures. Raajneeti (2010), Dir. Prakash Jha, India: Prakash Jha Productions, UTV Motion Pictures & Walkwater Media. Raavan (2010), Dir. Mani Ratnam, India: Madras Talkies & Reliance Big Pictures. Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi (2008), Dir. Aditya Chopra, India: Yash Raj Films. Rang De Basanti (2006), Dir. Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra, India: Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra Pictures & UTV Motion Pictures.

Filmography

257

Ra.One (2011), Dir. Anubhav Sinha, India: Red Chillies Entertainment, Eros International & Winford Productions. Saawariya (2007), Dir. Sanjay Leela Bhansali, India: SPE Films & SLB Films. Salaam Namaste (2005), Dir. Siddharth Anand, India: Yash Raj Films. Salaam-E-Ishq (2007), Dir. Nikhil Advani, India: Jitender K. Bagga et al. Sarkar (2005), Dir. Ram Gopal Varma, India: K Sera Sera & RGV Film Company. Sarkar Raj (2008), Dir. Ram Gopal Varma, India: Adlabs Films et al. Shukriya: Till Death Do Us Part (2004), Dir. Anupam Sinha, India: Inspired Movies & Spice Team Entertainments. Singham (2011), Dir. Rohit Shetty, India: Reliance Entertainment. Singh is Kinng (2008), Dir. Anees Bazmee, India: Big Screen Entertainment & Blockbuster Movie Entertainers. Slumdog Millionaire (2008), Dir. Danny Boyle, UK/USA: Pathé Pictures International, Film4 & Celador Films. Spider-Man (2002), Dir. Sam Raimi, USA: Columbia Pictures & Marvel Enterprises/ Laura Ziskin. Swades (2004), Dir. Ashutosh Gowariker, India: UTV Motion Pictures & Ashutosh Gowariker Productions. Taal (1998), Dir. Subhash Ghai, India: Subhash Ghai. Taare Zameen Par (2007), Dir. Aamir Khan, India: Aamir Khan Productions & PVR Pictures. Tashan (2008), Dir. Vijay Krishna Acharya, India: Yash Raj Films. Tere Bin Laden (2010), Dir. Abishek Sharma, India: BSK Network and Entertainment & Walkwater Media. The Guru (2002), dir. Daisy von Scherler Mayer, UK/France/USA: Universal Pictures, Studio Canal & Working Title Films. The Inner/Outer World of Shah Rukh Khan (2005), Dir. Nasreen Munni Kabir, India: Eros Entertainment & Red Chillies Entertainment. The Lone Ranger (2013), Dir. Gore Verbinski, USA: Walt Disney & Jerry Bruckheimer Films. Udaan (2010), Dir. Vikramaditya Motwane, India: UTV Spotboy, Anurag Kashyap Films & Sanjay Singh Films. Vanity Fair (2004), Dir. Mira Nair, USA: Focus Features et al. Wuthering Heights (1939), Dir. William Wyler, USA: Samuel Goldwyn Company. Yaadein (2001), Dir. Subhash Ghai, India: Mukta Arts. Yadoon Ki Baaraat (1973), Dir. Nasir Hussain, India: Nasir Hussain Films & United Producers. Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara (2011), Dir. Zoya Akhtar, India: Excel Entertainment et al.

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Index Note: The letter ‘n’ following locators refers to notes Aaja Nachle 84 Aap Ki Khatir 53 Aarakshan 183 adaptation concepts of 13–14, 187–92, 193, 210, 222 (see also rhizome) genre 8, 216 strategies in BW adaptations 222–4 (see also Bollywood novels; hybridity; stage productions) amalgamation/mixing 113, 187, 207, 208, 212, 214, 216, 224 auratic dimension 206, 217, 223 emotionality 214–16, 223 fidelity 215, 219–20 formula elements 222–3 Indianization 212–13, 220–1, 223–5 (see under ‘Indianness’) kissing 210, 218, 222 multi-coding 209, 216–17 musical numbers 195, 209–10, 215, 219–20, 223 spectacle 223 Adlabs 38, 104 Advani, Nikhil 157 Aftab 103, 156 Akhtar, Farhan 106 alienity 128, 131, 137–8, 147, 159. See also difference Aloo Chaat 242 n.11 alterity. See difference armchair nostalgia (Appadurai). See under nostalgia Arora, Malaika 101, 106, 219 Asian kool 245 n.8 Asianet 45 Asoka 40, 98, 101, 250 n.6 Atithi Tum Kab Jaoge 40

audiences British BW audiences 41–5, 82–4, 87–8, 90–5, 239–40 n.18 diasporic spectators 82–3, 85–8, 243 n.20 (see also diaspora film) non-traditional audiences 11, 44–6, 91–6, 227, 239–40 n.18 preferences 84 selection criteria 83 viewing pleasures 7, 85, 87–8, 180–1, 230 Ayngaran 42 B4U 46 Bachchan, Abhishek 104, 105, 106 Bachchan, Amitabh in Cheeni Kum reviews 177–8 in Hardy 104, 141, 142–3, 146–7, 154, 157 stardom 83, 101, 103, 104 and term ‘Bollywood’ 16 Balham to Bollywood (Chris England) 103, 140, 228 textual strategies 142–55, 156, 159, 248 n.5–7 Band Baaja Baaraat 183 BBFC. See British Board of Film Classification Bend It Like Beckham 191 BFI. See British Film Institute Bhansali, Sanjay Leela 24 Bhatt, Mahesh 100, 131, 133, 134, 137, 138 Bhatt, Pooja 133 Bhosle, Asha 101 Birmingham BW events 99, 101, 102, 103, 105 in ‘Bollywood Star’ 131–2, 228 cinema-going 90, 239 n.17 cinemas 36–7, 228

278

Index

Black 84 Boleyn Cinema 34, 35 Bollylite (Joshi) 235–6 n.11 Bollystan 244 n.4 Bollywood. See also Bollywood in Britain and art cinema 21, 235 n.6 auratic appeal 7, 50, 83, 87, 92, 94, 178, 206, 217, 223, 230 celebrity culture 5, 87, 144–5, 153–5, 206, 223, 229 corporatization (see organization under Bollywood) culture industry (beyond films) 25–6 and diaspora 43, 57, 77, 224 (see also diaspora film and diasporic spectators under audiences) diversification 16, 26, 84, 185–6, 229 exoticism 93–4, 120, 179 (see also exoticization under discursive strategies) in Germany 2, 95, 245 growth 22–4 and Hollywood 17–19, 22–4, 27, 92, 153, 167 and identity construction 6, 11, 43, 62, 74, 85, 89–90, 93–4 and Indian cinema 10, 16, 20, 21 and Indian regional cinemas 20 international markets 1, 4–5, 22, 24–7, 84, 185 internet 1, 25, 161–2, 164 lifestyle brand (see brand, BW as) as metonymy of India 13, 22, 27, 229, 231 and middle cinema 16, 21, 27, 182, 183, 229, 235 n.6 organization 5, 10, 23–27, 83, 196, 202, 249 n.10 term 10, 14, 15–21, 167, 175, 227 ‘typical’ features 21–2, 82 (see also under stereotypes) The Bollywood Academy 105 Bollywood: An Insider’s Guide (Fuad Omar) 104, 139–40, 156–9, 186, 230–1 Bollywood Boy (Justine Hardy) 103, 228 textual strategies 141–55, 156, 157, 159, 248 n.5, 248 n.9

Bollywood Britain Movie Map 49–50, 102, 104, 191, 240 ‘Bollywood Carmen Live’ 106, 207 ‘Bollywood Chartbusters’ 101 Bollywood Confidential (Sonia Singh) 192, 196, 197, 200 Bollywood Cookbook (Bulbul Mankani) 112 Bollywood Flashback (Bally Sagoo) 100 Bollywood in Britain audiences (see audiences) classification 91 cultural distinctiveness (perceived) 91–3 (see under ethnicity and ‘Indianness’) culture industry 98–119, 227–8 dance 97, 100, 102, 103, 113, 228 fashion 97, 120, 228 music 97, 100, 113, 120, 228 distribution 11, 37–40 DVD (see video under Bollywood in Britain) exhibition 11, 30–1, 34–7, 43–4, 228, 232, 239 multiplexes 31, 34–36, 41, 43–4, 84, 228, 232, 239 specialized cinemas 30, 34, 36, 43, 239 history 29–31, 38 locations (see locations) political dimension 6, 43, 90, 93 representation (see discourse) TV 45–6, 228 (see also cable TV; satellite TV; Channel 4) video 30, 38, 45–7, 228, 240 n.19 Bollywood Jane (Amanda Whittington) 14, 103, 104, 207, 217, 218, 223, 225 amalgamation 212, 214, 216 analysis 208–12 audience 253 n.23 Bollywood London Movie Map 50, 104, 240 Bollywood Nights (Shobhaa Dé) book cover 114–16 branding 104 as BW novel 192, 194, 195, 200, 250 n.5 Bollywood novels 8, 14, 113, 187, 192–200, 205, 218, 222–4.

Index See also Bollywood Confidential; Bollywood Nights; Breach Candy; Filmi, Filmi, Inspector Ghote; Hero; Show Business; The Silver Castle; Transmission ‘Bollywood or Bust!’ (quiz show) 100 Bollywood Queen 102, 250 n.1 ‘Bollywood Star’ 13, 100, 103, 123, 124, 158, 228 analysis 131–8 and British Asians 131, 134, 136, 247 n.8 implied audience 133–4, 138 structure 131–3 ‘The Bollywood Story’ 100 Bollywood – The Greatest Love Story Ever Told 234 n.3 ‘Bollywood Women’ 102 Bollywood Workout (Kalaria) 103, 112–13, 115–17 Bollywoodization (Rajadhyaksha) 3, 25–6, 108, 227, 236 n.11–12 Bombay Cinema (Glasgow) 34 Bombay Dreams 14, 99, 102, 206, 207 analysis 217–22, 253 n.22 ‘Chaiyya Chaiyya’ 219–20 Orientalism 220 politics 224–5, 228, 253 n.23 Bombay film industry. See Bollywood Boyle, Danny 121 Bradford 37, 99, 102, 106, 207, 208, 228 Bradshaw, Peter on Lagaan 163, 165–70, 172–4 on Mangal Pandey 175–7 outsider 166, 177 (see also insider/ outsider) brand, BW as 12, 18, 27–8, 96, 97, 107–19, 227–9. See under femininity; ‘Indianness’ authenticity 111–13, 116, 119–20 characteristics 108, 111–15 commodification 27, 109, 116 hybridity 113, 116, 231 iconography 97, 110, 112, 114–18, 228, 231 Breach Candy (Luke Jennings) 14, 200 Bride & Prejudice 103, 191, 207, 236 n.12, 250 n.1

279

Britain’s Got Bhangra 105, 106 British Board of Film Classification (BBFC) 7, 91, 165, 236–7 n.3 British Film Institute 99, 100, 102, 110, 167 British Video Association 8, 47 Bunty Aur Bubli 113 BVA. See British Video Association cable TV 25, 30, 45–6 camouflage diaspora film. See under diaspora film Chadha, Gurinder 58–9, 69, 191, 207 Chak De India! 75, 104 Chandni Chowk to China 84 Channel 4 ‘Bollywood Star’ 131, 132, 247 n.9 (see also ‘Bollywood Star’) BW programming 45, 99, 100, 101–7, 121, 153, 228 Chawla, Juhi 101 Cheeni Kum 53, 74, 177, 178, 250 n.9, 250 n.10 Chennai Express 33, 39, 106 Chicken Tikka Masala 191 Chohan, Faraz 105 Chopra, Aditya 80 Chopra, Priyanka 103, 106 Chopra, Yash 104, 146, 183 Cineblitz 19, 41, 163 Cineworld 35–6 Cineworld Feltham 36, 106, 107 Cineworld Ilford 36 Cocktail 9, 53, 55, 88 colonialism 13, 52, 55, 68, 81, 241 n.3, 248 n.7 Cornershop (band) 101 Dabangg 183, 184 The Daily Mail 163 The Daily Mirror 163 Dé, Shobhaa. See Bollywood Nights (Shobhaa Dé) Deepak, Verma. See Wuthering Heights (Deepak Verma) Delhi Belly 105 Delhi–6 74, 179 Deol, Bobby 101 Desai, Nitin 110

280

Index

Deshmukh, Ritesh 104 Desi Boyz 53, 55 Dev.D 26 Devaar, Shamak 133, 137 Devdas 21, 98, 102, 103, 236 n.11, 237 n.5 Dhaliwal, Nirpal 184–5, 246–7 n.6 Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal 11, 63, 74–8, 79, 91 Dhoom 2 84, 121 Dhoom 3 33, 84, 182, 237 n.5 diaspora 11, 49, 88–91. See also diaspora film; diasporic spectators under audiences and diaspora under Bollywood diasporic media 89, 229 and nostalgia 86–9, 94–5 (see under nostalgia) performative concept 88–9 diaspora film. See also Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal; Dil Bole Hadippa!; Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge; Namastey London; Pardes; Purab aur Pachhim; Swades camouflage diaspora film 63, 78 characters 11, 51–2, 55, 57–63, 69, 71, 73, 74, 77, 88, 199, 227 diaspora concepts 59, 62, 74, 77–8 diaspora theme 55, 60–1, 63, 69, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 82–3 diasporic nostalgia (see under nostalgia) foreign settings 52–5, 59, 69, 75 genre 9, 11, 55–6, 63, 73, 74, 75, 78, 80, 85 Indianness 52, 60, 62, 65–7, 69, 80, 81 intended audience (see diasporic spectators under audiences) jingoism 55, 58–9, 64, 68, 173, 241 n.8 self-referentiality 80, 81 diasporic films 21, 56, 191–2 difference. See also alienity and term under Bollywood in ‘Bollywood Star’ 137–8 of BW 14, 27, 91, 94, 137, 224–5, 227, 230–3 (see under Bollywood in Britain; Indianness) in first-hand reports 142–3, 146, 156, 159

in Kunzru 203 as marketing factor 27, 111, 116, 119 in reviews 165–8, 172, 176, 178–9, 185 and transdifference 124–9 Dil Bole Hadippa! analysis 78–81, 242 n.18, 243 n.19 box office 242 n.21 diaspora film 11, 63, 83 Dil Chahta Hai 53, 84 Dil Se 7, 31, 98, 101, 162, 219 Dil To Pagal Hai 21, 98 Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (DDLJ) in BW boom 21, 24, 30, 98, 162 diaspora film 7, 9, 57, 59–64, 66, 69, 71–3, 82, 242 n.11, 242 n.12 intertextual references to 80–1, 199, 208–10 discourse. See also brand, BW as; stereotypes BW discursive complex 3, 10, 11, 13, 14, 97, 121–3, 139 textual strategies in BW-related texts (see discursive strategies) discursive strategies 142–55, 165–86 blending 146–7, 166, 171, 179 comparison (see blending) compromised praise 151, 167, 170 double deprecation 150 Eurocentrism 167, 176, 230 exoticization 18–19, 59, 116, 135, 155, 166, 171, 220–1, 236 n.14 explanation 13, 123, 130–1, 134, 145–6, 173–5, 179, 185, 230 humour 149–51 non-understanding 147–9 similarity transfer (see blending) stereotyping 136, 138, 148, 155, 220 (see under stereotypes) wonder 145 Dixit-Nene, Madhuri 106 Dostana 183 East is East 101 Eastern Eye 163 Empire 163, 249 n.2 Empire Leicester Square 43, 52 England, Chris. See Balham to Bollywood (Chris England)

Index Eros International 24, 38, 103, 104, 109, 164, 237 n.9–10 escapism audience response 93, 169 of BW films 120, 138, 153, 210–11, 218, 220 musical 22, 170 ethnicity audiences 42 (see also audiences) exclusivity BW in GB 11, 41, 43, 44, 47, 119, 122, 131, 159, 203, 224–5, 228, 230–1 (see under ethnicity and ‘Indianness’) and identity 90 FDA. See Film Distributors’ Association femininity audience 42 (see also audiences) brand (feminization) 113–14 (see also brand, BW as) representation in films 66–7, 80–1, 92, 244 n.6 Fernandez, Jacqueline 106 Film Distributors’ Association 8, 49, 103, 104 film magazines. See film press (India) film press (India) 41, 145–6, 153–4, 155, 158, 193, 197, 198, 223. See also Cineblitz; Filmfare; Movie; Stardust Filmfare 41, 163 Filmi, Filmi, Inspector Ghote (H.R.F. Keating) 19, 200, 251 n.5 The Financial Times 164 first-hand reports. See also England; Hardy; Hines; Shelley genre 8, 13, 139, 192, 200, 228 implied readership 139–40 Fiza 150 Fourteen Songs, Two Weddings and a Funeral. See under Tamasha Fox Star Studios 24 Friction, Bobby 132 Gadar: Ek Prem Katha 98 Ghajini 84, 183 Glasgow 102 Good Luck Chuck 38–9 Gosai Cinema (Ealing) 34

281

Gowariker, Ashutosh 63, 69, 71–3, 151, 242 n. 16 The Guardian 102, 140, 142, 162, 163, 164, 165, 182, 184 Gupta, Tanika. See Wah! Wah! Girls (Tanika Gupta) The Guru 103 Happy New Year 181 Haque, Sophiya 132 Hardy, Justine. See Bollywood Boy (Justine Hardy) Hensher, Philip 164, 170–2 Hero (Allan Sealy) 251 n.6 Himalaya Palace Cinema (Southall) 34, 43, 237 n.8 Hindi film industry. See Bollywood Hines, Jessica. See Looking for the Big B (Jessica Hines) Hirani, Indu 133 ‘How to Make a Bollywood Movie’ 101 ‘How to Make it Big in Bollywood’ 101 Hum Aapke Hain Koun…! in BW boom 24, 30, 98, 162 intertextual references to 81, 101, 206 hybridity. See also brand, BW as in BW adaptations 224 political implication 119, 120 and transdifference 126, 127 I Hate Luv Stories 183 ‘I Love Bollywood’ 103 I See You 55 Ide, Wendy 176–7 If Only Shah Rukh Khan (Rani Moorthy) 106 IIFA Awards 50, 99, 101, 104, 208 ImagineAsia (BFI) 99, 102 The Independent 119, 162, 163, 164, 165, 166, 170 Indian summer 107, 170 and BW boom 2, 99, 100, 123, 217, 232 evaluation 119–20, 245 n.8 events 99, 102, 110 ‘Indianness’ of BW 93–4, 185, 220, 229–31 (see under ethnicity and Bollywood in Britain)

282 in BW adaptations 230–1 (see under adaptation) brand feature 12, 14, 107–9, 111–16, 120, 232 (see also brand, BW as) in diaspora films 52, 57–8, 61–2, 65–9, 74, 77, 80–1 (see also diaspora films) in-group. See insider/outsider insider/outsider concept 166, 185, 249 n.5 textual positioning 142 , 156–8 , 166 , 172–3 , 177 , 179 , 225 , 244 n.22 recipients 173, 179 (see also implied readership under reviews and first-hand reports and implied audience under ‘Bollywood Star’) intercultural understanding. See interculturality interculturality 12, 77, 122, 126, 129, 142, 149, 200, 203, 225 Irani, Boman 106 It Ain’t All Bollywood 105, 207 Jab Tak Hai Jaan 52, 183 James, Clive. See The Silver Castle (Clive James) Jennings, Luke. See Breach Candy (Luke Jennings) Jhoom Barabar Jhoom 54, 84 Jodhaa Akbar 121, 180, 242 n.16 Johar, Karan 166, 176, 180 K3G 52, 173, 203, 241 n.8 Kuch Kuch Hota Hai 31, 173 My Name is Khan 39 in Omar 157, 158 Johar, Yash 158 Joshi, Poonam 177–8 Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna 53, 82, 88, 104, 183 Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham (K3G) box office 36, 101, 162 in BW boom 21, 98, 165, 236 n.11 intertextual references to 203 jingoism 55, 68, 173, 241 n.8 London 51, 52, 53, 54, 241 n.5

Index in Omar 157–8 Poo 67 in reviews 166–7, 168, 170, 174 Kabir, Nasreen Munni 100–3 Kaho Naa…Pyaar Hai 141 Kaif, Katrina 106 Kajol 39, 101 Kal Ho Naa Ho 21, 82, 88, 162 Kalaria, Honey 102, 103, 112–13, 117; 132, 228 Kapoor, Kareena 36, 103, 105, 106, 156 Kapoor, Karisma 103, 156 Kapoor, Raj 1 Kapoor, Shahid 106 Kapoor, Shashi 100 Kapur, Shekhar 99, 217, 225, 238 n.12 Keating, H.R.F.. See Filmi, Filmi, Inspector Ghote (H.R.F. Keating) Kennedy, Maev 165–8, 173–4 Khan, Aamir 102, 175 in England and Shelley 146, 150–2 star status 83, 100, 101, 103 Khan, Farah 99, 219, 221, 253 n.22 Khan, Imran 106 Khan, Mehboob 70 Khan, Saif Ali 36, 54, 101, 103 Khan, Salman 83, 101, 105, 177 Khan, Shahrukh 157, 180, 181 acclaim 102, 103 Dil Se 219 popularity 39, 40, 83 promotional work 104–6, 109, 157 star status 100, 101, 103, 104, 106 and term ‘Bollywood’ 234 n.3 Khanna, Akshaye 101 Khanna, Amit 18, 19, 107 Kher, Anupam 105, 248 n.5 Kismat Konnection 52, 55 Kites 105 Kuch Kuch Hota Hai box office 31, 36, 101, 237 n.5 in BW boom 21, 24, 98 title song picturization 50 Kumar, Akshay 66, 68, 101 Kumar, Manoj 58, 68, 69 Kunzru, Hari. See Transmission (Hari Kunzru) Kurbaan 36, 63

Index Laaga Chunari Main Daag 84 Lagaan in BW boom 21, 40, 162 critical acclaim 98, 102 in England and Shelley 102, 140, 142–4, 147, 150–2, 154, 248 n.3, 248 n.7 in reviews 165–74, 176 Lamhe 59 Landon-Smith, Kristine 214–16 ‘Lata in Her Own Voice’ 100 Leeds 37, 104, 208–9, 228 Leicester 30, 37, 103, 208, 228, 244 n.2 Leicester Square 52, 61, 101, 104 Life in a Metro 104 Lionsgate 24 Lloyd Webber, Andrew 99, 217, 253 n.19 locations 49–55. See also Bollywood Britain Movie Map; Bollywood London Movie Map connotations alternative lifestyles 53, 55 consumerism 51, 53, 55, 62 modernity 54, 60 struggle 53, 55 transgressive sexuality 53–4, 59, 211 functions 50–1, 55 Indianization 52, 54, 55 landmark shots 51, 54, 59, 199 London. See also locations BW events 99, 101–6, 110, 207, 217, 221 cinemas and promotions 34–7, 98, 163, 228 in Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal 77 in Dil Bole Hadippa! 79 in K3G 51–3, 241 n.5, 241 n.8 in Namastey London 64, 179 in Purab aur Pachhim 59 as setting 49, 180 London Indian Film Festival 105, 106 Looking for the Big B (Jessica Hines) 104 book cover 116, 118 textual strategies 141–55, 156–7, 159, 248 n.5 Love Aaj Kal 179, 183

283

‘Love in a Hot Climate’ (Rachel Shelley) 102, 140, 228 textual strategies 142–55, 156, 159 Love, Sex Aur Dhoka 26 Luck By Chance 183 Macnab, Geoffrey 175–7 Madame Tussauds 101, 103, 104, 105, 106 Malhotra, Manish 133 Manchester 30, 37, 99, 101, 102, 103, 110 Mangal Pandey 174–6 Mangeshkar, Lata 100 Mankani, Bulbul. See Bollywood Cookbook (Bulbul Mankani) Mann, Rupak 135, 138, 247 n.9. See also ‘Bollywood Star’ media globalization 1–2, 16, 199, 202 mediation BW as mediator 95 of BW in texts 12–13, 123, 129, 156, 158, 161–2, 166, 171–2, 248 n.5 Mehra, Omprakash 234 n.3 The Merchants of Bollywood 104, 206, 218 Mere Brother Ki Dulhan 106 Milmo, Cahal 165–9, 173–4 Mirani, Leo 182–5 Miss Bollywood 99, 104, 206, 218 Mohabbatein 50, 237 n.5, 241 n.3 Monsoon Wedding 21, 192, 236 n.11 Mother India 70 Movie 41 ‘Movie Mahal’ 100 Mukherjee, Rani 101, 103 multiculturalism 77, 119, 120, 124 musical (genre) 22, 169–70, 176, 206, 212, 214, 220–1 My Name is Khan box office 84, 105, 237 n.5 diaspora film 63 distribution, promotion 39, 40, 105 language 52 in reviews 163, 180, 249 n.2 Nair, Mira 21, 192 Namastey London analysis 64–9, 83 box office 243 n.21

284 diaspora film 9, 11, 63, 75–81, 83 opening montage 54 in reviews 68, 176, 179 New Bollywood concept 10, 13, 16, 229 Gopal 25–6, 236 n.11 Wright 235 n.10 New York 63 nostalgia armchair nostalgia (Appadurai) 11, 95 diasporic nostalgia and BW 11, 86–8, 90, 93, 94, 95, 229, 244 n. 23 reflective nostalgia (Boym) 11, 95, 229 stylized nostalgia (Dudrah) 11, 94, 95, 96, 229 NRI 56–7, 62, 93, 243 n.20. See also PIO; OCI NRI characters. See characters under diaspora film NRI film. See diaspora film O’Neill, Phelim 177–8 The O2 106, 107, 205 Oberoi, Vivek 157 occidentalism 59, 64, 67, 69 OCI 56–7 Odeon Cinemas 34–5 Om Shanti Om 104, 121, 183, 234 n.3 distribution 38, 39 in reviews 180, 182 Omar, Fuad. See Bollywood: An Insider’s Guide (Fuad Omar) One 2 Ka 4 113, 221 orientalism 59, 67, 138, 155, 220, 223 otherness. See difference outsider. See insider/outsider Oxford 50, 177 Padukone, Deepika 54, 106 parallel cinema. See art cinema under Bollywood Paramount 37 Pardes 53, 54, 63, 66, 69, 70, 71, 73, 80, 82 Patiala House 77–8 ‘The Peacock Screen’ 100 Peepli Live 26, 183 Piccadilly Cinemas (Leicester, Birmingham) 34

Index PIO 56–7, 62 piracy 30, 39, 47, 228, 236–7 n.3, 238 n.12 PK 33, 84, 181, 183, 237 n.5 postcolonialism 13, 16, 53, 55, 111 previews, lack of 41, 162–3 Pritam 106 Punjabi films (UK) 31, 35 Purab aur Pachhim Chadha, Gurinder on 58–9, 69 diaspora film 57–9, 60, 62–4, 69–70, 242 n.11 and Namastey London 66, 68, 80–1 Pyaar Ishq aur Mohabbat 102 Queen 54, 88, 227 Quinn, Anthony 177–9, 250 n. 9, 250 n.10 Ra.One 54, 106, 107, 109, 237 n.5 Raajneeti 183 Raavan 105 Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi 180–1 race racial conceptions of BW 119, 120, 131, 225, 231 (see under ethnicity) topic in films 68, 76–8 Rahman, A.R. 99, 105, 171, 217, 219, 221 Rajadhyaksha, Ashish. See Bollywoodization Ramachandran, Naman 68–9, 173–4, 185, 250 n.8, 250 n.10 Rampal, Arjun 103, 106, 156 Rang De Basanti 36, 84, 104, 121, 183 Ray, Satyajit 106 Ray-Bachchan, Aishwarya 101, 103, 104, 105, 244 n.6 reflective nostalgia (Boym). See under nostalgia Reliance. See Adlabs reviews of BW films 13, 40–1, 98, 161–86, 200, 228 genre 8, 162 implied readership 164, 165–6, 170–4, 176–7, 179–81, 185–6 rhizome 13, 187, 190–2, 228, 250 n.4 Rifco Arts 105, 207 The Rising. See Mangal Pandey Rose, Steve 177

Index Roshan, Hrithik 103, 105, 171 in Hardy 141, 146, 149, 153, 155 K3G 51–2 in Omar 156–8 star status 83, 105, 141 Saawariya 24 Safari Cinema (Croydon) 34 Safari Cinema (Harrow) 34, 35 Sagoo, Bally 100, 132 Salaam–E–Ishq 84, 176, 180 Salaam Namaste 53, 82, 88 Sarkar 183 Sarkar Raj 183 satellite TV 25–6, 30, 41, 45–6, 228 Sawhney, Cary Rajinder 167 Scotland as BW film market 37 as shooting location 50, 101, 102 Selfridges ‘23 and a half days of Bollywood’ 99, 102, 110–13, 115, 120 Shaan 105, 106 Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy 106 Sheffield. See IIFA Awards Shelley, Rachel. See ‘Love in a Hot Climate’ (Rachel Shelley) Shetty, Shilpa 99, 104, 122, 180, 206, 249 Show Business (Shashi Tharoor) 14, 100, 194–5, 198–200 Shukriya: Till Death Do Us Part 52 Sight & Sound 68–9, 162, 163, 174, 182, 183, 185 The Silver Castle (Clive James) 14, 100, 197–8, 200 Sinanan, Anil on Cheeni Kum 177–8 reviewing practice 40–1, 163, 164 textual strategies 179–82, 185, 230–1 ‘Sing with Bollywood’ 103 Singh is Kinng 84 Singh, Sonia. See Bollywood Confidential (Sonia Singh) Singham 183 Sinha, Sonakshi 106 Sivan, Santosh 40, 106 Slumdog Millionaire 105, 121

285

Sony Entertainment Asia 46 Sony Max 46 Sony Pictures 24, 37 Sood, Sonu 106 Southall 6, 54, 57, 75–7. See also Himalaya Palace Cinema stage productions 8, 14, 205–8, 222–4. See also Bollywood Jane; Bombay Dreams; Wuthering Heights stage shows 98–9, 100–1, 103–4, 106, 156, 205–6, 223, 252 n10 STAR 24 Star City. See Vue Star City Star TV 46, 101 stardom 141–2, 194, 201, 204, 221, 223 Stardust 41, 163 Starry Nights (Shobhaa Dé). See Bollywood Nights (Shobhaa Dé) stars. See also stardom and celebrity culture under Bollywood auratic quality 7, 50, 83, 87, 92, 171, 223, 230 in brand iconography 116 devotion 144–5, 153, 194, 197 promotions 29, 36, 98 (see also stage shows) selection criterion 41, 83, 92 stereotypes in BW films 67–9, 81 of BW films 13, 21, 120–1, 123, 134–5, 138, 170–1, 176, 181, 183–4, 215, 220, 228–9 and transdifference 127–8 the strange. See alienity stylized nostalgia (Dudrah). See under nostalgia subtitles 35, 40, 134, 162, 238 n. 14 The Sun 163 The Sunday Times 164 Swades analysis 69–74 box office 243 n.21 diaspora film 9, 11, 63, 77–8, 83 Syal, Meera 217, 225 Taal 21, 98, 113 Taare Zameen Par 84, 183

286

Index

Tamasha Wuthering Heights 14, 105, 207, 212–14, 216, 218, 220–1, 224–5, 231 (see also Wuthering Heights (Deepak Verma)) Fourteen Songs, Two Weddings and a Funeral 101–2, 206–7 Tamil films (UK) 31, 35, 42 Tandon, Raveena 17, 101 Tashan 183 The Telegraph 163 Telugu films (UK) 31 Tere Bin Laden 26 Teri Meri Kahani 106 Tharoor, Shashi. See Show Business (Shashi Tharoor) 3 Idiots 84, 181 Time Out 40, 163, 177, 249 n.3 The Times 40, 162, 164 Trafalgar Square 51, 105, 177 transculturation (Pratt) 247–8 n.2 transdifference (Breinig & Lösch). See also alienity; difference; hybridity; interculturality; transculturation in ‘Bollywood Star’ 131, 135 concept 12, 124–9, 245–6 n.2 in first-hand reports 139, 143, 145, 146, 159 methodology 129–30 oscillation 12, 125, 127–8, 179, 185–6 in reviews 161, 164, 165, 167, 170, 179, 185 and stereotype 127–8 Transmission (Hari Kunzru) 14, 103, 198, 199, 200–5, 228 Twentieth Century Fox 24, 39, 105 21st Century Fox 24

UCI 34 Udaan 26 UGC 35 UK/India co-production treaty 49, 103, 105 Universal Pictures 37 Urdu films (UK) 31, 35 UTV 24, 36, 38, 39, 237 n.9 Vanity Fair 192 Victoria & Albert Museum 99, 102 Vue 36 Vue Star City 36, 237n. 8 Wah! Wah! Girls (Tanika Gupta) 106, 206 Walt Disney Company 24, 37, 39 Warner Bros. 37, 40 whiteness 115, 244 n.6 Whittington, Amanda. See Bollywood Jane (Amanda Whittington) Whittle, Peter 177–9, 250 n.10 Wuthering Heights (Deepak Verma) 14, 105, 207, 212–17, 219, 220, 221, 224, 225, 231 Yaadein 101 Yadoon Ki Baaraat 72, 81 Yash Raj Films 24, 38, 84, 100, 109, 237 n.9 Zafar, Ali 106 Zee Cine Awards (London) 103, 104 Zee Cinema 46 Zee TV 45 Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara 52, 88, 183 Zinta, Preity 103, 104