So, we see that the desperately poor people of Patna, India are filth-throwing mad about Danny Boyle’s acclaimed film "Slumdog Millionaire."

The protesters said their sensibilities had been offended by the title, which they said was abusive of people who live in slums. The protests continued for the second day, even as Republic Day was being celebrated. …

‘We will burn Danny Boyle in effigy in 56 slums here,’ Tapeshwar Vishwakarma, general secretary of the group said.

How inaccurate is Boyle’s portrayal of Indian poverty if a single city in the country has 56 slums?  That’s what he gets, I suppose, for portraying the downtrodden of India in a heroic and accurate light. And it’s not like Boyle thought up the term "Slumdog" on his own. Oh, well.

I thoroughly enjoyed the film. The formerly unknown Frieda Pinto is luminous as the object of Jamal’s undying affection. She performs very well considering it’s her first-ever acting gig. And, since this is a Danny Boyle film, it’s gritty, dirty, tragic and funny all at once — just like Trainspotting, in which Boyle gave us a glimpse into the Scottish thug/drug underbelly.

But I really don’t understand the protests. Yes, Boyle’s portrayal of the slums of India are grim. But Indian slums are grim. Boyle is not abusing the residents of those slums. He is celebrating their humanity and ability to survive — and hope for a better life — in the midst of such misery.

What this movie does, especially for American movie-plex audiences, is enlighten them to how hundreds of millions of people around the world live in real poverty — not the brand of "poverty" in the United States where our poor people are fat and consume lots of what most of the world considers luxury items. The movie also brings into focus an issue many Americans are ignorant of: the conflict between India’s Muslims and Hindus. America, it seems, is not the most-populous bigoted country on Earth.

Aside from that, though. Boyle tells a compelling story. Jamal, the lead character participating in India’s version of "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire," is almost magical. He is inherently good — almost saintly — heroic, and clings to an innocent sense of romance as all around him call him a fool. It’s a sharp contrast to a Hollywood that portrays love either cynically or Hallmark-card syrupy.

I recommend the film. See it, and tell me if those protests are warranted.