The Song of Apu: When Life Imitates Art

As a student of cinema, perhaps my gravest sin is that I haven't yet seen Satyajit Ray's landmark film Pather Panchali. There, I've said it -- it's out in the open now -- I have not watched Pather Panchali. But that is not to say that I have not been affected by its aura. It is impossible to study film and not read something about Pather Panchali, or not have a famous filmmaker reference it as one of the films that have influenced her/ his works. Even though it is a serious work of non-mainstream cinema, there is a certain glamour associated with this film. It occupies a rarefied place in the world of cinema -- a cinematic "seventh wonder", if you please, unique, untouchable and irreplaceable. 

It was this "glamour" that prompted me to watch Apur Panchali, a film by Kaushik Ganguly, at the Pune International Film Festival this year. The film follows two narratives, though it is primarily the story of Subir Bannerjee, the forgotten, once-famous child actor, who featured in Pather Panchali as Apu. This narrative track follows the story of Subir, now an aged, lonely man who once again has to face the spotlight as he is being honoured at a film festival in Germany for his contribution to Ray's film. Another narrative focuses in Subir as a younger man (played by Parambrata Chattopadhyay of Kahaani fame) and the trajectory of emotions he has to go through as he loses his wife and child at an early age. These two stories are effectively interspersed with original footage from Pather Panchali, the scenes of this film often mirroring the events in young Subir's life.

Subir, as an older man, is rather reticent. He has tried to shake off the ghost of Apu all through his life, but the "relationship" he shares with Apu is almost karmic, in which it appears that the character and the actor are meant to be one. This feeling is heightened by the fact that Subir's own life, although cloaked in the mundane, is quite cinematic. The events of his life -- right from his father's death, to his happy marriage, to the eventual death of his wife and child -- all seem to be borrowed from the plot of a melodramatic Hindi film. It is uncanny, as Subir himself admits, that Apu, whom he has tried his best to forget, is fatally linked to his life. It is because of Apu that Subir gets the opportunity to fly business class to Germany on the first plane journey of his life.

My favourite character in the film was that of the young student, Arko, who brings Subir the news of his award and chases him around till he is convinced to go to Germany. Arko is motivated by the fact that he is becoming a part of cinematic history in his endeavour and all his efforts to pursuade Subir stem more from a love of cinema than anything else. There is an interesting scene in which Subir takes Arko to the house where Pather Panchali was shot. Arko takes several snapshots of this "historical" site and later reveals to Subir that he has also stolen a brick from the house. 

Ganguly's film is a look at the reverse side of instant stardom -- instant oblivion. The fame leaves Subir as soon as he is out of the spotlight, and he too learns to live without it. But Apu does not leave. He stays with Subir, almost like a puppeteer, charting the course of Subir's simple but extraordinary life.

HARISHCHANDRACHI FACTORY: THE MAGIC OF THE MOVIES

This year marks the 100-year anniversary of Indian cinema, and more specifically 100 years of the Mumbai Film Industry. This is now a well-known and widely celebrated fact, with even the Cannes Film Festival joining in to commemorate the most prolific film industry in the world. To mark the event, I thought I'd do some celebrating on my own. So I watched Paresh Mokashi's delightful film Harishchandrachi Factory to join in the fun. 

This film could have been many things. It could have been a true-to-life biopic, telling us about Dhundiraj Govind Phalke's journey of how he made the first feature film to be produced out of India. It could have told us in detail how this printing press-wala came to pursue his dream of making a film. It could have interspersed the good bits with the bad bits, also telling us how this once rich and successful man died in penury and was all but forgotten by those who once enjoyed his films. But Mokashi chooses not to stick too close to facts in this real life story. Instead, he decides to tell a comic slice-of-life tale - much like the cinema of Hrishikesh Mukherjee. The film papers over all the bad bits and transforms the good bits into really good bits of situational comedy. To add to this, Madhav also puts in Chaplinesque montages which run in fast-forward in the parts where Phalke is learning how to make a film, run a projector, or actually filming scenes of his mythological, Raja Harishchandra.

This film could be criticized for its cinematic liberty, but I think Mokashi did the right thing by making HF a laugh riot. He also plays up the fact that Phalke was trained as a magician. This ties up later when Phalke shows his mini films to his neighbours and they react with the wonder of little children who have just been mesmerized by a magic trick. 

Also interesting is the fact that although the movie camera could exactly replicate reality, its function somehow got appropriated to telling stories. In Phalke's case, cinema becomes a medium for telling stories born out of India's mythology, and two new genres of film-making come into being - the mythological and the sci-fiction film (Phalke's films included rudimentary special effects - another instance of why his role as a magician is important). Another aspect that the film does not downplay is the pivotal role of Phalke's wife Saraswati in collaborating with him in his endeavours. She not only partly finances the film by selling of her ornaments, but also participates in its shooting, development and editing.

I did watch this film in the theater three years ago, and saw it the second time only recently - and was thoroughly entertained. This film can easily be a mood-lifter, right up there with Andaz Apna Apna and Singin' in the Rain. The film has definitely exercised  a great deal of poetic license, but it does full justice to its subject - the sheer magic that is cinema.

THE RELUCTANT MOVIE: THOUGHTS ON MIRA NAIR'S "THE RELUCTANT FUNDAMENTALIST"

It is difficult to analyse a film when one has dozed off while watching it. This is what happened to me in the second half of Mira Nair's The Reluctant Fundamentalist (2013). Normally, if I fall asleep during a film, I would be prompted to say that it was boring and I didn't like it. But I can't say that about this film. Even if it slowed down in the second half, ambling towards a predictable ending, it was still an engaging film, making a strong comment on the deeply suspicious and xenophobic times we are living in. The film is based on Mohsin Hamid's novel of the same name, and this was one of the few times that I have picked up a book after watching a film based on it. I'm glad I did that, because although I did enjoy Nair's movie, unfortunately it did not do justice to the thriller-like treatment and gripping pace of Hamid's novel.

Riz Ahmed does a fabulously layered job of playing Changez Khan - the enthusiastic and driven youngster who gradually transforms into an intellectual and a fundamentalist. His coming-of-age story unfolds against the backdrop of the terrorist attacks famously dubbed the "9/11 attacks". He is also able to bring out the anguish felt by an innocent bystander when he is falsely implicated by association for a crime that he neither planned nor executed. We understand Changez's journey in the film, and we also sympathize. But this is very different from the reaction that you feel for Hamid's protagonist in the book. 
Nair treats her Changez as a typical "hero", not unlike the angry young man trope of popular Hindi cinema - a young man who has been unfairly wronged and as a result looks for payback. Hamid paints a far more sinister picture of Changez. One does not react with sympathy to the Chagez of the book at all. Instead, one feels a bit unsettled by this slightly dangerous and sly individual, whose next move cannot be predicted.

In the book, Changez narrates his story to an American over tea and a typically Pakistani meal. The entire novel is a monologue and we never really get to know what Changez's American acquaintance is thinking and feeling. His actions and questions are filtered to us only through Changez's narration. Ironically, Changez's confessional style of telling his story does not enable us to empathize with him. In fact, it makes us more suspicious - we never really know if he is telling us the whole truth or not. Two episodes are especially suspect - Changez's relationship with Erica and his encounter with a publisher in Chile. 

Nair alters quite a bit for the movie. Erica (played by Kate Hudson) and Changez's love story in the film is completely different from the one in the book. The film is, perhaps, better for this. Erica in the book is touchingly poetic and ethereal, and she would have probably come off as vague in the film. In the film, she has a stronger presence and a voice. The film is as much about her struggle with her past as it is about Changez's struggle with his present. Plus, Nair packs Changez's story within a kidnapping plot which distracts one from the main plot. And I couldn't figure out what Imad Shah and Chandrachur Singh were doing in itty-bitty, inconsequential parts.

Still, I would not recommend one over the other. Both the book and the movie have their own respective strengths and shortcomings. In fact, I would say watch the movie and read the book - in that order. You will definitely enjoy the book, and if you've not had a very heavy meal, will also remain awake to enjoy the movie.

Apna Bombay Talkies - A (Almost) Fitting Tribute

Bombay Talkies

Bombay Talkies, released on May 3, 2013, is being marketed and sold as a tribute to the completion of 100 years of the Mumbai Film Industry. Featuring four short films by an eclectic selection of directors - Karan Johar, Dibakar Bannerjee, Zoya Akhtar and Anurag Kashyap - the "film" focuses on the relationship between cinema and its audience. Before watching the film, I did wonder why only these four film-makers were chosen. Perhaps it was because Johar, Akhtar, Bannerjee and Kashyap seem to represent the creature that Hindi cinema has become in the past few years - a mix of hardcore commercial fare, which even now regurgitates values and methods of representation that sell larger-than-life people and stories; and the more edgy and world cinema-influenced style of film-making that refuses to be user-friendly and escapist.There could be a long debate about whether the four film-makers who participated in this tribute were the right choice or not, but they have definitely made the right films. 

The subject of the four films itself is riveting: the magical and mysterious ways in which cinema connects to its audience. No audience of cinema is passive and engages with it in complex ways. The most obvious way in which this happens is, of course, through film stars who quickly become icons. In its most basic form, the relationship between the star and her fan is of adulation and emulation; and in its most extreme form, it can take the form of worship. This is evidenced in the many temples dedicated to male stars like Amitabh Bachchan and Rajanikanth who have achieved a demigod status for their fans. An aspect of this relationship has been explored by Anurag Kashyap in his segment in Bombay Talkies. Vijay (Vineet Kumar Singh) marks a long, patient and extremely frustrating wait in front of Amitabh Bachchan's home only so that he can get Bachchan to take a bite of the murrabba his mother has sent for him in a glass jar. Vijay does finally get his wish, but only after a near-nervous breakdown. The Amitabh Bachchan he meets is far from his on-screen heroic persona, or even his small screen magnanimous and friendly KBC avatar. Instead, Bachchan is a star exasperated and slightly irritable with this persistent fan who wants to touch his feet and feed him murrabba. The star that Vijay (and his father) worship is humanized and the meeting of star and fan is not as grand as one had thought it would be. It is fleeting, momentary, and we are sure Bachchan may not even remember it, but conversely, it is permanently etched onto Vijay's memory. It will certainly become exaggerated and romanticized in his head. What is daily business for the star is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for the fan.

If Kashyap's story depicts the reality of the star-fan encounter, then Akhtar's film is all about its fantasy aspect. Vicky (Naman Jain), a young boy, is obssessed with Katrina Kaif and her dance moves. He is not interested in football, and would rather learn dance. But he is only a child, still not aware of how well-slotted and categorized the adult world is, especially in terms of acceptable gender behaviour. So, he does not think anything of dressing up in his sister's clothes, putting on his mother's make-up and heels and swinging his hips to Aaj ki raat from Don. He is almost ready to give up his dream when his father yells at him for his actions, but is saved by Katrina Kaif herself when she comes to him in the form of a fairy godmother. The film touches upon the effect a star's persona has on a child, who is much more gullible to all the glamour. But it is also about how quick we are in labeling children and their ambitions. Vicky's father is thrilled when Vicky pretends that he wants to be a pilot when he grows up, but thrashes him about his dancing. A child's completely harmless ambition is labelled as deviant, and he is threatened into not exploring himself and his dreams. 

Dibakar Bannerjee casts Nawauddin Siddiqui as the commonest of common men in his short film. He lives in a cramped chawl with his wife and daughter, and is job-hunting, probably to make ends meet. He keeps a pet emu named Anjali, a relic of a failed business venture, and wants to be a hero for his daughter more that he wants a job. And he gets his chance when he is asked to play a walk-on part in the same frame with Ranbir Kapoor. He is no everyday star-struck fan, but a theatre actor who was quite a hit on stage in his hometown. There is a sense here that he has probably missed the bus to stardom and fame, but he gives this bit-part his everything. All this not for his own three seconds of fame, but to be able to narrate the days events to his wife, and especially his daughter. So that when he comes home at the end of the day tired and jobless, he is still a hero to his family, and he has not lost all his pride. Bannerjee traces a day in the life of a nobody who gets to rub shoulders with the somebodys of the world - famous film-stars who have entire battalions surrounding them, making sure they look like heroes every single minute of their lives.

Finally, I come to Karan Johar's film. It is actually the first short film you will see, and if you are used to normal Johar fare, then this one's sure to blow you away. This is a Karan Johar we've never seen before. A Karan Johar who was busy hiding behind aarti ki thalis, opulent houses and pastel-shade prettiness. This is a hard-hitting and deeply personal film, which reinterprets two golden classics in unexpected ways. The two songs featured here - Ajeeb dastan hai yeh and Lag jaa gale - are given a completely new meaning. I don't want to say much about this film because that would take away from its impact, except that I liked this film the best. And I hope to see more of Karan Johar Version 2.0. 

Bombay Talkies is not flawless, and perhaps the greatest flaw here is the length of the films. All the films start out well, but the directors - barring Bannerjee - are in a hurry to tie up loose ends. A little open-endedness, a little uncertainity would have been nice. The acting of the entire cast really lifts the movie above its four individual story lines, as each member of the cast makes the role her/ his own. The four directors have done their assignment, which was I suppose to make a film on, well, films. But each director takes it several notches forward, making Bombay Talkies a fitting tribute to Hindi cinema and its far-reaching influence.

THE CHOCOLATE BOY AND THE GIRL NEXT DOOR: CELEBRATING THE 25TH ANNIVERSARY OF QSQT

Okay, let's get some things straight. I am a big Aamir Khan fan, and when it comes to talking about his films, I conveniently see no flaws. I would happily jump through fire hoops and climb Mount Everest for him, although I don't think he would really put me up to those tasks, but I cannot say an unkind word about him or his films. I loved him as the incorrigible Sanjay in Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar, as the handle-bar mustachioed Mangal Pandey in Mangal Pandey, heck - I even love him in the new Godrej ads, where he is in drag.

In this blog, I discuss one of his earliest blockbusters  - Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak, considered to be a landmark film in popular Hindi cinema. 23 April 2013 marked the 25th Anniversary of this film. QSQT was released on the very same date in the year 1988 and starred two freshly minted young stars - Juhi Chawla and Aamir Khan. The lead pair created history, as the film went on to become the biggest hits of that year.

                   

The poster of Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak

Juhi Chawla had recently been crowned Miss India and had also done some modelling, but her face was largely unknown. She brought the genuine innocence and optimism of a young girl just out into the world to the role, not to mention a lovable dorkiness - a quality that would mark many of her later roles as well. Contrary to popular belief, this wasn't the debut film of Aamir Khan. He had earlier worked in a film called Holi (Dir. Ketan Mehta,1984) as a teenager and also in the critically acclaimed Raakh (Dir. Aditya Bhattacharya, 1989) as Supriya Pathak's brother. In fact, he has also won a Special Jury Mention National Award for the latter. [ You can watch the film Holi on YouTube here and the promo of Raakh here] Though his roles in his first two films were quite edgy, in QSQT, Khan epitomized the new-age romantic hero. His character in the film was a welcome break from the angry young men that had ruled over the Hindi film industry in the 80s decade.

QSQT was the first and last of its kind in more than one way. It was one of the first films whose loo..oong and weighty title was compressed into a pithy, catchy acronym. This spawned a whole generation of similar bonsai titles like HAHK, DDLJ, KKHH, KANK, MNIK etc. Also, it was one of the last films where the much-in-love Raj and Rashmi rebel against parental authority, and elope to fulfill their love for and commitment to each other. Later films like Hum Aapke Hai Kaun and Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge, on the other hand,  featured young lovers who were tame and boringly virtuous, and wouldn't even kiss each other without maa-baauji's aashirwaad.

                  

The lead pair of  Juhi and Aamir which stole everyone's hearts

The film, as everyone knows, is an Indianized reworking of Shakespeare's tragic play about two ill-fated teenage lovers - Romeo and Juliet. In QSQT, the youngsters negotiate personal desire and individual choice against a rigid and orthodox feudal family set-up. In this respect, the film does something rather brave. The family, especially the mother figure, in Hindi cinema has always been the site of protection and nurture, and most film plots drive towards the consolidation of this unit through the marriage of the hero and the heroine at the end of the film. In QSQT, there is no such consolidation, as the protagonists realise their desire of being together inspite of family opposition in death at the end of the film. Death, in this case, is not simply a tragic end but the final rebellion that the young people stage against the stifling value system of their respective families.

My favourite moment in the film is when Rashmi, instead of waiting around for the hero to bachao her izzat, rescues herself from a bunch of goons. Rashmi is accosted by a group of young boys looking for trouble, after she misses her bus and is lost on a jungle. (The leader of the pack is a very young and convincingly goony looking Makarand Deshpande and Aamir Khan's brother, Faisal, also does a cameo here.) As they chase her and finally capture here, she uses her presence of mind and some grit to knee the goon in his business and proceeds to hide in a pit covered with dry leaves.

The film, needless to say made history, and so did it's lead stars. The promises of eternal love may seem anachronistic in this age, when dating someone is as easy as "friending" them on Facebook. Yet the film will always remain a classic for its breezy music, its engaging melodrama and twists, its teen love story, and of course, some very good acting by its lead pair.

Happy 25th, QSQT!

The Crusading Hero of 1980s Revenge Dramas

Revenge dramas were a staple of 1980s and 90s Hindi cinema. This genre of film usually featured a protagonist (often male) who directly or indirectly suffers some injustice at the hands of "the system". The system could be an apathetic State, judiciary and police, oppressive old-age practices such as the zamindari system, or, on a personal level, the hero's girlfriend's rich dad. A female protagonist in a similar role was a variation of this theme. In this case, the heroine of the film would start out being thoroughly oppressed and exploited by a male authority figure, and would generally return in a masculinized avatar to beat up the bad guys and kill the villian (Rekha in Phool Bane Angaarey, 1991 or Sridevi in Farishtay, 1991). 

Rekha in Phool Bane Angaarey

Rajesh Khanna's Insaaf Main Karoonga (Shibhu Mitra, 1985) falls squarely into the category of a revenge plot. Khanna plays Ravi Khanna, a 40-year old Army Captain (don't mind my snigger) whose pretty wife (Tina Munim) is raped by his senior in his absence. She goes on to commit suicide, as a strategically placed and miraculously switched on tape recorder informs Ravi of the culprit. Ravi goes on to shoot the guilty Brigadier six times, pronouncing solemnly 'I execute you in the name of humanity'. The lucky Brigadier, however, survives (excuse me while I snigger some more). Ravi surrenders to some shady looking, long-haired Army officials but escapes when he comes to know that his nemesis is alive, and then proceeds to take revenge against him through his daughter (played by Padmini Kolhapure). 

It is weird how the film pans out after this. The film features a serious sexual assault on a woman. Yet there is no police complaint or even a court martial against the Brigadier. In fact, he quite happily recovers in a hospital. No attempt is made to even include the police or the judiciary, as Ravi takes it upon himself to avenge his wife's death. Not only does he kidnap the Brigadier's daughter, but also mistreats her, throwing her around and keeping her in captivity. The manner in which he comes to marry his wife is equally strange. He is actually attending her wedding with a friend, when her to-be father-in-law makes a demand for dowry. Our man Ravi swoops in, speechifies against dowry etc., and then promptly saves the simpering, voiceless bride from further disgrace by marrying her.

Rajesh Khanna as Ravi - the crusading hero of Insaaf Main Karoonga

Major events in the film are crimes against women, and the film ostensibly preaches women's emancipation and equality. But the women in the film are only there to be assaulted, exploited and bossed over. And their suffering is actually a means to underscore the morally impeccable nature of the hero.

A similar thing happens in another popular 80s blockbuster Himmatwala (K. Raghavendra Rao, 1983) . Ravi (uff! another Ravi, played by Jeetendra - he of the tight white pants and twinkly toes dance moves fame) is the lone crusader against the evil zamindar. He too plots revenge against him through his daughter (but thankfully this time she is in on it). His sister is beaten up and harassed by her husband and father-in-law - and these scenes, I presume were meant to criticize this terrible fact. But no one does anything about it. Again, no one lodges a police complaint. They all hang around stupidly waiting for the poor girl to die. There is some token moralizing, of course, from Ravi's side, but that's about it. 

Then why exactly are these crimes of assault, rape and harassment featured at all in these films. They have nothing to do with the main plot, and are only there to propel the saviour and crusading hero forward. The crimes are never dealt with or solved directly. They are instead projected as crimes against the honour of men, whose duty it is to protect the "modesty" of women. The actual assault, then, becomes a means of voyeuristic pleasure and nothing more. 

This kind of depiction of crimes against women as minor plots within the larger crusade of the hero carries on well into the 90s with huge commercial hits like Mohra (Rajiv Rai, 1994). Two assaults, one on the hero's sister and the other on the heroine serve to augment the hero's moral stature and provide fodder for his revenge story. Not only this, the film also features a song like 'Tu cheez badi hai mast mast' very blatantly objectifying the heroine of the film. This confuses the film's stand on the position of women even more. A similar track called 'Salma' is there also in IMK, in which a lady shimmies away as men ogle and fall all over her, with the camera focusing mostly on everything but her face. 

Tu cheez badi hai mast mast from Mohra

It is clear then that although the films discussed here do have a moral stand which says that exploitation of women is wrong, yet the films do not involve the women at all in the process of the revenge. The film never really sets out to be an indictment of patriarchy and its practices, and becomes merely a man's struggle against a vague "system". 

Films and the Morals of Society

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The other day, while watching Subhash Ghai's Pardes on TV, I couldn't help but wonder how much the film reads like a moral science lesson. Of course, these morals are painted strictly in black and white with no room for grey or anything else in between. The virginal Ganga (played by a distubingly toothy Mahima Chowdhary) is oh-so-pure simply because she is an Indian girl. Few minutes into the film, her fate is sealed - she is engaged to be married to her father's best friend's son, Rajiv. Now, Rajiv has been born and brought up in the Big Bad West (in this case, the US) so he naturally has no idea what bhartiya shabhyata is and how important izzat is to the bhartiya nari. Rajiv is then discarded only to be replaced with Arjun, who is morally upright, but is probably a bit aneamic since he loses quite a bit of blood by the end of the film, mostly through self-mutilation. So after Ganga has been parceled around from her father to Rajiv and finally to Arjun, the moral of the story becomes clear - India is good...the West is bad...Boys who bite girls (excluding Edward Cullen) are bad...boys who shed their blood for girls are good. Ekdam simple logic hai!

Things are mercifully different these days. So it is possible to conceive of a character like Veronica who lives in with her boyfriend and has a drink too many during a wild night of partying (Cocktail: Homi Adjania, 2012). And expletive spouting, gun-toting men from the Hindi heartlands can be the heroes, and not the villians of a film (Gangs of Wasseypur 1 &2: Anurag Kashyap, 2012). Clearly, the "moral standards" of Hindi cinema and their representation has come a long way.

Yet, can we really expect all cinema to be produced with the aim of moral activism? And can cinema really be blamed for "amoral" activities that happen in our society today?

Recently, the Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC) ruled that films with slapping scenes, item numbers and any other scenes or songs which objectify or subordinate women would be given an 'A' certificate. The basis for the ruling is the noble aim of curbing incidents of sexual violence against women in the country.Films are often easily be blamed for loutish and chauvinist behaviour among young men in India. And truly, many films are truly chauvinistic in nature. But is it only through slapping scenes and item songs that films display an attitude of disrespect and subordination towards women?

Last year's big hit Ishaqzaade (Habib Faisal, 2012) was a strange film in this respect if you consider what it does to its female protagonist. Zoya is presented as a bold, brash girl, who would rather have a gun than pretty earrings as a birthday gift, and who is not scared about shooting her mouth off or taking panga with the boys. She is also not coy about her sexuality and does not think much of kissing her boyfriend. But the trajectory of this character soon goes haywire as her brashness is continuously under fire during the course of the film.  The downfall starts when Parma gets her to sleep with him under the pretext of marriage, but coolly ditches her later. Isn't this clearly tantamount to rape because her consent is gotten under dubious circumstances? She is also tied up several times after the interval in an attempt to "control" her impulsive and violent behaviour. Eventually, she is transformed into a tamer version of her original self, and then, after much running around town, dies in a mutual suicide pact with her lover.

The film, although on the face of it, defines Zoya as a strong, outspoken and spunky girl, she transforms completely by the end of the film. Moreover, and more seriously, Parma receives no punishment for his actions. No slapping scenes and two item numbers, yet the film is not sympathetic towards the new-age femininity that it seeks to depict, nor does the film endorse it. 

I do not want to single out films like Pardes and Ishaqzaade here; they are only illustrations of my main point that a regressive, controlling attitude towards women can be manifested through many other ways apart from item numbers and the like. Also, blaming films for a mind-set that exists within society is unfair and naive. What they can be blamed for though is unwittingly condoning limiting portrayals of women on-screen.