It was the end of March, Delhi was heating up after a brief winter, and revolution was in the air. Even the festival program knew it: "There is a revolution in the air," it said. "A great democratic vista of the people's work is opening up." Digital video, that most subversive of tape formats, had finally come to India, heralded by the apostles of independent film. And the 2001 Digital Talkies International Film Festival was to be its showcase, its forum, its Mecca. The assembled moviegoers were critical, but ready to escape the tyranny of Bollywood epics, to see new stories told by new authors, to give up, at least temporarily, the dreamy quality of celluloid for the grainy and gritty drama of digital video.

For Delhi's up-and-coming generation of filmmakers, digital was more than just another film format. Digital, in a word, meant democracy. Consumer digital video cameras cost tens of thousands of dollars less than 16mm or 35mm film cameras, use cheap tapes as opposed to costly film stock, and create footage that can be edited on a home computer and easily distributed on DVD or over the Internet. Though criticized by some for its granular, unbeautiful look, digital video was clearly a cost-effective way of shooting, ideal for strapped filmmakers breaking away from Bollywood.

And break away they did. By most measures, Asia's first-ever digital film festival was a huge success. The sponsorship was generous, the jury internationally acclaimed, and the screenings full. Digital Talkies, the festival organizer, saw two of their own features win awards. The company was ready to pursue distribution full tilt: in theaters, on TV, and via broadband Internet. The shackles that kept Indian film from experimentation, from innovation--from anything not involving an extravagant dance number shifting from Egypt to the Alps with every refrain--were finally being unlocked, and it seemed there was no looking back.

Yet something went wrong. Two years later, digital video's promised democratization of the Indian film industry has yet to happen. Some filmmakers say the blame lies with Digital Talkies. After the smashing success of its 2001 festival, the company lined up even more films for the following year. But the 2002 festival was postponed to March 2003. Then, abruptly, it was canceled. And the new generation that Digital Talkies had helped inspire--filmmakers who truly believed that digital was the "next generation" of entertainment--suddenly discovered their work no longer had a venue.

Indie filmmakers embrace DV, commercial concerns hold back--the tale is a familiar one. In the United States, critically acclaimed films like Dancer in the Dark, last summer's The Fast Runner, and this winter's Personal Velocity (awarded best cinematography at Sundance) have racked up decent profits in art-house box offices. But despite the messianic attempts of George Lucas, who shot and distributed his latest Star Wars film digitally, Hollywood has been slow to bank its celluloid infrastructure on the promise of a digital future. Theaters have been reluctant to invest, scared off by the $100,000-plus price tags of digital projectors. And even digital-friendly chains like Madstone, which planned to open digital theaters nationwide, have ended up sticking with more traditional products in order to stay afloat.

Hollywood, of course, is no Bollywood. India is the world's largest film producer, releasing over 800 features a year. It boasts a strong industry infrastructure, three billion tickets sold annually, and a proliferation of multiplexes in urban centers. India is also diverse, with 70 percent of the population living in rural or remote areas and over 18 recognized languages. There is no end of new stories to be told. Whether these stories make their way to film, however, is a different matter. The struggle over digital video in India has become a struggle over who gets to tell the stories.

So far, the revolution has stalled. While Hollywood looks for ways to cash in on the U.S. indie craze, the appetite for art-house films in India remains restricted to urban areas and a certain cultural elite. Independent film in India has been around since Satyajit Ray made his famous Apu trilogy in the 1950s, and "parallel cinema" is still supported by the government. But filmmakers in India have yet to convince mainstream audiences, especially the majority living outside the big cities, to try something other than masala, the tried-and-true Mumbai mix of action, family tragedy, and song and dance.

Masala is the mush you'll find in the 200 features that Bollywood puts out every year. Each costs an average of Ru 50,000,000 ($1 million), lasts around three hours, and allows little room for anything that smacks of originality. Those who can afford Ru 150 ($3) see these films in plush multiplexes that rival any suburban movie theater in America. Alongside imported Hollywood hits, films like Kabhi Khusi, Kabhi Gam (Sometimes Happiness, Sometimes Sadness) show the same big stars rearranged in different poses. The stadium seats recline, the surround sound embraces, cell phones interrupt, and at intermission, you can even eat nachos.

Yet all is not well in Bollywood these days. The sure-fire formula has fared poorly in recent years. Last year, 90 percent of big releases were box office flops.

So in the summer of 2000, when two twenty-something scions of commercial empires, Pia Singh and Hari Bhartiya, started chatting during a course at New York University, there seemed at least as many reasons to float a digital production and distribution company in India as in America, where similar startups were magnets for venture capital. The two returned to India, teamed up with director Shekhar Kapur (The Four Feathers), and recruited a luminous board of advisors, including Mira Nair, director of the crossover success Monsoon Wedding. By March 2001, with the backing of the goliath India Tobacco Company, they had organized the first Digital Talkies International Film Festival.

Bollywood ending? Not yet.

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