On the contrary: Political theatre

Back in the days before Netflix, we survived on the lean rations of a form of entertainment known as theatre.

Update: 2019-03-02 20:32 GMT
The Deccan Herald Theatre Festival was the highlight of the season where the output of Albee, Dario Fo and Mamet rubbed shoulders with Dutt, Karnad and Tendulkar, er that's Vijay, not Sachin.

Charlie Croker the protaganist of Thomas Wolfe’s novel, ‘A Man in Full’, offers simple advice for those aspiring to greatness: “Never apologise and never explain.” At the risk of disappointing my kindergarten teacher who had such high hopes for me, I’m going to have to strike greatness off my to-do list. I’m not going to apologise, although I will try and explain. Back in the days before Netflix, we survived on the lean rations of a form of entertainment known as theatre. As bizarre as it may seem to Gen Y, a few deluded souls researched, discussed and shortlisted plays and then went through hours of rehearsal until it all came together on opening night at Guru Nanak Bhavan or the Chowdiah Memorial Hall.

Other than Ashok Mandanna who studied drama at the NSD & Weber Douglas and bravely attempted to make a living from theatre, the rest of us were, shall I say, gifted amateurs. Bangalore, home to six theatre groups, functioned as the creative crucible for the likes of Girish Karnad, Mahesh Dattani and Arundhati Nag. The Deccan Herald Theatre Festival was the highlight of the season where the output of Albee, Dario Fo and Mamet rubbed shoulders with Dutt, Karnad and Tendulkar, er that’s Vijay, not Sachin.

We once staged Ben Elton’s play, ‘Popcorn’, for adult audiences which I think was a mistake since the teenagers with fake ID’s showed far more maturity than the greybeards. For those unfamiliar with Elton’s oeuvre, the play deals with a Quentin Tarantino type who wins an Oscar and comes home from the Awards ceremony only to be taken hostage by a real life sociopathic couple known as the Mall Murderers. This happens while his girlfriend is snorting coke and taking off her pantyhose to the tune of Sting’s Desert Rose. The director is ultimately forced to go on TV to promote gun control while accepting the responsibility for seducing the murderers into a life of violent crime. Deep, huh?

Creative types learn to cope with criticism; it goes with the territory, as they say. But to put up with hand-wringing over bad language was kind of weird. Believe me, if writers were convinced that taking *#ck and ^#it out of their work would advance world peace and stop global warming, they would.  Irony and satire are a playwright’s weapons and to deprive them of the use of either is silly. But the flak we had to deal with over “vulgarity” was tiresome, to say the least. They’re violent criminals for heaven’s sake, what do you want them to say? Wham-bam and thank you, mam?

Why do people go to a creative experience expecting a morality lesson when far more viable alternatives are available? Art of Living, for example or spiritual cocktail recipes from Sri Sri Sri. One longs for an audience who question acting skills, dedication, passion and commitment to the material. Have a good old rant about the lights, sound and sets or even the makeup, if you will. But please don’t get your knicks in a twist over a couple of f’s and b’s.

As the critic Steve Dietz says, ‘Sex and beauty, hatred and disease, truth and manipulation, hunger and faith exist concurrently in the culture. To ask artists to confine themselves to pleasant subjects is not only small-minded, it is patently impossible.’ He defines censorship as ‘the advocacy by one group of a specific set of ideas to the exclusion of all others’. Sound familiar? The people who claim to be protecting us from evil are in fact blanketing us with a belief system. The world is messy; people do get shot. Dawood and the JeM exist; they are not a figment of our imagination. In the make-believe world of theatre, we confront idiocy and revel in social, sexual, religious and political issues which you as the audience, watch and judge in the metaphorical safety of the theatre before returning to the harsh reality of life.

Actors believe immersion in their craft helps exorcise the demons of human frailty; I firmly believe we would be far better off if drama were an intrinsic part of our curriculum. At the very least, there would be less violence in parliament while NaMo PM and RaGa would stage better fight scenes with snappier dialogue. Instead we have bad actors mouthing meaningless slogans instead of sensible debate on the Kashmir issue. The greater tragedy is that the wardens and landlords who ejected Kashmiri students across the country for the crime of venting on social media are deluded into believing they are patriots.

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