Thus, the 2004 film emphasizes not so much that this world is dark and
inscrutable, as that any redemption of its hero lies outside this world, which must be
cleansed with sacrificial blood. Oddly, then, the revenger becomes spiritual icon.
For many Western viewers probably the sharpest effects of adaptation will be
noticed in the most recent filming of Quinnell’s story—the 2005 masala version out of
India, called Ek Ajnabee (Hindi title translated on disk as “A Stranger”). Masala-style
films, sometimes popularly generalized as “Bollywood” films, are named for a spice mix
and, traditionally, meld moods and narrative techniques—straight acted scenes, for
example, mixing with song and dance. In the West, viewers often identify such amalgam
with the so-called “musical,” which has been rooted in C18 popularity of opera and,
often more specifically, in English, in John Gay’s (1728) parodic The Beggar’s Opera.
However, India’s masala films have been traced back to ancient dramatic practices,
recorded as early as the second century CE, which celebrate, one critic notes, mixes of
narrative forms—“dramatic action, song, dance, conflict, and a happy ending”—a
mélange that, in turn, allows the spectator “the joyful consciousness” experienced when
witnessing” conflict that is “resolved” with harmony (Shedde 25; or see Mooij 30).
Scholars document that sound first was added to film in India in 1931, song and
dance routines quickly becoming common fare (see, e.g., Kabir 41, Shedde 25; for
background, see,Mooij). Such “interruptions,” as they are seen by some Western eyes,
are essential parts of the narrative flow in masala films, though, writes Sangita
Shresthova (91). They break up what has been called “linear trajectory” to allow
changes in mood or to create intervals at which, for instance, the narrative can be
reshaped. They are a kind of narrative grammar (93). Thus, according to Shresthova, in
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