
Acouple of months ago, when his ultra-violent Kannada movie Madesha was set to face cuts on the censor table, 33-year-old film producer and real-estate shark Govardhan Murthy threatened Censor Board officials. He went even further on October 7, when in the middle of an inebriated haggle over a real-estate deal at his farmhouse near Bangalore, the film producer allegedly pulled out his gun and shot dead a 26-year-old newcomer to the Kannada film world, Vinod Kumar, who was also a property dealer.
The lines between the Kannada film business, Bangalore’s real-estate industry and the muscle power that straddles both worlds are often blurred. Reel life spills into real life and vice-versa. The events of October 7 were just a symptom.
A large section of mainstream Kannada cinema today is typically marked by stories of ‘street violence’ — teens who pick up knives at the drop of an insult, sickle-brandishing goons chasing each other — and storylines that spurt blood at every turn. Filmmakers dwell on stories of youth gone wrong — ordinary youngsters called ‘murder accused’ or ‘rowdy sheeters’ in police annals are glorified as heroes on screen.
In a section of Sandalwood (as the film industry here is known) there even exists a popular belief that to ensure box office success, posters of new films must carry prominent images of someone, preferably the hero, brandishing a sickle, the preferred weapon of mass destruction in the rage-driven, testosterone-pumped street stories.
The sickle (machu in Kannada) brand of films usually carry taglines like ‘a violent love story’ to draw in crowds of front benchers.
If newcomers into the film industry seek out violence-based films to achieve instant stardom, then old hands like Shivaraj Kumar, the hero of producer Govardhan Murthy’s film Madesha and the eldest son of the Kannada industry’s most revered actor, the late Dr Rajkumar, use it to revive flagging careers.
While many of the films claim to carry the message that violence is a constant downward spiral, few viewers really grasp it at the end of 150 minutes of blood and gore.
In a relatively recent trend, this culture of reel violence is fuelled to a large extent by the big money of the real-estate industry, which almost as matter of course, uses muscle power to settle disputes.
Tucked away on the streets of Bangalore and removed from the glitter of the IT facade is a subaltern world for many largely uneducated local youth hailing from low-income homes. Young people who see a fast track to fame and success by bouncing for real-estate sharks. Youth who see money easier to come by through criminal means rather than sticking to the straight and narrow.
“If there are youths willing to carry out armed attacks for their real-estate bosses, there are also youth willing to own up for crimes they did not commit for a share of the spoils,” says a senior police officer in Bangalore.
The angst-ridden stories of several young local gangsters have already been showcased in Sandalwood, and have fuelled copycat behaviour on the streets.
While good, clean family entertainment cinema does exist here, the flourishing nexus between the real-estate industry, the film world and gangsters consortium also means that these films don’t get made as often as the ‘sickle’ brand of cinema.

