Because Sex does Sell!

Time was when "A" grade films and the word "sex" were the most abhorrent of horrors. Grandmas swooned at the sight of a bared female knee, mothers covered their children’s eyes at any bit of cleavage while nubile adolescents and middle-aged gents peeked, and drooled...

WHEN Rehana Sultan set the trend, with her shapely legs forming an "A" on the posters of Do Raha, the south filmmakers were quick to clamber onto the bandwagon. IV Sasi pioneered the new "bold" rush with his Avalude Ravugal, which had his future wife Seema oozing the lascivious, come-hither look, and the front-benchers went hoarse whistling their lungs out.

An obscure starlet from Andhra named Vijayalakshmi graduated from bit roles to be the first sex-bomb of the south screen. Christened "Silk" Smitha (God alone knows for what reason!) she charged a mind-boggling Rs 50,000 per call-sheet, an astronomical sum those days, not even paid to leading heroines.
Of course, "Silk" ended up to her neck in debt, and probably used a saree of the same sensuous material to hang herself from her bedroom fan, and end her life too. But that’s another story. When she was at her peak, it was sheer distributor pressure, which forced producers to sign her for at least one dance sequence.

It happened that a director-friend from Kerala landed at my house one morning, with his producer,, and wanted me to show them her house. The producer, a crude, no-nonsense businessman, grumbled all the way, casting an occasional glance at the bag which contained the Rupees one lakh, which had to be paid for the 2-day shooting schedule. "No artiste is worth it," he kept on mumbling, "this is criminal!"

We land at Smitha’s house, and were told by the watchman to wait, while he locked up the pet dogs. Meanwhile, a woman with sleep-swollen eyes, and a dirty house-coat, with bedraggled hair, peeped out of the door, and told us: "Just five minutes!"

"Must be the servant," opined the producer, "she could certainly use a bath!" I corrected him. "That was Silk!" I told him. The producer had already leapt into the car, bag and all. "Back to the hotel!" he order the driver, "no way am I going to pay one lakh for that!" True, Silk without the glamour of her make-up was an unappetising sight, no doubt. But so disillusioned was the producer, that he even flatly refused to make the film, if having "that" was one of the conditions!

Then there was this director, who was the brain behind many good films, and had earned the title of being a "class" filmmaker in Malayalam. He had held many projections for likely financiers and distributors. I was present at one such projection, when a particularly waspish Marwadi financier was present. He appeared quite disheartened that the film lacked "action" (as he called it.) Of course, the "action" he wanted was of the sexual type, and it was evident that no progress would be made in the discussions unless he got what he wanted.

The only titillating part was the passionate meeting of two lovers in a parked car. The director,, gentle and refined soul that he was, had picturised this by a mild rocking of the vehicle, which indicated an ethereal consummation of love. "Not enough "action", protested the financier vehemently, thumping his knee, "I want more!" The poor director was forced to reshoot the scene, using two burly stunt artistes, who sat together on the back seat behind the blacked-out panes. When "Action!" was called, they moved with such gusto, that the old Ambassador car soon resembled a horse at a western rodeo, and nearly fell apart. But the producer got his money!!

Hindi veteran Premnath was at his peak, when some of the scenes for Johnny Mera Naam were shot in Madras. There was this torrid dance scene with Padma Khanna, which had the eyeballs of the oglers popping out. Kuch dam nahi hai! yelled the director, and yet another "take" was called. The eccentric Premnath (known for caprices like charging rates according to the dates on which he signed an agreement), went all out for the perfect seduction. He grabbed Padma in a bear-hug, and after raining kisses all over her face, neck and forehead, then started with her ears. After a while, the director gave an enthusiastic "Wah! Wah" and ordered cut. The heavily sweating Padma Khanna collapsed into a chair, even as the director asked her: "Kaisa tha? How was it?" "Boy!" she replied, "have you ever tried putting your ear into a washing machine?"

It soon became the talk of the market that nothing would sell in the Hindi market like good, lively, sex "action". Among the dubbed films, it was the Telugu products with their vigorous "jhatkas" and Kamasutra dance poses which were first in demand. Then, came the "B" graders in Malayalam and Tamil, with new faces, who never shed away from the vitally necessary bedroom gymnastics.

The USP of these films were unquestionably the "bits". These were shot with just the cameraman and director present, along with the "artistes". Saucily uninhibited,, they stopped at nothing, including full nudity and explicit sex. (There was a theatre in Madras, now demolished, where patrons could find written near the gate the precise timings, when these "bits" would be screened). Producers of such films always kept two albums of stills, one big one for the censors and the "decent" distributors, and another smaller one with the "action" stills for the more demanding and unscrupulous ones!

One group of unfortunate victims of this new craze, were the makers of genuine films on sex education. Avaricious and unprincipled distributors rounded up a cameraman, and artistes willing to go all the way. Bungalows were hired for the night in remote locations for the shooting. Total silence was the rule, in order not to attract unwelcome attraction. The male actors were supplied with a few pegs to boost their libido, while the rest had to be content with the ubiquitous packet of roadside "biryani".

With UP, MP, Bihar and even Delhi becoming a flourishing market for these films, true crusaders of the sex education genre found themselves helpless to stem the rot. When police raided theatres and seized these "bits" it was the producer of the film who had to face the music. Says Jacob Breeze, who has been an ardent crusader for proper sex education since his school days. "There is no point fighting these people, who have absolutely no scruples," he says, ruefully, "and I also think a lot of the blame lies with the audience as well, because they create the demand. And the funny part is that the artistes participating, are not even in the original cast! But the audience, especially the front-bencher, is more than thrilled to see these forbidden, crudely-shot "bits!"

Breeze, who has over a dozen serious sex-education films to his credit (he has written, produced, directed and acted in most of them), is today a sad man. "When you try something that benefits society, and the coming generations, people praise your efforts. But when it comes to investment, few come forward. All my films are made on a shoestring budget, with new faces, and even though I have sold them for a song, those who bought them have raked in money. And you know how they do it!"

Breeze has long planned for a film titled Matha, Pitha, Guru, Deivam!. It highlights the ancient Hindu tenets of equal respect for parents, teacher and all elders. But there are no buyers for the noble theme. "How is it possible?" he asks, "I can’t possibly erect stupendous sets, have glittering costumes, or include expensive dances in foreign locales! This will divert attention from what I want to say, this all-important message for the younger generation. It is indeed a sad situation!"

We agree. But, beginning with Bob & Sally, that first sex education film from Hollywood which flopped miserably on the Indian screen, it is only sex of the explicit, brazen kind, which will pull in the audiences. Maybe the trend has changed a bit recently, with story, music, emotional performances slowly tilting the scale, but sex, as raw as you can make it, still wins out. As recent developments in Kerala have shown.

A low-budget pot-boiler called Thoovaana Thumbikal (or something like that) has broken all-time box-office records by mega-starrer productions. The centre of attraction is a sultry, and slightly frumpy heroine called Shakila, who has become one of the busiest actresses in the Malayalam industry. She charges upto a lakh of rupees a day, and her bedroom eyes and wholesome physique have been a craze in Kerala. Needless to say, that almost two dozen films are being canned, exploiting these voluptuous assets as main selling points.

I don’t rightly know if it was PT Barnum or Sam Goldwyn who said: "Nothing sells like sex, and nothing sells better than good sex!" But he’s hit the nail smack on the head.

Keep watching Indian movies, and you’ll agree with me!

V Shekhar

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