James Bond, the dapper spy who is used to saving the world while slaying villains and winning the hearts of women with his dash and verve, might have found an adversary to match his skills: the Indian censors. Bond may be adept at handling his Walther PPK but the censors can claim a near equal skill in wielding the scissors to snip and cut. Our censors believe in their own bizarre definition of morality in which even a kiss has certain undefined time limits, which is why the Indian cinemagoers will get a T20 version of the Daniel Craig-Monica Bellucci display of public affection rather than the longer format. Like Bond, they feel they have the licence to kill, only they are more likely to murder a rather good story, sexist though it may be as 007 cavorts, reducing women to putty.
The censors didn’t like the swear words apparently. Jarring though it may sound, particularly when too many rent the air, the dialogues do reflect the idiom of the day. On a more serious note, the censors seem to allow all kinds of violence laced as cinematographic action, sometimes so gory as to inspire copycats in real life. The mindless violence on screen, which is the staple of most films these days, is far worse than a peck or a PDA, not to speak of the double entendre and vulgarity that trickles into regional cinema. Truth be told, the censor board would be doing its job far better were it to classify films rather than cut and snip creativity. This is the new millennium, isn’t it?
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