2 Septembrie 2016 Lasă un comentariu
On a burning-hot afternoon last month, I found myself bawling my guts out in a Times Square movie theater. I was watching “Sultan,” a nearly three-hour-long Bollywood extravaganza that was released in July and is already one of the highest grossing Indian films ever.
I am forever second-guessing my relationship with Bollywood. The films are simultaneously operatic, commercial and jingoistic. I fancy myself a connoisseur of more subtle emotions, and so it’s natural that I recoil from these melodramas that try, as Salman Rushdie once said, “to contain the whole of life.” And yet there I was, swallowed up in the middle of the afternoon by this behemoth of a film — with rollicking dance numbers — about a former Olympic wrestler from a small town trying to make a comeback in the big city as a fighter on TV. Three hours later, I was spat out an overwrought wreck.