Priyadarshan, as the chairperson of the 2017 National Awards, was pulled up on social media for picking Akshay Kumar as the ‘best actor’ for 'Rustom'.
Assault, assault, assault…." We heard a voice screeching this, out of the blue. It wasn't from a character in the movie playing before us. I looked around. It was from one of the three, fellow National Award judges sitting behind me in the wholly empty Siri Fort Auditorium in Delhi.
I could instantly sense his pain. This was the 50th or 51st feature film, each usually two to three hours long, that we'd watched together, back-to-back, with short lunch and quick smokes, in between. There was yet another day, and at least six to seven movies to go, and by the final evening, I found myself pacing up and down the hall, gawking closely at a Bengali period film, set in a village during the British Raj, that I felt had mistakenly been plucked out of the National Archives. I turned away from the screen, walked a full circle inside the auditorium, went back to my original position, and muttered under my breath, "Cholbe na, baba. Cholbe na!" For a second, I didn't know what had hit me.
Forefathers of the criminal-justice system had clearly never imagined movies as a possible form of deterrence and punishment. I realised it could be an effective prison term, having endured nine days of 58 films, most of them terribly scripted/shot/enacted, one after another, in a loud volume, and the large screen emitting so much light that you could slouch on your seat, put your leg up on a small coffee-table if you liked, but you couldn't sleep, or look away, even if you wanted to-staying afloat in a perennial state of dream, gradually descending into delirium.
I'm sure you could slink away for a bit too. But the officials had lodged a senseless fear in our heads that there could be journalists outside, or an RTI application later to crosscheck if all the jury members were present at the screening, and the films' running time had been accurately logged.
This was the spring of 2016. We were comfortably holed up in Delhi's state-run Ashoka Hotel - so massive that you'd need Google map to find your room. We'd wake up for early breakfast and the day would begin with the night, as it were - a dark hall, and multiple screenings - until you were exhausted enough to pack up, grab dinner, ready to serve the nation the next day again!
The National Awards judging is a two-tiered process. The jury is first divided into four regions-East, West, North, and the South (which by the way, gets two sets of juries, given the number of entries). Some of these jury members can get on to the next round to judge films that have already been shortlisted from the first lot.
And what does it take for anyone to be considered for a National Award? A camera to shoot (digital, some say, is a frickin' curse!), a censor certificate and Rs 5,000. There were therefore 308 feature films in 29 languages to be viewed over 43 days. Just to give you a sense, some of the Bollywood movies that the filmmakers felt worth entering for a National Awards were 'Gabbar Is Back', 'Katti Batti', and 'Prem Ratan Dhan Payo'. The films aren't entered for specific categories, which can range from 'Best Audiography (location sound)' to 'Best Film on environment conservation/preservation'. You remain alert. A movie otherwise seemingly mediocre might fit some bill or the other.
And who are these judges willing to pause their life for a minimum of 10 days, and Rs 3,000 per diem, for the love of cinema, or sadism? Mostly people related to films, I'm sure. Although one of the panelists with me, and the only woman of the four, was an amateur dancer who, if I'm not mistaken, had served in the postal department. Her overt fondness for Assamese films, regardless of merit, clearly went beyond brief. But that favouritism is a flaw inherent to the concept of awards itself - whether based on jury deliberation, or popular vote.
Priyadarshan, as the chairperson of the 2017 National Awards, was pulled up on social media, for picking Akshay Kumar as the 'best actor' for 'Rustom' (along with, I'm told, 'Airlift'). You could question his choice (or others' from the past). But it merely suggests Akshay is/was Priyadarshan's favourite actor, instead of the 'best'. And isn't he the judge? Guess, in that sense every award is fair, or only reflective of the jury. Unless of course, you can prove serious conflict of interest, or definite 'jhol' in intentions.
What did I learn sitting on the National Awards jury? Besides that an overload of bad movies can be a near-death experience? That there are some seriously stunning Indian gems to be found wading through gunk, that perhaps most of us would never see-the sombre, sorted film on a rape survivor, 'Oonata', in the Khasi language from Meghalaya, for instance; or
'Kotha Nadi', that rare piece of surrealist cinema based on Assamese folk stories. Or performances, like that fine old man in the Wancho language film 'The Head Hunter', from Arunachal Pradesh.
I particularly loved some of the shots in this one film that was playing, and so I switched on my torch to read from the credits' sheet who the director was. "Raj Banshi! Hmm," I thought, "Fine director." I checked later, Rajbanshi was the language the movie was in!
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