THE EYE OF THE SERPENT

An Introduction to Tamil Cinema

By S. Theodore Bhaskaran

East West Books

Price: Rs 195

The book starts out by listing so many reasons why Tamil cinema needs to have its own literature, that one's hopes are naturally raised sky-high. All five chief ministers who have governed Tamil Nadu since 1967 have been associated with cinema; over the years, films have become essential instruments for the conduct of any mass campaign that calls for manipulation of its target audience; and Tamil cinema, we are told, is a typical amalgamation of the Great and Little Traditions.

The fact that The Eye of the Serpent (the title is the best thing about the book and is taken from a George Bernard Shaw phrase) won one of the five books in English to be given the National Film Award this year, only adds to the anticipation.

But if you are looking for anything more than rudimentary knowledge , this is not the book for you. It does not provide more than stray illumination on what is clearly a fascinating world where myths have become real. As for those who know enough to decry Mani Ratnam's Iruvar (another history of Tamil politics/cinema), it is ground well-covered.

We do uncover charming little facts such as how actor T. K. Muthuswamy had to play the role of Perundhevi, a widow, because no woman was willing to accept the inauspicious role of a widow in Menaka (1935), or how in The Exile of Sita (1934), Rama opens an envelope with postage stamps on it, and how in Kovalan (1933), a film set between the third and fifth centuries, one of the characters appears wearing spectacles.

Less funny and more pertinent is information about Hollywood's influence on Annadurai's dialogue-writing and the resultant emphasis in Tamil cinema on speech, M. G. Ramachandran's avid devouring of Errol Flynn and Douglas Fairbanks swashbucklers, as well as Congress leader S. Satyamurthi's initial understanding of the power of cinema, which was later exploited fully by the Dravidian parties. These are dutifully mentioned, but never explored.

Also, for those who want to understand how an industry which was essentially ``photographed variety entertainment,'' has started producing India's most innovative music, there isn't much help, except to tell what we already know, that Mani Ratnam's Agninatchathirma (1988) was derived from the music video genre.

In the end, there isn't even enough by way of conversational openers. We do get to know that Satyamurthi had asked Mumbai actress Gohar to send an autographed photo of hers, but not of M. G. Ramachandran's durable partnership with Jayalalitha, or even with V. Janaki. A well-chosen representative filmography, however, is of great value, though curiously, it stops in 1990. In the end, the book remains, like a Tamil cinema cutout, all colour, size and little substance.

Copyright © 1997 Indian Express Newspapers (Bombay) Ltd.