Karma (1986)

Subhash Ghai's hit film, Karma, is a silly and entertaining masala romp whose high point includes a scene with Anil Kapoor dressed as a cross between a Mexican bandito and a bumblebee.


Olé!

Karma is a mish-mash of xenophobic nationalism and the old Dirty Dozen-esque "reformed convicts go on a suicidal mission" cliché. Our hero is Vishwapratap Singh (Dilip Kumar), a jailer who believes in rehabilitating prisoners (and family members) via rousing patriotic anthems. One day, he catches the dastardly quasi-British, quasi-Pakistani, quasi-something foreigner, Dr. Dang (Anupam Kher), who - along with token White Masala Villain (Tom Alter) and a John Lennon lookalike (Shakti Kapoor) - runs an "evil empire" whose only goal is to destroy India. Dr. Dang vows to escape from Vishwapratap's clutches - and indeed, he does so, setting off a series of explosions which destroy Vishwapratap's home and work, killing off most of his family and all the prisoners. Dang, Dr. Dang!


Dilip's disguise. Part one.


Part two.

Vowing for revenge, Vishwapratap officially retires and adopts the alias of "Dada Thakur", secretly recruiting three death row convicts - the murderous Baiju (Jackie Shroff), ex-terrorist Khairuddin (Naseeruddin Shah), and... clumsy goofball Johnny (Anil Kapoor) - for a suicidal mission to destroy Dr. Dang once and for all. Don't ask us what Johnny did to get on death row; it's never explained, and we kind of think he just accidentally bumbled his way into prison in that kooky, ridiculous way of his. Maybe he was there for crimes against fashion? Anyway, as the three convicts begin their special training - which mostly involves driving around the Himalayas in an armored truck, sneaking sips of Johnny Walker and teasing each other - Baiju falls in love with the fiery Radha (Sridevi), while Johnny is ensnared by a superstitious village belle, Tulsi (Phoonam Dhillon).

The story's not really about destroying Dr. Dang, which is just a flimsy gimmick meant to string along what we're really interested in: the bromance and eventual redemption of the three "anti-socials" Baiju, Khairuddin and Johnny. In a touching parallel, Vishwapratap's two sons were killed by Dr. Dang's bombs and, little by little, he begins to see them in Baiju and Johnny. (Indeed, one of the sons was even named Anil! Eerie.) Meanwhile, humorless Khair is full of rage due to a past tragedy, and he eventually becomes the trio's older brother figure. The chemistry between these three actors is great and the only reason we enjoyed this film as much as we did. No one else in the cast has that much to do - even lovely Dilip Kumar, Sridevi, Phoonam Dillon, Bindu (?!), Anupam Kher - since so much time is spent with the trio and their massive charisma. And even within the trio, the Jackie/Anil jodi power tends to overshadow Naseer. That said, poor Naseer is saddled with maybe the heaviest, gloomiest role in the film, so that he mostly shouts a lot and his rare smiles are like shafts of sunlight on a cloudy day. Oh, Naseer!


These three were making GOLD in the 1980s: Anil Kapoor, Naseeruddin Shah, Jackie Shroff.


The Jackie/Anil fraternal love is always so sweet.


For more, see Ram Lakhan and Parinda.

Normally, when films talk about terrorism or feature villainous, dictatorial foreigners intent on destroying the desh, we at the PPCC have ample commentary to make. This time round though, we can't really critique the film's sociopolitical themes since they seem so blatantly... silly. Even the over-the-top Kranti was a more thoughtful film, since it was addressing - in its zany, one-sided way - a real historical event: the British Raj. Karma's foreign villains, instead, are paper-thin inventions. Where is Dr. Dang from, anyway? His "evil empire" has its own flag, uniform and small fort - they just seem like loons with too many coconut bombs, not real threats to the Indian nation. Heck, even Mogambo did a better job of destablizing the country - who knows what the rupee's inflation rate was with all that adulterated food on the market! The cackling Dr. Dang seems pretty useless by comparison; he just has a personal beef with Vishwapratap, probably because the latter didn't give him a cushioned seat when he was in his prison.

Most of the songs were unremarkable, though some of the picturizations were fun. Subhash Ghai's direction was generally good and his camerawork just sucked in the Himalayan background - the colors, compositions and everything were beautiful and striking. Overall though, this film wouldn't be half as good as it is if it wasn't for the studly Jackie Shroff, the incredibly lovable Anil Kapoor and the subtle Naseeruddin Shah, so if you're a fan of any of them - and goodness, you should love all of them, they're so fab! - we recommend it.


Oh, Subhash Ghai, you win our hearts with compositions like this!

Mashaal (1984)

With direction by Yash Chopra in his socialist masala mode, powerhouse performances by our beloved Dilip Kumar, current house favorite Anil Kapoor and the wonderful Waheeda Rehman, and a great script by Javed Akhtar... there was no way Mashaal could have been bad. And indeed, the first half is transcendentally glorious. Unfortunately, things take a dip at intermission and the powerful story loses considerable steam, eventually dragging itself to a whimpering finish.


The original angry tapori kid.

We think the problem is that the first half is so nuanced and real that we were blindsided when things suddenly took a bizarre masala turn at intermission. Nonetheless, the incredible performances of Dilip Kumar and Anil Kapoor, especially in the early scenes, are reason enough to watch this film and call it - not great - but good.

Vinod Kumar (Dilip Kumar) is a courageous reporter who, after being fired by his editor for all that inconvenient muckraking, moves to a notorious Mumbai slum, Dongarbhatti, and sets up his own independent paper there. He's not thrilled with the sleazy surroundings - "Every night, drunks yelling, rowdies fighting!" he complains - but his supportive, patient wife, Sudha (Waheeda Rehman), encourages him to stick it out for a while. When a local goon, Raja (Anil Kapoor), starts threatening Vinod's paper business, Vinod refuses to back down. Instead, having glimpsed the hurt innocent hidden beneath all the layers of Raja's bad attitude and cocky swaggering, Vinod decides to take Raja under his wing and turn him into an upstanding member of society. Raja blossoms under Vinod and Sudha's care, and eventually they send him off to journalism school.

As soon as Raja is safely away, tragedy... after tragedy... after tragedy strikes, and all the foundations of Vinod's do-good idealism are shattered. Shaken and destraught, he decides to join the underworld (?!). When the new, squeaky-clean Raja returns from university and joins the Socialist Gazette (okay, it's not really called that, but it should be), he is soon confronted with the unsavory truth: his guru and guiding light has now fallen very low indeed. It all goes straight-up masala from here.


The Puri brothers - Amrish and Madan - play the villains, with (oddly) older Madan playing second-banana to younger Amrish.


All Raja wants to do is kick it with his loafer crew!

The problem, we think, is that Vinod's sudden decision to turn gangster strains credulity. For a film that methodically established all these complex and subtle characterizations, it was disappointingly filmi to have Dilip suddenly descend into his (admittedly low-key) crime lair. And it was very hard to believe that his bumbling, middle-aged friends (Saeed Jaffrey!) would suddenly become hardcore henchmen. If Yash ji and Javed sahab will permit us, we think the story would have packed a lot more punch had Vinod instead become an alcoholic or something. Same disappointment - much more believable and hence poignant!

This was really a shame, since the first half was so amazingly amazing. Gosh - the first half was like a more complex Hindi version of Good Will Hunting. Watching the hardcore, tapori Raja come out of his shell to reveal all the hurt and anger from being a slum kid always pressed down by the heel of society was incredibly touching. Anil Kapoor sirf ek abhineta nahin - hira hai, hira! All kudos go to Anil Kapoor, who won the Filmfare for this, for giving one of the best performances we've seen from him (and, if you've been keeping up with the PPCC, you know we've seen a lot recently). Just watch the following scenes: first, when Raja is first invited to Vinod and Sudha's house - how he marvels at being served coffee, and how he describes his parents' deaths with forced indifference. Second, when - after a falling out between the two - Vinod visits a drunken, upset Raja in his home and Raja tells him a little more about his parents. Anil just knocks it out of the park here - the rage at all the terrible injustices of his upbringing, and his desperate desire to be loved and accepted by Vinod! It was, as Rum would say, a moment of barsaat tears; very impressive and very similar to the "It's not your fault" scene from Good Will Hunting. Actually, most of the first half of the film was one protracted barsaat cry - e.g., the bit when Vinod kicks Raja out of his house was HEARTBREAKING.


The sad, drunken scene. Oh, Raja, you're not a worm! You'll never be a worm! Ham PPCC aur Bruce Lee hain tere saath!


Awww, Dilip! Awww, Waheeda!

The other reason the first half is so great is, of course, Dilip Kumar's performance. We were wary of this film because we kept thinking, "Oh, it's past-his-prime Dilip Kumar, naah..." but then we watched this and were reminded why we absolutely love him. He used his typically soft-spoken, understated delivery with the superbly naturalist fidgeting. Sigh, Dilip, you're so great. And his rapport with Waheeda Rehman was also compelling and sweet. Everyone go watch Dilip's Devdas and Waheeda's Teesri Kasam now - we know we're going to.

There were other great moments in the first half: the magnificent Holi song, the budding romance between Raja and fiery reporter Geeta (Rati Aghinotri), the feminist opening, the sweet scene when they all go out to the cinema... All this was really great, and got us all excited about how things would be resolved - and yet we lost so much interest with the second act that we started wishing the silly movie would just end. Don't get us wrong - well-done masala is great. Unfortunately, this suffered from the dreaded Mishandled Masala Injection of Doom, something that not only killed out barsaat cry, but unfortunately toppled this film from the greatness it could have been. Eheu, eheu...

Get well soon, mere pyaare hiro!

Goodness me, the PPCC opens up its Google Alerts and what does it see? Not one, but BOTH, of our beloved heroes - our sabse bade hiro - have been admitted to the (same) hospital within the last two days.

"After Dilip Kumar, Shashi Kapoor Admitted" on Rediff News

Get well soon, kings of our heart! Hamko aap logonse bahut pyaar hai!

*good vibes, good vibes*

Everyone send their good vibes, plz.

Devdas (1955)

"As such, the hero’s perhaps attractive rebellion is offset by his continually emphasized weaknesses: he is spineless, cruel, narcissistic, and a virtual Hindu Hamlet in his frustrating inability to act, especially when action seems most necessary."
- Corey Creekmur's review of Devdas

Oh, Devdas. How you torment us.


No kidding.

Nominally, we hate Devdas, and yet, like the man himself, we keep coming back for more. Watching his narcissistic, self-centred spiral into liver-failing oblivion is so, well, addictive. And it doesn't matter who's playing him: all our past Man of the Moments - Shah Rukh Khan, Amitabh Bachchan, Shashi Kapoor and now, Dilip Kumar - fail to make us sympathize with Devdas. Thankfully, quiet, sensitive Dilip comes closest in making us almost - almost - tolerate and pity him.

Soaked in the gentle realism of regional Bengali cinema (think Satyajit Ray's sun-dappled forests), Bimal Roy's Devdas is considered the best adaptation. Perhaps this is because it is most faithful to the book's vibe. Not that we've read the book, but this version - with its emotional complexity - certainly felt more faithful to something.

The film opens with an extended look at Devdas and Paro as children. Already as children, their personalities and their relationship are starkly evident: Devdas is older, macho, self-absorbed and entitled. He's a little peacock, and he thrives on Paro's adulations, even if he pretends not to. Meanwhile, Paro is his main devotee - in one scene, likening herself to Radha and he, Krishna - she laughs exaggeratedly at his shenanigans, and she relishes taking care of him when he hides from his abusive father. However, despite her simple devotion, she is also proud and prone to sulking. In one scene, Devdas slaps her. Upset, Paro immediately strikes back: she runs to Devdas' household and tells on him, which leads to Devdas getting a severe beating. Time passes, wounds heal, and Devdas and Paro reunite, all forgiven.


Oh, Bimal Roy, how we love thee.

The rest of the plot is well-known: Devdas is sent to Calcutta for his education and he returns to the little village a big city man. When Paro and Devdas are reunited as adults, the sparks fly. Yet Devdas' family refuses Paro's marriage proposal since Paro's family is much too low-caste. When Paro begs Devdas to do something, even risking her reputation by breaking into his bedroom one night (big taboo!), Devdas grows spineless and flees back to the city. Moping aimlessly, he writes Paro a letter claiming that he never loved her, but then regrets sending it. Meanwhile, boozy friend Chunni Babu (Motilal, reprising his role from Jagte Raho dhoti for flower garland) slowly introduces Devdas to the world of wine and women. Paro is married off to a much-older widower, becoming the stepmother to adult children. While Paro makes the most of her situation, Devdas skips the pleasantries and moves immediately to raging alcoholism. His new friend, Chandramukhi (Vyjayanthimala), develops a massive crush on his Byronic studliness and attempts (unsuccesfully) to rescue him from himself. Alas and woe ensue.

Although the character of Devdas retains his general unlikability, this film is leaps and bounds better than the 2002 Sanjay Leela Bhansali version. We at the PPCC don't mind unlikable anti-heroes - heck, we love those complex, tormented knuckleheads. Fab... and thorny, like a rose! What made the 2002 Devdas so problematic was that there was:

(1) No apparent link between Shah Rukh's jerk Devdas and Aishwarya's weepy, brainless Paro.
(2) No apparent personality on the part of either women, Paro or Chandramukhi.
(3) Only grovelling and bombastic sympathy for Devdas' self-induced plight.

The University of Iowa people - as always - said it right by noting that Bhansali's Devdas overemphasizes what should be subtle emotional nuances; the delicate and complex are enlarged to grotesque, silly size, and much is lost.

Thankfully, Bimal Roy's film has a much softer touch. It presents a believable and poignant relationship between Devdas and Paro - a relationship based on mutual dependency and life-long affection. Their doom is genuinely sad. Paro is also, thankfully, given a strong will and a complex personality. Unlike Aishwarya's devotional zombie, Suchitra Sen's Paro is fiery and proud. Indeed, the best scene turns out to be the famous moment when Devdas strikes Paro (as adults), leaving a scar on her forehead. Their argument - mutually abusive, scathing and needy - is painful and poignant to watch.


A gorgeous moment, aesthetically. Prelude to the argument.


Amen, sister. You smack him down.

Regarding the problematic Sympathy for Devdas (the name of the PPCC's new band, by the way), we think the main structural problem is embodied in Chandramukhi, patron saint of self-neglecting servileness. Chandramukhi is the archetypal Whore (cf: Paro as archetypal Virgin): the fallen woman, dreaming to break free of the gutter and ascend back to purity. When Devdas initially meets Chandramukhi, he is disgusted - and tells her so. His abuse continues merrily along, with Chandramukhi lapping it up and loving it. Aargh! Indeed, Chandramukhi "reforms" herself in an effort to please Devdas - becoming a traditional Good Indian Wife, complete with pooja set.

Which brings us to...

A SIMPLE GUIDE ON HOW TO IMPROVE DEVDAS

Yes. Call us presumptious, but we think we've got it. So, all right: you've got a seriously flawed but still potentially sympathetic alcoholic ex-lover played, to the best of his ability, by the man of the moment. You've got a fiery, stubborn, self-defeatingly devotional heroine. What's the problem? The problem is Chandramukhi! Brainless, masochistic Chandramukhi! It's that damned Chandramukhi woman that turns the film into a Virgins and Whores fest, misogynistic, meekness pornography, complete with a man who can do no wrong, even when he clearly does wrong.

So how do we fix it? We look to Naina.

Yes, Naina! That film does a lot of things wrong, but it does some things really, really right. And one of the things it does right is present a Devdas-esque love triangle which is evocative and brutal, but blessedly gender friendly. That is, you've got your Devdasian Ravi (played by the scrumptious Shashi Kapoor, our number one), you've got your virginal and devotional Paro-esque Jyothi (played by the adorable and young Moushmi Chatterjee), and then you've got your complex, love-hating, drinking buddy "whore" ??? (played by some lady). That is, the courtesan doesn't feel ashamed and immoral around Devdas/Ravi that she has to sell her body. She doesn't judge all the drinking and hardcore partying. And she doesn't allow herself to be judged. Indeed, the poignant relationship between Naina's Ravi and his courtesan drinking buddy is the excessive, fun-loving hedonism that barely masks their mutual pain.

THAT is what Devdas needs. THAT is what Chandramukhi and Devdas should be like. Chandramukhi should be the devil on Devdas' shoulder. She should have dug herself into the same hole of despair and drinking that Devdas is in, and therefore she should be well-acquainted with the whole self-hating, self-pitying cycle. It would be so gloriously, pitch perfectly emo.

Anyway.


Our DVD had a lighting issue.


It was hard to see anybody!

So Dilip Kumar is very effective as Devdas - presenting him as a morally gray anti-hero with an emphasis on the anti. He drips with, as the Lutgendorf reviewer, Corey Creekmur, likens, Hamletian indecision and acidic self-pity.

The women, as we mentioned, seemed to have grown some self-respect in this one, thank goodness. Or at least Paro has - well-played by Suchitra Sen, who gravitates between misty-eyed infatuation and steely stubborness. Indeed, one of the sweetest moments of the film is when Paro's shields come down completely and she confesses to Devdas that all she ever wanted was to take care of him. Devdas is likewise exposed and, with him clearly in decline and her resigned, regretful defeat, the scene is a wonderfully tender, vulnerable moment - a moment when the PPCC suddenly wanted to take care of both of these two twisted, idiotic people. Oh, you two! Vijayanthimala, who we are slowly growing to love (she's like the old Moushmi Chatterjee, aww!), gets the worst role in the film. Le sigh.

Motilal has the easy job of playing Chunni Babu, always a lovable character despite being the pied piper to oblivion. Chunni Babu's the sole grace note of clueless good humor - as played by Jackie Shroff in the 2002 Devdas, as played by Ram P. Sethi in the loosely adapted Muqaddar ka Sikandar. Motilal doesn't have much to do in this, though his familiar drunken staggering and flower garland around his wrist reminded the PPCC immediately of his mirror performance in Jagte Raho.

Soundtrack-wise: surprisingly, many of the songs were average tending towards rubbishy. The only two that stood out for us were:

• Jise Tu Kabul Kar Le, wherein Chandramukhi (wonderful Vyjayanthimala) attempts to dance away Devdas' (Dilip Kumar) demons, after having fished him out of some gutter covered in sewage. This song is so good that even Devdas, in his black-out haze, pauses in his misery to go, "Daa-amn."
  
• Mitwa, wherein Devdas wails his laments to the pond lilies. That pond is a source of many poignant moments in the film - the place where we transition from child Paro to adult Paro, the place where Paro and Devdas have their ultimate fight, and the place now where Devdas goes to woe. This is such a gentle, sad song - and it's in this delicate moment, when the thunderclouds are reflected in the calm pond, and poor Devdas sits forlornly with his glorious Stubble of Woe, that we at the PPCC think, "God, maybe Devdas isn't so bad after all."

Jogan (1950)

Hi, I'm Dilip. I'm an atheist. I'm also a stud.


Hi, I'm Nargis. I'm a nun. See that bird fluttering over the superimposed image? That's my dil, trying to break free. Enjoy the angst!

Some films defy categorization. Films such as Dil Se and Awaara and now, Jogan (Yogi/Mendicant/Nun*). Neither mainstream nor arthouse, these films are difficult to describe, to pin down, because we can't compare them to anything else. They just are... how they are.

The story of Jogan is simple. According to the title credits, it was written by "?" - perhaps it's a traditional fable? Village atheist, Vijay (Dilip Kumar), is content with hanging around and avoiding the temple. One day, a traveling mendicant arrives - and this ascetic is none other than the gorgeous Nargis! Vijay is positively smitten, and suddenly going to temple doesn't seem like such a bad idea. However, the presence of a brooding hottie severely disturbs St. Nargis' peace of mind, and she repeatedly requests that he take his brooding butt and sit outside. He does, but then leaves flowers on her doorstep and engages in other manner of cuterie. St. Nargis' detached serenity just goes all higgledy piggledy.


As Joss Whedon would say, he is starting to damage her calm.

When Vijay confronts her about the turmoil in her eyes, and asks her why she gave up the material world, she narrates a sad and sweet story when she lived as the secular, frothy Nargis we all know and love. The present tension between religion and securalism, theism and atheism, and to hottie or not to hottie ends on a sad, symbolic note.

We definitely haven't captured the vibe of the film - which is deeply rooted, enigmatic, Zen-like (if we may mix religions). It's... just difficult to write about, as we've never seen anything even resembling it. We can only liken its profound emptiness to the feeling we got sometimes reading J.L. Carr's A Month in the Country, which was similarly thoughtful and vast.


Sometimes nuns can doubt...


...and atheists can worship.

Jogan treats its story with the softest of touches - neither the atheist nor the ascetic are demonized for their choice, though their choices are gently explored. In one touching sequence, a holy man arrives at a courtesan's parlor where Vijay is lounging. Everyone hurries to greet the ascetic - Pranaam, Gurudev! Namaste! - and, embarrassed, they urge Vijay to do the same. Vijay is reluctant, he keeps his eyes lowered and says, Log mujhe nastik kehte hain. (I am called an atheist.) The holy man and Vijay banter and tease each other, and the ascetic praises Vijay's atheism as a form of secular humanism and an ultimate search for love: "I am an atheist like you, I am constantly searching for God. God is truth, beauty, happiness. I search for these things in the huts of the poor, you search for them here [in the courtesan's parlor]. Lord, your soul is in search of someone. Someday you'll make room for God in your heart." Smiling wryly, Vijay finally greets the ascetic, Pranaam, Gurudev.

Similarly, Nargis' choice to become a wandering nun is gently questioned by the head nun. When Nargis arrives at the nunnery, having escaped from her home, hurt and upset, she asks to seek refuge in God. The head nun warns her that becoming a mendicant is not something to rush into, it's not something that happens just because you "give up" on the world. Still, Nargis insists and the head nun yields. Throughout the film, a perturbed Nargis chants the peace (shanti) mantra, seemingly to little effect - but we don't think the film is necessarily showing the meaninglessness of religious devotion. Rather, by our reckoning the main message is finding the happy medium, a flexible yielding between the purely areligious and purely devotional life. Vijay and Nargis' character are both very young and passionate about their beliefs, and yet these beliefs - while ostensibly deriving from choices made for their own happiness - seem to give them nothing but trouble. Why not just give a little and not be so inflexibly atheistic/ascetic? Gosh!


The relationship between this little firecracker and Dilip was adorable.


Dilip the atheist searching for God in the courtesan's parlor. Are you loving this movie? We are. Note the super-tight close-ups and the fact that they're both in each other's faces.

Both Nargis and Dilip Kumar do a very good job in their softspoken, sweet interactions. Dilip mostly maintains the same vibe throughout the film - dreamy-eyed and lovelorn - while Nargis demonstrates her formidable range as the ghost-like mendicant versus her former, high-spirited self. Watching her transform from one into the other is really quite sad.

The film's aesthetics, as we said, were hard to pin down. There were some cute, blunt symbols: such as when Nargis, after first meeting her admirer, escapes to her room and the picture of a fluttering, caged bird is superimposed over her. The director also favored incredibly tight close-ups coupled with minimalist composition, all contributing to the Zen look. Another really interesting thing: this might be the shortest Hindi film ever, clocking in at a mere 1hr 45min! Canst it be POSSible?! Just another thing to add to the list of Why Jogan Is So Unique.


Oh Lord, can't we be friends?

* So we're using "nun", "mendicant", "ascetic" and "holy type person" interchangeably in this review. If you are any of the previously mentioned and wish to complain, please take it up in the comments. We love those.

Madhumati (1958)

My cup of angst overfloweth.

Meet Dilip Kumar. He's the new kid on the blog. Let's be nice to him.

Oh, Dilip Kumar. Dilip Dilip Dilip Kumar. Diliiiiip Kumaaaaaar. We looooooove you. We shall call him Dilip and he shall be ours and he shall be our Dilip. Wheee! OW, BAD DILIP!

In a single week, we've gone from zero to three on the Dilip Kumar film watching scale (Kranti, Mughal-e-Azam, this). And we are lovin' it!


Oh, you guys.

Madhumati is one of those juicy, angsty tales of emo drama, food for the PPCC soul. But don't be alarmed, emo-haters! Like a younger, immature brother of Teesri Kasam, the vibe of Madhumati is sweet and serene and pastoral. We promise that it is - excepting Johnny Walker's scenes - restrained and lovely. Also, hey, pedigree - it's directed by Bimal Roy!

Madhumati begins on a dark and stormy night in 1958. Bossy married man Deven (Dilip Kumar) is annoyed when his driver can't push huge boulders from the side of the road, and he and a pal retreat to an abandoned mansion to wait it out. There, while warming themselves over the fire and listening to creaky floorboards, Deven begins experiencing the typical Flashbacks of the Reincarnated. When a portrait of Pran (yes, our beloved Pran!) falls off the wall, it all comes flooding back:

Long ago (though still sometime in the 1950s, judging by the costumes), young Anand (Dilip Kumar) was sent to manage the accounts of a timber estate deep in Himachal Pradesh (perhaps? or perhaps it was Shashi Pradesh). There, he met the zany, alcoholic butler, Charandas (Johnny Walker), and the evil boss, Raja Ugra Narayan (PRAN!!!). Now, conflict just slid off Anand like water off a duck's back, so things were going well. Anand even met a beautiful forest nymph, Madhumati (Vyjayanthimala), and began a Bambi-esque courtship full of drawing sketches, skipping over stones, and gently cuffing each other on the nose. Tho cute! Of course, someone with a name like Ugra's not gonna let that fly, and one fateful evening, Ugra lures Madhumati to his mansion while sending Anand off on some invented excuse. Anand returns to find Madhumati gone, with tales of horror surrounding her disappearance. After confronting Ugra-Pran the Immoral, goons break all of Anand's bones and leave him to mope in a forest cottage.

And mope he does! Mopity mope. Lovely, glorious, sticky-sweet moping. MOPE MORE!


Oh, gosh.


Pran's the stud himself, blowing smoke rings. Is it hot in here or is it just us?


A very young Johnny Walker!

Things get even more gloriously tortured when an identical urban nymph, Madhavi (Vyjayanthimala, again), happens upon a brooding Anand as he sketches in the forest. Like the PPCC, Madhavi is instantly charmed by the hurt, puppy dog look in Anand's eyes, and much torturous heart-string-pulling of the Om Shanti Om variety ensues. Oh, glorious!

This is our second Bimal Roy film, after hearing much of Bimal Roy's genius. The first was Prem Patra, which provoked a combined yawn and shrug - a yug. Read Bollyviewer's and Beth's reviews - both kinder. In Madhumati, instead, we witnessed the flowering (forgive the forest puns) of Bimal's legendary talent. The film's pace is luxurious and slow - sometimes it drags - but each scene is infused with atmosphere. Bimal expertly uses the environment as a sort of Greek chorus: birds chirp, insects buzz, the river thunders. He creates a living, breathing world, and uses that naturalist setting to add punctuation and comment to the plot.


Dilip angsts by the thundering river. Sigh!

For example, when the villainous Ugra gallops through the forest, his arrivals are heralded by shrieking birds and flocks fleeing into the sky. In one scene, his surprise appearance is punctuated by a high-pitched squawk. In another scene, when Anand is thrown out of Madhu's cottage, we suddenly hear dogs barking in the distance. The delirious courtship, when the impish Madhu teases Anand and frollicks away, is sometimes literally suffused with rolling fog. As a result, and due also to the reincarnation theme, the film has a mysterious, fantasy-esque air. We wouldn't be surprised to find a troll in that forest.

Interestingly, this wonderfully moody setting is without the stark geometry and sharp diagonals of early Raj Kapoor. Instead, Bimal's aesthetics are rounded at the edges, misty and indistinct, much like a Turner painting.

Another nice touch which won us over immediately was Dilip's nervous hands. We don't know if this was specific to the role or if this was a Trademark Move, but Dilip Kumar matched the setting by infusing Anand with natural-seeming physical tics and mannerisms. He was constantly scratching his nose, picking at his scarf, touching his hair, shifting his weight. At times, these felt like affectations - a sort of forced realism which reminded us of modern dramatic American acting which, to us, always seems to say, "Behold, I am acting in a subtle manner!" Overall, though, it was good, and Dilip's style is so refreshingly subdued, it was a great change of scenery for a PPCC highly saturated on Kapoor histrionics and the Amitabh Bachchan sweaty face.

The main criticism we have of the film is that the pacing is trying at times, and there are certainly more efficient ways to tell simple stories about nostalgic forest love affairs (may we suggest one?). We wonder with delight what this plot would have been like in the hands of Nanni Moretti - who's La stanza del figlio matches this in moodiness, but exceeds in efficiency. Another problem was the number of songs. Song after song after song - it never let up! Even if they were sweet, it was still, like, whoa, mine ears.

And finally, sadly, we report an underwritten and superficial heroine. Some aspects of Madhu's characterization were awfully cute, and the film earned some points for having a courtship which is initiated by Madhu. However, sometimes the whole cutesie-coy act was tiresome, and Urga the Evil's rapist plot was a bit old school in its villainy. Kudos to Vyjayanthimala for showing us that she can act by presenting a sharply differentiated Madhavi. Indeed, her transformation from bubbly and brainless to world-weary and elegant reminded us of Kajol's fab ability to do that in films like Baazigar and Kuch Kuch Hota Hai.

But it was really Bimal Roy's sylvan chorus and Dilip's moody fidgeting which dazzled us. And now we want MORE, MORE.

Kranti (1981)

From left to right: Dilip, Manoj, Shatrughan and Shashi, all wielding the flame of revolution during the titular dance number.

We'll just get to the point. Kranti (Revolution) is bad. It's only a few notches above Mard, a similarly exaggerated fable of British Raj India. These films take place out of time, in a land where the British are all-powerful and all-evil, and Indians are perpetually victimized and ennobled by their suffering. Like Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal, Anglo-Indian race relations are painted with all the subtlety of a toddler's handpainting.

We at the PPCC are annoyed by these films because, apart from their racism, they also seem to dishonor the memory of the real Indian independence movement. Why invent all these ridiculous stories when the real one is more moving, more inspiring, and, best of all, true? What's the point of making inflammatory statements (Kranti's knock-out being the story of the evil British soldiers who denied a widow the right to burn herself on her husband's pyre only to then gang-rape her)? Don't you trust the real history of oppression, with all its complexity, to be more emotionally affecting than this beefed up grotesquery? Eh, Manoj?!

And who the hell is the target audience?

It certainly isn't the PPCC. And while we were happy to give Kranti more than a sporting chance - all-star cast! Manoj Kumar directs, writes, stars! epical! our beloved Shashi! - it quickly squandered that chance.


Evil collaborator Prem Chopra rules his land with an IRON FIST. (Ha, ha, ha...)

That's not to say it's all bad. It has some nice pro-girl moments; Parveen Babi and Hema Malini star as two kick-ass revolutionaries integrated into the boy's club of violence. The romance between Shashi Kapoor and Parveen Babi's characters is, while brief and mostly insinuated, also cute. Manoj and Shatrughan chew up the scenery in a most satisfying manner while Dilip Kumar seems to sail alone on the good ship Subtlety.

But even those rare lights of OKness are dimmed by the tired, unearned drama and endless vilifying. There are also - as in Mard - some bizarre and misused moments of eroticization. Whips, chains, oppression, racism - who gets kinky at a time like this?! Also, everyone - and we mean everyone - in this film kisses their weapons before using them, which becomes something of an unintended running joke/drinking game.

The plot structure is similar to several other films of the era, and indeed, most of the same people are involved. Sanga (Dilip Kumar) and Radha (Nirupa Roy) are two humble, God-lovin' folk trying to get by in 19th century India. After he inadvertently gets caught between the evil collaborator Indians (led by Prem Chopra, as usual) and their evil British overlords, Sanga finds himself on the wrong side of the law. After some twists and turns, Sanga, Radha, and their two infant sons are all separated, each believing themselves to be the only survivor in the family.

Fast forward some years, and Sanga is now a revolutionary pirate (yes, really) who goes by the name and flies the flag of Kranti (revolution). Meanwhile, his elder son, Bharat (meaning India, Manoj Kumar), is a Robin Hood-type revolutionary who also goes by the name and flies the flag of Kranti. The younger son, Shakti (meaning Strength, Shashi Kapoor), has gone Vichy on the family and is living the life of an Anglicized Indian prince in the palace. As per the required Hindi Movie Irony, Mother Radha labors in that same palace's kitchens as a slave.

Not enough stars for you?! Well then have some more! Spoiled Anglicized Princess Meenakshi (Hema Malini) is abducted by Young Kranti's gang, and she butts heads with salt o' the earth bombshell Sureli (an excellent Parveen Babi). Think you know which heroine ends up with which hero? Not so! The tables turn when Sureli is sent off to the palace, impersonating Princess Meenakshi by (she's instructed) acting rudely to everyone. There follows a too-brief and funny sequence where Sureli goes wild in the palace, getting drunk at a party and (yet again) wooing Shashi at the same time.


At one point, she gets him to kiss her weapon, that cheeky tart.

And let's not forget our Muslim freedom fighter and walking pep talk, Karim Khan (a bad-ass Shatrughan Sinha, as usual), who appears every so often to weild his bad-assery and give everyone a morale boost. OK, we admit it. Every time Shatrughan appeared onscreen, we were PUMPED. YEAH. YEEEAH! LET'S KICK SOME ASS! RAAAH!

Amidst all this, there is the occasionally touching romance between Manoj and Hema (who knew!), numerous scenes of imprisonment, a long and weird sequence on a galley ("Row, ya bastards!" - Eddie Izzard), numerous tales of the Britisher's debauched, purified EVIL embodied in nice guy Tom Altern, and the inevitable reunion of four severely misplaced family members.

The performances are all fun, but that's because all the stars - Manoj, Hema, Dilip, Nirupa, Shashi, Parveen, Shatrughan, Prem, even Tom Altern - are such likable and familiar faces. Indeed, our love for these people is the only reason we watched this silly film until the end.

Special note must be made of Dilip Kumar, who, unlike his fellow Krantites, refused to give into the outrageousness. While Shatrughan and Manoj achieved new heights of uber-drama ("Bastarrrrrd!"), while Shashi bawled with abandon in his Ma's arms (out-emoting even brother Raj, king of emo), Dilip put in a stubbornly authentic, softspoken, heartfelt performance. More than once, we wondered, "What is he doing in this movie!? He must think he's in Gandhi."


It was hard to catch Shashi's bawling, as he moves around a lot, but compare it to older brother Raj's tantrums in Anari.


Actually, poor Shashi goes through the meatgrinder in this film. Here he's been forced to shoot the eye of a rotating mechanical fish, blindfolded, while his foster mother stands right behind the fish eye. Don't miss, my son!


Here, he gets his ass kicked by older brother Manoj. As if that wasn't humiliating enough, some of Manoj's cronies then run him over using his own carriage. Fear not, Shashi Kapoor/Ben Hur fans, he emerges unscathed (well, excepting his pride). Heh! It takes more than some cloven hooves and a three-hundred pound carriage to knock off our big hero.

Another special note must be made of the Manoj-Shatrughan jodi. You know, some pairs just have it. That certain special something. That hint of magic. Much is made of Amitabh and Shashi (and, after seeing this, we would say Shashi and Whoever's Playing His Mom), but we must say Manoj and Shatrughan have something oddly and equally magnetic about them. At least, there's this silly sequence when they're both imprisoned in the galley of a random British boat together. After a single cut, they've both grown matching beards and it all turns a bit Monty Python. When Shatrughan starts despairing to the point of histrionic meltdown, and Manoj grabs him in a bear hug from behind, beckoning him to, "Take it easy, man!" - well, gosh, the PPCC was touched. These two are lovely together. They play off each other so well, feeding each other's melodrama: Manoj's hurt moans of "NAHIN!" coupled with Shatrughan's enraged roars of "NAHIN!" Have they made any more films together? Please say yes, internet!


These two were an unexpected, happy surprise of this film. If the PPCC could make films on demand, we would demand that they make a special subfilm of Kranti called: Manoj and Shatrughan, The Galley Days.

But alas. An unexpected jodi can't save the rest of this film. This film came in at the low tide of ideas (and other things). Manoj's legendary patriotism - which we approved of in Roti Kapada aur Makaan - was misspent and tiresome. So were Dilip's naturalist acting, Shashi's maudlin tears, and Parveen's zaniness.

The songs were also pretty disappointing for Laxmikant-Pyarelal, though thankfully some of the picturizations were flamboyant enough to be entertaining. Manoj and Hema's kinky love duet on the boat, where he is strapped to the mast (a la Odysseus!) and she (a la Siren!) writhes around on the deck in front of him is... pretty shocking. We at the PPCC also really enjoyed Shatrughan and Hema's disguise song which they use to rescue Manoj (chained up, yet again) - Shatrughan, doomed and blessed to play the bad-ass that gets killed off in the end of every movie, is a lot of fun doing comedy.

This film's basic problem is that the emotional kicks - which are a masala film's life-source - don't work. We don't buy the faux historical context, and we're not particularly sold on the family drama either. Roti Kapada aur Makaan is an example where Manoj Kumar got his formula really right: a broad socially-minded context involving the Plight of Mother India, and, cast against that, a moving story of human relationships. Kranti, on the other hand, is an example where the formula went horribly, terribly wrong.


First: is Manoj wearing a ski cap? Let me tell ya, it was very distracting.
Second: the film went out of its way to empower this disabled guy with no arms. Manoj introduces him (in the above scene) as Yet Another Victim of British brutality (the British cut off his arms... just because he was Indian!), but then the guy ends up becoming an integral supporting character who saves our heroes from imminent death on more than one occasion. Indeed, we see this guy achieving amazing feats - climbing aboard the ship with a knife between his teeth, stealing guns and shooting British minions, rescuing Manoj and Hema, dancing in the big show-stopping numbers. It was like... YEAH, GUY, YEAH!