DAWN
Tuesday Review, Oct 31-Nov 6, 1995
Importance of Being Eve
By
definition popular cinema is a document of the collective fantasies
of a people. In our cinema there is so much emphasis on love
stories that it can certainly be used for analyzing the images
of female sexuality in the male mind (Yes, I would consider
our cinema as a manifestation of the male unconscious because
all movies are fashioned by men’s choices and all female
roles appearing within them are "male-identified",
or "women as perceived by men rather than women as they
really are.")
A study of the Pakistani cinema
over the past 45 years will leave us with at least five distinct
images of the female role. In this article I will try to describe
in brief each of these types and then interpret them for their
socio-psychological functions.
The daughter of Eve
This woman is initially unaware
of her own sexuality. In pure innocence, she faces the man with
all her charms, giving little thought to what will happen if
he falls for that charisma. Rather unlike Lord Krishna of the
Hindu mythology (and Shammi Kapoor of the Indian cinema) the
Pakistani hero is typically unable to court her without hurting
himself too deeply. Yet the woman remains unaware or indifferent
to the harm she has brought to the unsuspecting man.
Most remarkably played by Sabiha
Khanum in Saat Lakh (’57), this manner of woman was more
popular in the 50s than later. The role of Shabnam in the ’80
film Nahin Abhi Nahin can be regarded as an occasional revival
of this stereotype. However, this type was present in quite
a number of movies between the 50s and 80s, although mostly
in the background -- for example, Arman ’66.
The function of this woman in
a Pakistani film is usually analogical to Mother Eve in the
Genesis story: she relieves the human male of all guilt by existing
as an object worthy of all the blame. She is the temptress.
She is the siren. She offers him the apple without knowing herself
that this is the fruit of carnal knowledge and contains the
seeds of sorrow.
The kind prostitute
To the viewer of the Pakistani
or Indian cinema the concept of a kind prostitute may seem just
as old as the profession of prostitution itself. Even in Saat
Lakh, there is one of this type who is presented along
with ‘the daughter of Eve’. (The role is played
by Nayyar Sultana). Typically, a kind prostitute is a good dancer
and a melodious singer, two qualities that are rarely united
in a single prostitute in the real world. Yet she is not greedy,
and will not agree to betray the hero at any cost (in Saat
Lakh she declines money.) Also, she looks upto the hero
as some kind of a saviour (in Saat Lakh, Santosh Kumar
actually saves her life. In Anjuman (’71), Umrao Jan
Ada (’74) and many other movies, a kind prostitute
expects the hero to "take her out of this life of shame.")
In almost every case this woman ends up sacrificing her life
for the sake of the hero.
Some of the movies have been named
above. In the 70s Rani was probably the most popular actress
for this type of role. However, the stereotype has outlived
Rani. Naam Mera Badnam (’85) and Bazar-e-Husn
(’89) are some examples to illustrate the point.
What is the social function of
the prostitute? Indeed there is solace for all kind of men:
the unsatisfied and the unhappy. By offering herself as an object
of sale the woman promises accessibility to every member of
the male sex. When, in an Indian or Pakistani movie she gives
herself away to the hero for nothing at all she boosts her self-esteem
to the highest degree (and that of the viewer too, since he
identifies himself with the hero).
Not just that, in a way she also
pledges to get out of his life whenever her presence may seem
to be creating a problem. This is epitomized in her final sacrifice.
Nobler than the nobles
Apparently this is the most reasonable
type. This lady is endowed with some education and a lot of
common sense. She is judicious. She does not fall headlong in
love with the man but when eventually she does so, she fulfills
her vows to the last. If faced with a dilemma she decides carefully
and in accordance with the values of her time. Whatever those
values may be, she is capable of making brave decisions.
For instance, in Arman
she (Zeba) is forced to choose between fulfillment of love and
honour of the family and she chooses to uphold the name of the
family although is causes her unbearable troubles, including
rejection by her lover. She never breaks under pressure. Facing
the undeserved blame she retorts, "I may not be accepted
as worthy of living among the nobles but I am better than many
of them."
In a typical plot she alone holds
the key to the resolution. In Arman, Zeba appears at
the last moment with her song and stops Waheed Murad from jumping
off the cliff. Typically this type of woman delays the resolution
of the story due to her own well-defined values.
This type evolved most characteristically
in the movies of the 60s. Some of the most memorable (apart
from the ones already mentioned above) are: Saheli (’60),
Aulad (’62), Jahan Tum Wahan Hum (’67), Andaleeb
(’69) and also Mera Naam Hai Mohabbat (’76)
-- the last one starred Babra Sharif. In the 70s and afterwards
the role did not disappear from our films altogether but shifted
to secondary importance. The role played by Atiqa Odho in the
recent release Jo Darr Gaya Woh Marr Gaya is rather
like an understated manifestation of this same character.
And what does the man do in the
moments of crisis when the woman is fighting the storm? Typically
he leaves her alone and lies in a corner to lick his own wounds.
In Arman (in fact in most Waheed Murad movies) the hero throws
himself into the arms of Bacchus and becomes an alcoholic. In
most films he either marries another girl (Arman) or
gets engaged elsewhere (Andaleeb). Indeed, this woman
by the strength of her will and commitment makes it possible
for the debonair hero to take a trip to escapism and fantasy.
He does not have to worry about the realities of the world,
the woman out there will deal with them.
Mod girl
The "westernized girl"
was an object of blame in the movies until the 70s. She goes
out for enjoyment, she dances and (sometimes) she drinks. She
has little regard for family values and virtually no consideration
for the norms of society. In movies like Dil Mera Dharkan
Teri (’67) she was represented as the source of all
evil in the society. In other studies like Devar Bhabhi
(’67) and Piya Milan Ki Aas (’68)
she was declared a breeder of unhappiness for herself as well
as for the others around her. These views changed with the social
revolutions of the 70s. Through films like Mulaqat (’74)
and Mohabbat Zindagi Hai (’75) her function in
the plot began to change until she was accepted with Aaina
(’77). In this film Shabnam meets Nadeem and falls
in love with him. She marries Nadeem, who is much below her
social status and almost without the consent of her parents.
Consequently she finds it difficult to settle down in a home
situation that is essentially devoid of the luxuries she had
always taken as granted. She leaves Nadeem but ultimately luxuries
of a rich father’s house are no substitute for a husband’s
love.
There can only be one explanation
of this phenomena: the anxieties of the middle class male about
the upper class female. Since she was virtually inaccessible
in the 60s he tries to humiliate her. Waheed shifts to her lovely
house only to find out she is promiscuous. Utterly disgusted,
he leaves her and she is killed in a road accident.
Probably the social and economic
upheaval of the 70s was the reason why our film-makers’
attitude towards this woman changed. In those days people had
started thinking about breaking the class barrier. Not only
the so-called "economic reforms" of Mr. Bhutto but
also other factors such as the "Dubai Chalo syndrome"
are to be taken into account. All this put together, there were
reasons for the man of the lower classes to think about moving
upwards on the social ladder. The woman of the upper class (possibly
also symbolizing the upper class itself) ceased to be an object
of hate because she was now seen as accessible.
Miss Hong Kong
The woman who can take care of
herself amidst a bunch of would-he-rapists was epitomized in
Miss Hong Kong (’80). Holding a black belt in
karate, this virtually unassailable beauty is a terror for the
guilty. It is not surprising that she sings a song on the super
boxer Muhammad Ali’s signature tune, and even includes
the famous slogan "catch me if you can". And they
can't! She falls in love with a harmless man and adores him
not for his bravery by for his innocence.
Later, towards the end of the
decade this type further evolved through such films as Hasina
420 (’88) and Kalay Chore (’90) into
a sex symbol-cum-martial arts expert. In such roles she moves
amongst the criminals, incites them into her bedroom and then
emerges somehow chaste and untouched. She blurts out vulgar
dialogues that would make the "kind prostitute" blush.
In such roles this type becomes a virtual impossibility, a distorted
fantasy.
With the Afghan War on the borders
and General Zia-ul-Haq in Islamabad, this was perhaps quite
a reasonable dream for the Pakistani male. The desire to be
approved by a warrior woman can be justified when the ruling
class in the country is the military. Also, for a motion faced
with the dual realities of the Nawabpur gang rape and the Hudood
Ordinance for Islamisation, it was a nice idea to think about
a woman who will not burden her man with the necessity of saving
her against the danger, but will also come to his rescue in
any critical situation.
What about the future?
I think a sixth type is emerging
through such films as Jeeva and Jo Dar Gaya…
with all the gloss and glamour available to the modern Pakistani
photographer, cinema is now presenting a type of woman who is
nothing more than a sex object (and remember that there can
be a difference between sex symbol and sex object.) The roles
played by Resham and Reema in the respective films are among
the worst examples of objectification of a woman in our cinema.
They do not serve any purpose in the plot. They are not active
in any part of the story.
But surely this is just the tip
of the ice-berg. We need to see more of it in order to interpret
its socio-psychological meaning.
