The Curious Case of Cinematic Brutality: Suparn Varma Challenges India's Double Standard on Violence

Suparn Varma, a name synonymous with gripping narratives and a certain raw edge in Indian cinema, finds himself once again at the heart of a lively debate. His upcoming film, 'Dhurandhar,' has already set tongues wagging, particularly concerning its trailer, which doesn't shy away from depicting violence. But Varma isn't backing down; in fact, he's striking back with a compelling argument that sheds light on what he perceives as a curious double standard in how we, as an audience and critics alike, view on-screen brutality.

Now, here's where it gets interesting, and frankly, a little frustrating, if you ask Varma. He points out, with a noticeable ripple of exasperation, that there's a peculiar distinction made when it comes to violence in films. When we see a bone-crunching, hyper-stylized fight sequence in a 'John Wick' movie, or the brutal realism of a Korean thriller – think 'Oldboy' or even 'Parasite' – we often laud it, even celebrate its artistic merit. We talk about its choreography, its narrative impact, its visceral power. It's 'cinema,' you know?

Yet, the moment an Indian filmmaker dares to tread similar ground, depicting violence with a similar intensity or realism, suddenly the pitchforks come out. 'Oh, it's too much,' 'It's gratuitous,' 'Why all this gore?' The criticism, Varma argues, becomes sharp, often condemning, sometimes even moralistic. It’s almost as if violence is perfectly acceptable, even laudable, only when it arrives with a foreign passport.

Varma, with a thoughtful furrow in his brow, muses on the roots of this disparity. Could it be a remnant of a colonial mindset, a subconscious belief that foreign art is inherently more sophisticated, more deserving of critical acceptance, even when it presents the same raw human experiences? Or perhaps it's a deep-seated discomfort with confronting the darker facets of our own society through the lens of Indian storytelling. It's a complex psychological knot, really, this selective appreciation.

But let's be clear: Varma isn't advocating for mindless violence. Far from it. He’s meticulous in emphasizing that in his films, particularly in 'Haq: A Saga of Revenge' and now with 'Dhurandhar,' violence isn't glorified. It's not a spectacle for its own sake. Instead, he strives to portray it as a direct, often painful, consequence of actions. It’s about realism, about showing the ugly truth that unfolds when certain choices are made, when revenge takes hold, or when societal pressures boil over. It's a mirror, not a fantasy.

He wants his audience to understand the stakes, to feel the repercussions, rather than just be entertained by the brutality. This, he believes, is where true artistic integrity lies – in using difficult subject matter to provoke thought, to stir emotions, and to reflect reality, however uncomfortable that reality might be.

Ultimately, Varma's passionate defense isn't just about his film; it's a broader call for a more nuanced, less hypocritical approach to cinematic storytelling in India. It’s a plea for critics and audiences to judge a film on its artistic merits, its narrative purpose, and its overall impact, regardless of where its director hails from. Perhaps, then, we can truly embrace a global perspective on art, one where powerful stories, however intense, are appreciated for their honesty, rather than being dismissed simply because they hit too close to home.