Filmi Geek

Ghulam (1998)

ग़ुलाम

After the surprisingly unviolent Ram Lakhan, watching the excessively violent Ghulam ("slave") was - dare I say it - a slap in the face.  This frustrating movie is the proverbial "little girl with a little curl" - when it's good, it's very good, but its weaker moments are horrid indeed.

Siddhu (Aamir Khan) is a sometime amateur boxer, a petty criminal, and a layabout, haunted by troubling memories of his father (Dalip Tahil), a one-time freedom fighter who died a violent death when Siddhu was a boy.  Siddhu's Dongri neighborhood is terrorized by the hot-headed extortionist entrepreneur Raunak Singh, or "Ronnie" (Sharat Saxena), for whom Siddhu performs occasional thug-duty, delivering messages and roughings-up to anyone reluctant to do Ronnie's bidding.  After winning the heart of a sad young woman named Alisha (Rani Mukherjee), Siddhu meets a social worker named Hari (Akshay Anand), who is trying to galvanize beleaguered members of the community into legal action against Ronnie.  After he unwittingly delivers Hari into a trap laid by Ronnie, Siddhu is inspired to take up Hari's cause.  But Siddhu's brother Jai (Rajit Kapoor) reminds Siddhu that their father might not have been the great man Siddhu remembers, and calls into question the very foundation of Siddhu's righteous beliefs. 

The worst parts of Ghulam are so bad that they are hard to watch.  The motorcycle gang that features an embarrassing squealy caricature of an effeminate man is bad enough, and the gang's reappearance toward the film's end is particularly stupid. The violent scenes are too numerous, and too interminable - Siddhu's showdown with Ronnie at the movie's climax is especially improbable and egregious.  And if I gave star ratings to movies, any movie that features a boxing match would automatically be docked at least one star.  (At least in Ghulam, the boxing match is merely gratuitious, rather than a proxy for real achievement - or worse, redemption - as it in that unbearable genre of movies that are actually about boxing.) 

Ghulam is redeemed somewhat by the contrast in its well-wrought characterization of the two brothers. Jai is the clean-cut, educated brother in spectacles and khakis.  He contrasts sharply with Siddhu's leather and chains, and rough Tapori dialect - to all appearances, he is far more like Siddhu's idealized memory of their father, the "bespectacled master."  Yet Jai puts all that class and education to work as Ronnie's accountant, cooking the tyrant's books and laundering his extortionate earnings.  Siddhu, for all his thuggish affectation, proves to have the stouter heart and the purer conscience, in a pleasing (if somewhat facile) turnabout of stereotype.  Even Alisha, clearly attracted to bad boys who feed her fantasy of liberation from her penthouse prison, only falls for Siddhu after he demonstrates his true nature by saving a rival's life.  Siddhu is the descendant of both the Angry Young Man character perfected by Amitabh Bachchan in the 1970s, and the sort of Tapori trickster embodied by Anil Kapoor in Ram Lakhan. 

And so it is fitting, and in hindsight not at all surprising, that Siddhu's great triumph is not that he musters the courage to testify against Ronnie in court - Hari's righteous quest turns out to be a bit of a red herring - but rather that he incites his neighbors to riot in a physical and violent defeat of Ronnie and his gang.  To me and my ordered, Western perspective, the violence of this victory is unsatisfying.  But I have to acknowledge, as I often do as a student of Indian movies, that I am not the target audience, and what I personally think is the correct course would not be the most effective course for people menaced by the likes of Ronnie.  In the movie, Ronnie's case is adjourned for a weekend, setting up his climactic confrontation with Siddhu; I know that in real life, a more likely outcome would be for the slow wheels of justice to creep along for a decade or more while he continues his reign of terror.  And so the violent solution is perhaps the only solution that would ring true to Ghulam's Indian audience.

The appeal of the stars carries the movie a long way too.  Aamir Khan's performance is, as usual, both physical and soulful, and Rani Mukherjee, while still very young, is thoroughly cute.  Their appeal is highlighted in the movie's best song, "Aati kya Khandala," which features Aamir singing his own part, and which is adorable; I especially love it when they dance next to the Buddha sculpture. Somewhat less effective, but still pleasant, are the two - not just one - romantic songs with scenes shot in Switzerland.  Of the minor characters, I particularly liked Akshay Anand as Hari, as well as Sharat Saxena as Ronnie (he does quite well with a character whose vein-popping apoplexy is a bit overdone).  I also enjoyed Siddhu's lawyer (Mita Vasisht).  Her performance makes me wonder whether they offer "Shabana Azmi" classes in acting school; if so, she appears to have studied very hard.    

Ram Lakhan (1989)

राम लखन

Listening to the Masala Zindabad podcast on movies of the 80s reminded me how little I know of that era in Hindi film.  Fears of gratuitous rape and violence have led me to steer clear, except for artier films and the occasional delicate social.  But the podcast roused my curiosity about some of that decade's better-regarded mainstream movies, and so I gritted my teeth and dug into Subhash Ghai's Ram Lakhan.  Three hours, no rapes, and only a little excessive violence later, I was very happily surprised to have seen a rich, excellent masala movie that I thoroughly enjoyed. 

Pratap (Dalip Tahil) and Sharda (Rakhee) are delighted at the birth of their second son, Lakhan, who grows up close to his brother Ram.  But a dubious family friend Bishambhar (Amrish Puri) cheats Pratap out of his inheritance and later murders him, leaving Sharda and her sons disgraced and destitute.  Sharda vows that her sons will be her weapons of revenge against Bishambhar.  The boys grow up close, but very different - Ram (Jackie Shroff) is a stern and serious police inspector, while Lakhan (Anil Kapoor) is a gadabout and a bit of a con man with big dreams of big riches.  To prove his worth to Ram and Sharda - not to mention to his childhood love Radha (Madhuri Dixit) and her father Devdhar (Anupam Kher) - Lakhan joins the police force himself.  But he is quickly seduced by the bribes of Bishmbhar and the gang of smugglers he treats with, the peculiar Kesariya (Gulshan Grover) and imperious Sir John (Raza Murad).  Ram is disgusted when he learns of Lakhan's abuse of the uniform.  Sharda despairs at the wedge this drives between her two sons, and fears that she will never see Pratap's cruel death properly avenged. 

What I expected from Ram Lakhan was a very male, very violent revenge fantasy.  What I got was a fun, well-crafted masala ride, packed with religious allegory, real laughs, and some great songs to boot.  There is some excessive violence, but it only goes over the top in the movie's climax, after more than two and a half fully engaging hours.  And while the brothers and their relationship are clearly the focus of the story, the female characters are strong and satisfying too.  Madhuri Dixit is at her best in Radha's two wonderful songs, the pleading "O Ramji", and the cathartic, rageful "Bekadar, bekhabar."  I sometimes lament the bad timing of Madhuri's career, such that her talents are largely wasted in mediocre movies that she elevates with her magnetic presence.  Here, though she has a relatively small part to play (albeit with a generous helping of songs), she adds delight to an already strong movie.  

The other women in Ram Lakhan offer more substance than I might have expected.  Ram and Lakhan's mother, Sharda, can only be described as the fiercest of masala maa characters - when she grows angry, thunder peals and lightning flashes.  Rakhee is amply suited to this role - she brings the perfect blend of mainstream melodramatic style and serious acting chops, and so there is some nuance in her face, even as the bombast of her dramatic scenes swells to true masala proportion.  Ram Lakhan is a movie that any Rakhee fan should see. 

The men, too, bring quite a lot to the table - and go a long way to helping me understand why they are stars.  Anil Kapoor is adequately cute and convincing in the mischief-maker role, highlighted in his introductory song "My Name is Lakhan."  (Any actor who gets that many drums to herald his first appearance in a movie is clearly already a larger-than-life star.)  Jackie Shroff is at times a little too stern and overbearing - he lays it on especially thick in the scenes that make the Ram-Lakshman allegory explicit.   But this is amply balanced by his tenderness in emotional scenes with Anil, and especially in his romantic song with Ram's love interest Geeta (Dimple Kapadia), "Tera naam liya". This superbly filmed song is perhaps the biggest surprise and my favorite song of the movie.  Jackie and Dimple are well-matched in age and gravitas; the song has a mature feel that is unusual for masala romance, and is yet utterly romantic. 

Ram Lakhan is not without weaknesses, but it's difficult to make a 3-hour movie without taking some missteps.  The most egregious of these is the terrible "Main hoon Hero" song, in which an utterly charisma-free villain (Bishambhar's son Deboo) challenges Lakhan to a dance-off.  The script also leans too heavily on irritating catchphrases, such as Kesariya's annoying "Bad man!", and Deboo's mind-crushingly stupid "India is greeeeaaaat."  But the teeming cast of over-the-top villains is a masala stand-by, and their bombast is appropriate to the movie's overall tone.  Even some of the comedic moments offer real laughs.   Anupam Kher gives the best of these - Lakhan tricks him into sitting on some eggs, and he lets out a whimper that sounds for all the world like the clucking of a hen.  In short, Ram Lakhan is masala done right, not nearly as violent as I feared, and thoroughly paisa vasool.

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. 

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. 

 

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.) 

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. 

Shaan (1980)

शान

When you watch enough masala movies, they start to blend together in a sort of meta-masala of fun pranks, wacky costumes, and sociopathic villains.  Only a few standout films rise above this masala miasma, distinguished as truly great movies and not just paisa vasool masala.  Shaan ("grandeur") is not one of them.  But even if it's not the richest masala dish ever offered, Shaan serves up a tasty enough meal for a rainy afternoon.  

Shiv Kumar (Sunil Dutt) is a fine, principled police officer.  He risks his life to chase bad guys, and puts law and order first in his life, as he repeatedly explains to his wife Sheetal (Rakhee).  To his chagrin, though, Shiv's younger brothers Ravi (Shashi Kapoor) and Vijay (Amitabh Bachchan) are little more than layabouts and con artists. When Shiv Kumar runs afoul of a smuggling gang headed by the megalomaniacal sadist Shakal (Kulbhushan Kharbanda), the villain forces sharpshooter Rakesh (Shatrugan Sinha) to attempt to assassinate the officer.  Rakesh betrays Shakal, who completes the job himself and offs Rakesh's wife for good measure.  Devastated, Rakesh joins forces with Ravi and Vijay to extract their revenge from Shakal.

Shaan fully provides what Beth calls the "Recommended Masala Allowance" of comedy turns, caricatured villains in elaborately unlikely lairs, and cute stars pursuing cute romance.  It's asking a lot of a masala movie to deliver more than that.  And yet, director Sippy and writers Salim-Javed set such a high bar with so many superb masala films - dishing substance with the dishoom-dishoom - that Shaan can't help but come out unsatisfying in comparison.  In Shaan, there is little more than personal revenge at stake; unlike Salim-Javed's Mr. India - a later film with a similar ending - there's no greater message about the common man giving his life to protect the republic.  Indeed, there is little of anything in the way of grand theme; the value of law and order gets some lip service but the film doesn't seem to mean it.  There is no message of redemption or friendship or unity, or any of the principles that lend gravitas to the best masala movies. 

Still, when one doesn't hold it to the gold standard movies of its era, Shaan is a heck of a lot of fun.  Most of its best moments come in the first hour, in a brilliantly constructed series of escalating cons.  After duping a hotel operator out of 15,000 rupees, Ravi and Vijay find the tables turned as the uncle-niece team of Chacha (Johnny Walker) and Renu (Bindiya Goswami) con them out of twice the sum.  Then the four of them join forces, only to be one-upped again by the night-club singer Sunita (Parveen Babi).  These sequences are as good as any cleverly turned by Salim-Javed and are a joy to watch.  They reach their culmination as Sunita joins the gang for an elaborate religious and musical hoax, the hysterical song "Dariya mein jahaz". 

There are other surprising touches as well, including some remarkably good cinematography.  The film is full of interesting shots through doorways, from overhead angles, and other unusual vantage points.  A friend of Ravi and Vijay, the paraplegic Abdul (Mazhar Khan), propels himself through Bombay on a wheeled board, and his excellent song ("Aate jaate hue main") and chase scene are full of dizzying views of the whirling bustle of Bombay whizzing by at knee-level.  And of course, in addition to the photography, the "Shashitabh" combo always delivers some good old-fashioned musical double-romance ("Jaanu meri jaan").  And for the connoisseur of masala villains with elaborate underground lairs, the bald-pated Shakal's tribute to the classic Bond villain Blofeld (almost two decades before Mike Myers gave us Dr. Evil) is not to be missed - complete with remotely-operated exploding chairs, shark tanks, and an alligator moat. 

Dilli ka thug (1958)

दिल्ली का ठग

Returning to Hindi films after a bit of a hiatus, I've rewatched a couple of movies that I saw about a year ago but didn't get around to writing up, and it's been interesting to note that some of them I liked better the second time around.  Ashanti was one such. And another is Dilli ka thug ("Delhi rogue") - while not much more than a pleasant timepass, it is loaded with smiles, songs, and antics that just reminded me why I love Hindi movies. 

Kishore (Kishore Kumar) is an unemployed newspaper reporter who makes his living conning rich folks at the gambling table.  His mother scolds him, fearing that his roguish antics threaten his sister's engagement to a boy from a respectable family.  But Kishore has no respect for the rich, whose unscrupulous greed, he says, ruined his father's name and caused his death.  Meanwhile, Kishore's friend Suhanlal, who is mixed up with a counterfeit medicine racket, is murdered by the racket's mastermind Amarnath (Krishnakant).  Kishore learns from Police Inspector Dilip Singh (Ifthekar) that this murderer is likely the man responsible for Kishore's father's downfall and death.  Kishore vows to find him and bring him to justice - but he has no idea that the man is the uncle of the charming girl he's set his heart on, Asha (Nutan).

Dilli ka thug does not pack much in the way of substantial messages or delicate themes.  But it does have its surprises.  Asha is a champion swimmer, a doctor, and owner of a controlling interest in a pharmaceutical company  - her intellectual superiority to Kishore is made quite plain, both in the lead-up to the charming song "C-A-T Cat" and in several clever tricks she plays on him.  And she shows her guts in the film's climax (aboard a pilotless aircraft), where she steps up to take the film's decisive action. 

The real star of Dilli ka thug, though, is Kishore Kumar's relentless and adorable energy.  He dons costumes, leaps around the screen waving his rubbery limbs every which way, smiles and pouts with a charming childlike air.  Even the fight scenes are played for laughs, and his comic interactions with the owner of a drugstore where he works are hysterical.  In one delightfully manic scene, Kishore cons three investors (very broadly caricatured themselves - a rich nawab, a South Indian swami, and a Parsee businessman) by pretending to negotiate with a maharaja.  He jumps - literally - from one side of the conversation to the other, first playing his own role, then the role of the maharaja, then back again.  He even manages to squeeze in a few lines for the maharani.  

And in his courtship of Asha, Kishore's manic energy takes a very sweet tone.  I grinned like a dope all the way through "Hum to mohabbat karega," both at Kishore's adorable courtship and at Nutan's sweetly and willingly weakening resistance to it.  There are other very fun songs too, including two excellent cabaret numbers and an impressive display of synchronized swimming that features Nutan emerging from the petals of a giant lotus blossom.  But the sweet moments of Kishore's courtship of Asha - and her gradually warming  to his goofball earnestness - are the best pleasures of Dilli ka thug.  It's not in the same league as Chalti ka naam gaadi - but that is pure perfection, one of the most fun films ever made.  Still, if you liked Kishore and the tone of the romance in that movie, you will find something to enjoy in Dilli ka thug.

Ashanti (1982)

अशांति

Not all masala is created equal.  There is masala with a message - Amar Akbar Anthony comes to mind - where there is a bit of social commentary baked into the fluffy cake of  wild stunts, dashes of romance, comedic disguises, and over-the-top misanthropic villains.  And then there is masala that invites you to check your brain at the door and just come along for a wackadoodle ride.  Ashanti ("unrest") is that kind of masala.

Bhishm Bahadur Singh (Amrish Puri), scion of maharajas, is bitter that he is merely rich, and no longer royalty.  He vows to undermine law and order, sowing chaos and unrest to take his revenge against the democratic society that dethroned him.  To carry out this plan he engineers a counterfeiting operation and a string of bank robberies executed by his son Ramesh.  Police inspector Kumar (Rajesh Khanna) is framed and sent to prison by Ramesh.  Released from prison some years later, Kumar hunts Ramesh down, only to lose his leg in their violent confrontation.  Plotting his revenge, he collects three young women - Kamini (Shabana Azmi), Sunita (Parveen Babi), and Sonia (Zeenat Aman) - all of whom have been terribly and violently wronged by Bhishm Bahadur Singh and Ramesh's gang.  He trains them in combat and surveillance, and with the help of the spirited bootlegger Shankar (Mithun Chakraborty), they set to work tracking down the villains and seeing that justice is done.

As with many light-on-substance films, though, the pleasure of Ashanti is not in the intricacies of the plot - it's in the grab-bag of masala elements and over-the-top moments.  Ashanti puts its filmi touch on its Charlie's Angels-inspired setup.  Kumar and his three angels solemnize their vow of revenge in a temple in a kind of 4-way wedding.  The angels get up to wild disguised comedy antics as they carry out their plan.  And in the scenes leading up to the climax, they naturally perform a jaunty song to con their way into Bahadur Singh's palace.  To Ashanti's great credit, as well, it's very satisfying that the girls get to kick some serious ass in the movie's wacky fight scenes.

The angels aren't the only ones who contribute to the parade of memorable masala moments that make Ashanti thoroughly paisa vasool.  Shankar has a big gay shirtless fight with Bob Christo, and a truly terrific drunk song with Sunita.  A sweaty Bahadur Singh proves how badass he is by deliberately goading a venomous snake to bite him.  There's even a role for the wonderful Nadira, who in a kitchen fight scene, gets a brinjal in the mouth from Sonia:

That fight scene also bears mention as another of Ashanti's tempting, if trippy, set pieces - the girls take on the hijra kitchen staff with ridiculously comic violence, as when Sonia slaps dough on top of a hijra's head and stuffs the head, and the dough, into a tandoor - pulling out a perfectly cooked naan. 

Kumar, for his part, makes the most of his maiming - he gets a gun installed in one of his crutches and fires it with wild abandon, and in the film's climax he pulls off his prosthetic leg and beats Ramesh with it (never mind how he stays standing while he does so).

In short, if you are a fan of nutso masala, then run - or at least hobble on your bullet-loaded crutches - to the nearest DVD player and watch Ashanti.

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.