Delhi 6 (2009)

Tai: Do you think she's pretty?
Cher: No, she's a full-on Monet.
Tai: What's a monet?
Cher: It's like a painting, see? From far away, it's OK, but up close, it's a big old mess.
-Clueless (1995)

The sprawling, humanist Delhi 6 is a bit of a Monet. Sentimental and impressionistic, it's quite sweet when you step back from it. But, close up, it's a big old mess. The characters, while vivid, are rough sketches, and the tone swings wildly around - one minute, you're laughing, one minute, crying. Oh, the humanity!


Lovely aesthetics though: great poster! But see how busy it is, too?! American, Indian. Hindu, Muslim. Dove, no dove!

If you give up trying to follow a coherent narrative, or being able to predict the emotional cues, it's enjoyable - in particular, its earnest humanism is endearing. Director Rakesh Omprakash Mehra has gone to great lengths to show humanity's light and dark in equal measure. He uses blunt symbolism - the Ramleela festival runs like a leitmotif throughout the meandering narrative, and scenes of Ravana cackling in front of flames are used to punctuate moments of drama. As if that wasn't enough, Mehra also uses the 2001 New Delhi "monkey-man" scare as yet another symbolic parallel of man's "dark nature". Personally, we liked the monkey-man symbolism more - it's certainly the first time we've seen urban lore used in such an innovative, aesthetic way! (That said, some of those Ramleela scenes were pretty spectacular too.)

The film is crowded with characters, each stepping over the other in a bid to get your attention. At the center of it all is American-born NRI Roshan (Abhishek Bachchan), who has brought his ailing grandmother (Waheeda Rehman, how about that!) back to Delhi's Chandni Chowk for her remaining months. But then there's: the aging, broken-hearted, paan-chewing Uncle Ali (Rishi Kapoor), the corrupt and lazy policeman Inspector Ramvijay (Monsoon Wedding's Vijay Raaz, long time no see), the fire-breathing and feisty Dalit Jalebi (Divya Dutta), the warring brothers Jai Gopal (Black Friday's Pavan Malhotra) and Madan Gopal (Om Puri), Madan Gopal's Indian Idol-dreaming daughter Bittu (Sonam Kapoor, daughter of Anil) and...

PHEW. Deep breath.

...the sleazy money-lender (Prem Chopra), the "village idiot" Gobar (Atul Kulkarni), the Muslim paan-wallah with the sensitive cheekbones Mamdu (Deepak Dobriyal), the woeful aging spinster Rama (Aditi Rao), a bunch of super-cheeky kids, a false Hindu sage ("God will make everything okay, okay?!") and loads of other people.


Abhishek Bachchan was his usual Americanized self. Sonam Kapoor was gorgeous, but clearly inexperienced.

This film is about ALL of these people, so you can imagine: there's no space for a story! Everything interweaves, spirals, bumps into and wanders. We see quotidian joys, sorrows, fears. It is to director Mehra's credit that he truly captured the crowded, jostling busyness of one of the most notoriously crowded and busy country's most notoriously crowded and busy neighborhoods. It is also heart-warming to see the mundane, even decrepit aspects of the buildings and our inner selves painted in such loving, compassionate detail.


The fussy detailing of life in Chandni Chowk was great, and thanks for including all the humanity, Mr. Mehra! This was a refreshing change from the lonely, depopulated Chandni Chowk in Black & White, another film which used the neighborhood as a harmonious communalism-free, casteism-free, ism-ism-free microcosm of India.

However, this enormous canvas also works to Mehra's detriment: it's just too large. While a sense of humor is great, sometimes the bittersweet, humorous undertones undermined moments of serious drama. And the symbolism was also often bluntly vocalized: we get it, sir, we get it!

For example, there's a scene when the daydreaming Bittu laments her inability to break free from the confines of her conservative home: the arranged marriage, the predetermined traditionalist life. Already likened to a dove in the earlier song Masakali, the characters then directly vocalize the parallels: just like the dove, Masakali, had her wings tied by the loving, overprotective Madan Gopal, so too is Bittu tied by the loving, overprotective Madan Gopal. Sheesh. A less sledgehammer-like scene (though still pretty blunt) was when Madan Gopal arranges Bittu's marriage at the moneylender's: the men interlace their conversation with a discussion on selling cars, while a television blares the latest stock exchange announcements. There were some scarce moments when Mehra's touch was lighter - such as when the feuding Madan Gopal and Jai Gopal are likened, via only a few lyrics and tasteful cuts, to the feuding Ram and Lakshman, or when the aggressive female politician is likened to Durga. But alas, these moments are all too rare. We even get a West Side Story-style final monologue, complete with a "moral of the story". Oh, the humanity indeed!

In conclusion: impressionism is nice, but it's also nice in small doses. Next time - and our previews included the most excellent-looking trailer for Vishal Bharadwaj's Kameenay, starring a sleazified Shahid Kapoor - we'd like something a bit more humble in scope and clear-sighted in vision. As an occasional treat, this will do.

Mashaal (1984)

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


The original angry tapori kid.

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

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

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


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


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

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

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


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


Awww, Dilip! Awww, Waheeda!

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

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

Ghungroo (1983)

The classy, retro title.

We loved Ghungroo (Jingly Anklets; our crappy translation, here's a better one). We loved it so much. As we watched it, we kept having to periodically thrash around and grab our hair and exclaim, "I love this movie!"

It worked on many levels: from enlightened and progressive gender relations (yeah!), to pitch perfect details (yeah yeah!), to beautifully understated and poignant acting from Shashi and Smita (yeah yeah yeah!). Ever since Naseer commented that the tragedy of Shammi is that he never made a great movie, we've been looking for the "great movie" of Shashi's, as well. While it's definitely not perfect, Ghungroo is great!

In the last years of the British Raj, the local Dewan (Chief Minister) Vikram Singh (Shashi Kapoor) stops under the window of a courtesan's parlor and admires her voice. He is hearing the voice of Kesarbai (Smita Patil), your usual, put-upon courtesan of historical Hindi movies. Think Umrao Jaan, Pakeezah, and so forth. Vikram is destined to run into Kesarbai again, when she visits the palace to perform for the young prince's birthday. She does her song and dance thing, and he is absolutely smitten, and they begin an illicit affair, wherein he promises her that he'll release her from the shackles of courtesanliness. Symbolically, he buys her ghungroo and gifts them to her. You are free now!


We liked the super-saturated look of this scene.


Crazy horse stuntery!

Alas, early happiness never bodes well in Hindi films, and soon enough, the evil palace uncle Virat (Ranjeet) connives to ruin their plans. When he tells the Queen Mother (Waheeda Rehman) what her Minister and the courtesan are planning, the Queen promptly marries Vikram off to the fresh-from-London Princess Priya (Padmini Kapila, wearing hideous contact lens). In one of our favorite and most painful scenes of the film, Kesarbai arrives at the palace, all ready for the engagement ceremony, only to find Vikram engaged to someone else and waiting to bind her in the ghungroo again.

We have to pause and exclaim: this scene was lump-in-the-throat perfection! It combines some of our favorite things about Hindi cinema - the painfully beautiful courtesan's ghazal, terrible irony, and Shashi Kapoor (in pearl earrings, no less!) - and executes it all wonderfully. The underplayed, mute despair of Shashi and Smita, juxtaposed against the melodramatic music! The symbolism of the ghungroo - shackles of gendered slavery! The mirrored helplessness in Shashi's character, also bound by traditions and conservatism!

It's just so vicious and wonderful!

We love LOVED this song. You can watch it on YouTube, contextless and lacking the most excellent introduction. But at least you can see the wonderful moment when Smita shakes the ghungroo in Shashi's face - so aggressive and furious at their combined disempowerment!


Eff you, patriarchal society. Eff frickin' you.

Tearing ourselves away: after Vikram is married off to Princess Contact Lens, Kesarbai gives birth to a baby girl. Her long-time admirer, the manly Suraj (Suresh Oberoi, father of Viveik), shelters her and her daughter as if they were his family. Meanwhile, Princess Contact Lens, knowing that her lovely Shashi's heart is already spoken for, takes to self-destructive drinking and driving, which leads to her death.


Scary Princess Contact Lens. Just look at them!


Prince Peach Fuzz reminded us a lot of Paul Atreides from David Lynch's Dune in that outfit. Fear is the mindkiller! Check out Shashi's adorable This Is My 'No Comment' Face and Waheeda's bug-eyed conservatism.

Fast forward ten or fifteen years. The young prince is now a strapping Rajkumar (Kunal Goswami), all gangly tall and peach fuzz moustache. Rajkumar is a likable, easygoing sort who doesn't see all the fuss with royal pomp and class/caste distinctions. Meanwhile, Vikram and Kesarbhai and Suraj's daughter has grown up into the plucky Renu (Komal). Renu is an ass-kicking heroine. In another one of our favorite scenes, she is on her way to college when she encounters a little girl fearfully hiding behind the bushes. The girl is hiding from a young loutish type who harasses the girls on the way to school. Renu promptly confronts him and, literally, kicks his ass. This scene is great! Shashi spots her from the royal car and quickly gets out to congratulate her on asserting her girl power. He offers to reward her with something, and she asks only for some fatherly blessings, which naturally provoked some verklempt-ness on both Shashi and the PPCC's part.


If the anklets are a symbol of female disempowerment, the bangles are a symbol of asserting modernity and independence.


In the movie's weirdest symbolism, Rajkumar fights off some goons after sticking a rigid pole in his pants. He then literally drops it after meeting his potential father-in-law.

Anyway, as is expected, progressive and empowered Rajkumar and Renu fall in love. The rest of the film is about crashing through societal barriers, conquering obstinate traditionalism and classism, and, of course, kicking Ranjeet's butt. The second half of the film has a considerably lighter tone than the first half, but don't worry, none of the original seriousness is undermined and it's great throughout.

We liked so much about this movie. It was with great pleasure that we watched the shackled Vikram and Kesarbhai find their belated freedom in the younger generation - what a hopeful message and touching narrative structure! The overall gender relations were also fascinating and positive: the most powerful figure is a woman (the Queen Mother), and our sympathetic heroes - Vikram, Suraj and Rajkumar - constantly struggle to get those damned ghungroo off of Kesarbhai! In the end, even caste-ism/classism is targeted, and Rajkumar (literally) opens the palace doors to the proletarian masses and ushers in a more democratic form of government.

In terms of performances, Smita and Shashi really make this film. Their scenes together underline the entire narrative with emotional investment and believability - you want them to be happy, and you suffer when they do. Although the younger couple - Kunal Goswami and Komal - are likable, Smita and Shashi are incredible. Smita's best scene, we think, is all that surrounding Tohfa Qabool Hai. It's the only time in the film when we see her carefully concealed anger and hurt, and it's so powerful! OMG we felt so horrible for her as well in this scene - all dressed up for the wedding and ready to go. We've watched the scene repeatedly, and every single time we get verklempt when she puts the ghungroo back on.

Shashi - who normally gets relegated to super-objectified "fine, plastic doll" status at the PPCC - earned our respect big time in this role. It was interesting to see him playing his usual bourgeoise icon, and yet be visibly so disempowered. He was wonderfully subtle - such as when he was in the background, visibly muffling a smile at something the Rajkumar would say - but his best scene, most definitely, was the long-awaited Reunion Scene. We listed the Best Reunion Scenes in our review of Salaakhen, but Smita and Shashi's reunion in Ghungroo might be topping the list at #1 or #2.


Getting verklempt again! Middle-aged love is so touching, and so rarely explored. "Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch of the ranged empire fall! Here is my space. Kingdoms are clay." - appropriate for this film, wethinks.


We didn't think Shashi could improve on his fab ability to register shock. But he did. Oh yes. He definitely did.

We smiled when we saw the IMDb ratings for Ghungroo - apparently it's a big hit among women. That might be expected, given that it's a pro-feminist (FINALLY) parable using a historical romance framework. If any of you PPCCers out there have seen this, we'd love to discuss this further as we really could go on and on and on...!

Sawaal (1982)

A splendid shot of our beloved Shashi.

You can measure the Golden Age of Masala's rise and fall using two yardsticks:

1. The length of Shashi Kapoor's hair.
2. The girth of Shashi Kapoor's stomach.

As the hair gets longer and the physique gets svelter, you can rest assured that you are striking gold. But if you're starting to notice Shashi's wobbly lovehandles or wibbly jowls, and his hair's all short and tame, then it's likely that you've hit something post-1978 and the genre is in decline. Woe unto you.

In 1982's Sawaal (The Question), Shashi is lookin' old and he's lookin' tired. Like Namak Halaal, released the same year, Sawaal is an attempt at one last wheezy huzzah before the beautiful masalaness of 1970s Bollywood fully expired. Goodbye, beautiful decade! Sawaal, however, has none of Namak Halaal's self-referential good humor. Instead, it is lugubrious, almost dirge-like, inevitably provoking in the seasoned masala veteran a sharp nostalgia for the days of yore.

Sigh.

It is practically a rehash of Trishul, made five years earlier, except one key component - Amitabh Bachchan and his angry young man alter ego - is conspicuously missing. Another component which is missing is Shashi's usual joie de vivre. This is a problem. With one notable exception, overly serious Shashi Kapoor roles either fall really flat or fall outside of Bollywood altogether. It's not that he's incapable of projecting depth. It's just that there was always a healthy dose of optimism to balance things out. Even when faced with moral tangles on the job or rendered temporarily blind, Shashi always came out smiling (well, eventually). Yet in Sawaal, even his rare smiles seem strained.


Recognize something?


Randhir alternates between channeling his younger brother Rishi and channeling his father Raj.


The most bad-ass scene.

OK, OK, the plot: straight-laced cop, Ravi Malhotra (the Shash), tracks smugglers during weekdays and frollics in the park with his girlfriend, Sonia (Poonam Dhillon), on the weekends. Unbeknownst to them, Sonia's father, Dhanpatrai (Sanjeev Kumar), is a big-time smuggler. But no one knows - not even Dhanpatrai's loyal wife, Anju (Waheeda Rehman...?!), or his boisterous son, Vicky (Randhir Kapoor). When Ravi proposes to Sonia, the family is eager to meet him. But slowly this house of cards crumbles, as real identities are revealed, lives are lost, and, as Al once said, when he tries to get out, they pull him back in!


A bad-ass shot.


Shashi kicks it kung fu style...


...and kicks it retro style. Yeah, man!

So it's basically Trishul, except nephew Randhir is playing the usual Shashi spoiled-son role, and Shashi is playing Amitabh's usual hard-edged bringer of justice. Sanjeev Kumar looks like he just wandered off the Trishul set: identically floppy silver hair, cigarette holder, big glasses. In a pleasant surprise, however, Sanjeev kicks butt in Sawaal. Not only does he look quite fit in his white suits and rhinestone-encrusted bowties, but he's also honed the Good Or Possibly Deceitful OK No Really Good archetype to razor-sharp perfection. He's great: from laconic evil in the beginning to, well, laconic good in the end. You go, Sanjeev!

The film also shares some similarities with Kasme Vaade and Chor Sipahee in that there's a strong Christian undercurrent. Themes of forgiveness, prodigal fathers and martyrdom run amock while blunt Christian symbols look on: check out the wall furnishings in Dhanpatrai's office (Orthodox Christian paintings), or the crucial meeting-place between Dhanpatrai and Ravi (see below).


Note Sanjeev's trim physique and super shiny silver hair. Note Shashi's unflattering shirt.

Despite the funebreal air of glory gone by, the filmmaking is actually quite crisp. The narrative moves along well - indeed, the plot bulldozes this film along without pause for some fun or some heart - with especially effective cross-cutting used here and there (e.g. Shashi kicking some dude's butt on a train, while Randhir sings his initial love ballad). The sets also looked surprisingly hip in a non-ironic way, with narry a tacky accessory to be found (OK, Sanjeev's rhinestone bowtie was a bit much... but we loved it!). And we should also note that this was the first (!) masala movie where the action actually made our heart stop! Very thrilling.

Yet even these moments of action, these moments of trendy art prints up on the wall, cannot rescue the film from itself. The final fight - as usual, a free-for-all with little bearing on the plot or characterization - seems slowed down to the point that we could just imagine the actor counting the beats under their breath, "1... 2... I move here now."


Helen has a cameo.

Apart from the sad Shashi and the super Sanjeev, the rest of the cast is as expected: Waheeda Rehman is too good to be in this film, Randhir Kapoor not only hams but channels his father hamming, Phoonam Dillon is forgettable, and Mac Mohan is DA BOOOMBZ. The songs are likewise forgettable, though, again, the cross-cutting makes them pretty spectacular in terms of narrative drive. We especially enjoyed the one scene where a character declares that Shashi must die, and we immediately fast-cut to Shashi and Phoonam in the forest, with Shashi singing, "I live and I die, and I lo-o-ove you." Yeah, irony!

Teesri Kasam (1966)

Hiraman (Raj Kapoor) and Hira Bai (Waheeda Rehman). Note Hiraman's reverential position.

Teesri Kasam (The Third Vow), a gentle and melancholy film, is the perfect companion on a quiet evening at home. And its sweet and simple story resonates with the viewer long after its completion. The PPCC could not help thinking how much Hindi cinema has regressed since the Raj Kapoor days, since - like Awaara - this film is more sensitively presented and intelligently executed than anything recent we've seen (including the Parallel Cinema films!). Of course, like many an excellent Hindi film, Teesri Kasam bombed and apparently led to the producer's financial ruin. See how the populists punish!


Raj Kapoor looked cute with ruffled hair. But it was a bit hard to buy that he was an ignorant peasant. I mean, look at those intelligent eyebrows!

Somewhere in rural India, a cart driver, Hiraman (Raj Kapoor), is caught transporting illegal goods. He narrowly escapes imprisonment and makes his first vow: never to transport illegal goods again. Later, he takes a job transporting bamboo, and this leads to an unfortunate accident with another cart. After being beaten by the other cart drivers, Hiraman makes his second vow: never to transport bamboo again. One evening, a man approaches Hiraman with the request to transport a bundle for him some 30 km. Hiraman assures himself it's neither illegal nor bamboo-made, and agrees. That "bundle" turns out to be Hira Bai (Waheeda Rehman), an actress and nautanki dancer. Both Hiraman and Hira Bai are curious about each other, with Hira Bai clearly having the upper hand in terms of smarts and wordliness. Yet Hiraman's naivete and good nature charms Hira Bai, who asks him about his family and his home and, when discovering the similarity in their names (they both have hira, or "diamond", in their name), declares Hiraman her meeta (companion, best friend). Furthermore, what Hiraman may lack in education he makes up in emotional depth; Hira Bai is soon taken by Hiraman's genuine goodness and fab ability to sing evocative songs.


The famous Duniya Banane Wale song being a good example. Who wouldn't be taken in by this? Sigh, oh, Raj Kapoor.

Eventually, after thirty hours together in which a true bond has been formed, they arrive at the fair, Hira Bai's destination. She invites him to watch her theatre troupe perform, and while Hiraman is coy - his sister-in-law expressly forbids him from watching nautanki - eventually he gives in, too awe-struck by the hustle and bustle of the fair to say no. But as Hiraman watches each evening's performance, he is slowly woken up to some grisly realities: namely, that Hira Bai's work verges on prostitution for many onlookers. Jealousy and intensity ensue, as it's clear Hiraman and Hira Bai are actually falling in L-word. Their already impossible dreams are further crushed when the local landlord and thakur, Vikram Singh (Iftikhar, OF ALL PEOPLE!), solicits Hira Bai. We'll let you see how it pans out, but the titular "third vow" of Hiraman is heart-breaking.


By this point in the film, we were feeling very emo.


Iftikhar as a villain for once! Hiss!


Woe. Woe.

How far away this is from the mainstream Hindi melodrama! A plot like this could have been severely simplified and mishandled, yet - thanks greatly to the subtle performances of Raj Kapoor and Waheeda Rehman - the film is flushed with emotional realism. There are beautiful, carefully-handled details (e.g. Hiraman touching Hira Bai's shawl when the latter bathes) which are never milked more than they should be. The result is a relationship which is both very compelling but also very believable. Readers of the PPCC will recognize that this relationship resembles that other City Girl-Country Bumpkin pair from Jab Jab Phool Khile, released a year before. Yet whereas JJPK's Raj and Rita are stylized charicatures, Hiraman and Hira Bai are real, three-dimensional people. (Thankfully, the Hiras also lack that weird undercurrent of patronizing-ness that JJPK's lovers had.) The relationship is also thankfully not used to advance any social agendas, unlike JJPK which glorified the rural narrow-mindedness at the expense of anything progressive. Teesri Kasam offers an even-handed and sympathetic portrayal of rural India, but it also recognizes how the constraints of rural India can lead to much suffering on the protagonists' part.

Another highly enjoyable factor was the enlightened gender relations. So far, this is the second Raj Kapoor film (after Awaara) we've seen where the woman is naturally equal to the man (if not a bit smarter, ha!) and it is only social constraints which bind her. Indeed the poignancy of Teesri Kasam comes from Hira Bai's difficult position: their relationship can't survive in a society where being a dancer and being a respectable married woman are mutually exclusive. But, positively, it is Hira Bai who chooses her destiny, painful as it may be, in contrast to the numerous other filmi heroines who have their destiny thrust upon them. Hiraman is likewise penned in by his ignorance and poverty; he is no match for the moneyed power of the local thakur. His slow realization of this is agonizing to watch.


Fab shot.