click on the shashi for podcast fun!
Showing posts with label masala goodness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label masala goodness. Show all posts
Friday, 29 July 2011
PPCC + Masala Zindabad podcast = Shashi Kapoor
PPCC readership - especially those of you that pine for the days of a Hindi-saturated PPCC - take a blast from the past and hear the PPCC wax poetic about our three favorite topics (Shashi, feminism and Shashi) on Beth and Amrita's excellent podcast, Masala Zindabad:
click on the shashi for podcast fun!
click on the shashi for podcast fun!
Sunday, 30 August 2009
Magadheera (2009)
What the hell is going on in Magadheera? We don't know - we don't speak Telugu! But that didn't stop us from seeing it last night and loving it to bits. We were promised "three hero deaths" in Magadheera, but unfortunately that was false advertising - though reincarnation does feature prominently. We were also promised "masala on steroids", and, boy, did it deliver on that one! Even understanding nothing of the dialogue, we still laughed, cried and - man! - some of that epic dishoom dishoom really got our blood going. And the dancing? OMG.
Magadheera begins with some straining violins as we witness the studly warrior Kala Bhairava (Ram Charan Teja), as well as the beautiful Mitravinda (Kajal Agarwal), both badly wounded and drawing their final breaths on a rocky precipice overlooking that one scene from Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. After a brief exchange about... well, something (presumably their love for each other), Mitravinda passes away, tumbling over the precipice. With a look of anguished horror, Kala Bhairava throws himself off the cliff after her.
And so begins our story! Quickly zipping forward 1600 (?) - or possibly 400 (?) - years to present-day Hyderabad, we meet the studly cool dude Harsha (Ram Charan Teja... again), who has just finished winning a kabillion rupees on a motorcycle jumping contest. After a great song harkening back to a 1980s hit by the actor's real life father, 1980s Telugu star, Chiranjeevi, we follow Harsha as he goes off with his buddy in the auto-rickshaw. After sticking out his hand, he accidentally brushes the hand of the beautiful Indu (Kajal Agarwal... again) - this mere touch sends an electric jolt through Harsha, plummeting him in a super-hardcore out-of-body experience where we watch - again - the whole "throwing yourself over the precipice" thing, as well as other magnificent scenes from the year 400... or possibly 1600. Anyway, the glorious Andhra Pradesh past.
Past.
And present.
Harsha is now obsessed with finding the source of this electric jolt - and, particularly, the love from his past life. After some bumbling around (insert difficult-to-understand comic sequence), he eventually figures out that it is indeed Indu who is his reincarnated princess. And there is much rejoicing. However, at this point, we're introduced to the villain, Raghubeer (Dev Gill), who is some sort of modern-day prince... except completely evil. Witness his buffed up bod full of warrior scars - one can't help but wonder WHY he has those?! Anyway, after promptly introducing himself by killing off some guy with a spear in front of his enormous mansion, he too gets one look at Indu and goes immediately into Rapist Mode. After killing some other dude (his assistant!) for something his assistant apparently said, he decides to insinuate himself into Indu's home by ingratiating himself with her father. Alas, this works! When dastardly Raghubeer attempts to have his wicked way with Indu, however, the ghost of Kala Bhairava appears and beheads him in a most gory - though temporary - way. Suitably alarmed, Raghubeer hastily consults his nearest sage, who - using a potion? or a chant? or a book? well, something - explains the whole reincarnation deal. Now very alarmed - since in his previous life, he was killed by Harsha - Raghubeer decides to get rid of Harsha ASAP.
This leads to some fantastic sequences, including an extended flashback to the whole first life deal. Goodness, it was glorious! The introduction of the 400 AD/1600 AD setting, which had been constantly intimated to (and our appetite was suitably whetted for some rollicking good Ye Olde Times!), was so spectacular the PPCC was practically blown out of our seat. (Thank you also, multiplex, for maxing out the volume!) However, as exciting as it is to see both the original and reincarnated hero-damsel-villain love triangle play out, the second act unfortunately couldn't quite deliver on the first act's promise, and we really didn't need two identical resolutions. So the film finishes on a good note... not a great one.
So! Observations from a predominantly Hindi film viewer who speaks English, a little Hindi and NO Telugu (apart from "koncam" and "pakka"). Well, first of all: if there's one thing Magadheera did fluently and well, it was cinematic extravagance. For masala lovers such as the PPCC, this film packed a lot of meat: completely over-the-top and completely gratifying ideas, like Chicken Soup for the Sentimentalist Cinephile's Soul. Consider, for example, a great sequence in which modern-day Harsha - amidst a general chaos in the Hyderabadi streets which we won't explain right now - almost gets run over by a horse. Jumping onto a bus to avoid being trampled, his fingers brush those of Indu: electrical jolt again! Freaking out, because he needs to see who is this girl who keeps mildly electrocuting him, he grabs the horse, flings himself onto it, gallops after the bus, catches up with the bus and - gets a face-full of Indu's dupatta. As he fumbles to get the dupatta out of his face, he finally sees her. We will not lie: we were seriously verklempt at this point. It was incredibly indulgent, and incredibly great chocolate cake filmmaking.
Another great thing, and somewhat different from Hindi films, was the choreography. Gosh! Particularly the male choreography, which is usually under-emphasized in Hindi films (at least, pre-Hrithik Roshan): star Ram Charan Teja is a hell of a dancer, and his super-chill moves included popping and locking (!!). The dance sequences had a color and inventiveness which we see only sometimes in Hindi films (and mostly in films which have South Indian choreographers/directors... Pukar, Dil Se, Virasat... you get the idea). One of our favorite songs from the film was the flashback ballad, Dheera Dheera, which was just pounding with the powerful drums, haunting sopranos and stark, Zhang Yimou color palettes.
Oh, South Indian cinema. Where have you been all my life?
Monday, 2 February 2009
Main Nashe Mein Hoon (1959)
Main Nashe Mein Hoon (I Am Drunk, or MNMH) is a strange, funny, masala film, made about fifteen years too early, and featuring not one but three - three! - paeons to drinking. Now who doesn't love a good drunken song? Or three?! The PPCC is a big fan, and now we've got to add Raj Kapoor as an honorary participant in the Drunk Off!!. This film also featured the one thing they don't do enough of in Hindi films: the female villain, played here by the stunning Nishi. She is just a joy to watch: strong, gorgeous, business-like and EVIL. We have decided when we make it in Bollywood it's going to be as the modern-day her!
The foolish Ram (Raj Kapoor) getting his butt kicked by the villainous Miss Rita (Nishi). Also, incidentally, one of our favorite songs from the film, not available on YouTube but very similar to Raj Kapoor's brother, Shashi Kapoor's Jane Mujhe Tu Ne from the later Naina.
We at the PPCC tend to shoehorn Hindi films about drinking into either the Devdas box, the Sufi box or, more rarely, the Dionysus box. Yet we can't do that for MNMH, since it neither glamorizes drinking nor uses it as a vehicle for transcendental sadness. If anything, drinking is just portrayed as embarrassing, and our increasingly alcoholic anti-hero, Ram (Raj Kapoor), is a carefree, caddish idiot. He doesn't choose to drink because of some past lost love, but is instead just peer pressured again and again via the dealbreaking, "What are you? A baby?!" When drunk, he doesn't deliver poetic soliloquys full of existential angst a la Dilip Kumar; instead, he just becomes even more babbling, incomprehensible and childish (who would've thought that was even possible!). He also has a number of face-first falls which looked like they really hurt! The whole thing was a strange combination of humor and cringe-worthy pathos.
Whoa, easy on the Vat 69, RK...
The PPCC wants to be the Nishi of the new millennium!
The reason the drinking is important to the story - as this isn't supposed to be a film where we laugh at an idiot, though we often did - is two-fold. On the one hand, we have the scary, emancipated Miss Rita (Nishi) who has decided to seek vengeance on Ram's father, the severe Judge Kundanlal (Mubarak), by corrupting his prized eldest son. Cunning! Evil! Anyway, Miss Rita - a super-singleton and owner of the aptly-named Wonderful Club - speedily ruins Ram's rep by getting him hammered at a picnic, seducing him and getting him addicted to her and booze. From then on, an entranced Ram becomes a Wonderful Club regular.
Apart from just how embarrassing it is for Ram's father to see his son turn into Captain Stupid every night, there's also a poignant family history (and this is the second interesting plot device): Ram's grandfather, Dharam Das (Nasir Hussain), was an alcoholic who, during one of his drunken evenings, killed a dancer and her lover in a fit of jealous rage. Dharam Das went to jail and the entire family was shamed. Judge Kundanlal, whose entire life seems to be a reaction against the vices of his father, understandably fears that some of that behavior could be passed down to his son. Then - in an early surprise - Dharam Das is released from jail as a kindly, frail old man. Trying to reconcile the reeling, demonized Dharam Das of yore with the gentle, sad little man in the present is pretty difficult - for the PPCC and, it will turn out, for Judge Kundanlal. And it's interesting for a Hindi film to spend so much time humanizing a murderous alcoholic. But there you go: the present-day Dharam Das is positively saintly!
Nasir Hussain as the reformed grandfather, in one of his more typical poses.
Which brings us to the most interesting theme of MNMH: forgiveness. Usually drinking too much liquor and slapping your elders pretty much assures your death in a more mainstream Hindi film. Yet MNMH's treatment of alcoholism is not as a symbol of evil, but as a symbol of frailty; something that has embarrassing and occasionally destructive consequences. The two alcoholics in the film - Dharam Das and Ram - aren't demonized at all. Rather the only evil person is Miss Rita - who barely touches the stuff. Judge Kundanlal's rigid, zero-tolerance attitude - which is more in line with typical filmi morality - is upended as he eventually realizes that he loves and accepts his highly flawed father and son, despite all their imperfections. Tellingly, there's even a little subplot about the family's slightly evil servant, Munshi (Dhumal), who is also - after a particularly egregious fault - forgiven.
Basically, this film felt a lot more liberal than the more conservative Hindi films of that era - and its zany envelope-pushing filmmaking predated even crazy Manmohan Desai (you'll have to keep an eye open for some of those weird George Lucas-esque cuts!). And even better - the women rocked! For example, there was a bold, unexpected sequence when Ram's childhood love, the pure and kind-hearted Shanta (Mala Sinha), teams up with Grandpa Dharam Das to save Ram from the evil Miss Rita's clutches. Their plan includes transvestism and a jealousy-inducing courtship with strong homoerotic undertones: between several women!
Transvestism! Lesbian undertones! Shocking!
The film also has an interesting meta twist, in that Raj Kapoor (and his brothers and sons) was notorious for hard drinking (and hard eating). While most of his drunken scenes are over-the-top and quite funny ham-fests (pratfalls, high-pitched shrieks), the more understated moments were the hardest to watch: they just seemed a little too real. A thing we like about Raj Kapoor was his ability to project vulnerable intensity - both of his characters (the infamous moment when Raju slaps Rita in Awaara) and of himself as a performer (those self-obsessed performances that always tried so hard!). In this film, for once, the imperfections and vulnerability were difficult to watch: he ranged from ridiculous when over-the-top (the "look, I'm a baby! waah, waah!" moment was spork-inducing awful) to painful when understated (the poignant title song). That's not to say it's a bad performance (okay, sometimes it is, but sometimes it also isn't), it's just a thankless role with uncomfortable meta implications.
Raj in a rare moment of understated acting (his best!), kicking it a little too real.
Altogether this was a unique, enjoyable find: quirky story, novel themes of tolerance/rehabilitation rather than demonization, wonderful villain, incredibly fast pacing (bam-bam-BAM!) and fun songs. Like that Frank Sinatra movie where he's an alcoholic comedian who regularly bombs shows and humiliates himself, we found ourselves cringing through a lot of this film, but, well, like the Frank Sinatra movie, we also really liked it. The story was fun, interesting and well-told: pure, crazy masala. And there was a quality of sympathy and a rare tolerance for unromanticized weakness that was refreshing. But hey - whoa, new neural pathway: Frank Sinatra and Raj Kapoor!
The foolish Ram (Raj Kapoor) getting his butt kicked by the villainous Miss Rita (Nishi). Also, incidentally, one of our favorite songs from the film, not available on YouTube but very similar to Raj Kapoor's brother, Shashi Kapoor's Jane Mujhe Tu Ne from the later Naina.
We at the PPCC tend to shoehorn Hindi films about drinking into either the Devdas box, the Sufi box or, more rarely, the Dionysus box. Yet we can't do that for MNMH, since it neither glamorizes drinking nor uses it as a vehicle for transcendental sadness. If anything, drinking is just portrayed as embarrassing, and our increasingly alcoholic anti-hero, Ram (Raj Kapoor), is a carefree, caddish idiot. He doesn't choose to drink because of some past lost love, but is instead just peer pressured again and again via the dealbreaking, "What are you? A baby?!" When drunk, he doesn't deliver poetic soliloquys full of existential angst a la Dilip Kumar; instead, he just becomes even more babbling, incomprehensible and childish (who would've thought that was even possible!). He also has a number of face-first falls which looked like they really hurt! The whole thing was a strange combination of humor and cringe-worthy pathos.
Whoa, easy on the Vat 69, RK...
The PPCC wants to be the Nishi of the new millennium!
The reason the drinking is important to the story - as this isn't supposed to be a film where we laugh at an idiot, though we often did - is two-fold. On the one hand, we have the scary, emancipated Miss Rita (Nishi) who has decided to seek vengeance on Ram's father, the severe Judge Kundanlal (Mubarak), by corrupting his prized eldest son. Cunning! Evil! Anyway, Miss Rita - a super-singleton and owner of the aptly-named Wonderful Club - speedily ruins Ram's rep by getting him hammered at a picnic, seducing him and getting him addicted to her and booze. From then on, an entranced Ram becomes a Wonderful Club regular.
Apart from just how embarrassing it is for Ram's father to see his son turn into Captain Stupid every night, there's also a poignant family history (and this is the second interesting plot device): Ram's grandfather, Dharam Das (Nasir Hussain), was an alcoholic who, during one of his drunken evenings, killed a dancer and her lover in a fit of jealous rage. Dharam Das went to jail and the entire family was shamed. Judge Kundanlal, whose entire life seems to be a reaction against the vices of his father, understandably fears that some of that behavior could be passed down to his son. Then - in an early surprise - Dharam Das is released from jail as a kindly, frail old man. Trying to reconcile the reeling, demonized Dharam Das of yore with the gentle, sad little man in the present is pretty difficult - for the PPCC and, it will turn out, for Judge Kundanlal. And it's interesting for a Hindi film to spend so much time humanizing a murderous alcoholic. But there you go: the present-day Dharam Das is positively saintly!
Nasir Hussain as the reformed grandfather, in one of his more typical poses.
Which brings us to the most interesting theme of MNMH: forgiveness. Usually drinking too much liquor and slapping your elders pretty much assures your death in a more mainstream Hindi film. Yet MNMH's treatment of alcoholism is not as a symbol of evil, but as a symbol of frailty; something that has embarrassing and occasionally destructive consequences. The two alcoholics in the film - Dharam Das and Ram - aren't demonized at all. Rather the only evil person is Miss Rita - who barely touches the stuff. Judge Kundanlal's rigid, zero-tolerance attitude - which is more in line with typical filmi morality - is upended as he eventually realizes that he loves and accepts his highly flawed father and son, despite all their imperfections. Tellingly, there's even a little subplot about the family's slightly evil servant, Munshi (Dhumal), who is also - after a particularly egregious fault - forgiven.
Basically, this film felt a lot more liberal than the more conservative Hindi films of that era - and its zany envelope-pushing filmmaking predated even crazy Manmohan Desai (you'll have to keep an eye open for some of those weird George Lucas-esque cuts!). And even better - the women rocked! For example, there was a bold, unexpected sequence when Ram's childhood love, the pure and kind-hearted Shanta (Mala Sinha), teams up with Grandpa Dharam Das to save Ram from the evil Miss Rita's clutches. Their plan includes transvestism and a jealousy-inducing courtship with strong homoerotic undertones: between several women!
Transvestism! Lesbian undertones! Shocking!
The film also has an interesting meta twist, in that Raj Kapoor (and his brothers and sons) was notorious for hard drinking (and hard eating). While most of his drunken scenes are over-the-top and quite funny ham-fests (pratfalls, high-pitched shrieks), the more understated moments were the hardest to watch: they just seemed a little too real. A thing we like about Raj Kapoor was his ability to project vulnerable intensity - both of his characters (the infamous moment when Raju slaps Rita in Awaara) and of himself as a performer (those self-obsessed performances that always tried so hard!). In this film, for once, the imperfections and vulnerability were difficult to watch: he ranged from ridiculous when over-the-top (the "look, I'm a baby! waah, waah!" moment was spork-inducing awful) to painful when understated (the poignant title song). That's not to say it's a bad performance (okay, sometimes it is, but sometimes it also isn't), it's just a thankless role with uncomfortable meta implications.
Raj in a rare moment of understated acting (his best!), kicking it a little too real.
Altogether this was a unique, enjoyable find: quirky story, novel themes of tolerance/rehabilitation rather than demonization, wonderful villain, incredibly fast pacing (bam-bam-BAM!) and fun songs. Like that Frank Sinatra movie where he's an alcoholic comedian who regularly bombs shows and humiliates himself, we found ourselves cringing through a lot of this film, but, well, like the Frank Sinatra movie, we also really liked it. The story was fun, interesting and well-told: pure, crazy masala. And there was a quality of sympathy and a rare tolerance for unromanticized weakness that was refreshing. But hey - whoa, new neural pathway: Frank Sinatra and Raj Kapoor!
Sunday, 28 December 2008
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!
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!
Monday, 15 December 2008
Ram Lakhan (1989)
Ahhh, there's nothing quite like well-cooked masala. Why did this beautiful, wonderful genre have to die? Well, as with all things this season, we think the fault rests squarely on Shah Rukh Khan and Aditya Chopra. If it wasn't for Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge and the advent of NRI romance cinema, our precious masala wouldn't have been abandoned, dammit. In the 90s and 2000s, Bollywood starting churning out weepy melodramas about rich, jet set NRIs living in international capitals - that's fine if you're targeting the lucrative diaspora market, but what about all of us who want something set in India? With poor people? And outrageous coincidences? And estranged brothers? And a Mom who grabs her hair and shrieks,
"NAHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!!!!!!!"
When Rakhee does that in Subhash Ghai's Ram Lakhan, the PPCC sighed in happiness. All was right in the world.
They just don't make masala like they used to. Using Filmi Girl's term, the "post-modern" masala genre - Farah Khan's films, Jhoom Barabar Jhoom, Tashan - isn't really the same. It's squishy heart is all calloused. There's a self-aware, slightly tongue-in-cheek, slightly cynical vibe to things - it teases the genre even as it mimics it. But real, wholesome, honest-to-God masala - that which you find in the 70s and 80s, and that which we love - was earnest and righteous and pure. It was Shakespearean. It had other fish to fry. It didn't worry at all that the probability of two estranged brothers running into each other in the heaping, super-populated Mumbai is close to zero. They do. Of course they do! They always will! Real masala wasn't about reality, it was a fable - a LEGEND - and always the same story, too: There are two brothers. One is a little morally ambiguous. One is a policeman. They have a hard time in the prologue and live on the edge of poverty. Their mom suffers for a really long time. Their dad dies, or is otherwise unavailable (e.g. he might be in his criminal lair). Amrish Puri will probably show up at some point. There is revenge, romance, great songs, lots of tears and laughter. Sometimes, in the sad-sala subgenre, one of the brothers will die. But most of the time, all ends well.
This is what we want. Nothing more!
Another reason real masala is dead: since the origin fable of masala depends on two brothers and the very important connection between them, a good jodi is critical. The angry, young Amitabh Bachchan had great jodi power with our beloved Shashi Kapoor, Vinod Khanna, Dharmendra. In Ram Lakhan, Jackie Shroff and Anil Kapoor have similarly great chemistry. But nowadays? Well, SRK's basically a one-man show, and while there are some feeble sparks of jodi potential in the current generation, it's just not the same - Akshay Kumar and Saif Ali Khan, as ..so they dance! is slowly convincing us, are decent together; we also enjoyed Nana Patekar and Anil Kapoor's vibe in the otherwise dismal Welcome (then again, we like anything Anil Kapoor these days), but what else? Nuffin'. SRK and Zayed Khan? Cute, but come on. They're like a caramel soy latte, when we're talking about Vat 69!
The Jackie-Anil jodi magic again!
Anyway, Ram Lakhan is buttery, bloated masala, a veritable feast of operatic enormity. An epic three hours, its Standard Prologue lasts an astounding forty minutes (!)... heck, it even takes us twenty minutes just to get to the title! While this sort of long-windedness usually merits some criticism - I mean, come on, we all know the story, so let's be efficient, naaaa? - we were very beguiled by everything, from Amrish Puri's droopy Lazy Eye of Evil, to Rakhee getting splattered in blood and going properly demented, to the exuberant introduction of the young, rapscallion Anil Kapoor (complete with a curled mustache and scruffy mullet, YES!). There were even more major brownie points: Saeed Jaffrey (if ever there was a case of "What the hell am I doing in this movie?!"...), Madhuri Dixit (yay!), a surprisingly super-hot Jackie Shroff (our knees went wobbly when he appeared all svelte and stoic in that police uniform of his), and faaaaabulous songs. And the direction! Subhash Ghai's direction is hit and miss with us, but he was definitely on his game in Ram Lakhan. The emotional climax was so gargantuan that the film threatened to explode, yet Ghai managed to hold it all together - creating something that was loud, fast, fun, anarchic and EXTRA-LARGE.
The story is all the standard stuff. Evil relatives, led by Amrish Puri and his drooping eyelid, plot a massive, intra-familial coup, killing off the noble father (Dalip Tahil), stealing the family home and sending the widow (Rakhee) and two sons, Ram and Lakhan, into the gutter. This fairly straightforward plot point takes, as we said, forty minutes. Anyway: Ram and Lakhan grow up into the super-fine Jackie Shroff and the super-fly Anil Kapoor. Ever since they were kids, Ram was the upright maintainer of rules and justice, whereas Lakhan was a cheeky little bugger who skipped school to go dancing in the streets. Now, as adults, Ram is an upright maintainer of justice - in other words, a cop - while Lakhan spends his time ogling Radha (Madhuri Dixit), waxing the tips of his stache (good move) and basically loafing around with his tapori crew. The story gets interesting when Lakhan weasles his way into the police force to become an inspector - like his brother. Except - unlike his brother - Lakhan becomes immediately corrupt, schmoozing and conning the enemy, and just crashing from crazy idea to crazy idea. Clearly, he's on the road to disaster, but you'll never guess what happens during the final show-down (except for the marching band with secret machine guns, which we saw coming a mile away).
Trying to contain Anil Kapoor's REAL, ULTIMATE POWER (!!!). Good luck! Anil is a mammal and his purpose is to FLIP OUT.
As Rum hilariously notes, the villains are eco-mindful and carpool. Good for them! As Beth wisely put it, "Why bother taking over the world if there's no planet left to enjoy?"
This film is really the Lakhan/Anil Kapoor show. Naturally, the bad brother of masala movies is the one we root and cheer for - whether that's Amitabh Bachchan in Deewaar, Amitabh Bachchan in Suhaag, or... well, Amitabh Bachchan in Amar Akbar Anthony. And it's the same here: Ram Lakhan's entire narrative depends on the choices of hot-headed, tumultuous, Puckish Lakhan and, even as he is mischievous and corrupt and irreverant, the audience loves him. Anil Kapoor delivers an absolutely awesome performance - channeling a sort of weird combination of Amitabh Bachchan's Angry Young Man, Shashi Kapoor's schmoozing charmer, Toshiro Mifune's flipped out samurai and Goofy the cartoon. More than once, Lakhan's character receives a grand entrance full of pageantry, build-up and booming drums. He even has a couple great mottos: "My name is Lakhan!" and "1, 2 ka 4!" Believe us, every time Lakhan kicks ass or takes bribes or hustles and then tips his hat with, "My name is... Lakhan!" you just wanna give a big ol' cheer.
Some cute Anil-Madhuri jodi moments of pure pyaar.
Subhash Ghai gives himself a cameo. But hey, we'd give ourselves a cameo too if we had made a kick-ass masala movie like this!
We should also just say that we love, LOVED this film. Maximum masala! It was massive and hugely satisfying and hilarious and pitch-perfect. It toed that intoxicating line between the sublime and the ridiculous - and we just couldn't get enough! Three hours? How about ONE MILLION MORE! We watched it with the volume way up, because we wanted to just soak in all the glorious, endless choral reprises of, "RaaaaaaamLAKHAN! (boom boom boom) RaaaaaaaamLAKHAN!" There was silliness galore - that enormous man who works for the evil Sir John (Raza Murad), the marching band with hidden machine guns, the Tapori vs. Sleazy Man dance-off - and there was feel-good fun galore as well - demented Rakhee becoming an action hero mom, girls with machine guns, the silly mottos ("India is great!", "Hey, bad man!", etc.). And the dishoom! It was maximum late 80s, high octane, full of mud battles and force-feeding and explosions and one awesome, vicious fight between the brothers. It was mental! We loved it!
The operatic excellence was only enhanced by the fantastic use of music throughout the film. Apart from the Ram Lakhan anthem which was the standard leitmotif punctuating all the many moments of extreme emotion, the background score was also full of pounding, crashing percussion. This near-constant aural barrage made our heart go dhadak-dhadak - it was fab! The songs were great as well. Our favorite might be Madhuri's melodramatic dance extravaganza, Beqadar Bekhabar - which was part of the enormous dennouement and thus might contain spoilers, though, honestly, the plot takes many more unexpected left turns after this song, so you may as well just watch it. And behold! Madhuri's pointy hat! Her and Anil shooting hateful, suffering glances at each other! The sweeping cameras! The compositions! The pageantry! The worst aspect, of course, is those back-up dancers in blackface (?!), but we just pretend they're not there. And our second favorite song was the other melodramatic Madhuri dance extravaganza, O Ramji, which took a more Courtesan's Ghazal of Doom-esque flavor (and ends with one of Lakhan's mega-entrances).
Overall, heaps and heaps of fun. Highly recommended!
"NAHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!!!!!!!"
When Rakhee does that in Subhash Ghai's Ram Lakhan, the PPCC sighed in happiness. All was right in the world.
They just don't make masala like they used to. Using Filmi Girl's term, the "post-modern" masala genre - Farah Khan's films, Jhoom Barabar Jhoom, Tashan - isn't really the same. It's squishy heart is all calloused. There's a self-aware, slightly tongue-in-cheek, slightly cynical vibe to things - it teases the genre even as it mimics it. But real, wholesome, honest-to-God masala - that which you find in the 70s and 80s, and that which we love - was earnest and righteous and pure. It was Shakespearean. It had other fish to fry. It didn't worry at all that the probability of two estranged brothers running into each other in the heaping, super-populated Mumbai is close to zero. They do. Of course they do! They always will! Real masala wasn't about reality, it was a fable - a LEGEND - and always the same story, too: There are two brothers. One is a little morally ambiguous. One is a policeman. They have a hard time in the prologue and live on the edge of poverty. Their mom suffers for a really long time. Their dad dies, or is otherwise unavailable (e.g. he might be in his criminal lair). Amrish Puri will probably show up at some point. There is revenge, romance, great songs, lots of tears and laughter. Sometimes, in the sad-sala subgenre, one of the brothers will die. But most of the time, all ends well.
This is what we want. Nothing more!
Another reason real masala is dead: since the origin fable of masala depends on two brothers and the very important connection between them, a good jodi is critical. The angry, young Amitabh Bachchan had great jodi power with our beloved Shashi Kapoor, Vinod Khanna, Dharmendra. In Ram Lakhan, Jackie Shroff and Anil Kapoor have similarly great chemistry. But nowadays? Well, SRK's basically a one-man show, and while there are some feeble sparks of jodi potential in the current generation, it's just not the same - Akshay Kumar and Saif Ali Khan, as ..so they dance! is slowly convincing us, are decent together; we also enjoyed Nana Patekar and Anil Kapoor's vibe in the otherwise dismal Welcome (then again, we like anything Anil Kapoor these days), but what else? Nuffin'. SRK and Zayed Khan? Cute, but come on. They're like a caramel soy latte, when we're talking about Vat 69!
The Jackie-Anil jodi magic again!
Anyway, Ram Lakhan is buttery, bloated masala, a veritable feast of operatic enormity. An epic three hours, its Standard Prologue lasts an astounding forty minutes (!)... heck, it even takes us twenty minutes just to get to the title! While this sort of long-windedness usually merits some criticism - I mean, come on, we all know the story, so let's be efficient, naaaa? - we were very beguiled by everything, from Amrish Puri's droopy Lazy Eye of Evil, to Rakhee getting splattered in blood and going properly demented, to the exuberant introduction of the young, rapscallion Anil Kapoor (complete with a curled mustache and scruffy mullet, YES!). There were even more major brownie points: Saeed Jaffrey (if ever there was a case of "What the hell am I doing in this movie?!"...), Madhuri Dixit (yay!), a surprisingly super-hot Jackie Shroff (our knees went wobbly when he appeared all svelte and stoic in that police uniform of his), and faaaaabulous songs. And the direction! Subhash Ghai's direction is hit and miss with us, but he was definitely on his game in Ram Lakhan. The emotional climax was so gargantuan that the film threatened to explode, yet Ghai managed to hold it all together - creating something that was loud, fast, fun, anarchic and EXTRA-LARGE.
The story is all the standard stuff. Evil relatives, led by Amrish Puri and his drooping eyelid, plot a massive, intra-familial coup, killing off the noble father (Dalip Tahil), stealing the family home and sending the widow (Rakhee) and two sons, Ram and Lakhan, into the gutter. This fairly straightforward plot point takes, as we said, forty minutes. Anyway: Ram and Lakhan grow up into the super-fine Jackie Shroff and the super-fly Anil Kapoor. Ever since they were kids, Ram was the upright maintainer of rules and justice, whereas Lakhan was a cheeky little bugger who skipped school to go dancing in the streets. Now, as adults, Ram is an upright maintainer of justice - in other words, a cop - while Lakhan spends his time ogling Radha (Madhuri Dixit), waxing the tips of his stache (good move) and basically loafing around with his tapori crew. The story gets interesting when Lakhan weasles his way into the police force to become an inspector - like his brother. Except - unlike his brother - Lakhan becomes immediately corrupt, schmoozing and conning the enemy, and just crashing from crazy idea to crazy idea. Clearly, he's on the road to disaster, but you'll never guess what happens during the final show-down (except for the marching band with secret machine guns, which we saw coming a mile away).
Trying to contain Anil Kapoor's REAL, ULTIMATE POWER (!!!). Good luck! Anil is a mammal and his purpose is to FLIP OUT.
As Rum hilariously notes, the villains are eco-mindful and carpool. Good for them! As Beth wisely put it, "Why bother taking over the world if there's no planet left to enjoy?"
This film is really the Lakhan/Anil Kapoor show. Naturally, the bad brother of masala movies is the one we root and cheer for - whether that's Amitabh Bachchan in Deewaar, Amitabh Bachchan in Suhaag, or... well, Amitabh Bachchan in Amar Akbar Anthony. And it's the same here: Ram Lakhan's entire narrative depends on the choices of hot-headed, tumultuous, Puckish Lakhan and, even as he is mischievous and corrupt and irreverant, the audience loves him. Anil Kapoor delivers an absolutely awesome performance - channeling a sort of weird combination of Amitabh Bachchan's Angry Young Man, Shashi Kapoor's schmoozing charmer, Toshiro Mifune's flipped out samurai and Goofy the cartoon. More than once, Lakhan's character receives a grand entrance full of pageantry, build-up and booming drums. He even has a couple great mottos: "My name is Lakhan!" and "1, 2 ka 4!" Believe us, every time Lakhan kicks ass or takes bribes or hustles and then tips his hat with, "My name is... Lakhan!" you just wanna give a big ol' cheer.
Some cute Anil-Madhuri jodi moments of pure pyaar.
Subhash Ghai gives himself a cameo. But hey, we'd give ourselves a cameo too if we had made a kick-ass masala movie like this!
We should also just say that we love, LOVED this film. Maximum masala! It was massive and hugely satisfying and hilarious and pitch-perfect. It toed that intoxicating line between the sublime and the ridiculous - and we just couldn't get enough! Three hours? How about ONE MILLION MORE! We watched it with the volume way up, because we wanted to just soak in all the glorious, endless choral reprises of, "RaaaaaaamLAKHAN! (boom boom boom) RaaaaaaaamLAKHAN!" There was silliness galore - that enormous man who works for the evil Sir John (Raza Murad), the marching band with hidden machine guns, the Tapori vs. Sleazy Man dance-off - and there was feel-good fun galore as well - demented Rakhee becoming an action hero mom, girls with machine guns, the silly mottos ("India is great!", "Hey, bad man!", etc.). And the dishoom! It was maximum late 80s, high octane, full of mud battles and force-feeding and explosions and one awesome, vicious fight between the brothers. It was mental! We loved it!
The operatic excellence was only enhanced by the fantastic use of music throughout the film. Apart from the Ram Lakhan anthem which was the standard leitmotif punctuating all the many moments of extreme emotion, the background score was also full of pounding, crashing percussion. This near-constant aural barrage made our heart go dhadak-dhadak - it was fab! The songs were great as well. Our favorite might be Madhuri's melodramatic dance extravaganza, Beqadar Bekhabar - which was part of the enormous dennouement and thus might contain spoilers, though, honestly, the plot takes many more unexpected left turns after this song, so you may as well just watch it. And behold! Madhuri's pointy hat! Her and Anil shooting hateful, suffering glances at each other! The sweeping cameras! The compositions! The pageantry! The worst aspect, of course, is those back-up dancers in blackface (?!), but we just pretend they're not there. And our second favorite song was the other melodramatic Madhuri dance extravaganza, O Ramji, which took a more Courtesan's Ghazal of Doom-esque flavor (and ends with one of Lakhan's mega-entrances).
Overall, heaps and heaps of fun. Highly recommended!
Monday, 20 October 2008
Do Musafir (1978)
Rich dad, poor dad.
Do Musafir, a satisfying masala melodrama, does nothing wrong. That's not to say that it's particularly special either - resembling, as it does, several other movies, and maintaining an altogether difficult emotional tone, even when in the guise of zany masala tropes. It's altogether solid and enjoyable, but we wouldn't call this genre-defining or particularly uplifting.
Delirious romance among the coconuts, whoopee!
Juicy melodrama at home, yeehaw!
In many ways, this film is to fathers and sons what Duniya Meri Jeb Mein was to brothers. Both films use the masala mold to teach us moral lessons about the ties that bind, and both films are generally downers. Do Musafir is, thankfully, less of a downer than Duniya Meri Jeb Mein, mostly because instead of revenge, we have obstacle-free (yes!) romance!
But from the initial set-up of Do Musafir, you know that it's not going to end well: Kailash Babu (Ashok Kumar) is a wealthy industrial and single father. His only son, Vicky (the dreadful Master Bittoo, bane of child actors and the PPCC), is his joy and life. One day, Kailash and Vicky go on a father-son fishing trip, and it's all fun and games until Vicky falls off the boat and is lost at sea. Kailash, assuming Vicky drowned, begins to drown himself in whiskey. (You'll start noticing this film is chock full of parallels. Which is nice.)
Vicky washes up on the Keralan shore (woohoo! new region!) and is promptly picked up by Shambhu (PRAN!!! OMG!!!) and the missus. These simple fisher folk have been praying for a son, and cannot resist keeping Vicky and raising him as their own. Sound Shakespearean enough for you? Vicky quickly grows up into Raju (our beloved Shashi Kapoor), who is, as usual, impossibly adorable and charismatic. With his coy playfulness and incredible studliness, not only his family - but everyone in the village - has got a serious, heart-melting crush on Shashi. So scrumptious!
The Shashi-Rekha duo is da best: Vijeta! Baseraa! Immaan Dharam!
And it's all squishy hearts, coconut milk and fishing in the first half, especially when Bijli (which means "electricity", doesn't it? played by Rekha) shows up and the suitably gorgeous Shashi-Rekha jodi fires up. After a couple songs romping down the Keralan canals and up the palm trees, Rekha moves to the city and Raju, dragging his father along, follows her.
Once there, it is time for the Hindi Movie Irony. Kailash, who now spends his evenings getting drunk in bars, picking up young men and inviting them to bed (yes, really), one evening picks up Shashi and drags him to his bedroom, beckoning him to tuck him in, as a son would a (totally smashed?) father. While most young men take advantage of Kailash, who usually drunkenly insists that they take "what is yours, son" (i.e. his wallet and watch), squeaky clean Raju is, instead, touched and gently pitying. He returns the next morning with Kailash's things and Kailash, marvelling at his honesty, hires him on the spot. And who else works in Kailash's factory? Yes, love interest Bijli! So convenient!
Shashi's rays of goodness, brightening Ashok Kumar's world of pain. Can Shashi do wrong in this film? The answer is no.
So now we have two very sympathetic father figures, played with emotional honesty by Ashok Kumar and Pran. How can this possibly be reconciled? Maybe Shashi can have two Dads? Alas, things can't end well for everyone, and the introduction of our stock Masala Villain (Prem Chopra, in a leering, hilarious role) makes sure of that. Woe.
So what's good about Do Musafir?
- The region! The film makes ample use of the Keralan countryside. Apart from the small meeping sounds the PPCC made whenever we saw our beloved Shashi wearing a lunghi man-skirt and ambling along rows of palm trees (did our heart just pop an artery? the artery of LOVE!), the filmmakers had some fun showing us a fabulous Keralan boat race. For a genre so defined by Emergency-era Bombay, it was such a refreshing change to see such a different (and gorgeous!) state.
- The actors! If you've read any other post in this blog, you'll probably have come across our deep and everlasting loyalty to Shashi (our number one), Pran (our other number one), Rekha, Ashok Kumar and even, recently, Prem Chopra (hilarious!). Sometimes Shashi sleep-walked through roles in films that he clearly didn't believe in, and part of the fun of watching his entire catalog (our life goal) is seeing the obvious delight he exhibited in some other roles. In Do Musafir, Shashi is definitely giving it 100%, tossing his curls through the melodrama and exhibiting great comic timing. Everyone else is likewise committed and - with actors such as these - this means it's all great fun! Even the Usual Proletarian Subplot Guy (Jagdeep) was one of our more likable 70s comedians.
- Which reminds us of... the comedy! This surprised us, since masala comedy tends to be very broad. Instead, there were several moments in Do Musafir which were subtle, winking jokes - things that surprised us with their easy wit. For example, the fast cut between Shashi handing Rekha's mother a heaping plate of laddoos and, a take later, that plate being nearly empty and Shashi's nervous, bewildered expression as he sits with the mom. Or a moment when one of Prem Chopra's minions catches him drumming his shoes excitedly while alone in his office (though, Prem Chopra has already convinced us he's a comedy super-genius ever since Mard).
- The one song Rekha sings in the factory. Well, you know we're suckers for these sorts of things. Proletarian, happy, minor-keyed, elated sublime. This was also very similar to another PPCC fave, Kanyadaan's transcendental Mil Gaye.
The bad-ass boat race!
Shashi bumming it on the ferry from the village.
This was a film that, unexpectedly, didn't rely on the romance or the villain to propel it forward (somewhat to the detriment of Rekha, who didn't have as much to do in the second act), but instead focused solely on the tension between the desire to have a son and a father. The film made no attempts to modernize or quirkify this classical story, but instead maintained such timeworn staples as the contrast between the rich, city father and the poor, peasant father, or Shashi's offer to tear himself in half so they can share him.
All in all, a gushy, goopy film. At times, it threatened to become almost too saccharine, and we wished Shashi would stop being so sympathetic and kick some dishoomy butt. But hey, "too fluffily pure" is hardly a big indictment, and our only real criticism was that it was terrible to watch our beloved trio, the poor Pran-Ashok-Shashi jodi, stuck in such a zero-sum game.
Saturday, 30 August 2008
Haseena Maan Jayegi (1968)
Ahahaha! Fabulous!
Why are ya strangling yourself, Shashi?
Eh? Why are ya strangling yourself?
Well, gosh. We liked Sharmeelee, and now they've gone and made a male version of it. We take back everything we said, Beth, about Shashi being only an OK actor. But what does it say about the PPCC that after Junoon, In Custody, and Vijeta - all more typically cited sources of good acting on the part of our big hero, Shashi Kapoor - it should instead be the fluffy Haseena Maan Jayegi where we go, "Wow! He's amazing!" And - irony of ironies - Beth doesn't even like this movie!
What an unattractive woman.
Haseena Maan Jayegi is basically the All Shashi All The Time Show. It's a 1960s romp through mindless mod fun - both in Carefree and Emo varieties - and it stars Shashi Kapoor in an excellent double role. First, he is rakish Rakesh (sorry), the college cad with a cat-calling obsession. Though Rakesh is a lot of fun (check out his first number where he teases Jab Jab Phool Khile's Pardesiyon Se Na Aankiyan!), he is a total misogynist. Boo, Rakesh. Second, Shashi plays Kamal, the supreme scion of goodness. On paper, Kamal sounds like a bore - goody two-shoed, earnest, enjoys bringing dates to graveyards and delivering sermons - but he's actually quite endearing. Oh, you!
Both Rakesh and Kamal fall for the same girl, one Archana (Babita). Archana is annoyed by Rakesh's skirt-chasing antics while charmed by Kamal's softspoken gentleness. Yet while Rakesh and Kamal have starkly drawn personalities - and here we must say, Shashi did a great job making them two different people - they are, after all, physically identical. More than once, Rakesh tries to use this resemblance to his advantage and, after Archana is duped, Kamal jokingly warns, "Watch out that you don't marry me and honeymoon with him." Did we just hear the bell of foreshadowing go clang?
We're always so impressed by doubling in Hindi cinema.
Well, this is 1960s pop Hindi cinema, so of course that's what's going to happen. Especially since the Sino-Indian conflict erupts and both boys, former military school students, volunteer to fight. When the two run into each other at the military camp, evil Rakesh decides now is his chance to bump off Kamal. There is a deliriously weird fight scene, as both Shashis are in identical uniforms, and director Prakash Mehra makes sure we have no idea which one just got punched. When it looks like one of the two has been bumped off, we follow the surviving Shashi back home. Now the fun is amplified - the audience doesn't know which Shashi has returned, and his behavior - highly traumatized after the fight; hell, who wouldn't be emotionally scarred after being strangled by their self?! - is a bit off. Who is this guy? It takes a kinda boring courtroom scene followed by an excellent expedition to Tibet (!) to solve everything. And any movie that features Tibet as a place of spiritual awakening gets major brownie points.
There's also a pointless proletarian comedy subplot featuring Johnny Walker. We were annoyed by this, not because of the stupid jokes, but because it was all about Johnny trying to bed this mindless, personalityless woman, whose father kept declaring that he wouldn't let his honor be besmirched. The woman (played by Laali) was just a setpiece to be moved around by the two men, sometimes literally. It was misogynistic and dumb.
OMG HIS ANGST.
OMG HER ANGST. MATCHING SPOUSAL ANGST.
Beth thinks that this film starts strong and then goes off the rails at intermission. We at the PPCC instead loved every minute of it. We admit that this love depended critically on acceptance of the whole "Wait - did I marry Rakesh or Kamal?" dilemma. There are histrionic meltdowns galore in the second half, so if that's not your cake either, avoid.
However if, like the PPCC, you occasionally yearn to see your big hero go limp-wristed from emotional pain...
Like so.
...then there are ample rewards. "Nahiiiin!"
There are also two very nice songs: first, the God of Transcendental Pine-Wooded Lovers' Duets - that is, Bekhudi mein sanam - and, second, the unexpectedly nice duet between Johnny Walker and Ameeta. Bekhudi mein sanam is one of those rare songs that the PPCC knew and loved before having seen a single Hindi movie. It was thus with great joy that we discovered, months ago, that it was picturized on our beloved Shashi. And today it is an even further joy to see that the filmi context surrounding it is as fun as ever. Our only disappointment is that the rest of the songs were sort of subpar for Kalyanji-Anandji.
As we said, this film is really Shashi's show, and he demonstrates amazing energy and variety in his two performances. In fact, so good is he at demarcating Rakesh and Kamal with separate body language that we started to forget it was the same guy playing both characters. Talk about suspension of disbelief! Shashi also threw himself head and foot into the dance numbers. We at the PPCC have seen so many Shashi movies that we've become very familiar with the stock expressions he used when phoning in a performance - in Haseena, it was all new!
Tibetan redemption? *happy sigh*
As is typical in Hindi movies of the era, the women's roles were either completely vacuous or just unlikable. Babita does as much as she can with Archana, which is to say she doesn't have much to work with. Her basic motivation is to get married and preserve her honor, and she doesn't have much of a personality beyond that. Meanwhile, Ameeta could have been replaced with a blow-up doll (in fact, that would have probably made the comedy subplot funnier).
We were really impressed by the direction in this film, but that's no surprise - it was Prakash Mehra. Mehra directed the zany and ridiculous Namak Halaal, starring a by-then-much-older 80s Shashi paired with Amitabh, as well as the only tolerable Devdas adaptation, Muqaddar ka Sikandar. Haseena had some great shots, and overall it was a very skilfully told story.
In terms of film analytics, some cool stuff worth mentioning:
Why are ya strangling yourself, Shashi?
Eh? Why are ya strangling yourself?
Well, gosh. We liked Sharmeelee, and now they've gone and made a male version of it. We take back everything we said, Beth, about Shashi being only an OK actor. But what does it say about the PPCC that after Junoon, In Custody, and Vijeta - all more typically cited sources of good acting on the part of our big hero, Shashi Kapoor - it should instead be the fluffy Haseena Maan Jayegi where we go, "Wow! He's amazing!" And - irony of ironies - Beth doesn't even like this movie!
What an unattractive woman.
Haseena Maan Jayegi is basically the All Shashi All The Time Show. It's a 1960s romp through mindless mod fun - both in Carefree and Emo varieties - and it stars Shashi Kapoor in an excellent double role. First, he is rakish Rakesh (sorry), the college cad with a cat-calling obsession. Though Rakesh is a lot of fun (check out his first number where he teases Jab Jab Phool Khile's Pardesiyon Se Na Aankiyan!), he is a total misogynist. Boo, Rakesh. Second, Shashi plays Kamal, the supreme scion of goodness. On paper, Kamal sounds like a bore - goody two-shoed, earnest, enjoys bringing dates to graveyards and delivering sermons - but he's actually quite endearing. Oh, you!
Both Rakesh and Kamal fall for the same girl, one Archana (Babita). Archana is annoyed by Rakesh's skirt-chasing antics while charmed by Kamal's softspoken gentleness. Yet while Rakesh and Kamal have starkly drawn personalities - and here we must say, Shashi did a great job making them two different people - they are, after all, physically identical. More than once, Rakesh tries to use this resemblance to his advantage and, after Archana is duped, Kamal jokingly warns, "Watch out that you don't marry me and honeymoon with him." Did we just hear the bell of foreshadowing go clang?
We're always so impressed by doubling in Hindi cinema.
Well, this is 1960s pop Hindi cinema, so of course that's what's going to happen. Especially since the Sino-Indian conflict erupts and both boys, former military school students, volunteer to fight. When the two run into each other at the military camp, evil Rakesh decides now is his chance to bump off Kamal. There is a deliriously weird fight scene, as both Shashis are in identical uniforms, and director Prakash Mehra makes sure we have no idea which one just got punched. When it looks like one of the two has been bumped off, we follow the surviving Shashi back home. Now the fun is amplified - the audience doesn't know which Shashi has returned, and his behavior - highly traumatized after the fight; hell, who wouldn't be emotionally scarred after being strangled by their self?! - is a bit off. Who is this guy? It takes a kinda boring courtroom scene followed by an excellent expedition to Tibet (!) to solve everything. And any movie that features Tibet as a place of spiritual awakening gets major brownie points.
There's also a pointless proletarian comedy subplot featuring Johnny Walker. We were annoyed by this, not because of the stupid jokes, but because it was all about Johnny trying to bed this mindless, personalityless woman, whose father kept declaring that he wouldn't let his honor be besmirched. The woman (played by Laali) was just a setpiece to be moved around by the two men, sometimes literally. It was misogynistic and dumb.
OMG HIS ANGST.
OMG HER ANGST. MATCHING SPOUSAL ANGST.
Beth thinks that this film starts strong and then goes off the rails at intermission. We at the PPCC instead loved every minute of it. We admit that this love depended critically on acceptance of the whole "Wait - did I marry Rakesh or Kamal?" dilemma. There are histrionic meltdowns galore in the second half, so if that's not your cake either, avoid.
However if, like the PPCC, you occasionally yearn to see your big hero go limp-wristed from emotional pain...
Like so.
...then there are ample rewards. "Nahiiiin!"
There are also two very nice songs: first, the God of Transcendental Pine-Wooded Lovers' Duets - that is, Bekhudi mein sanam - and, second, the unexpectedly nice duet between Johnny Walker and Ameeta. Bekhudi mein sanam is one of those rare songs that the PPCC knew and loved before having seen a single Hindi movie. It was thus with great joy that we discovered, months ago, that it was picturized on our beloved Shashi. And today it is an even further joy to see that the filmi context surrounding it is as fun as ever. Our only disappointment is that the rest of the songs were sort of subpar for Kalyanji-Anandji.
As we said, this film is really Shashi's show, and he demonstrates amazing energy and variety in his two performances. In fact, so good is he at demarcating Rakesh and Kamal with separate body language that we started to forget it was the same guy playing both characters. Talk about suspension of disbelief! Shashi also threw himself head and foot into the dance numbers. We at the PPCC have seen so many Shashi movies that we've become very familiar with the stock expressions he used when phoning in a performance - in Haseena, it was all new!
Tibetan redemption? *happy sigh*
As is typical in Hindi movies of the era, the women's roles were either completely vacuous or just unlikable. Babita does as much as she can with Archana, which is to say she doesn't have much to work with. Her basic motivation is to get married and preserve her honor, and she doesn't have much of a personality beyond that. Meanwhile, Ameeta could have been replaced with a blow-up doll (in fact, that would have probably made the comedy subplot funnier).
We were really impressed by the direction in this film, but that's no surprise - it was Prakash Mehra. Mehra directed the zany and ridiculous Namak Halaal, starring a by-then-much-older 80s Shashi paired with Amitabh, as well as the only tolerable Devdas adaptation, Muqaddar ka Sikandar. Haseena had some great shots, and overall it was a very skilfully told story.
In terms of film analytics, some cool stuff worth mentioning:
1. Death of the self. OMG the movie starts off all Freudian, where Rakesh and Kamal could easily be symbolic of one man's dual natures (ego versus id?), and then it turns Buddhist, where only by destroying his self + becoming one with himself can the man find peace!
2. Why are they identical? The film never resolves this seemingly incredibly important issue. They only tease us by alluding to it again and again. "Oh yeah, that's Kamal. No, I don't know why we're physically identical." Weird! Maybe the film's trying to say that, deep down, we're all the same - or, as the transcendentalist The Thin Red Line would have it, "Maybe all men got one big soul everybody's a part of, all faces are the same man."
3. The Tibetan bit. Gosh, we can't give too much away, but when ahem ahem cough cough happens and then ahem cough, we were so happy. Even a Tibetan hat! Be still, mera dil. We think this fully supports the Buddhist hypothesis. In fact, you know what, we've convinced ourselves.
Saturday, 9 August 2008
Top 10 Song Picturizations: 1970s
FilmiGirl is up to something mega-cool: Top Ten lists of song picturizations, going decade by decade. Now she's finally made it to the 70s, our favorite genre. The PPCC couldn't resist making its own list bursting at the seams with deliciously masala fun and heart-warming squish.
10. Mujhe Tune Mar Daala (Naina, 1973)
We love Shashi Kapoor so much we're famous for it. What can we say? He's our big masala hero. So what better way to begin than with Shashi Kapoor's Best Dancing Ever, from that film of heartbreak and alcohol, Naina. The context is ultra-sweet: in a rare moment of sobriety, Shashi's character surprises everyone by his joie de vivre. And the lyrics are great too: "You killed me! You killed me! When I saw you, my heart lit up!" It's impossible not to dance along with this song, its fun is contagious.
9. Kaahe Ko Kaahe Ko (Chori Mera Kaam, 1975)
This film has an excellent, highly addictive soundtrack, and this song is a great track. We love upbeat, faux argument songs - and we just adore Shashi's peacock act to Zeenat's eye-rolling diva. We love the heart that pumps in her hand and the fact that she makes Shashi fish it out of the ocean. We love the trilling RRRRs. We love Shashi's rubber-limbed muppet-style dancing, and we love love Zeenat and Shashi's final duet: Will you die for anyone else? Never!
8. Dhoom Mache Dhoom (Kaala Patthar, 1979)
We are complete suckers for big ensembles and proletarian songs. The slightly socialist masala classic, Kaala Patthar, doesn't have many songs, and so we were starving for some music by the time this one rolled around. And what a gift this was! It has joyous camraderie between an all-star cast, and an enormous canvas of humanity - fathers gushing over their daughters, low-key lovers watching the festivities, high-key lovers basking in the gush - with a powerful feeling of relief and bittersweet victory.
7. Mile Jo Kadi Kadi (Kasme Vaade, 1978)
This is such a sweet song. As with any truly masala picturization, there are strong emotional undercurrents: the context for this song is that they're celebrating the opening of their new garage (or something). Randhir and Neetu, whose relationship has been slowly simmering to life, sing about the joys of letting love into your heart. But what they're really talking about is how Rakhee, widowed of her first straight-laced Amitabh, must now admit her feelings for the second former-thief-now-redeemed Amitabh. The former-thief Amitabh feels somewhat out of place and has been having trouble getting accepted by the garage crowd. Guh! It's just so satisfying when they invite Amitabh to dance and he cuts loose, shimmying and shuffling.
6. Le Jayenge Le Jayenge (Chor Machaye Shor, 1974)
Now, we teased this song in the first Dance Off for exhibiting Shashi's typically graceless dancing, but we somewhat glossed over the fact that despite that clumsiness - or maybe because of it - this is one of our favorite Shashi numbers ever. A lot of our joy comes from the lyrics, which perfectly capture a sort of cheeky, cocky romanticism. "Did you speak with Dad [about our imminent engagement]?" Mumtaz asks. "What did you say to him?" Shashi immediately breaks out with, "Le jayenge, le jayenge, dilwale dulhania le jayenge!" (Take her away, take her away, the brave-hearted will take the bride away!) The two lovers then basically laugh and dance in the face of the infuriated father, breaking free of conservativeness and tradition. We just adore their duet, which has such an adorable companionship to it. We love the moment when Shashi admits that he doesn't have a big car, and Mumtaz says, "No biggie!" Or when the two of them sing that they'll visit home, like good pious children, and then they prostrate themselves on the ground.
5. Pandit Ji Mere Marne Ke Bad (Roti Kapada aur Makaan, 1975)
Roti Kapada aur Makaan has so many excellent songs, but we've decided on this one since it exemplifies all that we love of the entire film: the excellent direction by Manoj Kumar, the way the song captures perfectly the emotional nuances of the characterizations while simultaneously advancing the plot, the characteristically bittersweet irony of the lyrics. We just love the waltzing cinematography - with Aruna's stumbling on one side and Manoj's hiding on the other side. What fluid camerawork! What stark visuals, with stressed-out Manoj's dark, jagged suit (and dark, jagged shelf of hair) cutting sharp lines against the earthy tones around him, while Aruna's sparkling debauchery lurches in and out of the frame. It's so mod and so freaking cool!
4. Khaike Paan Banaraswala (Don, 1978)
What can we say? We agree with Filmi Girl. This was our introduction to Amitabh Bachchan, and what an introduction! With his gangly flailing style, his motley assortment of back-up dancers (we love that big, pot-bellied guy!), and the fact that he's bhaanged out of his brains - it's hilarious! When Amitabh cuts loose, he's an amazing and compelling dancer. And the moment when he's shakes his butt at the camera, turns around and checks that Zeenat and we are watching - priceless.
3. Deewane Hain Deewano Ko (Zanjeer, 1973)
In the early days, we used to trawl through YouTube looking for nice Hindi film songs. This was one of our earliest discoveries - back when we only vaguely knew that Amitabh and Jaya Bachchan were kind of a big deal. We love the set-up of this song: the sexual tension between Amitabh and Jaya's characters is externalized and played out in a love song sung by two completely different people, while the protagonists are symbolically imprisoned by burglar bars and inhibition. We just love it when random characters voice the protagonist's feelings in a story, it feels very Greek chorus. Also, once the beat kicks in, with the camera sweeping up to look at the palm trees swaying in the clear blue sky, and Amitabh and Jaya's angsty glances - just, guh! It really is just a great song.
2. Teri Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi (Suhaag, 1979)
Suhaag is the end-all, be-all masala film for the PPCC, and this might be our favorite song from it. We say "might" because we passionately love every song from Suhaag, but this stands out because all four leads - Shashi Kapoor, Amitabh Bachchan, Rekha and Parveen Babi - get a chance to shine in this quartet about getting the Scrooge-like Shashi Kapoor to agree to marry Parveen. We love the flamboyant Punjabi disguises, the over-the-top choreography and human pyramids, Shashi's grimacing "straight man" act and the fact that it's supposed to be Mumbai, even though it's clearly London. Yeah, Southall dancers!
1. Koi Haseena Jab (Sholay, 1973)
What can we say about this gorgeous slice of heaven? This song was love at first sight for us, and we still haven't gotten over our crush for it. We love the jingling bells, the clopping horse, the clear blue sky and that train, whistling in the distance. We love the easy choreography and stark visuals - such as when Hema snaps the whip and Dharmendra raises his arm, or when Dharmendra sits back on the carriage and indicates the distant train. What aesthetics! What joy!
10. Mujhe Tune Mar Daala (Naina, 1973)
We love Shashi Kapoor so much we're famous for it. What can we say? He's our big masala hero. So what better way to begin than with Shashi Kapoor's Best Dancing Ever, from that film of heartbreak and alcohol, Naina. The context is ultra-sweet: in a rare moment of sobriety, Shashi's character surprises everyone by his joie de vivre. And the lyrics are great too: "You killed me! You killed me! When I saw you, my heart lit up!" It's impossible not to dance along with this song, its fun is contagious.
9. Kaahe Ko Kaahe Ko (Chori Mera Kaam, 1975)
This film has an excellent, highly addictive soundtrack, and this song is a great track. We love upbeat, faux argument songs - and we just adore Shashi's peacock act to Zeenat's eye-rolling diva. We love the heart that pumps in her hand and the fact that she makes Shashi fish it out of the ocean. We love the trilling RRRRs. We love Shashi's rubber-limbed muppet-style dancing, and we love love Zeenat and Shashi's final duet: Will you die for anyone else? Never!
8. Dhoom Mache Dhoom (Kaala Patthar, 1979)
We are complete suckers for big ensembles and proletarian songs. The slightly socialist masala classic, Kaala Patthar, doesn't have many songs, and so we were starving for some music by the time this one rolled around. And what a gift this was! It has joyous camraderie between an all-star cast, and an enormous canvas of humanity - fathers gushing over their daughters, low-key lovers watching the festivities, high-key lovers basking in the gush - with a powerful feeling of relief and bittersweet victory.
7. Mile Jo Kadi Kadi (Kasme Vaade, 1978)
This is such a sweet song. As with any truly masala picturization, there are strong emotional undercurrents: the context for this song is that they're celebrating the opening of their new garage (or something). Randhir and Neetu, whose relationship has been slowly simmering to life, sing about the joys of letting love into your heart. But what they're really talking about is how Rakhee, widowed of her first straight-laced Amitabh, must now admit her feelings for the second former-thief-now-redeemed Amitabh. The former-thief Amitabh feels somewhat out of place and has been having trouble getting accepted by the garage crowd. Guh! It's just so satisfying when they invite Amitabh to dance and he cuts loose, shimmying and shuffling.
6. Le Jayenge Le Jayenge (Chor Machaye Shor, 1974)
Now, we teased this song in the first Dance Off for exhibiting Shashi's typically graceless dancing, but we somewhat glossed over the fact that despite that clumsiness - or maybe because of it - this is one of our favorite Shashi numbers ever. A lot of our joy comes from the lyrics, which perfectly capture a sort of cheeky, cocky romanticism. "Did you speak with Dad [about our imminent engagement]?" Mumtaz asks. "What did you say to him?" Shashi immediately breaks out with, "Le jayenge, le jayenge, dilwale dulhania le jayenge!" (Take her away, take her away, the brave-hearted will take the bride away!) The two lovers then basically laugh and dance in the face of the infuriated father, breaking free of conservativeness and tradition. We just adore their duet, which has such an adorable companionship to it. We love the moment when Shashi admits that he doesn't have a big car, and Mumtaz says, "No biggie!" Or when the two of them sing that they'll visit home, like good pious children, and then they prostrate themselves on the ground.
5. Pandit Ji Mere Marne Ke Bad (Roti Kapada aur Makaan, 1975)
Roti Kapada aur Makaan has so many excellent songs, but we've decided on this one since it exemplifies all that we love of the entire film: the excellent direction by Manoj Kumar, the way the song captures perfectly the emotional nuances of the characterizations while simultaneously advancing the plot, the characteristically bittersweet irony of the lyrics. We just love the waltzing cinematography - with Aruna's stumbling on one side and Manoj's hiding on the other side. What fluid camerawork! What stark visuals, with stressed-out Manoj's dark, jagged suit (and dark, jagged shelf of hair) cutting sharp lines against the earthy tones around him, while Aruna's sparkling debauchery lurches in and out of the frame. It's so mod and so freaking cool!
4. Khaike Paan Banaraswala (Don, 1978)
What can we say? We agree with Filmi Girl. This was our introduction to Amitabh Bachchan, and what an introduction! With his gangly flailing style, his motley assortment of back-up dancers (we love that big, pot-bellied guy!), and the fact that he's bhaanged out of his brains - it's hilarious! When Amitabh cuts loose, he's an amazing and compelling dancer. And the moment when he's shakes his butt at the camera, turns around and checks that Zeenat and we are watching - priceless.
3. Deewane Hain Deewano Ko (Zanjeer, 1973)
In the early days, we used to trawl through YouTube looking for nice Hindi film songs. This was one of our earliest discoveries - back when we only vaguely knew that Amitabh and Jaya Bachchan were kind of a big deal. We love the set-up of this song: the sexual tension between Amitabh and Jaya's characters is externalized and played out in a love song sung by two completely different people, while the protagonists are symbolically imprisoned by burglar bars and inhibition. We just love it when random characters voice the protagonist's feelings in a story, it feels very Greek chorus. Also, once the beat kicks in, with the camera sweeping up to look at the palm trees swaying in the clear blue sky, and Amitabh and Jaya's angsty glances - just, guh! It really is just a great song.
2. Teri Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi (Suhaag, 1979)
Suhaag is the end-all, be-all masala film for the PPCC, and this might be our favorite song from it. We say "might" because we passionately love every song from Suhaag, but this stands out because all four leads - Shashi Kapoor, Amitabh Bachchan, Rekha and Parveen Babi - get a chance to shine in this quartet about getting the Scrooge-like Shashi Kapoor to agree to marry Parveen. We love the flamboyant Punjabi disguises, the over-the-top choreography and human pyramids, Shashi's grimacing "straight man" act and the fact that it's supposed to be Mumbai, even though it's clearly London. Yeah, Southall dancers!
1. Koi Haseena Jab (Sholay, 1973)
What can we say about this gorgeous slice of heaven? This song was love at first sight for us, and we still haven't gotten over our crush for it. We love the jingling bells, the clopping horse, the clear blue sky and that train, whistling in the distance. We love the easy choreography and stark visuals - such as when Hema snaps the whip and Dharmendra raises his arm, or when Dharmendra sits back on the carriage and indicates the distant train. What aesthetics! What joy!
Friday, 1 August 2008
Fake trailer: Naina (1973) - full-length
Because once is never enough for laddoos, pizza, you-know-what, and fake trailers. Consider our last trailer merely a teaser, something to warm you up for the batshit intensity of Gogol Bordello-fied drama. Because what's better than a good thing? Two good things mashed together!
Specs
Software: the usual
Music: Ultimate by Gogol Bordello
Film: Read the PPCC review! Buy it for yourself! Watch the teaser!
Friday, 23 May 2008
Salaakhen (1975)
Perfect. PERFECT. This was exactly what we needed.
The crazy retro fashion of this film comes full circle and becomes incredibly trendy by today's standards. I mean, they sell those hats in hipster stores.
We bought Salaakhen after seeing the cover for it, wherein one Shashi sits behind bars, while a second Shashi - with HUGE sidebearns and a moustache, no less - seems to lurch drunkenly out of the frame. We know what you're thinking. You're probably thinking what we were thinking: How wonderfully sleazy! Clearly a must-see.
But we've been going through such a bad patch of Shashi movies recently, so we were a little worried too. We couldn't have coped with yet another bad Shashi movie, and especially not a mis-masala-ed movie.
It's Mac, yes! This villainous duo is called Abercrombie & Fitch, since that's clearly where they shop.
So, what a relief when Salaakhen delivered exactly what it was supposed to! Salaakhen comes from a long line of illustrious masala funk. It shares similarities with films like Chori Mera Kaam (1975), Parvarish (1977), Suhaag (1979), Kasme Vaade (1978), Chor Sipahee (1977), Duniya Meri Jeb Mein (1979), and so on. We have such reassuringly familiar tropes as: the prologue wherein loved ones are separated, cops and robbers, courtesans, incredibly awesome retro 70s fashion and interior design, dishoom dishoom, several villains, men in high-heeled platform shoes and - last but most importantly - big, squishy, masala heart. For the seasoned masala viewer, everything falls into place as it should. And we get the added bonuses of disguises which are actually cool, a populist comedy subplot which is actually funny, and action scenes which are charmingly low-fi. Ah! What nostalgia! We were born too late!
Shashi is kickin' it in this movie. And his look was clearly the inspiration for Wolverine. We loved it.
Yes, underneath that wig, behind those big moon glasses, there is Amrish Puri.
Not only that, but the movie smartly uses our favorite filmmaking tropes of the genre: one great song, one reprise of one great song, and one sweet scene which includes an adult reunion of childhood loved ones. All these actually combined to make one great scene, which inspired us to make the soothing blog banner you see above you. The scene is wonderful. In it, Chander (Shashi Kapoor) and Seema (Sulakshana Pandit) are visiting a local fair. Unbeknownst to them, they were childhood sweethearts, but now, as adults, they don't recognize each other. They've been bumping into each other and bonding anyway by the Great Law of Hindi Coincidences.
Standing before the merry-go-rounds and dancing monkeys (or possibly ant-eaters), Seema is reminded of a time long ago (in the prologue, for us viewers) when she and her childhood friend, Raju, used to save their pennies and go to the fair and sing songs together. This song - which is just gorgeous! and a little strange, given that the child actors played it like an adult item number - suddenly comes echoing back in a reprise. With loads of juicy, nostalgic reverb, Seema picks up the old verse: "Dreams of the future were in our eyes; our breaths were perfumed like flowers." Chander, who has gone to buy some peanuts, immediately recognizes the melody and turns to her, stunned.
The kids' sweet and strangely adult song. Note that it's the same kid who played a young Amitabh in Suhaag.
In the present, it slowly dawns on Seema. Note that she is still amidst a lot of whirling movement.
The Raju in Chander awakens.
An excellent tracking shot. "Come, come, let's find some lonely place; oh companion, let's find some lonely place..."
Eventually, Chander calls Seema by her childhood name, "Guddi!" Overwhelmed with joy (are you lovin' it?! the PPCC was EATING IT UP by this point), Seema realizes it is her long-lost Raju after all and exclaims, "Raju!" They embrace, with lots of intense cuddling and happy Guddi Guddi! Raju Raju!s.
"Raju, Raju! Guddi, Guddi!" So happeeee!
Yes. YES!
Their happy reunion is then swiftly broken up by some policemen who are hot on Chander's trail, and the action is back on. But this scene could easily be representative of Why The PPCC Loves Masala (a post coming soon to a PPCC blog near you): a goodly masala movie will take time to let the audience emotionally invest in its characters. Pauses in the action for some heart-string-pulling are not only allowed, but encouraged. Indeed, these prologues seem solely included to give directors an excuse to have one of these "You? YOU!" scenes of recognition, always so satisfying.
In fact, brief time-out for:
End time-out.
Anyway, apart from piercing you with its cutlery-like bliss, Salaakhen has more fun stuff going for it. Shammi Kapoor shows up, quite randomly, as a jolly, red-cheeked Sikh stereotype. "Oh, Anarkali!" Mehmood has a somewhat meatier cameo as a Muslim stereotype and guardian of Shashi. You'd think his over-the-top caricature would be annoying, and yet there was something endearing about it. "Masha'Allah!" The dialogue was hilariously silly at times - such as when Abercrombie and Fitch capture Shashi and greet him with, "Hello, prince! Hello, bastard!" (Side note, but the following gas station explosion is hilarious as well.) And everyone - Shashi, Amrish, Sulakshana, and that poor guy who plays the hapless insurance agent (possibly Ramesh Deo?) - was in visible good-humor. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, and that transmitted onto the screen, so that a relatively workaday film became something quite fun and sweet.
Shaaaammi. Oooh, Anarkali!
Bonus: Shemaroo subtitled the songs! Praise with great praise.
The crazy retro fashion of this film comes full circle and becomes incredibly trendy by today's standards. I mean, they sell those hats in hipster stores.
We bought Salaakhen after seeing the cover for it, wherein one Shashi sits behind bars, while a second Shashi - with HUGE sidebearns and a moustache, no less - seems to lurch drunkenly out of the frame. We know what you're thinking. You're probably thinking what we were thinking: How wonderfully sleazy! Clearly a must-see.
But we've been going through such a bad patch of Shashi movies recently, so we were a little worried too. We couldn't have coped with yet another bad Shashi movie, and especially not a mis-masala-ed movie.
It's Mac, yes! This villainous duo is called Abercrombie & Fitch, since that's clearly where they shop.
So, what a relief when Salaakhen delivered exactly what it was supposed to! Salaakhen comes from a long line of illustrious masala funk. It shares similarities with films like Chori Mera Kaam (1975), Parvarish (1977), Suhaag (1979), Kasme Vaade (1978), Chor Sipahee (1977), Duniya Meri Jeb Mein (1979), and so on. We have such reassuringly familiar tropes as: the prologue wherein loved ones are separated, cops and robbers, courtesans, incredibly awesome retro 70s fashion and interior design, dishoom dishoom, several villains, men in high-heeled platform shoes and - last but most importantly - big, squishy, masala heart. For the seasoned masala viewer, everything falls into place as it should. And we get the added bonuses of disguises which are actually cool, a populist comedy subplot which is actually funny, and action scenes which are charmingly low-fi. Ah! What nostalgia! We were born too late!
Shashi is kickin' it in this movie. And his look was clearly the inspiration for Wolverine. We loved it.
Yes, underneath that wig, behind those big moon glasses, there is Amrish Puri.
Not only that, but the movie smartly uses our favorite filmmaking tropes of the genre: one great song, one reprise of one great song, and one sweet scene which includes an adult reunion of childhood loved ones. All these actually combined to make one great scene, which inspired us to make the soothing blog banner you see above you. The scene is wonderful. In it, Chander (Shashi Kapoor) and Seema (Sulakshana Pandit) are visiting a local fair. Unbeknownst to them, they were childhood sweethearts, but now, as adults, they don't recognize each other. They've been bumping into each other and bonding anyway by the Great Law of Hindi Coincidences.
Standing before the merry-go-rounds and dancing monkeys (or possibly ant-eaters), Seema is reminded of a time long ago (in the prologue, for us viewers) when she and her childhood friend, Raju, used to save their pennies and go to the fair and sing songs together. This song - which is just gorgeous! and a little strange, given that the child actors played it like an adult item number - suddenly comes echoing back in a reprise. With loads of juicy, nostalgic reverb, Seema picks up the old verse: "Dreams of the future were in our eyes; our breaths were perfumed like flowers." Chander, who has gone to buy some peanuts, immediately recognizes the melody and turns to her, stunned.
The kids' sweet and strangely adult song. Note that it's the same kid who played a young Amitabh in Suhaag.
In the present, it slowly dawns on Seema. Note that she is still amidst a lot of whirling movement.
The Raju in Chander awakens.
An excellent tracking shot. "Come, come, let's find some lonely place; oh companion, let's find some lonely place..."
Eventually, Chander calls Seema by her childhood name, "Guddi!" Overwhelmed with joy (are you lovin' it?! the PPCC was EATING IT UP by this point), Seema realizes it is her long-lost Raju after all and exclaims, "Raju!" They embrace, with lots of intense cuddling and happy Guddi Guddi! Raju Raju!s.
"Raju, Raju! Guddi, Guddi!" So happeeee!
Yes. YES!
Their happy reunion is then swiftly broken up by some policemen who are hot on Chander's trail, and the action is back on. But this scene could easily be representative of Why The PPCC Loves Masala (a post coming soon to a PPCC blog near you): a goodly masala movie will take time to let the audience emotionally invest in its characters. Pauses in the action for some heart-string-pulling are not only allowed, but encouraged. Indeed, these prologues seem solely included to give directors an excuse to have one of these "You? YOU!" scenes of recognition, always so satisfying.
In fact, brief time-out for:
Top 5 Scenes of Revelation and Recognition That Recall Tolkien's Phrase "A Joy Like Knives" (Off the Top of Our Heads)
5. Fakira. Shashi and Danny Denzogpa realize they are brothers after the latter pulls the former out from the bottom of the sea (the former having survived underwater for 30 minutes due to yogic breathing). When Shashi comes round, Danny exclaims, "Bhai!" Shashi goes, "Bhai?" Asrani goes, "Yes, bhai. This is your bhai." Shashi goes, "My bhai? Really? My bhai?" Danny goes, "Yes, your bhai." The PPCC goes, "YES YOUR BHAI." And then Shashi goes "AJAY!" and there is much hugging and cuddling.
4. Suhaag. Shashi and Amitabh have already become best friends forever, and then, during the violent dennouement in that godown, that evil guy goes, "He's your bhai!" Shashi goes, "My bhai?" Amitabh goes, "My bhai?" The PPCC goes, "YES YOU ARE BHAI!" They have no time for cuddling, but they do save each other's lives.
3. Aa Gale Lag Jaa. Oooh, a gold one, this one. In the hospital room, Sharmila picks up the photo from the floor: it's her and Shashi! Which means, yes, the little boy in the headcast is your son! After cutting back and forth rapidly between Sharmila and her son, she goes, "Tiny Tim... my son?!" The boy's jaw drops (literally). The PPCC goes, "YES YOUR SON!" And there is much hugging and cuddling (and his paralyzed leg is also healed!).
2. Tashan. Another reason why this film is actually refried masala. When Kareena attempts to get Akshay drunk on the boat (for nefarious, exploitative reasons), and Akshay goes all mushy talking about his long-lost childhood sweetheart, Little Kareena. After the extended insert-a-prologue, the present-day Kareena tearfully exclaims, "I'm your Little Kareena!" Akshay goes, "What?" Kareena goes, "Your Kareena, that's me!" Akshay goes, "Really?" The PPCC goes, "YES! WELL, WE HOPE SO!" And there is much hugging and cuddling.
1. Awaara. Possibly the best childhood reunion EVER. Raj is at Nargis' house, he recognizes her childhood photo, he goes, "Who's this?" She goes, "Me." He goes, "(internal 'holy shit') Please come to my house, I'd like to show you something." She goes, "OK." Fast cut to the same photo, on his wall at home. She turns to him, she goes, "Raju?" He shrugs and smiles. She goes, "And I took you for a thief." He goes, "Not your fault. Lots of people think so. It's my face." JOY LIKE KNIVES.
End time-out.
Anyway, apart from piercing you with its cutlery-like bliss, Salaakhen has more fun stuff going for it. Shammi Kapoor shows up, quite randomly, as a jolly, red-cheeked Sikh stereotype. "Oh, Anarkali!" Mehmood has a somewhat meatier cameo as a Muslim stereotype and guardian of Shashi. You'd think his over-the-top caricature would be annoying, and yet there was something endearing about it. "Masha'Allah!" The dialogue was hilariously silly at times - such as when Abercrombie and Fitch capture Shashi and greet him with, "Hello, prince! Hello, bastard!" (Side note, but the following gas station explosion is hilarious as well.) And everyone - Shashi, Amrish, Sulakshana, and that poor guy who plays the hapless insurance agent (possibly Ramesh Deo?) - was in visible good-humor. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, and that transmitted onto the screen, so that a relatively workaday film became something quite fun and sweet.
Shaaaammi. Oooh, Anarkali!
Bonus: Shemaroo subtitled the songs! Praise with great praise.
Sunday, 11 May 2008
Amar Akbar Anthony (1977)
Amaaaaarakbaaaaarantoneeeeeee.
There's not much left for the PPCC to say on Manmohan Desai's classic extravaganza, Amar Akbar Anthony (or, thanks to the titular song's refrain, as we keep calling it: "Amaaaaarakbaaaaarantoneeeee"). Everyone's already covered every single thing we wanted to say. Carla has already noted the sweetness of Hamko Tumse Ho Gaya, the sweetness of Rishi Kapoor, and Shabana doing laundry. Bollyweird's review has already looked at the narrative structure and the gender issues. And, of course, Philip Lutgendorf's review has basically said everything and anything that the PPCC could have possibly thought was relevant, and done it in a more informed way, too. Not only that! But everyone seems to have screencapped the same scenes, so even that we could not give you!
Well, goodness, the PPCC fretted. Maybe we shouldn't even review this movie!?
But then we thought, NO, we cannot deny our loyal readership a movie review simply because we're not the first ones to gush about it. Similarly, we've recently ordered a ton of really obscure Shashi movies (justifiably, by the looks of 'em), so we'll have ample untreaded territory to tread soon enough. Ergo, voila.
Rrrrright!
Amar Akbar Anthony is the story of three brothers, separated as children: Amar, Akbar, and Anthony. By a series of circumstances that only Manmohan Desai, in his infinite genius, could cook up, each boy has been raised by someone of a different religion. Eldest son Amar is raised by a Hindu policeman, and he becomes the usual upright, middle class maintainer of mainstream Hindu India played ironically by current BJP politician, Vinod Khanna (see Prof. Lutgendorf's review for lots more interesting stuff on the whole religious majority/minority issue). Middle son Anthony is raised by a Catholic priest, and he becomes a super-trendy (like SUPER SUPER trendy), super-rascally, Anglicized, Goanized Amitabh Bachchan. This movie is worth its price alone for Amitabh's performance. The third son, Akbar, is raised by a Muslim tailor, and he too becomes a stereotype of his religious minority: a passionate romancer Insha'Allah-ing left and right, also SUPER SUPER trendy, and a bad-ass qawwali singer, played by a (surprisingly lovable! more below) Rishi Kapoor.
The trio's parents are - of course - the inimitable, the wonderful, the perfection on celluloid PRAN (!!!), and Nirupa Roy. Did Nirupa Roy ever not play a mother? Discuss.
OMG! You make Pran suffer? You pay!!
One of our favorite moments: these two are so stylish!
The trio's religious-appropriate heroines are: plucky Neetu Singh for Akbar/Rishi (of course), gorgeous Anglicized bombshell Parveen Babi for Anthony/Amitabh (of course), and comes-already-domesticated good Indian wife Shabana Azmi for Amar/Vinod (yeah, Shabinod!). Alas, unsurprisingly, the heroines are given little to do apart from get into trouble and be rescued.
Any masala fan will know that despite the film's wildly veering path, we are sure to end up at a dennouement which involves fisticuffs, villains getting their comeuppance, and the family's reunion. So what can the PPCC say that hasn't already been said? Well, not much. But we'll try. Here goes:
1. Have you ever noticed that Rishi Kapoor's camera is really awesome?
Why, Rishi, is that a Lubitel in your hand or are you just happy to see me?
2. OMG but have you ever noticed that Rishi Kapoor is super trendy and super awesome in this?
Rishi, you are KICKIN' it.
Maybe we were wrong about Rishi. The first time we saw him (in Kabhi Kabhie), we hated him with a passion. Then we saw him in Fanaa and softened considerably, figuring it was just because he was more suited as a father figure than a romantic hero. He impressed us mightily in Duniya Meri Jeb Mein, but we still thought he looked like an idiot. But mayhap anyone would look like an idiot next to the fire of the Shash.
Ergo, what a pleasant surprise to see how fashionably awesome Rishi is in this! Apart from being an infinitely lovable, infinitely sweet bad-ass, his wardrobe also stands the test of time very well. Sure, Amitabh's kicking it in Coptic crosses and leather jackets and floppy hats, but at times he seems a little ridiculous. But Rishi! With his pencil-thin moustache and mad hair and floral-patterned see-through shirts. OMG he looks FAB! We don't mean that ironically, we mean that genuinely!
3. OMG they just mentioned the World Bank?!
Did they really mean the World Bank?! THE World Bank?! Did the movie just suddenly acquire an incredibly contextual, realist detail?!
4. Hey, so Vinod is super-fit.
Vinod challenges Amitabh.
Amitabh agrees to the challenge.
Check out his bod. Yeah.
And we love that he kicks ass. Sure, it's also because he's the eldest son and ergo it is proper that he kick even lambu Amitabh's ass, but, actually, we've never seen Vinod lose in a fight. Consider: he is introduced to us as a fighting man whose brawny skills impress Amitabh in Muqaddar ka Sikandar; even Shashi cannot sway Vinod from his path in Chor Sipahee when Shashi smashes a chair on Vinod's head - to no effect!
5. PRAN!!!
PRAN!!!
6. Consider Hamko Tumse Ho Gaya, our favorite song, as an exploration of typical romantic ideals.
In this song, the three brothers have fallen in love with their respective heroines. Though they all say basically the same thing, the brother's language reflects their upbringing: Christian Anthony using English phrases (including our favorite: "God promise, main saach bola huun!"), Hindu Amar using Sanscritized-sounding Hindi and swearing by Ram, and Muslim Akbar favoring Urdu words and a cool qawwali beat.
But apart from the narrative structure, each brother represents a stereotypical "love" ideal appropriate to their status in the family. Older brother Amar's ideal is domestic bliss; he reads a book in the hammock, she takes the laundry in. Middle brother Anthony gets the highly cliché romantic love: horse-drawn carriage, sunset, beach. And meanwhile, baby brother Akbar gets a muppety, raucous, joyous puppy-love ideal: cavorting with Neetu atop a moving train.
Whatever your preference, you are satisfied! The PPCC personally prefers Shabinod's set-up, because you can have fun cavorting atop trains with anyone, but domestic bliss comes only with real, honest-to-God love. Remember, our favorite scene in Swayamvar was when Shashi and Moushimi enter domestic nirvana. Sigh! And indeed, we are not ashamed to admit that we got a bit verklempt during the final bits of Hamko Tujhse.
That's all we got. We hope we've illuminated yet another little corner of this fab movie. And we highly, highly recommend that you just watch it for yourself.
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