Manu Joseph: Why filming reality in India is nearly impossible—and what it says about freedom of expression

My voice: “It’s far worse to be poor in a rich country than to be poor in India. To be poor in the spectacular beauty of Paris is like Assamese art cinema trapped in a Wes Anderson scene. Have you seen Assamese art films? I’ve seen one. Water boils.”

Visual: Water boils in an impoverished Indian dwelling,

My voice: “Water keeps boiling. Because it’s art cinema. A melancholy woman combs her long hair.”

Visual: Camera zooms out to show a pensive village woman combing her hair, watching water boil.

I was trying to create this image in a poor tenement in Noida for a comic documentary. The actor was draped in a rustic sari, her hair oiled. She combed her hair, the evening light was in her face, it was all perfect. This sort of scene traumatized me as a child watching Doordarshan’s sad films on Sunday afternoons. I always wished to lampoon it.

Then there was a lottery moment. In a narrow drain between her and the camera were two dead baby rats. I nudged the cameraman to exploit the gift. But the line-producer said there was no way we could shoot them. That was odd. It was the first time since the film shoot began that this exceptional man who could get anything you wished for, had said no. And it was for dead rats.

Why? Animal cruelty, he said. But the rats were dead. Still. He said if we wanted dead rats, we would have to make prosthetic ones. It would cost thousands of rupees.

My voice: “Melancholy woman combs her hair. Three birds fly in the air. Then everyone dies.”

Not expecting to be taken seriously, I told the producer we need to shoot three birds. “Hmmm,” he said. “Crows?” That was okay. “Nothing exotic.” Could we shoot ants, I asked, certain he’d laugh. Risky, he said. We can’t shoot ants for a documentary? Risky. What about a lizard? No. Too risky.

In theory, I need permission from the Animal Welfare Board only if an animal will be procured specially for the shoot. I have the right to shoot strays and cows on the road, and dead rats, lizards and ants. But in practice this is ‘risky’ because anyone who wishes to create trouble is empowered to do so.

Studio and platform legal teams, I’m told, have an astonishing ability to detect animals the director himself has not seen. A producer told me that once they had officially used only eight animals but the legal team detected 14, including background dogs, cows and birds. Everything needs clearance, just to be safe.

It is not just animals that are painful to shoot. It is also people. You cannot simply go out and film reality in India. It is one of the most agonizing things to portray, documentary or not. Every identifiable person in the frame must give consent. Or, you must display a visible notice saying that filming is underway and entering the space implies consent.

This is not a written rule, but broad production practice. Anyone can create trouble. The only person who is not protected in India is the artist.

India treats freedom of expression as what remains after every anxiety backed by a lobby has been appeased. It is the residue of organized caution, making it the opposite of freedom. It is not that we do not know freedom. We practise it on the roads, through complete civic disorder. Everyone can do anything and mostly get away as long as there is no accident. When this chaos is applied to art, that is freedom of expression.

Usually, nations with exemplary laws to guard humans and animals protect free speech too. In the US and UK, for instance, you can film people and domestic animals in public spaces; being in public means you accept you may be seen.

India has its own reasoning, which is rarely stated clearly. So, I made some deductions. Some of it is not hard to see. I get the point of not letting me use dead rats. Some filmmakers may kill animals for such a scene. If there is demand, there will be supply.

As for barring even documentarians from filming ordinary people on roads, I thought a bit. A producer told me we can, but must pay them prevailing fees for ‘junior artistes’ (extras).

The reasoning is this: people could be exploited by film units—made to stand for hours without compensation. That Indians, on their own, stand gaping at news cameras does not alter India’s instinct to protect them. So the rule is designed to make things difficult.

It is not just the state; making it difficult to express yourself is a team effort. Corporations are just as painful. There is confusion around showing shop fronts, car marques and what exactly is exploitation of a brand.

Publishers must consent if a film character is reading a book. And all visible art is removed, unless approval has been obtained. So long as these objects are not ‘exploited,’ the law lets them be filmed, but the onus of proof is on filmmakers. There is no protection if someone creates trouble.

But who cares for freedom of expression, you may argue; it is merely a self-serving claim by a small group. That is partly true. But it is one that benefits society enormously.

Entertainment comes from artistic freedom. Even the mainstream borrows heavily from what was once avant-garde. Entire industries, employing thousands, depend on entertainment being entertaining. For that, reasonable freedoms are vital. One shouldn’t be ruined for taking chances.

When expression is suffocated, what emerges are clichés and propaganda. The government speaks of skilling and expanding the entertainment industry. It cannot do that while strangling it.

The author is a journalist, novelist and screenwriter. His latest book is ‘Why the Poor Don’t Kill Us.’