First Day, First Show

Have you been to a movie theater recently? I love movies, and I still understand if you haven’t. Between people checking their phones on full brightness, flashlights being on so late arrivals can find their seats, and hearing jeers and laughs at inappropriate times, going to the movies can kind of suck. But really, it feels like it’s not the movies, but the people that are the problem. After all, it's the fault of the people making a nuisance, not the movie itself. So, we should publicly tar and feather people who take selfies, check texts, or talk loudly at the movies. Right?

Well, I think there’s one exception.

I hate when people scream and shout and record and jeer and cackle at the movies unless I am watching a South Asian film. 

I imagine this level of fanfare around South Asian films started because film, for lots of people, was the only accessible source of entertainment in this part of the world. A hundred years ago, buying a ticket to a movie was the cheapest way to escape from your life. A hundred years on, that still might be the case.

However, in between those hundred years, cinema became more than just escapism for large swathes of South Asian audiences. One can think of Amitabh Bachchan’s “angry young man” act in the 1970s or Telugu film star NTR using his cinema as a launch pad for a hugely successful political career (success in terms of winning votes, not necessarily doing good for society) as examples of cinema growing to be a source of identity, revolution, and celebration amongst the masses. Film stars began to be revered in a manner of godlike devotion amongst some particularly extreme fans, but crucially for the more casual viewers: the hysteria around such film stars changed the language of Indian film.

Slow-motion actor entries, references to previous films in an actor’s filmography, and pauses within the film itself allow for the screams of the audience. Blockbuster Indian films have now long been constructed around how the theatrical audience will react to what’s happening on screen. These films are not being made for a quiet audience. And so, we won’t be quiet!

Just as much as I love seeing these movies, I love the interactions between the audience and the screen. I remember the gasps let out at the end of Baahubali: The Beginning, the cheers for every slow-motion walk of Shah Rukh Khan in Jawan, and a rowdy audience hushed into stunning silence during the haunting interval of Dasara.

Beyond some of these visceral experiences, there have also been genuine opportunities for connection amidst some of these frenzied and chaotic theatergoing adventures.

Studying abroad in Dublin, Ireland, an ocean away from home and a continent away from the motherland, I found myself seated in front of Cineworld Screen 17, ready to watch Leo, one of the most anticipated Tamil movies of all time.

I’m not even Tamil. I’d gone alone, purely out of love for the movies, and expected to quietly sit and enjoy the film and then go on my way, but I forgot one thing: I was watching this movie on its first day, during its first show. It was my first time ever seeing a movie at the earliest possible screening, and I underestimated just how fanatical the audience would be.

I took my seat to the right of a group of men all talking to one another. I couldn’t help but eavesdrop and realized that they were speaking Telugu, my mother tongue, and the language of two states neighboring Tamil Nadu. They were clearly excited to be here and even turned to speak to me, a complete stranger. We got talking, bonding over our love for the cinematic universe this film is in, the director’s previous works, and our affinity for the star of the film: ‘Thalapathy’ Vijay.

The film began, and as soon as Vijay was shown on screen, the men sitting next to me bellowed “THALAPATHYYYYY,” as the rest of the audience shouted and cried for a man who wasn’t even actually in front of us. Throughout the movie, whistles and screams were as ever-present as the background score for the film itself. We, as an audience, added our own audio track that was layered on top of the proceedings of the movie. Every high moment was punctuated by the most enthusiastic cheer, while the silence of the more downbeat dramatic moments only made the lows feel lower.

There was an unspoken bond between all of us audience members: scream at these action scenes, laugh at these jokes, whistle at these references. We didn’t just go to see a film but to feel it and react in real time. It was a truly communal experience, one which transformed the movie into something beyond its frames, with us, the audience, contributing to the spectacle.

Compare the fun and thrill of that to the middle school girls taking selfies during my Barbie screening while everybody else sat quietly, and there’s a clear difference in atmosphere between our movies and everybody else’s. At Barbie, the distractions worked against most of the audience. At Leo, the audience was all “distracted” together, out of genuine excitement.

I like ours a little more. Cinema, for us, isn’t just a passive way of consuming some moving images. It’s a celebration. Once I make enough money to afford the premium tickets Indian movies are priced at in this country, I’ll be sure to celebrate more often, and as soon as possible: First Day, First Show.

By Arul Gundam