Film festivals expand beyond urban India

Film festivals in India have had a coming-of-age of sorts in the 21st century. As crucial, thriving epicentres of culture, politics and debate, these festivals have managed to push the bill and evoke more awareness

Film festivals in India have had a coming-of-age of sorts in the 21st century. As crucial, thriving epicentres of culture, politics and debate, these festivals have managed to push the bill and evoke more awareness. In a country grappling with an identity crisis (bolstered by political divisiveness), such ‘events’ are mandatory voices of dissent that still have erect spines to punch up to privilege. 

Community-based film festivals of a smaller scale have mushroomed across cities in India and have successfully displaced the age-old dominance of state-sponsored programmes like the International Film Festival of India (IFFI). Alternative, grassroots, and activist film festivals have gained prominence and visibility, reaching out to diverse audiences, not only in major urban centres but also in municipalities and distant rural areas.

However, amidst the acute polarisation marring a nation that regularly struggles with growing authoritarianism, this heightened visibility has sparked controversy and, frequently, censorship. Funding remains a herculean task for such programmes, not to mention the invariable threat of state or mob coercion. 

Birds of different feathers

But the future is not all bleak.  From bigger players like MAMI (Mumbai), KIIF (Kolkata International Film Festival), and IFFI, to the smaller ones like the Jharkhand Film Festival or even All Living Things Environmental Film Festival (ALT EFF), “the festival expansion parallels global trends.”

Not only in terms of scale, but festival organisers are now exploring new formats, content and even themes. Experimental  festivals are now challenging conventional film viewing and screening norms. 

Manifest (Puducherry Dance Film Festival)  arranged for dance performances after each screening this year. Having ventured into the festival circuit as recently as 2022, Kathak practitioner Ashavari Majumdar and her partner, filmmaker Abhyuday Khaitan, have already created considerable ripples within festival circles. Their intention to make the film viewing experience completely sensorial in the event’s sophomore year is a result of both their interdisciplinary backgrounds.

“I think this may be indicative of a trend where artists and audiences are exploring the limits of the ‘screen’,” says Majumdar. “As the ‘screen’ almost totally dominates our lives, I think these kinds of hybrid events are an organic reaction and will possibly grow. The traditional categories that separate two media are going to be dismantled in the near future and we will see more ‘mixing’, more ‘impurity’.” 

This thought is reflected in other ventures like Shaina Anand’s curations under The New Medium section at MAMI. In 2016, Anand, also the co-founder of Critical Art and Media Practice (CAMP) , chose to showcase Liz Rhodes’s Light Music (1975) “where lines physically drawn on a film strip, when projected from two 16 mm projectors onto the cloud of fog in between, produced light strobes and rhythmic sounds.” The visual allure was such that audiences entering Mumbai film theatres were fascinated by the discotheque aesthetic and some even spontaneously broke into dance to the ‘music’ being played. The next year saw a live event titled CCTV Landscape from Lower Parel, where audiences would get a direct feed from surveillance cameras installed on the roof of High Street Phoenix Mall at Lower Parel (Mumbai). As viewers enjoyed the street footage, the feed quickly changed to that within the auditorium and panned across the audience, even cheekily resting on a member dozing off. This meta-narrative of gaze immediately brought into focus the complicity of each viewer with his/her medium of viewing.  

Similarly, ALT EFF compels its audience to ponder over pressing environmental and social issues. Through their various immersive experiences, the festival chooses to approach topics like climate crisis or deforestation from a holistic standpoint. With 62 film entries across 33 countries this year, the December event “recognised that environmental issues are fundamental and entwined with our socio-economics, culture and history,” says director Kunal Khanna. “Our films address universal experiences; they are character-driven stories that are about conservation, climate justice, technology and sustainability.”

Overcoming hurdles 

Festival films in India have more or less always been children of suffering. From funding and censorship to bureaucratic diktats, it’s always been a hard road, navigating a sea of eggshells. To make things murkier, the COVID-19 pandemic upended the structure of cinema viewing itself. 

Kashish, South Asia’s biggest LGBTQIA+ film festival, was the first to adapt. With the decision to go virtual, Kashish became  an online edition with a completely new slate. Festival founder-director Sridhar Rangayan is vocal about the challenges of such a risk.

“It was difficult finding an appropriate platform that was totally secure, easy to navigate, and could also accommodate variable pricing for Indian and international audiences. But the actual challenge was convincing filmmakers to give their films to be screened on an online platform,” says Rangayan. But the gamble paid off. “For our 2020 edition, we not only retained 40 per cent of our regular audiences but also gained 60 per cent new audiences from other cities around India and the world, who earlier could’ve never managed to travel to Mumbai to attend,” notes Rangayan. 

Kashish has been a success story— not just how it conquered the pandemic, with viewership spikes and ticket sales, but even in terms of how it transformed its cinematic narrative post the abolishment of Section 377. “Earlier, the focus was decriminalisation,” says Rangayan. “But now it’s about having an anti-discriminatory law as well as same-sex marriage rights. Kashish’s spotlight is presently on marginalised pockets even within the LGBTQIA+ spectrum, like the transmasculine, non-binary or gender-questioning persons.” 

Through the looking glass

“The kind of culture film festivals feed into, and promote, is of prime importance,” observes Bedatri Datta Choudhury, a festival programmer, critic and presently the Arts and Entertainment editor at The Philadelphia Inquirer. In an environment where MAMI or KIIF attract thousands daily, it seems that the lines between mainstream and parallel cinema are blurring. But the crux still stays untouched if we don’t question why these festivals exist. “To find more audience? That's great. To create echo chambers and gatekeep films? Not so great. To further promote films that already have a huge PR machinery working for it? Worse,” claims Datta Choudhury.

The emergence of alternative film festivals in India reflects an increasing need for spaces that foster the creation and presentation of independent art. While government-backed organisations and festivals, such as the National Film Development Corporation of India (NFDC) and IFFI, focus mainly on promoting national cinemas, these independent platforms can embrace a diverse array of innovative moving image practices.

“I think we have surprised ourselves by how we have had to revise our curatorial parameters. For instance, we began by thinking we would not screen dance documentaries. This is because we felt that the traditional way of looking at a dance film is to see it as a ‘recording of a performance’,” says Majumdar. The festival hence showcased a live performance by an improv dance group. The act was an interpretation of a film that had just been screened. This constant questioning of norms leads to freethinking zones that allow differences in opinion.

These programmes have been seen as oases of art and culture, a result of strategic coordination between grassroots groups, corporate entities, international donors, film industry figures, and bureaucratic officials. Anupama Chopra, film critic and director of MAMI, credits hard work for it. “Going out and raising money to execute your vision into an organised format is extremely tough, especially in a city like Mumbai which is logistically very hard to get around.” Simply put, “it’s a labour of love,” she chuckles helplessly. “I myself do it as a volunteer.” Chopra adds, “The viewers have great expectations and we strive to fulfil them.”  

Show me the money

The business that a festival film does however is a completely different ballgame. Many films like Devashish Makhija’s Joram get bolstered into the spotlight, with a theatrical release following an exceptional run at the festivals. But it’s still an uphill journey for most productions. “There is a ‘festival film’ tag in India to  date that is not enticing for distributors and theatres. They get limited releases and though their production and marketing costs tend to be lower, there are challenges like targeted distribution and promotions that come with a public release,” notes Shrikrishna. 

Pooja Chauhan, producer of the recent festival favourite Goldfish (featuring Kalki Koechlin and Deepti Naval), highlights the importance of festivals in finding allies and like-minded individuals. But Chauhan feels the Indian circuit is yet to consolidate its distribution market. “It is still very difficult for independent films to navigate such markets, especially in the Indian context where makers are constantly competing against the big-budget films without having similar resources.” 

Desai on the other hand feels festival circuits provide a runway for the film. “If a small film wins, the prize money matters,” he says. “There's no guarantee that winning at Venice or Toronto or Sundance [Film Festivals] will secure the film any sort of streaming or commercial future. But the word gets out, thanks to journalists and filmmakers and the overall discourse. Festivals remain crucial to underrated gems, particularly in the streaming era—where the bidding starts with streaming platforms rather than just studios. ” adds Desai. 

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