After all the melodrama of the recent Hindi films I’ve been watching, I decided it was time to sit back and enjoy one of my favourite genres: the thriller. And a thriller the way only the Bollywood of the 1950’s and 60’s could manage: with lots of romance thrown in, a gorgeously vampish Helen, hummable songs, a comic side plot starring none other than the inimitable Johnny Walker—and, interestingly enough, a supporting actor who manages to steal the limelight from the hero.
I seem to be on a `love in the time of war’ roll. First it was Usne Kaha Tha, then Hum Dono; and in the middle I even managed to fit in Random Harvest, which though not exactly set during a war, was about a romance which began on the day World War I ended. So here’s another. A musical. Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, and based on James Michener’s stories of the South Pacific.
After Usne Kaha Tha, it’s time for yet another Nanda film (though Sadhana plays an equally, if not more important role in it). And a coincidence: this one too is against the backdrop of World War II. But that’s where the resemblance ends. Hum Dono is a very different story, more mainstream than Usne Kaha Tha, yet equally enjoyable—and with superb music by the underrated Jaidev.
There was a snippet in the newspaper the other day about a Britisher who was fined by the police for laughing while driving. He’d been using a handsfree on his mobile to chat with a friend, but it wasn’t, apparently, the mobile that irked the police; it was the laughing.
That got me thinking: what would they make of characters in Hindi cinema who sing, play musical instruments, and sometimes even dance, while driving? That thought, of course, led to this post: ten of my favourite 50’s and 60’s songs, picturised on modes of transport. They’re all from films I’ve seen, and haven’t been included in any of my earlier posts (or, as one of my readers pointed out, not in one of my earlier Ten of my favourite… lists). Just to make it a little more interesting, no two songs are filmed on the same type of vehicle—and a song qualifies only if (a) the singer is on the vehicle (people sung to could be elsewhere) and (b) the singer stays on the vehicle through at least 80% of the song. And yes, a song figures on this list only if it’s good to look at and listen to.
I am an unashamed romantic—but I have some stipulations. The romance mustn’t be the type that pops up out of the blue, just by two people looking at each other. It mustn’t consist of just staring, pop-eyed and with a silly grin, at each other. Most important, it must end happily. The ride into the sunset, or the fadeout on a heart-and-soul smooch, is of paramount importance.
That said, here’s one utterly lovely romance I saw a few weeks back. And then again yesterday, just because it was so wonderful.
I am occasionally inclined to see a film simply because I adore one particular song of the film. Unfortunately, I score more hits than misses using this criterion. Saranga (1960) is a case in point—it has the classic Saranga teri yaad mein nain hue bechain (one of the few hit songs of Anu Malik’s father, Sardar Malik), but not much else. With Usne Kaha Tha, I had better luck. The lovely Aha rimjhim ke yeh pyaare-pyaare geet liye is a wonderful song, and the film itself is an interesting one.
Like Robert Mitchum, Stewart Granger is one of those actors who just needs to be in a film for me to want to see it. When the film in question boasts of Deborah Kerr opposite Granger, lots of swordplay and palace intrigue, a magnificently villainous villain, and some very fancy costumes: my day is made. And, best of all: not one Granger, but two: he’s in a double role here (well, one of the characters is hardly there, but still). Yippee!
Shaadi isn’t one of the better films I’ve seen in recent times. In fact, it had some definitely irritating moments, and it called for more suspension of disbelief than is generally expected in Hindi films. On the other hand, it had quite a cast: Saira Banu, Manoj Kumar, Dharmendra, Indrani Mukherjee, Balraj Sahni, Om Prakash, Manorama, and others. Even more interestingly, it was Saira Banu’s second film and one of Dharmendra’s first few films. Overall bearable, especially since I didn’t have anything better to do.
On International Women’s Day, I’d like to raise a toast to all the women I admire. My mother, my sister, sundry relatives, old school and college friends whom I haven’t seen in years, ex colleagues, and even some women I’ve only met in cyberspace but whom I nevertheless respect and admire (memsaab, bollyviewer, and Banno: this is for you). And to Sabrina Mathew, one of the most intelligent, well-read and amazing people I’ve ever met. Here’s to all of us!
Ahem. That sounds like a dedication on a book or an Oscar acceptance speech. And though I mean it sincerely, this perhaps isn’t the forum to get emotional and teary. So back on track, and this time with an unusual film: a Western in which though the star is Robert Taylor, the real heroes are all heroines. A good watch for Women’s Day.
There are some things I have very little patience with while I’m watching a film. Weepiness, for instance. Precocious children for another. Endless bhajans (unless the bhajan in question happens to be of the calibre of Allah tero naam or Man tadpat hari darshan). Mindless self-sacrificing which can’t possibly benefit anyone.
And much more. Beti, unfortunately, has all of these in ample doses. I saw it primarily because I like the lead pair (Nanda is an old favourite, and I haven’t given up on Sanjay Khan, despite the lamentable Ek Phool Do Maali). And when a film lists Rajendranath, Shyama and Asit Sen in its cast, one can hope for lots of entertainment.
Or so I thought.
Dustedoff 