Filmi Geek

Half Ticket (1962)

I don't think I can give a more fitting synopsis of this adorable madcap comedy than the one on the box of my Ultra DVD, which begins thus:  "Vijay (Kishore Kumar) was born reverse.  Seth Lalchand, a millionaire business magnate of Jubbalpur, who fathered this abnormal addition to mankind, began suffering its chain reactions right from the day Vijay acquired mobility with the postures of a quadruped.  Years later, when Vijay was skipping about rather too vivaciously on his hind legs, his antics and acorabaties (sic) were immeasurably greater than those normally found in the average biped animals."  The movie makes a little more sense than that - only a little - but it matters not at all, as Kishore Kumar's limitless zany energy, Madhubala's irresistible charm, and several absolutely superb songs combine to make Half Ticket a delightful and hysterical ride.

Vijay (Kishore Kumar) is a relentless troublemaker.  His antics get him kicked out of college, and when they embarrass his father (Moni Chatterjee), they get him kicked out his home as well.  Left to fend for himself, he decides to head for Bombay by train.  To con his way into a reduced fare "half ticket," Vijay dresses as a young boy and poses as an arrested development case, and caromes around as a zany man-child.  A jewel thief on the lam from police, Raja (Pran), sneaks a stolen diamond into Vijay's pocket, thinking that Vijay, an apparent mental patient, will be easy to manipulate and recover the diamond from.  Trying to escape from Raja, Vijay meets a performer named Asha (Madhubala), who also goes by Rajni, and charms her into protecting him.  Asha's marriage-obsessed aunt (Manorama) sees a match between Vijay and Asha too good to resist.  But just when Asha begins to fall for this peculiar fellow, Raja and his girlfriend Lily (Shammi), scheming to recover their stolen diamond, interfere to set Asha against Vijay. 

So much for the story, which is light, improbable, and totally beside the point.  The point, rather, is Kishore Kumar horsing around, donning goofy costumes, making silly noises, and just generally being funny.  And he delivers many laughs indeed, both on his own and with the help of the rest of the cast.  Sometimes the shouting-and-slapstick variety of Indian comedy doesn't work on me, but Kishore Kumar brings a transcendent ability to the screen - his wild flailing is utterly manic, yet he performs with perfect physical control.  He really is a riot. It's difficult to choose just a few scenes to highlight, but some of the best include a scene in which Vijay squirms away from Lily's aggressive grab-ass tactics as she tries to pluck the purloined diamond from his rear pocket.  Another comes in the form of a magnificent song, "Aake sidhi lagi," in which Vijay (fleeing from Raja), and Raja (fleeing from police), stumble into a gypsy camp, don costumes, and perform a love song together.  This song really has to be seen to be believed - you have not lived until you have seen Pran and Kishore romancing each other. 

(click for full size awesomness)

Madhubala is good with physical comedy too, and Asha's reactions to Vijay's antics are delightful.  There is something ineffably charming in watching a poised and competent young woman like Half Ticket's Asha (or Nutan in Dilli ka Thug, whose character is also called Asha) slowly and incredulously falling, against her better judgment, for one of Kishore's completely loonytunes characters.  Madhubala is masterful - and delicious - with facial expressions, especially in her two delightful songs with Kishore, like "Aankhon mein tum."  There are not enough superlatives to describe how beautiful Madhubala is in songs like this one.  And speaking of mastery of facial expressions, Half Ticket offers a generous helping of Manorama at her best as well, especially in the film's climax, where she drives a crane from which poor Vijay is dangling. 

On reflection, it occurs to me that Half Ticket offers less in the way of substance than other Kishore comedies I've seen - Chalti ka naam gaadi has a lot more going on, and even Dilli ka thug has a mild social context (the villains are purveyors of tainted medicine).  No matter - Half Ticket is chock full of deliciousness, laughs, and absolutely amazing songs - I can't neglect to mention "Woh ek nigah", which features Helen conspiring to protect Vijay from Raju.  (How can you not love a  movie that has not just one, but two Pran songs?)  Some of the humor is even a little less broad - there is very comical dialogue (including one great scene where Vijay scares away a pandit intent on finding him a bride), and some wonderful sight gags as well - look for the moment in "Woh ek nigah" where Raju pulls off Vijay's fake mustache, and Vijay reaches into his pocket to pull out a fresh one.  With all of this going for it, Half Ticket is naturally an instant favorite.

More screencappy goodness - once again, as always, click to enlarge.

Woh Ek Nigah Kya MiliWoh

Junglee (1961)

जंगली

An unabashed Shammi Kapoor star vehicle, Junglee ("savage", "wild") is mostly uncomplicated by usual masala elements such as babies switched at birth, long-lost relatives, and the like. Instead, it is a rather simplistic but entertaining story about the power of love, with a message of populism tossed in for good measure. 

Shekhar (Shammi Kapoor), a very serious young man, returns from studies abroad to take over his family business.  His mother (Lalita Pawar) is even more stern than he.  She raised him in the shadow of his deceased father, forbidding laughter and merriment of any kind from their household.  She intends for Shekhar to marry a princess (Azra) to whom he was betrothed as a boy, though unbeknownst to her, the princess's family has become destitute and turned to cons and ruses to get by.  Shekhar's sister Mala (Shashikala), a lively girl who chafes against the household strictures imposed by their mother, is secretly married to one of Shekhar's employees, Jeevan (Anoop Kumar).  While they don't know of the marriage, Shekhar and his mother know that something is up with Mala.  To set her right, they send her on a jaunt to Kashmir under Shekhar's watchful eye.  In Kashmir, Mala gets some startling news - and Shekhar finds his tense heartstrings finally loosened when he falls in love with a local girl (Saira Banu) who happens to be named Rajkumari (meaning "princess" - misunderstandings naturally ensue).  Now all Shekhar has to do is convince his mother that his new-found love and joy is more important than her stale, ancient, and joyless family principles.

Wild gyrations and mad physical antics mark Shammi Kapoor's performances through the 1960s.  Yet Junglee is the only movie I can think of where these are actually explained by the plot.  In the movie's first half, Shekhar is mean and unsmiling, but he is anything but stiff.  His face and body contort in rage as he berates his terrified employees or scolds his sister.   He seems a caricature of his father Prithviraj Kapoor at his most constipated, as in Awara. There is undeniable cleverness in using a character's pathological absence of humor for comic effect, and it works - the physical comedy of the first half of Junglee delivers plenty of laughs.  And when Shekhar finally cuts loose with a wild "Yahoooo!" during the film's jubilant title song, the manic excess almost makes sense - after all, it's the first time in his life he's felt or expressed joy. 

Saira Banu is surprisingly appealing as well, here in her debut role.  I've seen a couple of her later films (such as Padosan) and never found much to like about her, but here she brings a good balance of charm to the table, and is playful and clever without too much dimple-poking ingenuity.  (If Rajkumari had been played by Sharmila Tagore, Junglee might be one of my favorite films - but fortunately I've got Kashmir ki kali.)  The movie wrings a few touching moments out of young Rajkumari teetering on the brink of womanhood.  Her song on the subject, "Ja ja ja mere bachpan," is sweet despite being overloaded with thin dupatta-flinging symbolism.  The song follows what might be my favorite moment of the film; it is a lovely brief scene that perfectly captures Rajkumari's transitional child-woman nature - she takes a long, serious look at herself in a mirror, before sticking out her tongue and running away. 

The rest of the characters are fairly well-rendered as well.  Shashikala is very charming as the beleaguered sister trying to make a life for herself despite being trapped in the house of unmirth.  Anoop Kumar's star may not have soared a fraction as high as that of either of his brothers, but I think he's a cuteypie.  And Lalita Pawar is appropriately over-the-top as Shekhar's elitist, joyless mother.  She is almost unbearably stern; it is difficult not to roll your eyes when she delivers a literal "over my dead body" speech when Shekhar announces his intent to marry Rajkumari.  The burden of the film's anti-classism message falls squarely on her shoulders - her obsession with not being common is the driving force of the plot, and she is the one who must be convinced of the film's two messages.  The first is that regular folk can be honorable, while well-bred folk can be crooks and schemers.  The second, of course, is that love and laughter must always win the day.  That's a lot of substantive resolution for a broad caricature to carry, but Lalita Pawar has ample presence to pull it off. 

In short, Junglee offers a better-than-average masala sort of story, delivered by an appealing cast, with the attention to visual style that make so many movies of the 1960s satisfying on multiple levels.  (For example, one shot draws your attention to a fabulous wall clock in the shape of a sunny-side egg.)  As if that's not enough, there is a vaguely Flamenco-inspired Helen song on a magnificent set, a giant artist's palate with a Van Gogh backdrop.  It's hard to ask much more from an afternoon with a movie. 

 

Waqt (1965)

वक़्त

I love 1960s Bollywood, with its grand homages to modern style and its riffs on the tension between tradition and modernity.  My favorite Hindi films of that era delight me with their heady fusion of East and West - not to mention stars in cigarette pants dancing the Mashed Potato or driving flashy mod roadsters, and sets decked out in elaborate mood-lit pastels.  And for a generous helping of all of these, the multi-star hit Waqt ("time") absolutely delivers.  

Lala Kedarnath (Balraj Sahni) is on top of the world.  With a booming retail business, a beautiful wife Laxmi (Achala Sachdev) whom he adores, and three adorable little boys, Kedarnath believes that fate has dealt him a winning hand, and life will only get better.  But, the film tells us in the opening voice-over, time's "moving finger" has other plans for Kedarnath.  A terrible earthquake destroys Kedarnath's business, and his family is scattered in its aftermath.  Laxmi wanders through refugee camps with their youngest son, eventually finding work as a seamstress, and the boy Vijay grows into a serious young graduate (Shashi Kapoor).  The middle son is taken in by a wealthy childless couple, growing into Ravi (Sunil Dutt), a playful young man on the threshold of a career in law.  The oldest son Raja, after a brief stint in an orphanage run by a cruel schoolmaster (Jeevan), escapes to a life on the streets.  Taken under the wing of a crooked diamond dealer named Chinoy (Rehman), Raja matures to become a suave hustler (Raaj Kumar).  After learning of Raja's treatment at the orphanage, Kedarnath murders the schoolmaster in a fit of rage and frustration, and spends upwards of twenty years in prison.  But destiny works toward reuniting the star-crossed family.  Raja and Ravi both fall for the same girl, Meena (Sadhana), the beautiful daughter of an upstanding jurist.  And Ravi's adoptive sister Renu (Sharmila Tagore) meets the studious Vijay in school and pursues a romance with him.  Vijay, eager to earn some money to help the ailing Laxmi (and to be worthy of Renu), takes a job as Chinoy's driver.  Soon, Chinoy's shady dealings bring the three unknown brothers together, with lives hanging in the balance.

The box cover of the Waqt DVD claims that the film is a pioneering multi-starrer that defined the Yash Chopra style for decades to come.  I can easily believe this.  Waqt is truly enormous in scope, with equal attention given to all its numerous stars.  (Though, I couldn't resist the thought that the movie could have been even more epic had the brothers been played by Shashi, Shammi, and Raj Kapoor.)  Even the parents get a song of their own, the beautiful qawwali "Ae meri zohra jabeen", picturized on a dashing Balraj Sahni and a blushing Achala Sachdev. 

The movie's ultimate message is that the wheel of fortune never stops turning, and even its happy ending is tempered by Kedarnath's somber reminder that joy in the moment is only fleeting, and luck can change in an instant.  In addition to that sobering idea, such themes as destiny, sacrifice, familial devotion, and transcending of class barriers that characterize many Yash Chopra (and, later, Aditya Chopra) films are amply explored in Waqt as well.  Young Vijay is prepared to sacrifice his career prospects, his love for Renu, and even his principles to save his ailing mother - and his piety protects both of them, in grand dramatic style, when he breaks down after swearing on a copy of the Bhagavadgita.  Ravi initially turns up his nose at Vijay, telling him that a driver should know his place - but he is set straight by a chastisement from the democratically-minded Renu.  Even the hardened Raja is not immune from the pull of fraternal responsibility, willingly laying everything he values (including Meena) at the feet of Ravi when he learns of their true relation.  Three decades before Karan Johar made a film under the Yash Raj banner, Waqt was all about loving your family.  

Even more than that, though, Waqt is about epitomizing the visually sumptuous style of its time.  In a competition that feels almost prescient of American Graffiti, Raja and Ravi drag-race their tiny convertibles with high mid-century elan.  Vijay and Renu's adorable dockside song "Din hai bahaar ke" exemplifies the style as well.  From Meena's colorful outfits to the lavish decor of her home, from Raja's tailored tuxedos to Ravi's cigarette pants and V-neck sweaters, every lovingly-composed scene in Waqt is packed full of mod.  The screen capture at the top of this post offers a taste, and while I don't normally use a lot of screen captures in my posts, it's unfair to Waqt not to, so here are a few more (click to see them larger).  

Brahmachari (1968)

ब्रह्मचारी

As Shammi Kapoor vehicles and stylish 1960s movies go, Brahmachari ("celibate man," also the main character's name) is not the most memorable exemplar of either category, compared to gems like Teesri manzil or Kashmir ki kali.  For the most part, it is a series of entertaining set-pieces knit together fairly loosely.  Supplemented by a terrific soundtrack and entertaining supporting cast, though, Brahmachari is a satisfying enough movie for smiling away a rainy afternoon. 

The young man who calls himself Brahmachari (Shammi Kapoor) has opened his house to a passel of orphaned children.  He devotes his life to caring for them and finding ways to provide for them - whether by selling his photographs to the newspaper, singing in a nightclub, or sweet-talking the landlord (Asit Sen) into giving them a break on the rent and an extra Rs. 200 besides.  When he comes across Sheetal (Rajshree) on the brink of drowning herself in the sea, he has a new waif to care for.  The source of Sheetal's distress is her rejection by the rich playboy Ravi Khanna (Pran), to whom she was engaged to marry when both were children.  Observing that Ravi's tastes run to westernized sorts of women, Brahmachari offers Sheetal a complete makeover, giving her a brief education in how to dress, dance, and eat like a modern girl.  The plan works, and Ravi falls for Sheetal - but not before Brahmachari's unique kindness to her and the children begins to turn Sheetals's heart in a different direction.  To get what he wants, the powerful and unscrupulous Ravi stops at nothing to drive a wedge between Sheetal and Brahmachari, and hits Brahmachari where it hurts most - threatening the well-being of the children. 

Brahmachari is an obvious antecedent to Mr. India, which followed it two decades later.  In that film, too, the hero selflessly devotes himself to caring for helpless orphans, and fast-talks his landlord into letting them stay and providing them with favors.  However, where the villains in Mr. India engineer injustice on a grand scale - tainting food supplies in a hostile takeover bid aimed at the nation itself - Brahmachari's injustices are writ smaller.  Nevertheless, there is still a sense of grandness in them, a hint of the struggle between traditional Indian goodness and western wickedness that was so commonly addressed in movies of the 1960s. Sheetal's demureness and Brahmachari's self-sacrifice are presented in sharp relief to the wicked western ways of the libertine Ravi Khanna. Another of Ravi's innocent victims, a girl named Rupa (Mumtaz) whom he married, impregnated, and cast aside, is caught between the two worlds - an innocent victim but also perhaps a cautionary tale.

Whatever there is in the way of broad social theme, though, is not what feels first and foremost as Brahmachari careens from bit to comical bit (including a funny, but too long, comical side plot involving a reformed pick-pocket trying to win over his girlfriend's father).  Shammi Kapoor is in fine form, charming and adorable and somewhat less manic than he is in some other movies (such as his spastic performance in Kashmir ki kali).  His interactions with the children are funny and sometimes very touching, as when he sings them to sleep with the haunting and lovely "Main gaoon tum so jao."  His antics as he investigates Ravi Khanna offer some laughs, too, despite the cringe-inducing blackface disguise he wears.  There's no danger of forgetting it's the 1960s, either, as he shakes it to the superb "Aaj kal tere mere pyaar" with a bee-hived, twisting Mumtaz.

The Pygmalion-esque sequence in which Brahmachari teaches Sheetal to wear western clothes, to dance, and to eat with a fork is good for several laughs too, although one should not think too hard about why he's doing it.  After all, by that point he's had a good look at what sort of a jerk Ravi Khanna really is.  I do wish the Pygmalion aspect of the story had been a stronger thread - there are brief scenes of Sheetal struggling with each of her lessons, but the film jumps to her complete mastery of western self-presentation, and that's all we get - there's nothing like My Fair Lady's "Move yer blooming arse!" scene to make comedy hay after the transformation is complete.  No matter, though, as Brahmachari is not at all short on entertaining moments.  Fans of trippy, nonsensical song picturizations will not want to miss "Dil ke jharoke" which features men in Robin Hood getup competing with men in lizard costumes for the pleasure of dancing with women in evening gowns.  And rounding out the random bits of fun is the send-up of Mehmood's song from Gumnaam that earned the child actor Junior Mehmood that nickname. 

Gumnaam (1965)

गुमनाम

Gumnaam ("unnamed, anonymous") is a slapdash, inadequately scripted, totally non-suspenseful mystery. It is nevertheless great fun to watch, thanks entirely to a passel of thoroughly entertaining songs and fun comic performances by the likes of Helen and Mehmood.  

A group of strangers at a masquerade party are delighted when they are chosen, apparently at random, as winners of an exciting foreign vacation.  The trip gets off to a rough start, however, when an emergency forces their plane to land in a remote wilderness.  And things take an even more sinister turn when the plane takes off, leaving them stranded.  Soon they find an isolated mansion, tended by a valet (Mehmood) who knows their name and seems to have been expecting them.  A mysterious diary in the mansion reveals the reason they are there:  It says they are each responsible for an unjust death, and will be forced to pay the ultimate price.  And sure enough, one by one the travelers begin to die violently ... and the murderer must be among them.  

Gumnaam takes Agatha Chrtistie's Ten Little Indians as its inspiration. It follows that classic story fairly faithfully, but Gumnaam is very light on the plot details that made the original tight and compelling.  There is no real payoff - the killer's motivation for assembling this particular group is stated, but with a few exceptions we are told neither whose deaths they caused, nor why the killer thinks justice is his responsibility.

One result of the slapdash plotting is an utter lack of suspense, which is compounded by the travelers for the most part not behaving as if they fear for their lives. The other filmi touches, like Mehmood's broad South Indian caricature and other roles (like Pran's and Madan Puri's) played for laughs, don't bolster the story.  But unlike Raat aur din, where filmi touches detract from what could have been a taut psychological drama, in Gumnaam they are the saving grace of what would otherwise be a dreadful film. 

The best thing about Gumnaam is the film's songs, most of which are upbeat, splendid fun.  Helen, as one of the doomed guests, gets three of these, including Mehmood's fantastic dream sequence, an adorable beachside romp, and the rare treat of a drunken buddy-song in which the revelers are both women (Helen and Nanda). And no discussion of the songs of Gumnaam is complete without mention of the wild, mod goodness of "Jaan pehechaan ho".

Gumnaam is a masala film, and so of course a romance thread is woven through as well.  This thread is wasted, though, on the film's milquetoast hero and heroine, Manoj Kumar and Nanda.  Greta (of Memsaab Story; thanks to her for the screencap) commented that Gumnaam would have been a totally different movie if Shammi Kapoor had been the hero, and I have to agree.  It could possibly have been an all-time classic on the level of Teesri Manzil or Kashmir ki kali - with Shammi as the hero and Asha Parekh, Sharmila Tagore, or really anyone else as the heroine.  Nanda and Manoj's songs are entertaining enough, but they pale in comparison to the other songs in the film; Manoj attempts Shammi-like moves, but even though he's younger and slightly less chubby, he lacks the energy and charisma that Shammi brought to his best movies.

In the end, though, even to critique a movie like Gumnaam is to ask too much of it. It is thoroughly amusing while it's happening - at its best moments, it shines - and that's all it sets out to do.    

Raat aur din (1967)

रात और दिन

The psychological drama is a genre I've not seen much in Hindi films.  Satyen Bose's Raat aur din ("night and day") is not the finest psychodrama ever, but as a rare Hindi example of the form it holds its own, thanks to a rangy and vibrant performance by Nargis.  

Varuna (Nargis) is a sweet, if melancholy, country girl, who meets Pratap (Pradeep Kumar) when his car breaks down near her mountain home.  Though Pratap is on his way to Shimla to meet his betrothed, he is taken with Varuna, and quickly breaks his engagement to marry her instead.  But Varuna has a dark double life; by night she transforms into a vivacious boozer who calls herself Peggy; she sneaks out of their Calcutta home to dance at swanky, Anglophone night clubs, and awakens with no knowledge of these escapades.  With the help of Dilip (Feroz Khan), a man who meets "Peggy" during one of her nights on the town, and a pair of tenacious psychiatrists (Anwar Hussain and Harindranath Chattopadhyay), Pratap and Varuna return to Shimla in hopes of uncovering the root of her mysterious split personality.

With its echoes of Alfred Hitchcock's Spellbound (as well as prescient shades of Sybil, which came somewhat later), Raat aur din is both chilling and compelling.  The inherent creepiness of the subject is enough to glue one's attention to the screen, and the film offers enough hints at the nature of the trauma that splintered Varuna's psyche that I found myself guessing at the analysis, eager to find out whether I was correct.  It suffers, though, under the burden of some filmi touches that detract from the tautness of the psychodrama.  For example, Anoop Kumar is somewhat fetching as a hapless doctor overwhelmed by the willful Peggy, but his broad physical comedy is out of place and distracting at points when psychological tension could have been building to great effect. 

Nargis's performance, though, stands out and makes the film worth watching.  Apart from one instance of classic movie-madness - wild cackling giving way to violent sobbing - she presents a chillingly engaging portrayal of her character's split personality.  Her Varuna is sad and troubled; though unaware, consciously, of her illness, she nevertheless appears melancholy and ill-at-ease, as though the demons that drive her nighttime excursions swirl precariously just below the surface.  And her "Peggy" is not a care-free party-girl; there is a desperation in her thirst for alcohol, music, and stimulation that is palpably pathological.  Raat aur din is Nargis's film, and it is a showpiece for her skill. 

Raat aur din also features a handful of very nice songs by Shanker-Jaikishen, like the lovely and plaintive title song and the jaunty "Awaara ae mere dil," which reminds you that it is the 1960s.

I watched this movie with Greta of Memsaab Story; you can read her comments about it here. Thanks to Greta also for the screencap.

Teesri manzil (1966)

तीसरी मन्ज़िल

I love the 1960s - I love mod.  I love bouffant hair, cat's-eye makeup, and cigarette pants (on guys too). It's no accident that my favorite Hollywood movie, when it comes to style, is Breakfast at Tiffany's, and my favorite Hindi film Jewel Thief.  Lucky for me, the mind behind Jewel Thief, Vijay Anand, had more than one stylish thriller in him in the 1960s. Teesri manzil ("third floor") is not quite as perfectly delicious as Jewel Thief but it does have a great deal of tasty 1960s style to offer.

One night a girl named Rupa plummets from a third floor window of a posh resort hotel.  Her death is put down as suicide until a year later, when Rupa's sister Sunita (Asha Parekh) turns up to investigate.  Sunita believes that Rupa was driven to suicidal despair by her love for a musician named Rocky who seduced and then jilted her.  Meanwhile Rocky - also known as Anil Kumar Sona (Shammi Kapoor) - is attracted to Sunita, and hides his identity from her as he tries to win her over.  As the investigation unfolds, a number of suspects come to light - Sunita's angry fiance Ramesh (Prem Chopra), originally promised to Rupa; a dancing girl named Ruby (Helen), herself jealously in love with Rocky; a mystery man who, the police inspector on the case (Iftekhar) reveals, left physical evidence at the scene of Rupa's death.  Soon Rocky finds his own life in danger as he gets closer and closer to the truth. 

The twists may not be as wild as in Jewel Thief, but Teesri manzil is, nevertheless, a satisfying and entertaining noir thriller with a generous helping of romance and style.  The characters inhabit a nighttime fantasy world of smoky nightclubs and cabarets with outrageously trippy sets, a perfect mise-en-scene for shady dealings, dark jealousies, and, ultimately, murder.  Yet these elements are offered up in contrast with Rocky and Sunita's sunny hilltop romps.  The result is a film of shifting moods, the kind of pastiche that perhaps only a Hindi film can pull off. 

The actors and their characterizations form no small part of the pleasure of Teesri manzil.  Shammi Kapoor here does what he does best - he romances earnestly, dances spastically, and is an all around charming good guy.  His character indulges in the Bollywood staple of stalker romance, and while a guy's refusal to take no for an answer often grates, Shammi somehow always makes it work with his inherently reassuring and non-threatening sweetness.  Asha Parekh handles her role with the right amount of poutiness, but she's not given as charming a character to work with.  Sunita is a little stupid; her grand plan to avenge her sister's death is to lure Rocky into a remote mountainside where a troupe of schoolgirl athletes await to beat him senseless with hockey sticks.  ("Rocky - hockey; it's perfect!" she exclaims.)  The best scenes in the romance, and its turning point, come when Rocky finally loses patience with her - a refreshing twist in the standard romance line, acknowledging that a pretty face isn't enough to make an appealing heroine.   

What will remain with me most from Teesri manzil is the outstanding soundtrack by R.D. Burman, already a favorite before I saw the film and made that much tastier with the over-the-top picturizations, in which the film's beehive-and-cigarette-pants 1960s aesthetic is most aggressively on display.  (Once again, more on the music can be found over at Sanket's Desi Music Club.)  There's something ineffably wonderful, for example, about the the filmi adaptation of the mashed potato in "Aaja aaja main hoon pyar tera."  The very best song is "O haseena zulfonwali", staged on a set that is beyond elaborate and that occupies three-quarters of the cabaret theater in which it is located.  The centerpiece of this stage is a magnificent giant blue eye, so enormous that it has dancing girls for eyelashes.  This song features the gyrations of Helen, who is positively delicious in her non-musical scenes as well - but to see her framed in the pupil of that humongous eye is sublime, a concentrated moment of pure 1960s Bollywood bliss.   

Jab jab phool khile (1965)

जब जब फूल खिले

Sometimes a film can leave the thinking and feeling portions of my brain disaligned.  Such films are hard to write about.  Jab jab phool khile ("whenever flowers may bloom") is one such, with an anti-modernity  and possibly anti-feminist message that is hard for me to swallow.  And yet I loved the film for its emotion and tenderness, and I'm inclined to give it a pass for any moral aspects that don't set right with me. 

Rita (Nanda), having finished her studies in America, ventures to Kashmir for a little vacation time, and rents a houseboat from a simple local boy named Raja (Shashi Kapoor).  Raja is smitten instantly, and eventually a mutual affection develops.  Rita's vacation eventually ends, but she returns the following summer, this time in the company of the irritating Kishore (Jatin Khanna), the self-important dandy Rita's father wants her to marry.  After a showdown with Kishore, Raja declares his love, and travels to the city to present himself to Rita's family.  Rita dresses him in western finery and instructs him in some of her family's modern customs, but when Rita's father sets him up for an embarrassing evening, Raja realizes that he cannot adjust to Rita's world.  It's up to Rita to figure out a way to keep their relationship alive.

Jab jab phool khile pits the emancipated go-go 60s against good old fashioned country conservatism, and it's in no way a fair fight.  On the side of traditionalism we have the charming Raja, earnest, innocent, and handsome.  He looks after his pre-teen younger sister and manages their houseboat rental business with an ethic of hardworking honesty; he's not even comfortable accepting tips.  Meanwhile, we are shown very little of value in modernity and Westernization.  Rita may be educated, but she's vapid and selfish.  It's not Raja the country rube who is a boor, it's Rita, who abuses servants and whines petulantly each time she doesn't get her way.  Also on the side of modernity is the sniveling, entitled Kishore, not to mention Rita's wealthy scheming father, who is not satisfied merely to refuse to his daughter to Raja but must also put the rustic in his place.  The deck is stacked so heavily in favor of Raja's simple country living that there's no question which kind of life the film is advocating.  In one song, expressing his discomfort with the modern trappings, he even makes an explicit contrast between Rita's milieu and what is properly Indian life, asking "kaise bhuul jaaun ki main huun hindustani" - how can I forget that I am Indian? 

It's statements like that which make it hard for me to judge the apparently anti-modern, anti-feminist sentiments of the movie.  How can I forget that I am not Indian?  In the end, it's not my place to declare that this cautionary tale is too cautionary.  Rita's over-accessorized, Audrey Hepburnized 1960s splendor is appealing, but I don't know what the threat of western homogenization really looked like from the perspective of this film's original, intended audience.  And I don't think the film is necessarily saying that all Westernization or modernization is bad, just the all-or-nothing, un-nuanced brand adopted by Rita and her orbit. 

In real life, if a relationship between a "sophisticate" like Rita and a "bumpkin" like Raja were to have a ghost's chance of success, a great deal of compromise on both sides would be required.  It's certainly problematic and perhaps a little dissatisfying that in the end of Jab jab phool khile, it's Rita who makes all the sacrifices.  (Beth has more about this.) And yet somehow in the film's own narrative context it makes perfect sense.  Both Raja and Rita are extremely naive and narrow-minded; neither one of them is particularly good at seeing the perspective of the other.  But at least Raja has an excuse for his simplicity; in Rita, supposedly so worldly and educated, the presumption is less forgivable.  And Raja does try to join Rita in her world, even though he discovers that it doesn't suit him.  Of the two, he seems to be the one who has tried harder, done all the work, and done all the thinking for the both of them.  It seems only just that in the end he gets all the reward.

Jab jab phool khile is quite clearly the antecedent of the 90s hit Raja Hindustani, but it is by far the better and more delicate movie, without the masala excess of the more recent film.  The greatest strength of Jab jab phool khile is this:  Shashi Kapoor is simply a superb actor.  He registers Raja's emotional  transitions in the subtlest changes in his face - from wide open, boyish innocence to wounded mistrust to anger.  The scene in which he chastises Rita after his humiliation in the company of Rita's urbane family and friends is among the most moving in the film - the most explicitly anti-modern, anti-western views are given voice here - and Shashi delivers it perfectly, wringing tears from me even as I squirmed at his sentiment.  In the film's songs he is a bit raw and unformed; having not yet developed his own style, he channels his brothers in turn, now Raj's smooth sophistication, now Shammi's wild gyration.   In the dramatic scenes, though, he is fully in his own element, one of the finest actors there is.  Jab jab phool khile is a Shashi fan's film - he looks beautiful and does all the emotional heavy lifting - and it's as a Shashi fan that I most enjoyed it. 

Kashmir ki kali (1964)

कश्मीर की कली

When discussing Kashmir ki kali ("Blossom of Kashmir"), it's essential to get this out of the way:  The plot is unimportant.  The twists are absurd, the coincidences unlikely; the storyline swirls in the film's second half into over-the-top madness. But Kashmir ki kali is a complete delight nevertheless, thoroughly fun and stupendously entertaining.   

After Rajeev Lal (Shammi Kapoor) inherits the reins of his family's massive industrial empire, his mother decides that it is time for his marriage.  Rajeev, uninterested in surrendering his bachelorhood, flees to the family's lakeside bungalow in Kashmir.  There he meets a local flower-seller, Champa (Sharmila Tagore), and instantly falls in love.  He woos her aggressively, but to avoid intimidating her he hides his identity, telling her that he is Rajeev Lal's driver.  Champa warms to him quickly.   But their romance is thwarted by a scheming lumberman, Mohan (Pran), who wants Champa for himself.  He blackmails Champa's father (Nasir Hussain) by threatening to disclose dirty secrets of Champa's parentage.  But there are surprises in store for everyone before the rivalry is resolved.

The pleasures of Kashmir ki kali are entirely star-driven.  I'm not completely on the Shammi Kapoor train - he's too pudgy and spastic to really have much appeal for me.  Here, though, he is quite loveable, chasing Sharmila with an intensity that is entirely sweet, not creepy-stalkerish as filmi romance can sometimes be.  His comedy antics as he avoids engagements by feigning drunkenness - or even madness when expedient - are genuinely - sometimes hysterically - funny.  His gyrations seem spastic but they are clearly not uncontrolled - he is talented at physical comedy, and uses it to great effect in set pieces and songs alike. 

And if Shammi is amusingly charming, Sharmila - here in her first Hindi film - is adorable beyond compare.  Though her Champa is an ingenue, she's spirited and game for adventure.  Some of the most delightful scenes come when she submits to Rajeev's antics, as in the fabulous balle-balle song in which they give Mohan the slip by spontaneously joining a dance troupe at the local fair.  I've been nursing a growing crush on Sharmila Tagore and this film was just the thing to goose it along; she's good enough to eat as Champa, wearing traditional Kashmiri costumes and smiling with delight and wonder at the whirling dervish of romance that has burst into her life.

Indeed, the songs are far and away the best thing about Kashmir ki kali, the delightful songs come fast and thick in the O.P. Nayyar soundtrack, and each picturization is more colorful and energetic than the last.  Even if I never watch this film straight through a second time, I know I I'll be watching the songs again and again.  Many of them, like Rajeev's anthem "Kisi na kisi se" and his manic declaration of impatient love "Tarif karun kya uski," in addition to the appeal of the Shammi and Sharmila, also showcase the unparalleled beauty  of the film's uncredited star - the gorgeous Kashmiri landscape itself.  It is the songs and their picturizations, more than anything else, that makes Kashmir ki kali a sparkling gem.  (See Sanket's concurrent post at Bollywood Music Club for more.)

Gunga Jumna (1961)

गंगा जमना

Some movies, I find, do not translate very well.  Gunga Jumna was a massive hit in India - but it left me somewhat cold. 

Ganga and Jumna are brothers living a hardscrabble village life.  Ganga spends his days working with his mother as a servant in the home of the zamindar's obnoxious family, while Jumna, a promising student, focuses on his schoolwork.  After their mother passes, Ganga pledges himself to supporting his younger brother as they grow to adulthood.  The adult Ganga (Dilip Kumar) is a spirited and hardworking fellow, unafraid to take on the zamindar when necessary, while his brother Jumna (Nasir Khan) is more measured and cautious.  Ganga sends Jumna to the city to study, and supports him with funds that he earns driving an oxcart and making deliveries for the zamindar.  But things get complicated when Ganga saves a local girl, Dhanno (Vyjayanthimala), from the zamindar's lecherous assault.  The zamindar (Anwar Hussain) gets his revenge by trumping up a robbery charge against Ganga, landing him in prison.  Upon his release, Ganga learns that his brother has become destitute, and attacks and robs the zamindar in a rage.  Soon Ganga finds himself an outlaw, and, with Dhanno at his side, he joins a gang of bandits camping out in the wilderness.  In the meantime, Jumna meets a fatherly police officer (Nasir Hussain) and becomes a police officer himself.  It isn't long before Jumna's professional wanderings take him back to the village of his birth, where he must square off against his outlaw brother, in a showdown between duty and family.

With its tale of brothers on opposite sides of the law, Gunga Jumna perhaps resonated with the house divided that was India in the years following independence and partition.  There's an allegory in the divergent personalities and approaches to life of the two brothers.  The social message is hinted by the brothers' names - they are named for the Ganges and Jamuna rivers, the mythological and geographical axes of India, the junction of which has a rich symbolism in Indian tradition and culture.  The suggestion may be that the nation's vitality springs from the juncture of the fiery passion of Ganga and the steady, duty-bound earnestness of Jumna. 

For me, though, the film's symbolic content was obscured by the fact that it was just a chore to watch. There were times when I was tempted to fast-forward through some excruciatingly slow, yet utterly predictable, sequences.  And the characterizations were too indelicate; Ganga is an unthinking idiot - he reacts to offense like a three-year-old, except that he's violent and anti-social - and Jumna is a feelingless android.  The result was that I didn't terribly care what happened to either of them, and couldn't get caught up in the allegory either.

Gunga Jumna does have its qualities.  There is enough substance to the story to make it compelling at times.  Dilip Kumar's performance is quite good, despite a lot of shouting - it is not his fault that his character is obnoxious.  Vyjayantimala's performance is outstanding - only during her emotional scenes did I feel any stirring within myself.  And the music is stellar.  A highlight in that department is a mujra by Helen - I've only ever seen her perform this kind of dance once before, and she's great at it. 

Helen:

(Gunga Jumna is available for download at Jaman.com.)