Filmi Geek

Metapost: In memory of Ravi Baswani

In memory of Ravi Baswani, who passed away earlier this week, I'd like to highlight reviews I wrote a few years ago of two films he starred in:

• Jaane bhi do yaaro
• Chashme buddoor 

Both are wonderful films.  Though my comments on them don't say much in particular about Ravi Baswani, his performances in both films are natural, appealing, and endearingly comical. 

According to IMDB, I have also seen Ravi Baswani in a small role in Bunty aur Babli.  I did not know who he was when I saw that film, so it didn't register.  I will look for him the next time I watch it. 

Garm hava (1973)

गरम हवा

M.S. Sathyu

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. 

 

The Blue Umbrella (2005)

Dir. Vishal Bhardwaj

Like his film Makdee, Vishal Bhardwaj's The Blue Umbrella is a story about a child, though it is not as explicitly a children's story as that wonderful fable.  Nor is it as decidedly a grown-up story as his Shakespeare adaptations Omkara or Maqbool.  However one characterizes this film, though, one thing is certain - I need to see more Vishal Bhardwaj films.  

In a picturesque town in the mountain state of Himachal Pradesh lives a little girl named Biniya (Shreya Sharma).  Biniya does what most little girls do - runs around and plays with the other children, and bargains for candy and treats with the keeper of the local snack stand, Nandu (Pankaj Kapur).  One day, on the mountainside outside the village, Biniya finds a beautiful umbrella, and is entranced by its sky-blue watercolors, delicate papery canopy, its bamboo ribs and sensuous ruffles.  When the Japanese tourist to whom it belongs finds her, Biniya trades her precious good luck charm - a bear claw - for the umbrella, and brings the marvelous artifact back to the village. 

There, Biniya becomes the center of all attention, as children and adults alike are fascinated by the umbrella.  Nandu covets it, and offers her all the toffees and biscuits she can eat in exchange for it - but Biniya isn't selling.  Then one day Biniya's heart breaks - she turns her back on the umbrella for a few short moments, and it vanishes.  When Nandu obtains a nearly identical umbrella - his is red - from a foreign seller, Biniya vibrates with rageful suspicion, and determines to prove that Nandu is a thief. 

There are so many marvelous touches in this short little film that it's difficult to single out a few without feeling guilty for giving others short shrift.  It is visually stunning, with a rich palate and carefully-constructed shots that deliver beauty and symbolism in equal parts.  In one scene, Biniya brandishes the umbrella like a kung-fu master to protect her older brother - himself a powerful champion wrestler - from a coiling cobra.  In another of the many lovely scenes, Nandu tries, without success, to bribe Biniya with a bunch of balloons.  The brightly colored balloons float slowly away like Nandu's dreams as he stands, small and beige and still, before the grey backdrop of a rocky waterfall. 

Indeed, Bhardwaj uses the picturesque village and its breathtaking natural surroundings to great effect, creating a dreamlike or fable-like quality even while presenting day to day village life in charming and engaging vignettes throughout the story. And while most of the characters are not fleshed out - the 90-minute running time does not afford very much deep character development - Nandu and Biniya are, as much through expressive silences as through any dialogue.  In this way, the film bears some similarity to Bhardwaj's delicious Makdee, presenting village life with some vividness, along with the maturation of a child's spirit in opposition to a stubborn and cruel adult.  Unlike the witch in Makdee, though, Nandu has some nuance of his own.  Sour as the pickles he relishes, this bitter little man is nevertheless moved to poetry by the beauty of the umbrella, which he rhapsodizes in loving terms.

The film has some themes in common with The Gods Must Be Crazy and other stories of that ilk, in which a mysterious and desirable object of foreign origin invades a peaceful, tightly knit community and breeds unrest and mistrust among its residents.  The umbrella surely carries the allegorical force of the variety of outside influences that exert themselves on Indian village life, both foreign influences and those from other sectors of Indian society.  And in Biniya's village, where the villagers routinely entertain tourists (and sometimes even con them), there is enough resilience that in the end, the umbrella's upsetting influence can be calmed, and the umbrella integrated into the village's peaceful fabric, as Nandu changes the name of his snack stand from his surname "Khatri stall" to "Chatri stall" (umbrella stall).  

Howrah Bridge (1958)

Dir. Shakti Samanta

IndieQuill's post about Madhubala and Ashok Kumar prompted me to pull out Howrah Bridge, a film I'd been meaning to watch for some time.  Madhubala alone is plenty to keep my eyes fixed to the screen, and this marvelous tale of the Calcutta underworld offers even more than that.

The ex-pat businessman Prem Kumar (Ashok Kumar) rushes to Calcutta from his home in Rangoon when he learns that his brother Madan (Chaman Puri) has been found murdered on the city's famous Howrah Bridge. Before his murder Madan stole their family's priceless heirloom, a jeweled dragon mask, and Prem determines both to recover the mask and bring his brother's killers to justice.  With the help of his tanga driver Shyamu (Om Prakash), Prem finds his way into a hotel run by Joe (Dhumal) and one run by Chang (Madan Puri), where he encounters a loose federation of smugglers including Chang, Pyarelal (K.N. Singh), and Joe's niece, the singer Edna (Madhubala).  Giving a false name, Rakesh, Prem attempts to infiltrate this underworld by romancing Edna.  But Shyamu's servant Bhiku (Sunder) witnessed the murder on Howrah Bridge.  His snooping raises Pyarelal's suspicion, and Pyarelal - who is also jealous of Edna's attention - attempts to turn the tables on Prem, framing him for Pyarelal's own crimes.  

For a film in the mystery-suspense genre, Howrah Bridge's mystery isn't particularly mysterious, its suspense not terribly suspenseful. We know from the first scenes who committed the murder and stole the artifact, and there is little in the way of twist or surprise to cast doubt on the inevitability of justice being done.  The love story, too, would have benefited greatly from subtler handling.  It's apparent from the story that Prem's initial interest in Edna is a fabrication, a pretense to get closer to the gang and its activities.  By failing to show us a clear turning point where Prem struggles against his pretended feelings becoming real, Howrah Bridge squanders an opportunity for satisfying dramatic tension.  

Despite these storytelling flaws, though, Howrah Bridge is engaging and entertaining all the way through.  Shadowy cinematography sets an appropriately noirish mood (enhanced by the poorly-preserved film that unfortunately comes out even darker than intended in the DVD).  Madhubala is delicious as always.  And the city of Calcutta, its skyline dominated by the titular bridge, offers an ever-present, ever-shifting and fascinating backdrop.  The film careens through its grimy streets, from seedy immigrant districts to ramshackle waterfront shanties to shady nightclubs. The city's better face is also shown, in the jaunty song "Sunoji yeh Calcutta hai," picturized on Om Prakash driving his tanga past Calcutta's bright parks, historic buildings, and scenic riverbanks.

There is a peculiar air of the exotic in all these scenes of Calcutta as well, and in Madan Puri's stereotypical yet weirdly compelling performance as Chang, with his arched brows and high-pitched, Chinese-inflected Hindi.  I don't know whether it's proper to apply the "Orientalist" label to Bombay movie that fetishizes still more eastern locales and types, but whatever name one gives it, I have the impression that exoticism is a significant part of the mood that Howrah Bridge aims to set.  The wonderful song "Mera naam Chin Chin Chu," which made a star of Helen, is one of the exotic jewels set front-and-center in this dragon-mask of a film.  If nothing else it shows what a difference make-up can make, as the part-Burmese, part-English Helen, who often looks so very western in later appearances, looks perfectly east Asian here, clad in a cheongsam and made up like a porcelain doll. 

The rest of the film's numerous songs are magnificent too, and really deserve repeat watchings.  From Madhubala's teasingly sexy club number "Aaiye meherbaan" to an enchantingKashmiri dance performed by Mehmood and Minoo Mumtaz, and everything in between, the delightful O.P. Nayyar soundtrack is more than enough to land Howrah Bridge squarely among my favorites. 

Dil bole hadippa (2009)

दिल बोले हड़िप्पा

Romances and sports stories are challenging for storytellers.  When the conclusion is foregone - the couple will get together, the underdog hero will win the big game in the final play - it's no mean feat to keep the audience engaged and even in suspense.  Dil bole hadippa ("My heart cries hooray"), with the dual freight of being both romance and sports movie, succeeds triumphantly.  Delightful, funny, and sweet, this charming film had me on the edge of my seat - and grinning like a dope - right up until the very last ball.  

Veera Kaur (Rani Mukherjee) is a peppery Punjabi girl with a big dream: to play real competitive cricket.  She bets visitors to her dusty village pitch that they can't bowl her out before she hits six consecutive sixers - and she wins those bets, too, even against male professional all-rounders.  In nearby Amritsar, Vicky Singh (Anupam Kher), runs a cricket team who annually play a symbolically-charged cross-border match against a Pakistani team.  Singh, crestfallen when the Tigers lose that match for the ninth year in a row, imports his son Rohan (Shahid Kapoor) - a professional cricketer who has lived most of his life in London - to take over the team and train them to finally beat the Pakistani rivals.  Veera, confident that she's as good a player as there is, longs to try out for the team, but gets rudely turned away - no girls allowed.  That night, the lead actor in her uncle's dance troupe turns up too drunk to perform, and Veera is pressed into service as his understudy, donning his costume and performing as a lusty young Punjabi man.  After the show, as Veera removes her turban and peels off her mustache, inspiration strikes - if girls aren't welcome on the cricket pitch, she'll just have to be one of the guys.  With a fuzzy little fake beard and her hair tied up in a turban, Veera marches into the training pitch, introduces herself as Veer Pratap Singh, and wins a place on Rohan's team.  Living her dream, though, places Veera in a bit of a sticky wicket.  Romance blossoms between Rohan and Veera (who he thinks is his teammate Veer's sister), and Veera has her hands full keeping the charade going as they train for the match. 

Make no mistake - Dil bole hadippa is pure Yash Raj, mainstream Bollywood at its most mainstream and most Bollywood, with everything that implies, both magical and cheesy.  The dramatic moments skew manipulative and trite - appeals to filial duty, religious fervor, or patriotic pride are tearfully rendered over swelling strings.  And yet I watched the film - the first time through, at least - completely in the zone, and loved every second of it.  No small part of that is thanks to Rani Mukherjee, who throws herself with seemingly limitless energy into a very physical performance and appears to have the time of her life doing it. She is funny and completely adorable.  Shahid Kapoor is a serviceable chocolate hero - a much better than average dancer, which doesn't hurt - and their romance is sweet, a nice confection and easy to get behind.  The cricket manages to be fun and suspenseful too.  Despite the formulaic fetters, Dil bole hadippa hits every entertainment note just right, from Veera's stubborn vivacity to Veer's manically silly bravado, from the colorful and boisterous dance numbers (bhangra, of course) to the expansively beautiful shots of rural Punjab.   

The movie steers clear of any implicit or explicit homosexual ramifications, as are common in other stories of this type from Shakespeare to Victor Victoria.  For all his dewy-eyed gazing at Veera, Rohan does not show any signs of attraction to Veer (who is, in honesty, too weird to be sexually appealing to anyone).   Nevertheless, there is plenty of saucy double-entendre for those who are ready and willing to look for it.  In one song, Veera-in-drag brags about the boudoir prowess of Punjabi men while brandishing an enormous staff.  And, as she often reminds us, Veera is a switch-hitter - meaning, of course, only that she bats both right- and left-handed - but the nudge-nudge-wink-wink is ripe for the plucking.

Veera isn't above taking advantage of being one of the fellas, either.  In one scene, Rohan - angling for a date with Veera - asks Veer whether he thinks Rohan is a good-looking guy.  Veera-as-Veer gives him a long, leisurely look before responding, her eyes wandering up and down lasciviously as she checks him out in a delightful renversé of the traditional male gaze.  Not that there isn't plenty of the familiar of kind of male gaze - Rohan only becomes aware of his attraction to Veera after accidentally seeing her naked.  More than that, Veera has a weak romantic foil in the form of the slinky, scantily-clad westernized Soniya (Sherlyn Chopra), the kind of filmi vamp who gets her own leering theme melody.  While Soniya hardly turns Rohan's head for a moment and presents no real threat to Veera (who even has fun giving the vamp deliberately misguided romantic advice), the camera lingers far too long on her T & A for there to be any doubt what she's really doing in the movie. 

Indeed, Dil bole hadippa is not subtle with its portrayal of the westernized vamp as shallow, cheap, and ignorant.  And yet, it handles with some delicacy the question of how the girl who is supposed to represent the virtues of the seedhi-saadhi Hindustani ladki can yearn to hitch up her salwar and get out on the pitch.  Veera's speech at the film's climax drives home the movie's very important point, a rich nugget of substance that floats there in the tasty filmi froth:  it's possible to be a true Indian woman and still crave equality and respect for one's abilities.