Filmi Geek

Golmaal (1979)

गोलमाल

As much as Delhi Belly is not my sort of comedy, Hrishikesh Mukherjee's Golmaal ("confusion") is a movie made for me.  Light, smart, and downright funny, Golmaal is a story of clever people improvising their way through a thoroughly ridiculous series of deceptions.  It is a simply delightful movie, similar in feel to Hrishida's equally charming Chupke chupke. 

With his freshly minted degree in accounting, Ram Prasad Sharma (Amol Palekar) needs a job.  To land a position with the stern businessman Bhavani Shankar (Utpal Dutt), Ram plays up his studious, serious side - dressing in traditional clothing, spouting aphorisms about the value of hard work, and concealing his passion for sports.  After Bhavani spots Ram skiving off work to watch a hockey match, the quick-thinking Ram invents a no-good, layabout twin, whom he calls (of course) Lakshman, and convinces Bhavani that the fellow he saw at the match was Lakshman, not Ram.  Bhavani, wanting to favor his protege's family, insists that "Lakshman" tutor Bhavani's daughter Urmila (Bindiya Goswami) in music.  Now Ram has to play two roles for Bhavani - the earnest respectful Ram, and the modern loudmouth, Lakshman.  Other improvisations force Ram to enlist an amateur actress, Kamla Shrivastav (Dina Pathak) to introduce to Bhavani as his mother.  Soon, when Kamla runs into Bhavani at a party, she too invents a twin for herself, so as not to blow Ram's cover.  It's not long before all hell breaks loose when Bhavani decides that the hard-working Ram is a perfect match for Urmila - she, of course, prefers the free-spirited Lakshman.

It's hard to say what is most to love about Golmaal.  It's crisply paced and smartly scripted, full of the sort of linguistic humor that I especially love (and that was also in Chupke chupke) - Ram graces Bhavani with such upstanding shuddh Hindi that Bhavani can't quite keep up.  The physical humor is hilarious and masterfully performed.  Utpal Dutt pulls a diverse array of magnificent expressions as Bhavani - wistful as Ram praises the value of the mustache, horrified as Bhavani listens to Urmila recite shamefully modern lines from a play she is acting in.  Amol Palekar, too, is charming, adorable, and very, very funny as he squirms every which way to convince Bhavani that his two sides are two different people.  One cute running physical joke has Ram constantly tugging at his uncomfortably short kurta.  The kurta itself is the result of another of Hrishida's favorite devices, movie in-jokes.  Ram borrows the kurta from his childhood friend, the actor Deven Verma (playing himself), on a movie set - it's short because it's Asrani's kurta, settled on after rejecting Amitabh Bachchan's as too long, and Sanjeev Kumar's as too wide.

Golmaal has too many funny set-pieces and running jokes to call them all out, but a few bear mention.  In one great sequence, Bhavani's widowed sister overhears Urmila rehearsing the melodramatic lines from her play, and concludes that Urmila is pregnant by a man who is now abandoning her.  Much hilarity ensues.  There are very funny running jokes about Ram's mustache.  Bhavani is nearly obsessed with the idea that the mustache makes the man, and Ram is equally attached to his own, which he sacrifices for the sake of his double life.  Every interaction between Ram and Bhavani is hilarious, whether showcasing Bhavani's over-the-top paternal affection for Ram Prasad, or his equally extreme disdain for Lakshman. 

The greatest joy of Golmaal is that even in its comedy of errors, it resonates with everyday experience.  Ram is neither as earnest as Ram Prasad, nor as breezy as Lakshman - his true character is a blend of both.  But most of us find that different aspects of who we are emerge in our interactions with various people.  I do not show the same face to the head of my department at work as I do to my closest friend.  By amplifying this sort of common multiplicity and taking it to an absurd extreme, Hrishikesh Mukherjee makes Ram - and Golmaal - supremely relatable.  Add in a lot of laughs and a few catchy songs, and the sum is just a thoroughly delightful movie. 

Zanjeer (1973)

ज़ंजीर

Like their later script Deewaar, Salim-Javed's Zanjeer ("chain") attempts to fit a tense, gritty story into masala clothes.  Unfortunately, Zanjeer is less successful - rather than delivering an intense, visceral experience, Zanjeer lurches(*) like a movie that can't decide how to present itself. 

Inspector Vijay Khanna (Amitabh Bachchan) is a brooding man, with deep-seated anger that even he doesn't understand.  Haunted by dreams that stem from a repressed memory of his parents' murder, he throws himself into the work of bringing criminals to justice - even, sometiems, exceeding the bounds of justice to do so.  When Vijay tries to break the illegal liquor-brewing and smuggling ring of Teja (Ajit), Teja arranges to have Vijay sent to prison on trumped-up corruption charges.  Disgraced and stripped of his badge and authority, Vijay vows vigilante justice against Teja.  Mala (Jaya Bhaduri), an itinerant girl whom Vijay rescued and fell in love with, fears for Vijay's life.  She prevails on him to give up the vendetta.   But without that purpose in his life, Vijay is lost.  Mala and Vijay's friend Sher Khan (Pran) have to find a way to help him, before his seething rage consumes him from within.

Zanjeer is not by any stretch a bad movie.  The script is less taut than Deewaar and the result far less tense and engaging, but at least Amitabh delivers as the roiling Vijay, struggling to contain his anger and venting it in tense, explosive bursts. Zanjeer is at its best a close psychological study of this troubled man, and the effects of his anger on the people who care about him.  But a close psychological study is not the stuff of masala films, and over-the-top masala trappings need larger-than-life masala themes to hang on, else the movie sags and bends under their weight.  Zanjeer hints vaguely in the direction of some social statement or the other, but never hoists any of the great masala banners like brotherhood, family, democracy, communalism, et al. 

And so, with Amitabh's strong performance as its foundation, Zanjeer could have been so much better that it's difficult not to be hard on it for its inability to decide whether it is masala or not.  For example, it's great fun to see Pran in a good-guy role, and he is as charming and sweet as Sher Khan as he is creepy and villainous in his many blackguard roles.  (He even has a marvelous song, the qawwali "Yaari hai imaan mera".)  But the way Sher Khan becomes Vijay's best friend just doesn't fit the somber tone that Zanjeer otherwise aims to set - after taking a beating from Vijay, whom he calls the first man with guts he's ever met, Sher Khan immediately casts aside his illegal gambling empire and pledges his eternal friendship.  This sort of over-the-top twist works well in out-and-out masala, but only lends a split personality to Zanjeer.

Mala's arc is frustrating as well, another microcosm of the sharp zig-zags taken by the script.  She starts the film as a feisty, independent gypsy girl, and it's delightful to see Jaya Bhaduri taking a Hema-esque turn in the song "Chakku chhuriyan".  But Vijay sprinkles Mala with some kind of magic dust that instantly transforms her into seedhi-saadhi boring ladki.  The magnificent qawwali during which they tenderly realize their love ("Deewane hai diwaanon ko", picturized on Sanjana and the movie's lyricist, Gulshan Bawra) is a highlight of the movie - Vijay and Mala don't speak and hardly move, and yet convey an entire world of  emotion with subtleties of body language and facial expression.  In the circumscribed context of the song, Mala's delicate shyness is touching - but the larger personality transplant that turns the spirited gypsy into the picture of demure domesticity just doesn't work overall, and disrupts the tone of the movie.  Instead of a meeting of two rageful independent souls, Zanjeer gives us a quivering and fretting Mala who steps into a premature sort of "ma" role.   It leaves me wondering what happened to the girl who put a guy in a headlock at the beginning of the film, just for questioning her honor.

Despite its warts, Zanjeer is worth a look, especially for fans (like me) of the young, pre-stardom Amitabh.  This is one the roles that defined the "angry young man" of the 1970s, and even if this Vijay's story lacks the polish of later incarnations, the best moments of the film are gems that shine in the rough substrate.  And besides, you get Pran in a wig that is spectacularly orange even by Pran standards, giving him a look that is eerily prescient of a character who comes some 30 years later:

(*) Heartfelt thanks to Beth for suggesting the magnificent phrase "tone lurch" when I told her about this movie. 

Dream Girl (1977)

Writing about an average masala movie can sometimes feel as formulaic as the movies themselves. You hit all the highlights - your favorite adorable jodi, a couple of fun songs, a comedy scene with wacky disguises, a progressive social message.  The Hema-Dharmendra vehicle Dream Girl offers all of these, plus the requisite baby-switching plot twist and syncretic and populist themes.  With all of that, though, Dream Girl is very, very average, even among average masala movies.  It meets the Recommended Masala Allowance, but for the most part it's rather bland, phoned-in and unmemorable.  To misapply Gertrude Stein, there is no there there.

Dashing Anupam (Dharmendra) is the sort of guy that girls fight over - he's handsome, he's rich, and he has the world on a string.  But the only girl he wants is an anonymous mystery girl in a painting he bought from a street vendor.  Then one day, in a shop, he runs into the girl of his dreams, the girl from his painting (Hema Malini), and watches in surprise as she steals his car and his money.  The dream girl, as it happens, is a bit of a Robin Hood - with her brother Chandu (Asrani), she runs a variety of hustles and cons, all for the benefit of the bevy of orphans she cares for in her "Happy Home" orphanage.  In the meantime, under pressure from his grandfather Verma (Ashok Kumar) to marry, Anupam extracts a favor from his dream girl - whom he fittingly calls Sapna (dream).  He introduces her to Verma as his betrothed, and as a princess to boot.  Verma is charmed, and insists that Sapna stay in their luxurious home.  But Anupam's disinherited cousin Prem (Prem Chopra) discovers a terrible secret about Sapna's past, and is determined to use it to get at Anupam's share of Verma's fortune.

Though it has a few sparkling moments, Dream Girl is, for the most part, an amorphous puddle of failed potential whose whole somehow manages to be less than the sum of its parts.  The pairing of Dharmendra and Hema can be so electric, but here they have little screen-time together, and what they do have lacks any sizzle.  The songs, which can make a good masala film great or make a mediocre masala film a raucous good time, miss the mark here.  Dream Girl even manages to make Hema doing a gypsy dance forgettable.  Hema's interactions with the children in her orphanage are cute - but they are also lifted wholesale from Brahmachari. 

The best moments of Dream Girl are the comic scenes stolen by Asrani, as Chandu, Sapna's partner in crime and co-parent to the orphans.  In the countless films in which I've seen him, Asrani has been little more than a dorky lightweight character actor.  In Dream Girl, though, Asrani is the one element that reaches full potential - most of the real laughs come at his hands.  His disguises and his hijinx complement his tenderness toward Sapna and the children, adding up to a delightful and well-rounded performance. 

Finally, if anything absolves Dream Girl's sins of mediocrity, it's the climactic melee, in which Dharmendra not only drives a motorcycle up a spiral staircase, but also leaps on it from one building to the next, and then wields it as a weapon in a bit of truly inspired dishoom-dishoom.  Hema and even the children get in on the action too.  The fight scene, together with Asrani and a few other genuine smiles sprinkled here and there, offer at least a light snack for the serious masala connoisseur. 

(My apologies for the absence of my customary one original screencapture.  The computer is being a bitch about reading DVDs, and it seemed silly to hold up the entire post until I get that sorted out.) 

Kabhi Kabhie (1976)

कभी कभी

For the "Neetu Singh-along" - the weeklong blog tribute to Neetu Singh conceived by Beth - I decided to watch Kabhi Kabhie ("sometimes"), my second Yash Chopra multi-starrer in a row after Waqt.   With respect to Neetu ji, I should have quit while I was ahead.  Yash Chopra presumably tacked the "e" on the end of his film's title for favorable numerology - but in this case, "e" stands for "eh".  

Amit (Amitabh Bachchan), a brooding, sensitive poet, falls in love with Pooja (Rakhee), a young student moved by his lyrical way with words.  But Pooja's family has engaged her to a businessman called Vijay Khanna (Shashi Kapoor), and rather than challenge their wishes, Pooja tearfully parts with Amit and marries Vijay.  Vijay is spirited, cheerful, and doting, and Pooja's life with him is not unhappy.  They have a son, who grows up to be an equally energetic young man, Vicky (Rishi Kapoor).  Vicky courts and wins his schoolmate Pinky (Neetu Singh).  Upon their engagement, Pinky learns that the loving couple she thought of as her parents (Simi Garewal and Parikhat Sahni) are adoptive, and she sets off to find her biological mother (Waheeda Rehman).  Vicky follows her, and the layered entanglements that ensue threaten to reopen ancient wounds for the older generation that Vicky and Pinky never imagined.

Beth summed up Kabhi kabhie in two words - hypocrisy and moping - and I almost feel I have nothing to add to that.  The film plods along through acres and acres of people feeling sorry for themselves, especially Amitabh Bachchan, who is lethargic, inert, and thoroughly wasted in this role.  The hypocrisy is saved for the very end, but is also borne on the shoulders of poor Amitabh, who seems to have been charged with the task of sucking all joy and entertainment value from the movie.  Vijay is more forgiving than Amit, but Shashi does so much shouting in this movie that I stopped listening to anything he said halfway through, and barely registered his magnanimity at the end.

Thankfully the younger generation provides some much-needed spark, and Vicky and Pinky's early scenes (and songs) are charming enough to keep the audience awake through the film's middle section.  But the loyal Vicky's arc takes a turn for the "WTF?" after he lovingly follows Pinky on her quest, as he inexplicably and insincerely courts Pinky's half-sister Sweety (Naseem), causing needless heartache to both girls.

In fact, it's the women who salvage whatever there is that makes Kabhi Kabhie worth watching - the indefatigable grace of Waheeda Rehman biting back secret sorrows; the poise of Rakhee torn between the memory of passionate love and the present kindness of a dear, doting husband; and Neetu Singh, who manages to keep the ingenuous Pinky charming and sympathetic despite her boneheaded insistence on marching unannounced into her birth-mother's life.

And so it is not a complete waste to have watched this film for the Neetu Singh-along, because its dull mediocrity throws into sharp relief just how much she brings to the table.  In contrast to another of her multi-starrers, the magnificent Amar Akbar Anthony, which had so much going on that one is left wishing there were time for more Neetu (among other things), watching Kabhi Kabhie I wish there was more of Neetu and less of nearly everything else.  I'll go back to listening to the lovely title song - one of the first film songs I ever heard and loved before I'd seen a single Hindi movie - and forget the rest of this largely forgettable movie. 

Garm hava (1973)

गरम हवा

While many fine movies have addressed the disruptive forces of Partition, M.S. Sathyu's Garm hava ("hot wind") is almost unique in its focus on the experiences of Muslims.  It is not by any stretch a cheery film - but there are some heartrending stories that nevertheless need to be told. 

The Mirza family is divided in the aftermath of Partition.  Though they have long made their home in Agra, the prospects for Muslims in post-Partition India are not encouraging, and some of the family want to start anew across the border in Pakistan.  Halim Mirza (Dinanath Zutshi), once a political leader fiercely determined to preserve a Muslim presence in India, has finally given up and fled.  This leaves his brother Salim (Balraj Sahni) as head of the household, looking after the family's shoemaking business and the haveli in which they live.  The business is struggling - many of the workers have left India, and some Hindus refuse to do business with Salim.  He cannot secure financing - lending to Salim is too risky, the bankers say, because other Muslims haven taken loans and disappeared across the border.  Soon the family loses the haveli as well - its deed is in Halim's name, and because of his emigration the government claims the haveli as abandoned property. 

As time goes on, the family's lot only worsens.  Unwilling to join a shoemakers' demonstration in favor of a lucrative government tender, Salim is locked out of the tender when it is granted.  Meanwhile, Salim's daughter Amina (Geeta Siddharth) nurses a heart broken by Partition.  She is in love with Halim's son Kazim (Jamal Hashmi), who is arrested when he crosses the border back into India to marry her.  Salim's son Sikandar (Farooq Shaikh), a recent graduate, cannot find work because of both anti-Muslim prejudice and the unstable economy, and becomes increasingly involved in politically radical activities. As the hardships mount, Salim and his wife (Shaukat Kaifi) consider joining Halim in Pakistan, but Agra is their home, and they are determined to stay as long as the dire circumstances will allow.   

The repercussions of Partition through the Mirza family are like fault lines, cracks in firm earth resonating outward from a single point of thunderous impact.  Though Garm hava traces each of these lines, it places the burden of all of them on Salim, and they are beautifully rendered in the sad creases of Balraj Sahni's face.

The Hindus who impede the Mirza family's efforts to right their economic ship are, for the most part, disembodied voices.  A banker who refuses to lend, a landlord offering exorbitant and discriminatory rental terms, an employer advising Sikander to go find work in Pakistan "among your own kind" - all these are dehumanized forces denying the Mirza family an honorable livelihood.  One of the few Hindus who is given a face, and some depth, is the wealthy businessman Ajmani (A.K. Hangal).  Ajmani certainly takes advantage of the Mirza family's straits - he buys the haveli on the cheap after the government confiscates it - but he also shows ambivalence about doing so, and attempts to support the family in other ways. His personal kindness to them, however, does not outweigh the demands of business.  The message may be that even Hindus who wish to extend a cordial hand to Muslims are constrained by the broader post-Partition climate. As a voice-over announces in the beginning of the film, "No one heeds the Gita; no one heeds the Koran" - and yet, the difference between these two texts both drives and limits the conduct of everyone in the new nation. 

The visual style of the film is arresting - artfully framed scenes full of contrast and visual symbolism reminiscent of Satyajit Ray.  Some of these scenes make use of the fine slits and shadows of the haveli's old purdah, which only the family's frail, aged matriarch still sits behind - the other women of the family move about the house freely among the men. The purdah itself represents the sharp line between the old and the new - the matriarch, too weak to leave the haveli much less flee India, cannot (or refuses to) fully fathom the depth of the changes wrought by Partition; on the other side of the curtain, the rest of the family struggles to adapt to them.

Garm hava also makes exquisite use of the beautiful monuments in and near Agra that were built by Muslims, such as the Taj Mahal and Fatehpur Sikri.  The explicit citation of these Muslim contributions to Indian pride and history is unsubtle, and the film acknowledges it explicitly in one of Halim's fiery political speeches shown in flashback early in the film. But it does conjure a pointed image - the possibility of India completely empty of Muslims, with these grand, breathtaking monuments standing in mute or even mocking testimony to the memory of an erased people.  The conclusion, in stark apposition to that image, must be that Muslims are too tightly woven into the fabric of India's history and greatness for there to be any sense or justice in driving them all out. 

Blackmail (1973)

Blackmail is one of those films I really want to like more than I do.  One of my favorite directors in Vijay Anand, one of my favorite stars in Dharmendra, a gentle and sensitively portrayed romance - there's really no reason I shouldn't adore this movie.  And yet, the whole seems to me less than the sum of its parts, and I can't put my finger on why.

Kailash (Dharmendra) is the business manager of a power plant.  Shy and earnest, he has long nursed his love for Asha (Rakhee), his childhood friend and the daughter of Mehta (Iftekhar), who happens to own a rival company.  Kailash's best friend Jeevan (Shatrughan Sinha) works for Mehta, and - unknown to Kailash - is all but engaged to her.  But, when Kailash's uncle, Professor Khurana (Madan Puri), develops a solar-powered battery that promises to make them a fortune - not to mention put Mehta out of business - Jeevan starts scheming.  He machinates to get Kailash and Asha married - only to drive a wedge between them, in hopes of manipulating them to get his hands on the blueprints for the battery. 

The unquestionable strength of Blackmail is its sweet, mature portrayal of the romance between Kailash and Asha as it grows, both before and after their marriage.  Asha's conscience struggles as her developing feelings for Kailash challenge her commitment to Jeevan, and Rakhee's performance conveys Asha's internal conflict very sensitively.  Kailash's nervous shyness is sweet, too, and contrasts intriguingly with Dharmendra's remarkable masculinity.  (Indeed Dharmendra, who is quite good at this sort of tender romance, is at times too masculine for me in this role - I kept finding myself aware of his thick, enormous hands, his square body and shoulders.  Viewers who like that sort of thing would, I think, find Kailash utterly perfect.) 

The romance is expressed most perfectly in two of Blackmail's superb songs.  The first is the lovely "Pal pal dil ke paas," which draws on a delightfully unusual device for its picturization.  Kailash has written Asha many love letters over the years, but only finally finds the courage to give them to her, all at once in a bundle, before fleeing in a fit of bashfulness.  The song shows Asha reading the letters, falling slowly in love with Kailash as the poetry of his words reaches her - and reaches us, as the words of his letters are the words of the song.  The second splendidly romantic song, "Mile mile do badan," occurs during the film's climax, after Jeevan engineers Asha and Kailash's estrangement.  Fleeing from the bad guys - the rift between them not yet nearly reconciled - the couple takes refuge in a woodpile, and there, with armed enemies swarming around in search of them, they provide one of the most satisfyingly steamy song picturizations you'll ever see in a Hindi film.

For all the delicacy of the romance, though, the rest of Blackmail just isn't very memorable - and is at times marred by touches of ridiculous that undermine the better parts of the movie.  The international crime syndicate that Jeevan works for is pointlessly absurd, headed by a creepy, fey "Italian" called Antonio (Kuljit).  Banter about the "formula" - as the film's characters call the battery blueprints - lends the movie a masala air that isn't really appropriate to the tenderness of the main story. (Though the "filmi science" grates a little throughout, it's offset by some marvelous machinery scenes during the film's credits, which for all I know were shot inside a real power plant.)  And despite a groovy outfit or two on Rakhee, the movie doesn't offer anywhere near the overwhelming mod style of some of Vijay Anand's others. 

On reflection, though, I think I am being hard on Blackmail.  For sure it has its weaknesses, but they are less bad than the better parts are good, and should be amply offset.  For sure Rakhee is not my favorite star, but her performance hit the right notes for Blackmail's best aspect, the mature and delicate romance.  I think, in time, I'll forget what is forgettable in Blackmail, and let the exquisite sweetness of "Pal pal dil ke paas" linger. 

Caravan (1971)

कारवाँ

Fully five years ago now, when the door into the bright world of Hindi films had just begun to crack open for me, I picked up a couple of movies that had songs I had heard and liked.  Caravan was one such - on the strength of the famous "Piya tu ab to aaja" - but I somehow got the idea that the movie was bad, and never got around to watching it.  As has happened so often before, once I finally saw it, I kicked myself for waiting so long. 

When Rajan (Ravindra Kapoor) is caught with his hand in the company till, he murders the company's owner, Mohandas, and convinces Mohandas's daughter Sunita (Asha Parekh) to marry him.  The marriage is a ruse that Rajan planned with his girlfriend Monica (Helen) to get at Sunita's fortune, and Rajan intends to do away with his new bride just as he did her father.  But Sunita escapes and, posing as a simple village girl named Soni, falls in with a gypsy caravan heading to Bangalore.  Sunita's presence among the gypsies causes some strife, though; their top performer, Nisha (Aruna Irani) is jealous of the attention paid to Sunita by the gypsies' hired truck driver Mohan (Jeetendra).  And Rajan's men are still after Sunita as well, endangering them all.

The plot is light on substance, but no matter - the movie is utterly engaging and delightful all the same.  Jeetendra is charming and funny as Mohan - earnest, goofy, and somewhat deluded about his own intelligence, he emits a continuous stream of daft English malapropisms.  He is a skilled dancer and provides some decent physical comedy as well.  (Caravan was my first Jeetendra film but I'm certain it won't be my last.)  He's supported by two entertaining sidekicks, his little brother Montu (Mehmood Jr.) and the perpetually drunk but wonderfully soft-hearted Johnny (Kishen Mehta).  The chief of the gypsy tribe, Mithalal Tota (Madan Puri) is fatherly and fun, and the inimitable Manorama plays his wife, adding moments of her uniquely physical comedy to the mix.

And then there is Nisha, the delicious Aruna Irani, whose bare midsection is practically another character in the movie - it features prominently in several of Caravan's many wonderful R.D. Burman songs.  "Dilbar dil se pyari" is the most memorable of these.  Asha Parekh turns in a satisfyingly physical performance as well; her highlight also comes in a song, the comically absurd "Daiya yeh main kahan".  And of course there is the famous item number of Helen that brought me to this film in the first place those five years ago.

The story of Caravan pokes playfully at issues of class and culture, but is not heavy-handed about them.   Mohan insists that because of his "untocation" (his version of "edumacation") he deserves a classy, cultured girl, better than the ragged gypsy Nisha and even better than Sunita, who he thinks is a simple village girl.  The rich and educated Sunita doesn't share his snobbery, and the resolution of their romance feels to me a bit like a light-hearted twist on the end of Jab jab phool khile - Sunita throws off her high-class advantages and joins Mohan's dusty vagabond life, but not because of any haughty notions of traditionalism and Indianness.  Rather, she does it mostly out of love for him, and because the prospect of living as a widow in her dead father's house just can't be all that appealing. 

There are a few elements that rub the wrong way; I can't shake a feeling that I should not have enjoyed the film as much as I did.  Nisha is not merely spunky and spirited; her manic energy crosses the line into violently insane. And in rejecting her advances, Mohan tries to convince her to marry a member of the tribe so stupid that he can barely string a sentence together without drooling - clearly an awful match for the willful Nisha.  The film finds disturbing humor in violence against women, too, as when Mithalal Tota beats his wife because he thinks she has burned his lunch. 

Yet, I have forgiven more egregious anti-feminist sins in less entertaining movies.  Caravan's more cringe-worthy moments are amply redeemed by the sweet moments, and indeed by everything it delivers.  From Jeetendra's doofusy earnestness, to Asha Parekh's impressive talent for physical comedy, to the wonderful, colorfully-picturized songs that come fast and thick - not to mention the delectable midsection of Aruna Irani - Caravan is pretty much a big silly grin from beginning to end - an instant favorite. 

Guddi (1971)

गुड्डी

After a lengthy hiatus from viewing and writing about Hindi films, reviewing a movie dedicated to debunking filmy magic may not have be the best way to rekindle my own obsessive passions!  But Hrishikesh Mukherjee's Guddi ("doll") is a sweet enough movie, and its rather blunt-force anti-escapism message isn't enough to deter me from getting my head back into Bollywood. 

Kusum (Jaya Bhaduri), also called by the pet name Guddi, is a bright, studious, and mischievous  schoolgirl with a taste for the movies.  She is especially enamored of Dharmendra, and can't resist sneaking away from her studies to see his movies over and over again.  While studying the poet Mirabai in school, Kusum sees a parallel between her love for Dharmendra and Mira's eternal devotion to Krishna.  But Kusum's devotion to Dharmendra interferes with her family's plans to get her married to the kind young engineer Navin (Samit Bhanja).   Kusum's well-connected uncle (Utpal Dutt) arranges for her to spend time in a movie studio with Dharmendra (playing himself), watching him at work, in the hopes that she'll come to see that the movies are little more than carefully-manufactured fantasy.

What stands out most in Guddi is Jaya Bhaduri's performance.  Around 23 herself at the time of the shooting, she makes a very convincing girl of 16 or 17.  (It helps that she's often shot from a high angle, making her look shorter.)   Kusum flits rapidly between playfulness and petulance, projecting an air of girlishness that is at once endearing and exasperating.  When her serious sister-in-law (the only mother figure in her life) encourages her to be more demure and grown-up, Kusum complies hesitantly, but in her discomfort one can also perceive a powerful longing to reach maturity.  Kusum is very much a girl on the cusp - no longer a child, but not yet a woman - and Jaya ji's performance nails that tension exactly. 

As a wide-eyed fan of Hindi films myself, it's hard not to share Kusum's sense of wonder as she drives into Bombay and gawps at the beautifully-painted film hoardings that tower several stories above her head.  And her visit to the studios is at first equally enthralling and magical, as a parade of stars (Amitabh Bachchan, Ashok Kumar, Dilip Kumar, and others) provide cameo appearances in the form of takes from films that were shooting contemporaneously with Guddi.  But soon the smoke and mirrors of filmi fantasy begin to show themselves.  This is subtle at first - as when Rajesh Khanna repeatedly asks for his line during what purports to be a heartfelt declaration of love - and by the end the message is delivered with such force that even Kusum can't ignore it.  Seeing how the sausage is made puts a quick end to her starry-eyed fantasies. 

What makes Guddi less than satisfying is that while Kusum recovers from the childish crush, she nevertheless doesn't seem quite mature enough to be married.  Worse than that, there is no affordance for her naturally playful personality, and no room for her to still enjoy the movies even if she isn't obsessed with them.  I wish that Guddi could have left me with the feeling that Kusum had grown up without losing her essential spirit - but instead it leaves her growing up just like her dour, duty-bound sister-in-law.  Life with the serious Navin - who doesn't like movies at all - doesn't promise to be a whole lot of fun. 

Suhaag (1979)

सुहाग

Manmohan Desai has a knack for satisfying masala.  His movies are packed to the gills with his choice wacky elements and overloaded symbols - brothers separated in childhood, medically improbable blindness, gentleman rogues, grudges held for decades by heroes and villains alike.  Suhaag ("good fortune," particularly the sort of good fortune supposedly enjoyed by a married woman) is no exception, and if you check your brain at the door you will be rewarded with an amusing and goofy masala escape.

Durga (Nirupa Roy) is ruined when her husband, a gangster called Vikram (Amjad Khan), refuses to recognize their marriage and rejects their twin infant sons.  Matters get worse for Durga when a rival gangster Jaggi (Kader Khan) kidnaps one of the babies and sells him to a small-time crook (Jeevan) who makes his living exploiting child beggars.  Durga does her best to raise her remaining boy on her own, and he grows into Kishen (Shashi Kapoor), a devoted son and police officer of sparkling integrity.  The other boy, raised among petty thieves, becomes Amit (Amitabh Bachchan), a drunk and a con-artist.  Coincidence brings Amit together with Kishen and Durga, as he helps engineer a romance between Kishen and Anu (Parveen Babi), a sweet-hearted student who falls for Kishen.  For his part, Amit is in love with Basanti (Rekha), a recalcitrant tawaif with a secret connection to Anu. And things become very tangled indeed when Vikram resurfaces - he hires Amit to assassinate the meddling police inspector Kishen, unaware that either young man is his son. 

That plot, such as it is, is almost more trouble to describe than it is worth, something Suhaag has in common with other Manmohan Desai films like Amar Akbar Anthony and Parvarish.  It's enough to hang on to while it's happening, though.  After all, crazy coincidences are the bread and butter of masala - especially coincidences involving long-lost family members, which are particularly numerous here.  And for all its adherence to masala formula, Suhaag does offer a few rarer treats. For instance, Rekha's Basanti is one of the most appealing characters I've ever seen her play.  I am not a fan of Rekha's ephemeral, will-o-the-wisp persona, and in Basanti she offers a gutsy, earthy, worldly woman in sharp constrast to the aloof tawaif she played in Muqaddar ka sikandar - Basanti could have been a repeat performance of that character, and I was delighted that she was not.  

Durga, too, is a departure from Nirupa Roy's typical "Nahin!"-screaming maa roles - at least for the first half of Suhaag.  There, she is bold and forceful, taking charge and muttering snarky commentary; the sequence of scenes in which she meets Anu and tries to arrange Anu's marriage to Kishen is particularly wonderful.  Unfortunately, Durga's story is bookended by simpering devotion to her singularly undeserving husband Vikram.  This is Suhaag's great weakness; the movie lacks Amar Akbar Anthony's charming syncretism and paeans to Indian unity, as well as Parvarish's wry commentary on nature vs. nurture.  As a fan of Manmohan Desai's hearty message-masala, I felt baited and switched when the promising Durga was in some ways more Sita than Durga. 

Still Suhaag is fun when masala is on the menu - nothing else quite matches the buddy chemistry of Shashi and Amitabh ("Shashitabh," as the jodi is affectionately known in among Bollybloggers), who alone are worth watching for, and they plus the splendid songs ensure a satisfying, if silly, experience.  Of these, Parveen Babi's intoxicated turn in " Main to beghar hoon" and the buddy-jodi song "Ae yaar sun" are standouts, along with the hysterical "Tere rab ne bana di jodi," in which Amitabh and Rekha dance bhangra in disguise.

Bombay to Goa (1972)

It is sometimes commented that if you took all the extraneous side-elements out of a masala movie and focused on the plot, you'd be left with a streamlined tale that would be done in an hour. The road movie Bombay to Goa goes the other way - it dispenses with a plot almost entirely, leaving little but gags and silliness, and it clocks in at less than two hours.  While it lasts, though, it's a pretty enjoyable ride.

Mala (Aruna Irani) is beside herself with excitement when a man called Sharma (Shatrughan Sinha) promises to make her a movie star.  Her parents are not quite as thrilled, though; her father (Nasir Hussain) pops a gasket when he sees her picture in a flashy magazine.  His concern is to lock up her marriage to the young man they have chosen for her, Ravi (Amitabh Bachchan).  In the dead of night, Mala steals all her parents' cash and runs away to Sharma, handing over the bulk of the money for his bogus "production".  She soon learns that Sharma is not what he appears to be, and after she witnesses his murder of a compatriot over the loot he swindled from her, she flees.  She finds herself on a bus to Goa, under the care of its conductor, Khanna (Mehmood), and surrounded by an outrageous and rag-tag bunch of fellow-travelers.  Much wacky hijinks ensue.

Unfettered as it is by the requirements of a well-developed story, Bombay to Goa is free to focus on its humor, which derives for the most part from broad comedy strokes - slapstick and stereotypes.  The mish-mash of ethnic and regional archetypes paints a bus-bound microcosm of a nation that feels a bit like Mr. and Mrs. Iyer on crack.  But they are an awful lot of fun, and diverse and cleverly-rendered enough that it doesn't feel like ticking off the boxes on an Indian stereotype bingo card. Very funny comic performances by Mehmood, his real-life brother Anwar Ali as Conductor Khanna's bus-driver brother Rajesh (get it - Rajesh?  Khanna?), and the likes of Manorama, Lalita Pawar, Yusuf Khan, and Keshto Mukherjee as passengers ensure that the laughs keep coming. 

I'm a big fan of Amitabh Bachchan too, of course, and his earlier films are a particular pleasure.  Here he is in fine form - though I wish there had been more of him - especially in the manic song "Dekho na hai".  (His chasing down the bus on his motorcycle to rescue his lady from peril is almost certainly referenced by Arjun Rampal's similar ride in Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd., another film that packs a busload of diverse Indian personae off to Goa for comedy fun.)  A delightful cameo by the adorable Kishore Kumar - with a song, of course - rounds out the fun.  It may be light on substance, but all in all, Bombay to Goa is a thoroughly entertaining way to kill a couple of hours.