Last weekend, I saw my first movie in a multiplex and decided I must share my disappointment with you. Of course, there is the added advantage of having another article posted on rediff.com. Every byline, you see, will help when I ask for a raise next March. The movie was Mohabbatein. But I'm not going to talk about the film. Any such attempt will surely land me in direct conflict with a review already on this site. All I will say is this: See Mohabbatein only if you haven't taken your wife to see a film since last Diwali and she is on the verge of filing for divorce (like mine was). What I would instead like to discuss with you today is the slow death of an art -- the art of catcalling. To explain what I mean, take a walk with me down memory lane: I was 14 or thereabouts when Shaan -- starring Amitabh Bachchan, Shashi Kapoor, Shatrughan Sinha and half-a-dozen other well-known actors -- was released. I vividly remember the rasping voice from the stalls that cut through that cold evening in a Shimla theatre... On screen, Shakaal, the bald villain, boasted: Aisa kaunsa kaam hain jo Shakaal nahi kar sakta? (Is there any task that Shakaal cannot accomplish?) From the darkened stalls came the answer: Shakaal, tu kangi nahi kar sakta. (Shakaal, you can't comb your hair.) The timing was perfect (the movie was beginning to drag). The repartee, short and snappy. And the delivery, clear and confident. That's what I call creative catcalling. Unfortunately, very little of it is in evidence in theatres these days, at least in Bombay. And that, probably, is because most multiplexes don't have stalls any more. Which, I thought, was exactly the problem with the multiplex where I saw Mohabbatein. In fact, the Rs 120 we paid for the tickets bought us two seats in the second row. Now, if I remember it right, that's where our wonderfully talented catcallers would sit when I was a kid. So, you see, what multiplexes have done is: they have replaced a potential catcaller with a man whose wife is pretty much fed up with him and would brook no further misbehaviour (including whistling.) And this is how they are gradually, but surely, killing the art of catcalling. Let me tell you a little more about multiplexes. Multiplexes are a collection of three or more theatres designed to make you pay more for less. There are fewer seats, less leg room and a smaller screen. Yet you pay a bomb to get in. Of course, you can spend more money at the additional facilities they offer -- like food courts, video games, bowling alleys, go-karts and shopping malls -- if that is what you look for when you go to see a movie. I don't, but it seems I am in a minority here. Komal Nahta, editor of a very respected film trade magazine, tells us in a breathless article in rediff.com that there will be virtual explosion of multiplexes in the country in the coming year or so. Here are some interesting nuggets from the article (quoted verbatim) that give us a fair idea of how well, according to Nahta, these multiplexes would serve the cause of movies: Nugget no 1: "Irrespective of the films being screened at the multiplex (he is referring to Anupam PVR in New Delhi), cinegoers throng it for the sheer experience of watching a film there." This, to me, sounds like good samosas, instead of good films, are bringing people to movie theatres. If this sounds like good news to the editor of a film trade magazine, I have nothing to say. Nugget no 2: "City Pulse in Gandhinagar (Gujarat) is a veritable tourist attraction and a picnic spot for (the) locals." So, this is probably how the conversation in a Gujarati family goes these days: "Come on, dear, we are late for the show. And yes, have you taken the dhoklas and sandwiches? Don't forget the frisbee for the children... remember the fuss they made the last time?" If this sounds like good news to Nahta, I have nothing to say. Nugget no 3: "In the first year of its operation, Ashok Purohit of City Pulse multiplex recovered 50 per cent of his running expenses from restaurants and snack counters in the cineplex premises alone! Of this, 30 per cent was from just the sale of popcorn and beverages! The balance 20 per cent was from sale of other food items." Once again, I have nothing to say to Nahta, except that this may be a difficult feat to accomplish outside Gujarat. So, you see, with so much to do in a movie theatre, I am not surprised people have forgotten how to enjoy a movie -- especially a bad one like Mohabbatein. Just like Shaan, Mohabbatein had as many characters as there were people in that matchbox of a hall. To say the movie was laboriously long would be a huge understatement. It lasted a full 220 minutes -- 40 minutes longer than an average Hindi movie. That kind of time definitely calls for some great catcalls. And there were opportunities galore -- this was Amitabh Bachchan's first film after he became a television host and made lock kiya jaye a part of the national lexicon. But forget good one-liners, there weren't even seetis (whistles) in the hall. When I was a kid, any display of skin (female mostly) would evoke lusty whistling in the theatre to make sure those who were dozing didn't miss the good parts. And, believe me, Mohabbatein had more skin than 75 episodes of Baywatch put together and more leg than a half-hour tele-shopping programme selling cold wax. But who cares? I think people these days overcome the trauma of watching a bad film by saying to themselves: "Relax...we are going go-karting next." By the way, I am going back to the same multiplex next weekend to watch Mission Kashmir. Why? Well, there are two reasons... One, that is the only theatre near my house. And, two, I don't think my wife can wait till next Diwali. Pankaj Upadhyaya is, as you can see, a glutton for punishment. Do tell us what you think of this diary
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