From C grade to A plus in one afternoon

 

In the heart of Lamington road, in an area where no stars shine, lies the once majestic Imperial Cinema, now a run down relic of the thirties when Mumbai was young and glamourous and going to the theatre meant an evening of high heels and tuxes, pearls and cocktails.

 

It is an afternoon screening of a Bhojpuri film and in the dingy  projection room, the two projectionists Iqbal Sheikh — who has been doing the job for thirty five years — and his colleague Feroze Umasia-a third generation projectionist, sweat as they crank up the bulky machines, load the spools of film and adjust the levers. In the cinema hall outside there is no air-conditioning, no plush seats and no liberalisation popcorn.

 

In fact today in holiday season, there are barely a handful of people watching Bihar’s answer to Bollywood, replete with murderous villains, simpering heroines and heroes who dance to the courage of their convulsions.

 

“Most new films are bakwas” says Sheikh dismissively about the fare that passes through his gnarled, celluloid film- soiled hands day in and day out, “I barely watch them.” Sheikh, a cheerful sort, lists two films from almost half a century ago as his favourite: An Evening in Paris, and Manoj Kumar’s Pathar Ke Sanam. “Now that’s what I call a class film,” he says.

 

With standards so high, it must be particularly galling for Sheikh, the father of five, to have to put up with the Imperial’s regular fare: barely legit films produced in the movie world’s equivalent of sweat shops with names like Choco Bar, and Chulbulee portraying busty heroines, lusty men and plots as thin as the candy floss sold outside at the rusted counter.

 

Indeed, outside in the terrace foyer with its exposed urinals and cracked mirrors, posters hiss the produce of what is a parallel film industry catering to an audience alien to that of Yash Raj and Karan Johar

 

“We cater to a very different crowd – it’s the daily wage workers” says Imperial’s manager Sawant. “And the top ticket sells at RS 20. But there are plans of turning this in to a multiplex.”

 

Indeed, from the Imperial to Inox at Nariman Point to watch Steve Martin’s rendition of Pink Panther at Rs 200 a seat in the same afternoon is a crash course in cultural mobility. The multi plex is overrun with mothers, with trails of holiday, infested kids sucking on Hong Kong produced candy,  wearing Benetton chic. It is hard to imagine that somewhere in a corner of the same city there exists  a place and an audience for the Imperial .

 

Even the air smells different in Nariman Point’s catchment for the rich and well-heeled.