“Zindagi Tamasha” was put forward as the country’s entry to the Academy Awards—despite the fact that it has not yet been released there
SARMAD KHOOSAT did not expect his latest film to be universally loved: few works of art are. Yet the Pakistani film-maker certainly did not imagine that “Zindagi Tamasha” (“Circus of Life”) would stir controversy. More than a year after the film had its premiere at Busan Film Festival—where it won one of the top awards—it is yet to be released in Mr Khoosat’s home country. Islamic extremists have made threats to the director’s life for making what they consider to be a blasphemous movie.
“Zindagi Tamasha” tells the story of Rahat, a good-humoured and kind naat khawan (reader of religious poems). He spends his days watching old Pakistani films, doing housework and caring for his sickly wife. When Rahat is videoed dancing at a wedding—playfully swinging his hips to “Zindagi Tamasha”, a hit song from the 1970s, and mimicking the girlish movements of the tune’s original female performer—his life is upended. The video goes viral and he is shunned by his conservative peers, who view his innocent dance as irreligious and immoral.
When the trailer was released in January 2020, it was met with uproar from Tehreek-e-Labbaik Pakistan (TLP), a rabble-rousing Islamist group, which said the film might lead people to “deviate from Islam”. (In fact, “Zindagi Tamasha” showcases the vibrant revelry of Eid Milad un Nabi, the religious festival commemorating the Prophet Muhammad’s birthday.) The TLP, presumably taking umbrage with the film’s depiction of religious agitators, threatened nationwide protests should it be released in cinemas. The film explores intolerance and hypocrisy perpetrated in the name of faith: in one clip Rahat questions why he faces such harsh consequences over his minor transgression even though clerics engage in bacha bazi, the sexual abuse of little boys, with impunity.
Whatever their justification, the allegations are serious. In Pakistan blasphemy is punishable by death under law, and since stringent laws were introduced in the 1980s more than 1,500 people have been charged with it, according to the Centre for Social Justice in Pakistan. Although no one has actually been executed by the state for blasphemy, dozens of the accused have been lynched by mobs. After the TLP released its statement, Mr Khoosat’s personal details were published online. “Every few seconds I would be added to WhatsApp groups with hundreds of people threatening to kill me,” he says. “They said they knew my address, they would send me images of beheaded people.”
Pakistan’s Central Board of Film Censors (CBFC) often demands edits or prohibits the distribution of films it considers to be inappropriate or immoral, or to contain anti-Pakistan sentiments. The releases of “Verna” (2017), which dealt with the subject of rape, and “Maalik” (2016), a political thriller, were delayed due to concern from the board. Yet the CBFC, as well as two provincial censors, have cleared the film for release so long as minor changes, such as the removal of swear words and the mention of bacha bazi, are made. Pakistan’s Senate has also said the film is suitable for release and it was chosen as the country’s entry to the Academy Awards in April (though it failed to make the shortlist for Best International Feature Film). “Zindagi Tamasha” has been stuck in limbo all the same. “I needed an official letter from the Ministry of Information saying that the Senate had cleared the film to release when cinemas reopen,” says Mr Khoosat. “I still haven’t got that letter.”
The obstruction lays bare the growing influence of hardline Islamic conservatives, who wield significant clout thanks to their ability to mobilise their supporters for mass protests. They are particularly animated about blasphemy. The outcry over “Zindagi Tamasha” took place only days after 86 TLP supporters were handed lengthy jail sentences for violence at previous blasphemy protests; it is possible that the TLP was looking to remind the government of its street power.
The film will now probably have a digital release. “If I’m very honest, it feels like a failure,” Mr Khoosat says. “I wanted my people to see it in the theatre. It’s about them, it was for them.” A year on from its intended release, Mr Khoosat is still bewildered by the response. “I never expected the monstrous scale of [the] reaction,” he says. “Not in my wildest nightmares.”
By A.S./The Economist
