Where has the magic gone?

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There’s something majorly amiss.That tribal rite of going to the movies just isn’t the same anymore. Never mind, the fancy price of tickets or the 100 bucks for pops of corn. It’s just that the romance of submitting myself to the wonderful people and their conflicts on the screen just doesn’t make me laugh... or cry... with the same purity of feelings today.

BBC reviewer Alistair Cooke, once upon a time the most influential voice on cinema, had said, “A film critic should be someone who can’t stay away from films or a man who never goes at all. I leave you to guess to which class I belong.” Today, I find myself as someone who’s in between, a filmaholic who hits the bar only on a Friday. Not so long ago, it used to be at least 7 x 7 a week.
Now I brooded over that (a bit) and arrived at a few prime reasons for losing my ‘religion’, or for diminishing my devotion:
Where are the technocrats?: Even a rankly lousy film would have some redeeming features. Ravikant Nagaich’s Farz, Surkasha and oodles of espionage thrillers would be as believable as a Rs 25 note. Yet Nagaich’s technical inventiveness was mind-blasting. Mukul S Anand would hack out predictable Bachchan extravaganzas but again, style-wise, he was the asli bhai of all the directors in the showtown of the 1970s. His screenplays were messy but his direction, wah-wah. Today who are the comparable technocrats?

• Just not interested: I can smell a turnip from a mile. There’s no earthly reason to sample Teri Meri Kahani. Three different Shahid Kapurs and Priyanka Chopras in a love story spanning three eras. Eerie. One Shahid- Priyanka love story is medicinal enough. And though, I’m a major fan of B-graders — which often have more heart than the biggies — but I couldn’t drag myself to Picture toh Abhi Baaki Hai. Teakwood Sunil Shetty staring expressionlessly from its posters were warning enough not to trespass.

• Time time ki baat hai: The movies may have become briefer, the number of songs has reduced drastically, the climax doesn’t stretch on for a millennium. Some end in two hours-flat. So why do I still keep looking at my wrist watch, eyeing the exit door? To think Love in Simla boasted of 11 songs, and it’s a pleasure even on DVD. Today, it could be Love in Honolulu with just one song and three remixes, but I’d bin it after half a viewing.

• Crores roar?: It’s all about loving your Rs 100 crores. But huh, whenever I’ve been to mega-blockbusters — like Rowdy Rathore — in its second week, the audience has been as scant as a receding hairline. Doesn’t feel quite right about watching a humongous hit with just a couple of necking couples in the last row. Feels lonely.

• Multiplexes, a mixed blessing: So the clarity of the projection and sound are infinitely superior to the surviving single screen movie halls. But at the ‘plexes, the images can be dingy and the full-on sound can drive you to an ENT specialist. Ouchhh.

• 3-D, no thanks: All my friends who are assorted nuts about the movies, agree. Watching a movie with heavy glasses isn’t our idea of fun. Even on becoming Zen about the glasses, the picture quality is hazy and lacks luster. There was no choice but to go through the drill for Avatar, Spiderman and Tintin, but resisted the desi 3-D Dangerous Ishq… even if it showcased my perennial favourite Karisma Kapoor.

Result: I’m convinced that there’s something majorly amiss about going to the movies.