Abstract
Muhammad Hasan Askari (1919–1978) was one of the finest Urdu literary critics in history. His life and career, like that of his contemporary Saadat Hassan Manto, was divided by Partition, which severed him from his formative years in Allahabad (1919–1941) and Delhi (1942–1947) where he was educated, taught, and began writing fiction and criticism. Life in Pakistan started in Lahore in October 1947, after which he moved to Karachi in 1950, where he taught at Islamia College and published two dazzling volumes of criticism in 1953 and 1963 before his career began to fade. Askari’s apparent loss of enthusiasm for modernism and growing interest in Sufi metaphysics has been interpreted as an introspective retreat, resulting from disillusionment with the Pakistani national project he had so eagerly believed in during the early years of independence. Mehr Afshan Farooqi’s recently published literary biography and reassessment of Askari’s corpus provides new insights into the man and his writings, first made famous by Jhalkiyan [Glimpses], his monthly column for the Urdu literary journal Saqi [Cupbearer], published from the early 1940s (Farooqi, 2012). Saqi resumed publication from Karachi in 1948 after a brief interval due to the upheaval of Partition. The following essay on the usage and misusage of color in film, first published in March of 1947 during his final months as a (British) Indian subject, gives a sense of Askari’s breathtaking intellect and extraordinary frame of cultural reference. The latter spans ancient Greek aesthetics, early modern European painting, South Asian traditions of literature and popular performance, late Victorian and Edwardian modernist currents of European theater, the theory of photography and, of course, cinema. Askari weaves an impressive array of examples and evidence from vastly diverse epistemological and linguistic systems into a short, cogent polemic against gaudy misuse of a new formal technique. That he does so complete with a pithy exposition of his views on the role of art allows us to situate his arguments squarely within broader debates on “realism” that have inflamed successive generations of critics—from Lukàcs quarrel with Ernst Bloch over German expressionism in the 1930s to Terry Eagleton’s versus Screen in the late 1970s. In his lively mind and prolific pen, we have clear evidence that Urdu criticism and indeed South Asian cinema were part of cultural conversations taking place across Europe long before the rise to prominence of magical realism, post-colonial criticism, and other recent Euro-American “discoveries” of “Third World literature.” The lack of fuss with which he compares the formal aspects of diverse media without collapsing their distinct mimetic potentiality and limits is strikingly advanced in its interdisciplinary outlook. Some may find his casual mode of address and flippant referencing jarring. At times, snobbishness toward “the masses” enters his tone. In truth, his lack of regard for details and propensity to generalize is probably more reflective of the relatively unprofessionalized Urdu milieu in which he wrote, where erudition and communication were matters of substance over adherence to convention and liberal nicety.
Sometime around the end of the nineteenth century (or was it the beginning of the twentieth?) a renowned English playwright called Barker (or was it Archer? Every era has its “progressives,” I can never quite remember their names)—well anyway, it was one of the two who, in a theater-review for a newspaper, wrote: “Yesterday was the greatest day in the history of British theatre because the sound of the door slamming on stage was indistinguishable from the real thing.” No sooner had he written this sentence, another writer (I believe he was a well-known, accomplished set designer like Gordon Craig or someone like that) responded by writing: “The day this sentence was written was the darkest day in the history of British theatre.” 1
Just what constitute “greatness” and “darkness” are questions we will deal within due course. For now, let us examine the practical implications of these two statements; opposing points of view that reflect distinct tendencies in human nature which, despite their antithetical nature, are both essential aspects of human experience for anyone who wants to live a fulsome life—assuming, in other words, that human beings wish to live to their full potential.
The first fundamental aspect of this nature dictates that human beings wish to see their own image—their own way of life, their own world views, and passions—in everything; they derive great satisfaction and joy from seeing some aspect of their lives replicated before them. The second is that this reflection should manifest itself in the essential character of concrete situations or stories, the meaning and significance of which is rendered visible in the most obvious fashion. In terms of its ostensible appearance, the image in question need not be an exact copy. But human beings and their lives should be represented in terms that are as conventional as possible—harmony, 2 beauty, and intended meaning should all be evident. In other words, human beings, you might say, want to see themselves precisely as they are, on the one hand; on the other, they wish to see themselves in some improved form. In truth, the latter inclination is an adjunct of the first and can be seen as its barest and purest form. 3 Both exist side by side in each human being, though they differ in degree and proportion; the manner in which these proportions are fixed determines the level of cultural sophistication in any given individual or people. 4
The ostensible features of the first 5 tendency are purely imitative whilst those of the second are inventive 6 —that which humanity likes to call creations. 7 In Aristotle’s terminology, these phenomena might be equivalent to history and poetry respectively or in contemporary everyday language we might refer to them as realism 8 and artistic creativity. 9 Both elements are present in every work of art to some extent. Some contain a stronger realist aspect whilst in others the fictive dimension is more prevalent—it is the balance between the two that determines the power and value of a work of art.
And yet, not everyone has the same capacity to benefit from art. There are very few people able to properly appreciate the creative aspect of a given artwork; 10 most find satisfaction only in the mimetic 11 part without reflecting on the former’s impact. Many people demand only realism from art and want nothing more; this same insistence is made when it comes to audio and the visual arts, although the former are somewhat problematic in that music and indeed literature, the voice is not merely replicating sounds but has a symbolic function; when musical art even attempts to reproduce reality its audience is compelled as a minimum to translate sonic forms into mental images in the act of listening. For this reason, even if art forms based on orality tried to reproduce reality, they would not be able to with complete success. 12 The visual arts can be relatively more successful in this task, and for this reason the burden of fulfilling demands for realism that falls upon them is that much heavier. 13
And so human nature’s first basic tendency (i.e., deriving pleasure from seeing its own reflection) is very quickly and very easily accommodated by the visual arts. Almost all men 14 judge visual imagery according to the standard of whether or not it effectively replicates reality—not just the ignorant, but highly learned individuals suffer from this malady. Rarely, do people 15 concern themselves with aesthetics or indeed any other kind of meaning when they look at a picture they like. “Bravo! What a fine cock that is!” they cry out, without hesitation: “It looks like it’s about to crow.”
This kind of attitude is of course common in relation to painting, but it takes an even more intense form with respect to film primarily because films by their very design are made to be liked by as many people as possible and by every social class and also because film has not yet fully reached the level of an art form. Films in which the artistic aspect is given some attention have been made, but we have yet to witness a masterpiece in film comparable with those of other art forms. 16 Even if one does consider filmmaking to have reached the status of an art, the difficulty remains that it is extremely new, having begun 50 years ago at most, so people are not yet familiar with its conventions and forms, a fact which becomes evident when attempts to study film are made. When people want to understand films, several issues tend to receive attention: first, there is the story; second, there is dialogue. This suggests that when people think about film they take their starting point from two other art forms: one is the novel, the other, the play (or rather, theater).
Popular theater has sought to reproduce reality as much as possible. People often remark, in complimenting a play, that it was outstanding because it successfully depicted a ship sailing. So, whenever some point of view is expressed on matters relating to film, it is this standard that tends to be applied. Obviously, film is able to fulfill the demands of these criteria more effectively than the stage, so the demands for it to do so are that much stronger. For its part, the popular novel tries to increase its readers’ pleasure by dousing them in romantic sentiments made more effective by forging a vague likeness with reality through details of secondary importance to the story. The novel, in other words, managed to achieve what the stage could not. Under the influence of these tendencies, people’s tastes have been formed to approach film with similar expectations. 17
And then, there’s another thing. The theory of photography is now very well established and developed to such an extent that viewers with taste can evaluate a film. 18 In contrast, 50 years have passed since cinema first shone a bright light in the world, yet it still stirs a certain kind of amazement in film audiences. (“Look, the pictures are moving and talking!”) When film first started and people saw it for the first time, their entire experience and enjoyment hinged on seeing, for instance, a horse stand in front of a bridge and then actually crossing it. Consumed by wonderment, for some time, they were unable to pay attention to the other functions film might go on to develop, having succeeded in the realm of realism. Once people got used to this cinematic realism, however, a few individuals turned their attentions to the development of film as art. Thanks to the efforts of French and Russian filmmakers the aesthetic aspect gradually developed. In our era, at least a small minority’s taste has been formed, so that they do not expect mere replication of reality from the images projected onto the screen. 19 Rather, they wish to see the meaning of human existence portrayed in some aesthetic sense; they expect some attention to beauty of form.
Now, there is another theoretical question that poses itself. People’s relation to color films is precisely the same as it was in relation to the first Talkies. When sound was first introduced, people were so astonished that they wanted to hear moving pictures talk endlessly like actual people. The upshot of this was that initially there were lots of films filled with songs catering exclusively to this sense of wonderment. It was impossible to attend to aesthetics. When the novelty of talking pictures wore off, people started to understand that sound is not supposed to be deployed for its own sake but must have some aesthetic function. At the very least, it must relate to the subject matter. 20 If there is a song or dialogue in a film, it cannot be simply to provide people with what they enjoy; these things must have a specific place, role, and importance among the ingredients and method of the film as a whole.
Color too will need to be understood in accordance with this basic principle. Color films have only just begun to be made and people’s resulting sense of astonishment is such that they are in no mood to accept a reduction in the usage of color in films. In terms of its representation of forms and light, film photography had already attained a perfect likeness with reality. If there was any shortfall in these pictures, it lay in the absence of their actual coloring and the resulting need for imagination to complete the image; now, the last remaining gap between image and reality has been filled.
What will popular taste demand next? Those who watch films will expect to see the brightest of clothes, the reddest of cheeks, the most colorful flowers, and all manner of furniture in color films, and they will expect each of these to be the brightest and most garish colors; whether this strengthens the basic visual power of a film and its impact or ruins them will be irrelevant. The other expectation in relation to color is that it ought to be exactly as it is in real life. When people compliment a color film, they say things like, “The trousers are exactly the same color as they really are.” Needless to say, both these points of view are profoundly misguided. The first standard equates colored films with the brightest of hues without concern for realism or aesthetics; the second leaves little scope for aesthetic creativity.
If color film is to be genuinely effective in artistic and aesthetic terms, the use of color cannot solely serve the ends of mimetic representation. Color must become a source of creativity and not simply a means of satisfying amazement and wonder. Indeed, it must be an artistic device that helps illuminate the human spirit. Artistic principles will need to be imposed on color-usage, just as they are with respect to cinematography and sound design. Color-arrangements will need to be designed for every film; this, in turn, will assist and serve the harmony of the film as a whole. Color will not operate autonomously and will need to be in synch with the demands and requirements of the other elements of the film; restrictions will need to be placed on its freedom. Color, that is to say, will need to inhabit the film like a good, responsible citizen—one who establishes his own individuality and personality but retains a harmonious relationship with the film’s overall visual aspect and makes every effort to remain within its own limits. Color, in other words, will need to become one part of a singular body and behave as such—like a limb whose life depends on the vitality of its counterparts, without whose cooperation is rendered inactive and redundant.
There are some people intent on making film an expression of aesthetic forms. They take great pains on keeping all the elements of film in harmony with one another and understand that color should be used aesthetically. And yet, despite this, their faces drop at the mere mention of using color in film: they claim that black and white pictures engender an enchanting and profound sense of mystery and silver screen glamor, both of which will disappear with the usage of color in film, together with the pleasure and gravitas they provide. Indeed, they predict a kind of dulling as its consequence; the joys of mentally imagining color will disappear altogether. These people are sincere and honorable, but the fact is they are petrified by any sort of change and worry out of habit about the responsibility that comes with being the first to make use of a new mode of expression; they regard such agonizing over the introduction of any important formal innovation as mandatory. Their worry about color is a habitual knee-jerk rejection to anything that runs counter to their established way of doing things. If it were true that color brings about the disappearance of mystery, it would follow that Rembrandt’s paintings are charmless; if color were responsible for moral depreciation, then is not Titian also depraved? Whether art brings moral depreciation or uplift has no relation with color in and of itself; it is, rather, dependent on the use of color. The same is true of mystery.
Indeed, the problem of silver screen glamor remains. With respect to which, we might surely ask: is it always a necessary ingredient, or are there occasions when the filmmaker feels compelled to dispense with this glitzy fog? Where its presence is required, it can just as well be created alongside the existence of colors, so recoiling from color makes little sense.
That said, however, the use of color must undoubtedly evolve in accordance with aesthetic principles and, rather than serving as means to slavishly imitate nature, aim to create something which transcends it. Color can be used in film in all the various ways it has been throughout history to address the diverse imperatives confronting the painter. Mere naturalism is easy enough; but in terms of its potential to leave an impression, effective use of color in films can greatly enhance the profundity of their meaning; a little boldness in its usage can increase the overall intensity of expression. There is, for example, an English film in which the emotions and mental states of the characters change gradually with the colors of their clothes. 21 Expressions of emotion can benefit greatly from the symbolic quality of each color and the associations it can trigger in the mind. If the surrealist painter Salvador Dali had succeeded in film, by now there would have already been a revolution in the world of color films. 22 As long as filmmakers’ eyes remain on people’s pockets, the true art of using color will remain largely unattainable. Right now these people will continue to make fools of those who watch films by showing them garish and showy scenes for some time. In Hindustan in particular, it will be a fair while before improvements are made. Over here, where a handful of colored pictures do appear in a film, color is included as a novelty, with people clapping and cheering in praise; God knows when we will get around to focusing on the correct (and incorrect) usage of color in film.