It is that time of the year that showbiz pundits call 'Road to the Oscars'. In a few weeks from now, what the Academy sees as 'cinematic excellence' shall be felicitated at its permanent resting place at the Kodak Theater. Being an annual fixture and being as I am self-proclaimed movie buff, I try my level best every year to acquaint myself with all the hype and hoopla that surrounds this extravaganza (even at the cost of coming across as the phoren-obsessed desi, but in my defense, I genuinely love the celluloid, ours or theirs). The process of my acquaintance is rather simple: take the most-talked about movies of the year and then make a judgement of my own. If the deserving ones end up winning, Uncle Oscar knows it all. If they don't, the Academy is a bunch of snooty, lobby and publicity driven bunch of fools. Simple, as I said.
Having the luxury and the liberty of the latest movies and TV shows at a few minutes' notice, courtesy the MDI LAN, I recently began my process of 'evaluation'. Up for screening today was a movie called The King's Speech. Without playing the role of spoiler, the movie is about 'Prince Albert (who goes on to become King George VI of England), his impromptu ascension to the throne and the speech therapist who helps the unsure monarch become worthy of it' (the sentence within quotes courtesy of IMDB). The movie is a moving portrayal of the trials and tribulations of a second-in-line and his consequent aversion to the throne, even when an ascendancy is promisingly imminent. The subtext of a Prince's growing acquaintance with a Commoner (and an Australian at that) and the apparent contradictions that it brings with it is peppered throughout the movie and beautifully captured.
The idea of royalty and nobility might appear somewhat dated and insignificant in today's world of the free market enterprise, but it still exists in most pockets of the world, and try as we may, the fact can't be easily dispensed with. But, what we often forget is that just as we feel 'deprived' when we compare ourselves with the Kings and Princes of the world, the same very Kings and Princes walk a thorny path to royal adulation. Anything and everything connected to their person has to answer one eternal question: 'How will this be viewed by the Commoner?'. Things that fail this litmus test must unfortunately be swept under the carpet and/or remedied, be it the childhood love with the Governess' daughter, the child born out of wedlock, the gambling addiction or the very fact that the Prince is left-handed (and therefore 'sinister'). The royal family must be everything that the Commoner can never be, even if it entails chasing perfection and failing miserably in the process. Letting down one's royal garb, even if for a fleeting moment, is akin to harakiri.
There is, of course, a larger issue at play here. In the post-colonial times that we live in, the blue blood and its relative importance may have considerably diminished. Yet, we intelligent, lesser humans have found a way to undo this royal decline- by coronating the celebrity. It satisfies our egalitarian ethics without sacrificing our fixation for the 'famous', since the ascent to celebrity is (somewhat) less hereditary than the ascent to royalty is (and therefore, only 'fair').
Make no mistake, its alright for us to idolize the rich and the famous, to take little snippets of their 'interesting' lives to spice up our own mundane ones. But, where do we draw the line, if at all? David Beckham, tired of his boxers and V-cuts, tries on his wifey's G-strings and it generates more news and commotion than the Pope's death. Sushmita Sen dons a huge solitaire ring and we all start wondering if she's getting any (and who from). When does harmless curiosity coupled with a dash of admiration turn into a dangerous obsession? The answer, unfortunately, is a curt but profound 'always'. Most of us spend far more time reading the Delhi/Mumbai/Calcutta Times supplement than we do reading the Business, International or even the Sports pages. And for a select few, these supplements are their only diet of daily 'news' and their only touch with 'reality'.
The recent past is agog with stories of the rising menace of the paparazzi (literally: the stinging mosquito in Italian). Freelance photographers in the west often complain of getting the rough end of the stick from the security guards of the celebrities. My question to them is: is it such a surprise? I can't imagine how differently we'd react, were we to be in their shoes. Nobody likes a camera shoved into their faces 24X7, not unless you're Kamaal R Khan from Bigg Boss. Thankfully, India's popular media isn't as intrusive as its American counterpart yet. But, what is alarming is that we're getting there, and blindingly fast at that.
I'm not justifying the excesses of the famous. If anything, these excesses are a direct result of attention and the importance we attach to them. I'm probably just as guilty as anyone else in the matter, but there needs to be a larger, collective awakening of the futility and the hazards of our trivial obsessions. True that a Manmohan Singh or a Hosni Mubarak doesn't have the zing and glamour that a Kareena Kapoor or a Kim Kardashian does, but when the time comes, who is it that will really matter?
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