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Stepping into shringaara varitions on love in modern bharata natyam 2

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CHAPTER FOUR
REMEDIATING SHRINGAARA IN FILM DANCE
Over the last three chapters, I have identified three distinct variations on
love that feature in and through the practice of modern Bharata Natyam. In the
first chapter, I surveyed conventional representations of Shringaara and argued that
rati and vatsalyam manifestations often tend towards devotional aspects of bhakti.
Drawing on the figure of Krishna as the love exemplar, I proposed that the
dancer’s personal and social experiences of love are viable rich sources of
inspiration necessary when creating her interpretation of Krishna. In the second
chapter, I brought to the fore the tacitly understood love between guru and sishya
as the enabling mechanism that teaches students to depict the stylized expressions
of Shringaara. In chapter three, I then discussed different varieties of maternal
love—from depictions of nurturing to bereavement upon the death of a child—
inherent to productions on vatsalyam. Observing the biological and emotional
maturity of professional dancers who mostly perform such manifestations of
vatsalyam, I proposed that the concept of vatsalyam becomes a strand of Shringaara
for the continued learning and performance of conventional Bharata Natyam.

Looking collectively at these chapters, manifestations of Shringaara appear
to be medium-specific and dependent on the performer. As I had briefly explored
in the chapter on Krishna, each mythological character and the delicate
relationship he shares with other characters, can only be conjured onstage insofar
as the Bharata Natyam dancer expresses them through the codes and conventions
of the form. In this manner, the stylized movement techniques of Bharata Natyam
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ordain the body in specific ways to create the varieties of love. In her execution of
the codified movement, the dancer also demarcates the performance space as one
where a mythological Hindu world is created and it is often within this alternative


space of reality where representations of bhakti, rati or vatsalyam are conjured. In
Bharata Natyam the live dancing body and the codification of movements
become necessary for transmitting an impression of culturally ordained love. The
dancer manipulates her limbs and facial expressions and draws on the unique
particularity of the body as a medium to manifest Shringaara. In this respect,
Shringaara appears to be medium specific.

As I have surveyed in the Introduction, there is a vast amount of critical
literature on the invented processes of the dance. Most of the scholarship relates to
acts of purification that have led to the creation of this traditional high-art culture
in post-Independence India. However, in this chapter I highlight a parallel and
intertwined social mode of witnessing and experiencing the dance from that
period that is understated in academic discussions regarding the continued
international appeal of Bharata Natyam.

The incorporation of Bharata Natyam movement lexicon on films is an
important but underexplored area that can account for how technology and film
distribution have also shaped the ways in which we understand the art. For many
Indians living outside of India, it is often through the medium of film and its
dances that we experience aspects of “Indian dance” including Bharata Natyam.
Specifically, the formative years of Tamil cinema were integral for appropriating
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the live dance medium onto the celluloid and presented Bharata Natyam as
cultural performances for the film spectator. Bharata Natyam on film is often
situated as the binary to conventional expressions of love. Although such dances
on film, were often relegated as the inferior cousin of high-art Kalakshetra-style
Bharata Natyam and became tangled with issues of authenticity and authority,
these film Bharata Natyam versions are nonetheless equally important for the
reception of the dance form.


In this chapter, I argue for another variation on love that features in and
through the reception of Tamil film dance sequences. Due to the widespread
circulation of these dance sequences alongside the practice of the ostensibly
traditional Bharata Natyam, the reception of the film medium does influence and
inform how students of Bharata Natyam understand depictions of Shringaara.
Drawing on my observations of its practice over the first three chapters, I argue
that there is a complex and at times contradictory manifestation of Shringaara in
film-style Bharata Natyam. Yet, given the intertwined socio-historical contexts of
Tamil cinema and Bharata Natyam in the 1950s-60s, it is necessary to include
cinematic representations of love (through dance) in a thesis discussing the
varieties and intensities of Shringaara.

Looking only at reception as a mode for thinking through Shringaara, I
begin this chapter by charting the socio-historical trajectory of Bharata Natyam
from stage to screen. In doing so, I explore the extent to which the varied
depictions of love found in the live and film versions alter an informed audience
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member’s perception of Shringaara. At the same time, the context of Singapore and
many local dancers’ engagement with the contesting expressions of high-art and
mass culture, are also important for understanding how the local community takes
to such expressions of Shringaara. Addressing the ways in which cinema music and
conventional Bharata Natyam come together in the local context, or lack thereof,
I then focus on the reception of actor-dancer Shobana Chandrakumar’s
intermedial production Maya Ravan. As a case study, Maya Ravan pries open issues
of authenticity and appropriation in relation to representations of rati Shringaara in
a stage performance that is inspired by the conventions of both film and Bharata
Natyam.


Bharata Natyam and Tamil Film Dance
Understanding how Tamil film studies is pitched in relation to socio-
historical forces could explain the gap in scholarship referencing the inter-medial
transfer of Bharata Natyam from stage to screen. Firstly, literature on South Asian
cinema often gears towards the prolific Hindi films and the sensational Bollywood
song and dance sequences. Selvaraj Velayutham best encapsulates this nature
when he writes: “The cultural hegemony and dominance of Bollywood within the
Indian film industry has both marginalised and erased the rich complexities and
ethno-linguistic specific cinematic traditions of India” (2008: 1). Given the
prominence of Bollywood cinema, the film industry of southern India is often
contrasted as being regional in reach, or at best, an “other”.

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Discussions on Bollywood dancing are also not given its due in relation to
the socio-cultural appropriations of Kathak. Ian Gardwood’s writing suggests the
extent to which musicals have become part of Indian cinema for Western
reception. He writes: “song sequence is a crucial part of the branding of
Bollywood in Western film territories. [It is] the single most identifiable element
that marks its territory from its Hollywood counterparts” (2006: 348). Here, the
glamourized song and dance sequences become indicative of the reception of
Bollywood films in the global circuit. There is an increased attention given to the
dance styles of Bollywood, with the framing of the term “Bollywood dance” as a
genre in its own right. The mushrooming of new dance schools specializing in
Bollywood dance and more conventional ones that include its practice as part of
their contemporary wing, illustrates the prolific transfer of the film medium onto
the live body. However, the evolution of that dance form and its movement
aesthetics, which may be of interest to dance scholars, remains ambiguous in
scholarship.


While much Bollywood cinema travels the transnational circuit and
becomes viable cultural capital representative of India for predominantly diaspora
studies, scholarship on Tamil film studies though growing, appears to be
pigeonholed and inseparable from its Dravidian politics. The dominance of the
political in Tamil films, may also signal the omission of understanding the film
dance form insofar as they do not forward a political agenda. Exploring the socio-
cultural and political importance of cinema in Tamil Nadu in pre-Independence
India, Theodore Baskaran’s The Eye of the Serpent (1996) has become the
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quintessential book written on the otherwise marginalized cinema industry.
Baskaran traces the historical contexts of the Tamil industry and argues that is
both an art and a political tool used to forward the Dravidian Movement.
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Although he includes a chapter on the incorporation of classical Carnatic music
onto films and suggests that the lyrics also propel the Dravidian consciousness,
there is little written on the adaptation of Bharata Natyam to accompany the
music.

Scholars discussing the infancy period of Tamil cinema (1913-1946)
acknowledge that while the technology was borrowed from the West, the content
and performance styles resonated with the regional arts. It is in this limited
scholarship, that we begin to understand the ways through which Bharata Natyam
was incorporated for the screen. Addressing the prowess of cinema amidst the
colonization during that period Preminda Jacob writes:
Cinema effectively accomplished a primary agenda of the independence
movement: to ignite the spark of national pride by modernizing and
valorizing indigenous cultural and religious traditions. And in so doing,
these films established key enduring features of Indian entertainment

cinema: screenplay derived from indigenous mythological and historical
narratives; filmic structure and acting styles based in a mix of
contemporary folk and urban theatrical traditions; and visualizations of
sets, costumes and make-up influenced by the hybrid aesthetics of
nineteenth-century Indian and Western academic artistic traditions (2009:
83).

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The Dravidian Movement that was spearheaded in Tamil Nadu focused its activities around a
single goal: to eradicate Brahmin and Aryan supremacy that the caste system supported. During
the pre and post-Independence period where Hindustani (a combination of Hindi and Urdu) was
the lingua franca, advocates of the Dravidian Movement such as Dravidian Munnetra Kazhagam
[Dravidian Progressive Federation] (DMK) championed the use of the literary Tamil language as
a mean of raising its status on par with that of classical Sanskrit (Jacob 2009: 153-184).
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This could explain the successful, but underexplored, inclusion of Bharata
Natyam into the Tamil film industry. One reason for the convenient mapping of
Bharata Natyam onto film was because the narrative content dealt mostly with
mythological or religious stories. In Tamil movies such as Manthiri Kumari (1950),
Kulebagavali (1955), Uthama Puthiran (1958) and Mannathi Mannan (1960), the song
and dance sequences catered for both devotional expressions as well as romantic
encounters between lovers. In part due to the camera close-ups on the quivering
lips or arched eyebrows, the emotional expressions on screen do seem much more
exaggerated than the spontaneous ones we may experience in the everyday. At the
same time, trained Bharata Natyam dancers Kamala Lakshman (who also goes by
Kumari Kamala) (1934~), Vyjayanthimala Bali (1936~) and the Travancore
sisters Lalitha (1930-1982), Padmini (1932-2006) and Ragini (1937-1976),
amougst others were cast as heroines in the Tamil movies from the post-

Independence cinema (1947-1960s). This allowed for the representation of
Bharata Natyam movements for the film dances.

The inclusion of Bharata Natyam onto Tamil films during pre-
Independence, in and of itself, is an interesting but underrepresented area of
study. Jacob’s suggestion that localized arts found means of modernism through
film, may simplify the implications of incorporating Bharata Natyam. The
Dravidian politics that cuts through the formulation of Tamil films since pre-
Independence, stands in opposition to the devadasi-revivalists movements that
appeared to realign the practice of the dance with upper-caste Brahmin
supremacy. This illustrates an instance of the complexities attached to the practice
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of Bharata Natyam during its formative years.
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The very medium of film became
under scrutiny because of its treatment of expressions of love—that which was
central for the Bharata Natyam revivalists. Commenting on the reaction of such
medial transfer of the dance, Bhaskar Sarkar a post-colonial media theorist writes:
Cultural purists were angered by the film industry’s practice of
interweaving classical music and dance forms with elements from folk
traditions, low-brow popular stage, and Western sources. They decreed
the “vulgarization” of bharatanatyam and odissi, classical dance forms
developed in temples, through the incorporation of movements drawn
from more vivacious folk dance forms of northern and western
India…Armed with the stock physical/spiritual and East/West
polarizations, critiques of commercial cinema directed their ire at onscreen
sexuality, reductively tracing it to the influence of Hollywood, alleged
propagator of degenerate Western values. (2009: 57-58)


There was an assumption that the reputability of the dance was gravely
affected by the ways in which it was associated with other indigenous forms of art.
Furthermore, the circulation of films as mass culture and populist modes of
reception, contravened the intent of many cultural purists, like Rukmini Devi
Arundale and E Krishna Iyer, who wanted to raise the status of the dance form.
Thus, the angst regarding the bastardization of Bharata Natyam on film, is also be
rooted in the parallel devadasi-revivalist movement during post-Independence.
Specifically, contamination of the art and premature development of sexual
interests in the audience due to the erotic onscreen sexuality, were two frequently
cited reasons for the accusations hurled at the cinema dances. Amidst the
backdrop of reinventing Kalakshetra-style of Bharata Natyam and the devadasi-
revivalists movement, the ways in which the technological processes of film
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More research regarding the inclusion of the stage dance form onto film needs to be done.
However, for purposes of this thesis, I will only be limiting my survey to how the representations of
Shringaara have evolved.
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represent an erotic undertone of Shringaara offer relevant counterpoints for my
discussion on the variations on love.

While such contestations surrounded the formulation of Kalakshetra
Bharata Natyam and those that featured on films, the very use of the dance on the
celluloid indicates something particular to the dance movement lexicon. Insofar as
the medium is assumed to be a modern invention, the appropriation of the dance
is suggestive of the latter’s contemporary and modern characteristics. The ways in
which a static camera can capture the trajectory of a lively tillana in a proscenium
arch theatre or the pans that create the allusion of movement for a padam like in
marainthirunthu paarkum from Thillaanaa Mohanambal (1968), suggests the potential

partnership between the stage form and technology. Moreover, the mudras like the
alapadma that are often used to frame the face for a camera close-up, present an
interesting amalgamation of how the dance lexicon can be incorporated to suit a
modern technology.

The study of Bharata Natyam in the film medium is an underexplored
area in scholarship. Yet, given the nature of films and its mass circulation, film
Bharata Natyam dances are often ways through which the Tamil population
living outside of India appreciate the dance. This is indicated in a March 2011
radio essay broadcast on BBC Radio 3, where the British-based choreographer
Shobana Jeyasingh shares how various cultural influences shape her
understanding of Indian dance. Her initial contact with Bharata Natyam, she
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says, was made possible through cinema. She references the post-Independence
films ranging from the late 1940s to 1960s.
My idols were predictably the heroines; large-eyed, pale-skinned and
dancing in a variety of locations from hotel lobbies to temple courtyards.
The zooming camera brought the arch looks or the tear-filled eyes to a
palpitating and unbearable closeness as I sat there soaking it all in, in my
comfortable seat. My idols were rescued from being giant Barbie dolls by
their elevated speech. The old scriptwriters obviously treated cinema with
the same respect that they would to Classical play; and their ability to
dance. Many of these cinema stars were trained classical dancers and their
movement and acting style derived much from the rhetoric and etiquette
of Bharata Natyam—the classical dance and drama of South India.

Jeyasingh’s experience indicates how the films and one’s own practice in
Bharata Natyam interact to create an impression of the art. Especially for the
transnational circuit, the song and dance sequences in particular became exhibits

indicative of the performance culture. The “zooming camera” and other
techniques unique to film culture also render anew the rhetoric of Bharata
Natyam.

The situation in Singapore and the correlation between Tamil films and
the state, was perhaps more pronounced. With Tamil being an official language of
the country, Tamil films were in a privileged position for circulation through the
state-sanctioned television media and at video rental shops.
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As a child, I recall
Tamil movies from post-Independence period being aired on local television in
two parts, over two days on Thursday and Friday nights. Since my mainstream
school lessons began in the early hours of the morning, I was usually not
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Hindi movies were also in circulation through the television but this was mostly aired on
Malaysian television channels that were available in Singapore. Such a situation was rare for other
Indian language films till the introduction of cable television.
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permitted to watch the broadcast. However, my grandparents would often record
the films and I would watch them during the day. Partly a familial censorship
(dictated by all four of my grandparents) on what my cousins and I could watch,
the Tamil movies from the 1940s-1960s became teaching aids for culture, literary
works, pronunciation of Tamil and exposure to Bharata Natyam. However,
because this cinematic style of dance is significantly different from the codified
lexicon of Bharata Natyam, young students of the art like myself were often
reminded by gurus and parents not to replicate cinema styles when performing.

For me, there were some similarities when dancers in those movies

maintained araimandi and Bharata Natyam costumes that were at times
translucent. Yet in the ways the upper torso was slightly bent at the waist and
somewhat everyday facial expressions made their dancing appear different from
the Kalakshetra style of Bharata Natyam that I am trained in. Through a process of
inter-medial crossings, expressions of love in film dance sequences became at once
recognizable and distinct from Bharata Natyam. Insofar as the facial expressions
are less ritualized and hence appear more spontaneous and in the ways the dancer
upstages the sensuality attached to Shringaara (making it an appropriate style for
film), the vazhuvoor style found in cinematic performances of Bharata Natyam is
significantly different from the invented Kalakshetra Bharata Natyam tradition. The
variety of chakra floor work of the vazhuvoor style allows for an aerial camera angle
to take place, thus offering some depth to the cinematography. However, given
the identity politics of the devadasis and the space of the populist film medium,
these screen dancers do appear to be doubly marginalized by the revivalists.
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My interest in the Bharata Natyam dance sequences in Tamil film lies in
the ways Shringaara is manipulated, created anew and operates as a reaction
against conventional representations of love. In the former, the dancer functions
as the main medium through which the love narrative—bhakti, rati or vatsalyam—
unfolds. The latter privileges filming processes, editing procedures and includes
different environments and settings that would accentuate the concept of love over
the dancer herself. In this film context, the Bharata Natyam movement lexicon is
manipulated through the camera and its associated techniques. As such, the kind
and way in which Shringaara is conjured in both mediums is distinct. Nonetheless
both the dance conventions as well as techniques like cinematography and editing
do create aspects of Shringaara including bhakti and rati for the screen audience.
There is a stylization of love that still transpires in both the popular and high art
cultures.


Variations on Love in Post-Independence Tamil Cinema
In the previous section, I highlighted the socio-cultural and historical
reasons that resulted in the incorporation of Bharata Natyam onto film. In this
section, I argue that insofar as the live art moves into film medium, the reception
of Shringaara is necessarily mediated. In the volume Love in South Asia: A Cultural
History, Francesca Orsini notes, “Nothing has contributed to the contemporary
archive of ‘symbolic snapshots’ of love so much as Indian films” (2006: 34).
Although the collection of essays draws on Bollywood film conventions to argue
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for the ways in which sringara has evolved on the celluloid, Tamil films also
provide a fertile ground for understanding changing landscape of Shringaara.

This is especially so for representations of bhakti and rati. The initial stages
of Tamil cinema rely on film conventions to accentuate the strand of bhakti.
Representations of rati tend to be more complex primarily due to the ways the
camera angles tend to eroticize the gaze. The framing of the hero and heroine in a
single shot that establishes them as a single entity or the camera close-ups of the
hero’s hand weaving through the saree before holding the heroine’s waist are
some examples of how the film medium presents rati anew. Specifically for the
female actors performing movements in the rain or in the wet saree, while subject
to a feminist critique, also exemplifies how film technology and Bharata Natyam
lexicon provide contesting varieties of love. Item numbers and the rise of the
vamp figure in Tamil cinema, provides further means for understanding the
evolution of rati on film. I propose that Tamil cinema Bharata Natyam-inspired
dance sequences then offer different variations on familiar strands of Shringaara
that are found in conventional Bharata Natyam.

Representations of bhakti in films usually entail a performance in front of

an altar, and also rely on editing techniques. The song Kaana kan kodi veendum
[“One needs a billion eyes to appreciate the beauty of the God”] from Konjum
Salangai (1962) composed by S. M. Subbaiah Naidu is in praise of multiple gods
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including Shiva, Vishnu, Meenakshi, Murugan and Andal.
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In stage versions, the
soloist often uses the conventional mudras as spelt out in Nandikeshvara’s Abhinaya
darpana. On screen, Kamala Lakshman adheres with such conventions to manifest
the different religious figures. For instance, as a visual description of Shiva, she
uses more leg lifts alluding to Natarajah, the cosmic dancer. As Valli in love with
Murugan, she performs on her toes more often than in the other sections,
indicative of the folk-style that Valli is associated with.

At the same time, the camera work also helps to conjure the overall state
of bhakti, though not in the transcendental manner. For most parts of the song the
camera is fairly static. However the close-ups on her facial expressions, and the
gentle moving outwards from a frame, give audience members a watching
experience that is starkly different from conventional stage performances.
Moreover, in keeping with the film conventions of visual culture, Lakshman
changes costumes and hair-style up to five times in this piece. This is illustrated in
the series of pictures below.






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Kaana kan kodi veendum from Konjum Salangai (1962) is available at the following YouTube link:

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Figure 16: Screen Capture of Kamala Lakshman in her first costume
in Kaana kan kodi veendum











Figure 17: Screen Capture of Kamala Lakshman
as Meenakshi Kaana kan kodi veendum







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Figure 18: Screen Capture of medium shot of
Kamala Lakshman as Valli
in Kaana kan kodi veendum











Figure 19: Screen Capture of medium shot of
Kamala Lakshman as Andal
in Kaana kan kodi veendum




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In changing her costumes appropriately, Lakshman does reference and
conjure characters like Andal. In adorning the large garland and a side hair-bun
with an embellish, she matches audience member’s knowledge of the God-like
figure. These costume changes also highlight the film medium through which we
are watching this variation on bhakti. The seamless transition from one costume to
another is not possible in a stage recital and dancers often need at least ten
minutes to change from one costume into the next. Yet observing five different
costumes within five minutes foregrounds the editing techniques and compression
of time.

Moreover, her dance sequences are also edited with temples that were
famed for the respective deities. This is done in the musical interlude between
stanzas as if cuing audience members into knowing what to expect next. This
highlights an intertextual capacity of an inter-medial transfer. The temple pans
become useful only insofar as audience recognize those places of worship.
Collectively in this song, Lakshman’s dancing finesse, costume changes, choice of
temple shots and the film technique of sequencing these moving images heighten
the strand of devotional Shringaara on film.

However, in many other instances, the scope of intended bhakti for the
screen audience is made complicated insofar as different actors play mythological

or religious characters. This was particularly pronounced in movies modeled after
religious stories where actors played the roles of Gods. Mayabazar (1957),
Thiruvilayadal (1965) and Kandan Karunai (1967) are some examples of the
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devotional movies that sat alongside the mythological movies. In the song Manam
Padaithen from Kandan Karunai (1967) actors Sivakumar and KR Vijaya play out the
love relationship between Murugan and Deivanai.
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The slow tempo enabled the
facial expressions found in Bharata Natyam convention to frame this song, while
still permitting opportunities to conjure familiar ideas of romance in the bedroom.
The visceral sensation of watching the close-ups of hands suggestive of a union,
the close proximity between the characters, and the flirtatious lyrics offers
audience members another variation on Shringaara—one that demanded them to
understand Godly courtship as if it were a human one. While expressions of
devotion, romance and somewhat sensual depictions of love remain fairly separate
in conventional Bharata Natyam, film dances like these complicate bhakti-rati
aspects of Shringaara. Shaped by the particularities of camera angles, framing and
editing, means of expressing love that were different from those found in Bharata
Natyam recitals began to develop in the film versions of the art.








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The song Manam Padaithen from Kandan Karunai (1967) is available on YouTube at the following
link:
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Figure 20: Screen Capture. Close-up of the suggested union
in Kandan Karunai (1967)










Figure 21: Screen Capture. Sivakumar and KR Vijaya as
Murugan-Deivanai in Kandan Karunai (1967).


The romantic variety of love is perhaps more pronounced in film dances

than stage Bharata Natyam recitals that tend to downplay secular aspects of
Shringaara. A. M. Rajah’s Kalaiyum Neeyeh [“You are my dawn”] composition from
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Then Nilavu (1961), finds lyrical expression in Vyjayanthimala’s dance.
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It is a love
duet between Gemini Ganesaan and Vyjayanthimala. The rhythms of the songs
also allow her to perform the easily recognizable nritta movements. Vazhuvoor
B.Ramaih Pillai also trained Vyjayanthimala. Indicative of that style,
Vyjayanthimala punctuates the rhythmic beats of the song with pauses. The subtle
and controlled ways in which the upper body, such as the chest and chin, moved
offered a refined and socially acceptable way of showcasing love. At the same
time, the constant framing of both actors offers a visualization of the pair as a
single unit in love. The image of face against face, teases audience members with
the possibility of touch—something that was not socially accepted during that
period. The love between two mortals, at once undermines the jeevaatma-
Paramaatma concept of transcendence found in bhakti Shringaara and also elevates
the everyday social experience of being with a loved one.









Figure 22: Screen Capture. Framing both lovers as a single
unit in Kalaiyum Neeyeh from Then Nilavu (1961)

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Kalaiyum Neeyeh from Then Nilavu (1961), is available at the following YouTube link:

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In this outdoor recording, the soft and translucent chiffon material dance
costume that flutters in the wind adds to the overall ambience of love. In a stage
recital, the soloist conjures the mythological world of streams, mountains and flora
through the codes and conventions of mudras. Differing from that conventions, in
Kalaiyum Neeyeh the two lovers were brought to the beautiful landscape that often
evokes the sentiment of Shringaara in Bharata Natyam. Through the editing,
audience members enjoy both the expanse of the landscape of the outdoor scenery
as well as the nuanced facial expressions. The camera pans and captures a flowing
river. In doing so, it attempts to set the mood of rati-Shringaara. Vyjayanthimala’s
fluid movements complement the setting and lyrics, and the expressions of and
Gemini Ganesan as he ‘sings’ this song to her.










Figure 23: Screen Capture. Gemini Ganesan lip-synching to Vyjayanthimala
amidst the backdrop of a river in Kalaiyum Neeyeh from Then Nilavu (1961).



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Dancing that tends towards titillation also offer another variety of rati on
film. This paves way for what scholars categorize as “item numbers” which I will
discuss in greater detail in the next section. Although romantic dance sequences
may momentarily displace the narrative plot, they nonetheless heighten the
emotional engagement that the lovers have with each other. In contrast, item
numbers are dance sequences that have little to do with the introduction of lead
characters or for propelling the plot. In this space, it is mostly a scantily clad
female dancer or the character of the vamp that is celebrated. Often times, it is
the anticipation of such sequences that propel the audience reception. Tamil
movies of the later 1980s and the introduction of Silk Smitha best illustrate the
erotic and carnal depictions of rati; however such a situation is also evident in the
movies during post-Independence.

The invented nature of Bharata Natyam and its strained relationships with
devadasi representations of Shringaara finds an anchor through performances like
these. In social melodrama movies like the pivotal Parasakthi (1952) for Tamil film,
poet Kanadasan’s song Oh Rasikum Seemaneh [“Oh fawning courtier!”] was set in a
brothel.
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Here, Kamala Lakshman performs an “item number”. Although
Lakshman’s virtuosity and facial expressions offer a visual for Kanadasan’s poem,
the environment of the brothel and her performance as a prostitute nonetheless
throws into relief the contested representations of Shringaara on stage and film.
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Written by Karunanidhi of the DMK, Parasakthi (1952) is a pivotal movie for the Tamil cinema
industry for a few reasons. Many of the themes resonate with the DMK’s aim of overthrowing

Brahmin supremacy. The movie is modeled around the experiences of a vulnerable widow in a
hostile society. This is the first movie for actor Sivaji Ganesan, a proponent of the DMK during
that time and one who would become an Icon for Tamil cinema.
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Standing in opposition to the heroine who only engage in romantic numbers with
the heroes, often in sarees, such item performances serve to highlight the
intensities of carnal desires.

At the same time, to give precedence only to Bharata Natyam risks under-
representing the influence of western dance forms found in sequences like Oru
Pennai Paarthu from Deiva Thai (1964) and Andru vanthathu from Periya Idathu Penn
(1963). The influence of Western instruments such as the guitar and brass band
changed the acoustics and as a result, the dance choreography also began moving
away from easily recognizable Bharata Natyam movements.

Intermedial Shringaara: Intimacy in Tamil Cinema (1970s-1990s)
In the previous section, I highlighted the various expressions of love that
feature in Tamil film dance sequences of the post-Independence period. Besides
the dancing style, the cinematography and close-ups on the actors’ bodies also
shaped the ways in which love is created on screen. During this period, the
movement vocabulary and aesthetics of the dancing resonated with conventional
Bharata Natyam movements. However, given the socio-historical context of the
Dravidian Movement and its ties to Tamil cinema, the ways in which the dance
features on film contests its parallel re-inventive nature for the live stage
Kalakshetra-ordained art.

One of the reasons that contributed to the Bharata Natyam revivalists’
accusations of the lowbrow film versions of the art, perhaps lay in the ways in
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which scenes of intimacy were presented. The sensual aspects of Shringaara that
revivalists hoped to suppress in the stage art, appeared to find greater
concretization on film. In this respect, there is a repurposing of Bharata Natyam
into film culture in the post-Independence era. I suggest an intermedial
framework to understanding how expressions of Shringaara are created anew when
the dance form transfers from the live solo body onto film. While the initial post-
Independence period dances have similarities to Bharata Natyam, the growing
disparity between love on stage and in screen can be partly explained using the
umbrella term “intermedial”.

Since the term ‘intermedial’ has many connotations in varying contexts, I
would like to define how I use the term to understand the transfer of Bharata
Natyam and its associated Shringaara from stage to screen. In the introduction to
their edited book Intermediality in Theatre and Performance (2006), Freda Chapple and
Chiel Kattenbelt point to an important aspect of urban living: “We live in-
between the arts and media—intermediality is the modern way to experience life”
(24). Urbanites are constantly being surrounded by multiple mediums like print
newspaper, films, television and the Internet, each of which has its unique
medium specificity. It is through their interaction that we perceive, recognize and
experience substantial parts of our lives.

Reflecting on this condition, Chapple and Kattenbelt propose that the
intermedial is:
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associated with the blurring of generic boundaries, crossover and hybrid
performance, intertextuality, [intermediality], hypermediality and a self-
conscious reflexivity that displays the devices of performance in
performance…These new modes of representation are leading to new

perceptions about theatre and performance and to generating new
cultural, social and psychological meanings in performance (2006: 11-12).

The ‘intermedial’ then presumes an interaction between genres of performances
that may otherwise appear distinct. Insofar as aspects of different media co-relate,
mutually influence and affect the processes of production and reception, they are
necessarily intermedial. In her article “Intermediality, Intertextuality, and
Remediation: A Literary Perspective on Intermediality” (2005), Irina O Rajewsky
writes they are “configurations which have to do with a crossing of borders
between media” (45-46). As Kattenbelt states in another article: intermedial are
the “co-relations between different media that result in a redefinition of the media
that are influencing each other, which in turn leads to a refreshed perception”
(2008:25). The dance sequences of Tamil cinema from the mid-1970s can be
understood as an independent form from the process of incorporating stage
Bharata Natyam onto screen.

I propose that in the transfer of Shringaara from the dancer to the mediated
technological processes of film-making, the objectification of the female body in
relation to the male gaze, and the emphasis on carnal interpretations of love on
film, there is an emergence of intermedial Shringaara. This intersection of film and
ostensibly traditional Bharata Natyam conventions best characterize an
intermedial variety of love. In contrast to the easily identifiable aspects of rati and
bhakti in the formative years of Tamil cinema, Tamil film dance sequences from

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