“Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!” says the eponymous Auntie Mame (Rosalind Russell) on more than one occasion in this delightful film about an eccentric woman who is obliged to look after her orphaned nephew. Mame Dennis, indeed, is not one of the ‘poor suckers’ she so derides; this is a woman who lives life to the full (and a little beyond), grabbing happiness with both hands and not giving a damn, mostly, for what the world thinks.Continue reading
Which literally translates as ‘The Great Ramble’, but the English title of this hilarious French film is Don’t Look Now—We’re Being Shot At.
And, that English title is explained within the first couple of minutes of the film itself. This is in the middle of World War II, somewhere over Germany. An RAF plane, part of an operation to bomb this area, is flying along, commanded by Sir Reginald (Terry-Thomas), along with his co-pilots Pete Cunningham (Claudio Brook) and Alan MacIntosh (Mike Marshall). The operation is code-named Tea for Two, after the Irving Caesar/Vincent Youmans song.
The plane encounters some heavy anti-aircraft fire and sustains some damages. The worst damage of all seems to be to their map, which has a great big hole burnt through the middle of it, as a result of which Sir Reginald & Co. lose their way…Continue reading
I had read a review of this film on a blog years ago, but besides the fact that it starred Prithviraj Kapoor as the father-in-law of three women, I remembered nothing of what I’d read. Then, some weeks back, when Shashikala passed away, a couple of people remembered her role, as a popular film star, in this film. I was tempted to watch it.
The teen bahuraniyaan (the three daughters-in-law) live in one rambling house along with their husbands, their children, and their father-in-law Dinanath (Prithviraj Kapoor)a retired school teacher. The patriarch’s three sons, from eldest to youngest, are Shankar (Agha), Ram (Ramesh Deo) and Kanhaiya (Rajendranath). Appropriately enough, their wives, respectively, are Parvati (Sowkar Janki), Sita (Kanchana) and Radha (Jayanthi). Sita’s sister Mala (Vaishali), who’s come to town to do college, also lives with them.Continue reading
Today is the birth centenary of British actor Dirk Bogarde, which is why I’m revisiting a film that was a favourite of mine in my teens.
Dirk Bogarde, born Derek Bogaerde (his father was of Flemish ancestry, and Derek ‘Pip’ was born in Birmingham) served in the British Army, mostly as an intelligence officer, during World War II. The war took him to Europe (where he was one of the first Allied officers to arrive at the German concentration camp of Bergen-Belsen, a traumatic experience which he recalled, even years later, with horror and pain). In the wake of the war, Bogaerde (who had already begun working in theatre before the war) went back to acting, this time to cinema, where he took on the screen name by which he became famous. He signed a contract with the Rank Organisation, and it was in the Rank film Esther Waters (1948) that he got his first credited role.
Bogarde’s stint with Rank lasted till the 60s, after which he went on to work in a very varied set of films, moving on from the primarily matinee-idol, stereotypical leading man role he played in Rank’s films. This included several highly acclaimed and/or award-winning roles in films like King and Country, The Servant, Accident, The Fixer, and A Death in Venice. Bogarde’s homosexuality, which he never tried to hide, probably came in the way of his being a big hit in Hollywood, although back home in Britain he was very popular.Continue reading
Bengali cinema is one of the few regional language cinema industries for which it’s relatively easy to find subtitled copies. Even when the film in question is an old one.
Over the years, several Bengali readers have recommended Shaarey Chuattar to me. I had been under the impression that I should watch this film for the Uttam Kumar-Suchitra Sen pairing (it was the their first film together, the first of many films in which they were co-stars). But, now that I’ve seen it, I can safely say that this is a film you should watch not for these two, but for the film itself. True, Suchitra Sen and Uttam Kumar provide some eye candy and are a likable romantic couple, but the romance in Shaarey Chuattar is not the main thing.
Or, in English, Striped Trip. Also known in English as A Lively Voyage.
I happened to watch this film in a roundabout way. I’d started off watching a completely different film (although—like A Lively Voyage—also Russian): Andrei Rublev, an ‘essential film’, a classic about the 15th century iconist. After half an hour of watching that, I decided it was too much. Perhaps I was just not in the right mood; perhaps the combination of disconnected episodes, a bad print, and the fact that I have been under a lot of stress lately—perhaps all of that contributed. I junked Andrei Rublev and looked around for other films among my bookmarks. I found this one, recommended by a blog reader, who had also very kindly sent me a link to a subtitled version.
A Lively Voyage begins tamely enough. Shuleykin (Evgeniy Leonov) finds himself in a tropical port at the other end of the world, and desperate to get back home to Odessa. He’s so desperate that he will take on any work on any ship heading for Russia—as long as he can come home. Fortunately, he has found an agent (Nikolay Volkov) who assures Shuleykin that he can get Shuleykin a job on a ship.
Mention Shakespeare and Hindi cinema, and most eyes light up. Vishal Bhardwaj’s tragedy trilogy—Omkara, Maqbool, and Haider—come immediately to mind for those who cannot think back further than the 1990s, if that. Those who belong to a certain generation (my own) will probably remember fondly the delightful comedy, Angoor, based on A Comedy of Errors.
Fewer, perhaps, will know that Hindi cinema’s tryst with Shakespeare is much older than Angoor. In 1928, a Hamlet adaptation called Khoon-e-Nahak was released; the same play was adapted for screen again in 1935, this time as Khoon ka Khoon, starring Sohrab Modi in the title role opposite Naseem Banu as Ophelia. In 1941, The Merchant of Venice was adapted as a film named Zaalim Saudagar. And in 1954, Kishore Sahu produced, directed and acted in Hamlet, an interesting and unusual film for Hindi audiences since it was a fairly faithful enactment of the play—down to the costumes, the names, etc.
Along with Hamlet (which seems to win hands down when it comes to popularity among Hindi film makers), another popular play for adaptation seems to be A Comedy of Errors. In 1969, it had been made (though with many departures from the original plot, and with no twin servants) as Gustakhi Maaf, with Tanuja in the double role, opposite Sanjeev Kumar. It’s interesting to note that while Sanjeev Kumar would go on to act in another adaptation of the play (Angoor), Tanuja had already acted in yet another version. Do Dooni Chaar, released in 1968 and quite clearly the inspiration for Angoor.
The irrepressible Doris Day—star of such hits as Pillow Talk and Lover Come Back, the woman who pretty much embodied the wholesome girl next door, the voice that mesmerized millions—passed away earlier this week. At the ripe old age of 97, Doris Day had gone on working till well into her 80s: her album, My Heart, released in 2011, made her the oldest artiste to feature in the UK Top Ten.
On Dustedoff, it is not just Doris Day’s music, but also her acting skills that I wanted to pay tribute to. When I was told about Doris’s passing (by blog reader Hurdy Gurdy Man, who left a comment on my blog shortly after her death was announced on May 13, 2019), I felt a wave of nostalgia for Doris Day—because I heard and loved her voice long before I knew who she was. My mother used to sing Que sera sera to me when I was a toddler, and there were some songs of hers on various LPs in our house. I don’t know which was the first Doris Day film I ever watched, but I do remember going on a Doris Day spree, and watching several of her most popular films pretty much one after the other. There are several reviews of her films on this blog, including Pillow Talk, Lover Come Back, Send Me No Flowers, That Touch of Mink, and Midnight Lace.
As tribute, I decided to watch and review a film whose lead character Doris Day described as her own favourite character, because Calamity Jane was closest in nature to Doris herself. “I was such a tomboy growing up, and she was such a fun character to play,” Doris said in an interview recorded in April 2019.
And yes, you get a taste of what sort of character this is, as soon as the credits have finished rolling in Calamity Jane. The story begins with a song: a stage coach is racing along towards the town of Deadwood in the Dakota Territory, and riding shotgun is Calamity ‘Calam’ Jane (Doris Day). ‘Riding shotgun’ is perhaps not quite the mot juste here; Calam sings, dances about, jumps around, swings over the side and onto the step, where she is joined in the chorus by the passengers…
When they arrive in Deadwood, Calam sings about not just all the stuff—everything from gingham to hair restorer—which she’s brought back for the people of Deadwood—but then goes on to introduce us to her best friends in Deadwood. One of these is the owner/manager of a theatre/bar/saloon called The Golden Garter: Henry Miller (Paul Harvey) looks prosperous enough, but also somewhat harried.
Another—with whom Calam has as many run-ins as she does agreements—is Wild Bill Hickok (Howard Keel), who is one of the few people who sees right through Calam’s tall claims of killing off hostile Indians left, right and centre. He is also the man in whom Calam confides about her disappointment that the man she is in love with, Lieutenant Danny Gilmartin (Philip Carey) didn’t even come to greet her when the coach arrived.
As it happens, Danny couldn’t have come. A couple of battered-looking men arrive in the saloon moments later, bringing with them bad news: Danny was one of several men who were ambushed by the Indians and killed. Calam is shocked, and refuses to believe it.
Before anyone can stop her, or even accompany her on this mad chase, Calam has rushed off by herself into the woods, where she’s able to frighten away a handful of Indians and rescue Danny , who is (much to Calam’s relief) alive. She unties him, gets him onto her horse, and back to Deadwood, where she boasts of all the Indians she killed in the process of rescuing Danny.
Wild Bill Hickok is, as to be expected, scornful: he doesn’t believe a word. Calam is not one to be put off by Bill’s scorn, and she gives back as good as she gets: I can do without you, they tell each other.
In the meantime, disaster strikes The Golden Garter. This establishment has a huge male audience, all of them clamouring to be shown good shows, great acts. Actresses like the gorgeous Adelaid Adams (Gale Robbins), for instance, who is so popular that her photograph, found free in a pack of cigarettes, is highly prized. (Not by Calam, who is disapproving of women who consent to be photographed in their underwear).
The famous Adelaid Adams is way out of Henry Miller’s league, but he’s managed to book an actress named Frances Fryer… only, now that Ms Fryer arrives, it turns out this is a Mr Fryer. Francis Fryer (Dick Wesson).
Henry Miller is so appalled and so worried—there is no time, the show is on in a very short while from now—that he can only think of one thing: disguise Francis Fryer as a woman and send ‘her’ on. Fryer doesn’t like the idea one bit but is forcibly pushed on—and, surprisingly enough (perhaps much of the audience is too sozzled to notice?) is actually able to draw some very leering looks from some of the patrons:
… though the more level-headed, clear-sighted, (and, in Calam’s case, sarsaparilla-swigging) ones can see something’s not quite right.
The farce falls through when Fryer’s wig accidentally comes off—and then it’s disaster for Henry Miller, who has to face a very irate mob. They feel cheated, they feel used, they demand reparation. Calam, jumping up onto a table to calm the men down (Henry Miller being her friend, her loyalty won’t let her sit back and see him getting lambasted). Calam’s way of calming the men down is to promise them grand spectacles, fabulous shows—oh, Adelaid Adams herself!
This goes down well and serves to defuse the situation, but when everybody’s gone away, Calam and Henry and Bill sit down to discuss it. There’s no way Henry can get Adelaid is going to leave Chicago and come to Deadwood (which is very aptly named). So Calam, who’s made this rash promise, had better attend to it.
Calam, therefore, all ragged and rough, clad in her deerskin clothes and ready to whip out her gun at the slightest provocation (or no provocation) goes to Chicago.
As it happens, on the night Calam arrives in Chicago, it is Adelaid Adam’s last appearance. She is going off to get married.
After the show, Adelaid goes to her green room, where her meek maid Katie (Allyn Ann McLerie) helps her change. Adelaid is busy talking about her plans to go on her honeymoon and beyond—in Vienna, Paris, London—and wondering what she’ll do about all her costumes. She thinks of throwing them all out, and then on a whim decides to gift them all to Katie. This it is that prompts Katie to ask diffidently if Adelaid might put in a word for her… after all, Katie can sing, and she can dance a little. Maybe in the chorus?
Adelaid is dismissive. Katie just doesn’t have it in her. Leaving Katie to her own devices, Adelaid now rushes off, gone forever to marry, to roam Europe… and Katie, resentful of the put-down she’s received at the hands of her late employer, decides to comfort her by proving—to herself, even if she can’t to anyone else—that she does, in fact, have it in her. So she dons the costume Adelaid wore for her last performance, and dances about the green room, singing the same song Adelaid sang.
This is when Calam, who had managed to catch a glimpse of Adelaid performing onstage, arrives outside the door. She hears the song, she opens the door and comes in, and after some initial panic (Katie mistakes Calam for a man), the two women get down to talking.
Katie soon realizes that the dress, the song, the dancing, and the very fact that there is a superficial resemblance between herself and her former employer means that Calam has mistaken Katie for Adelaid Adams—and now Calam invites ‘Adelaid Adams’ to come to Deadwood to perform, because Deadwood is crowded with men who’re yearning to see her dance and sing for them.
Katie, whose one desire has been to go onstage, is very tempted. She asks Calam about Deadwood: where is the nearest railroad? How far is it from civilization? (That’s the gist of her queries, and she’s pleased to find that it’s very far). And, having heard Calam talk about a photo in a pack of cigarettes, she also discovers that that obscure little photo—not a close-up of Adelaid Adam’s face—is all the audience at Deadwood knows of the famous actress.
Katie—or ‘Adelaid Adams’, as Calam thinks she is—agrees. Calam takes her back to Deadwood, and drives in in great style. Katie receives an extremely enthusiastic welcome.
And the stage is set for a pretty much complete turnaround of Calam’s life. Because before her horrified eyes, not just Bill but also her beloved Danny go off, starry-eyed, in the wake of ‘Adelaid Adams’. Plus, an industry insider—Francis Fryer—still being around means that Katie’s identity isn’t exactly safe.
How will it all pan out? For Calamity Jane, and for Katie?
Martha Jane Canary, ‘Calamity Jane’, was a real person. Like the character Doris Day portrays in this film, Calamity Jane was a rugged scout and frontierswoman who was illiterate and loved to boast of her exploits—boasts which were not (again, as in this film) believed by those around her. She lived in Deadwood for a good while, and was friends with Wild Bill Hickok. While Calamity Jane claimed (in her autobiography, which she dictated) that she had married Hickok, the general opinion seems to be that this is an example of one of her tall claims.
Calamity Jane, however, takes that historical character and the very basics of her character, and uses it to spin an entertaining yarn that’s full of humour, song and dance, and some romance.
What I liked about this film:
The entire package, which is lots of fun.
The story (by James O’Hanlon) is simple but well put together, there’s plenty of humour, and the songs are good. But, what I especially liked:
Doris Day. She’s really good as Calamity Jane, leaping about, dancing, swaggering with her chest thrust out, speaking out of the side of her mouth, being mannish and very physical—and always holding centre stage. This was one film where, whenever the leading lady came onscreen, I couldn’t help but watch her. Doris was a gem as Calam.
The songs, all of which are pleasant (the music was by Sammy Fain and the lyrics by Paul Francis Webster). Some, however, stand out for me: the opening The Deadwood stage, which has a very infectious beat is one. I can do without you has delightful lyrics, and Doris Day and Howard Keel enact it brilliantly: not just singing, but dancing about, clowning around. The black hills of Dakota is dreamy and beautiful, and My secret love, a childhood favourite of mine, is not just a lovely song but also a great example of Doris Day’s singing talent. (It also got the only Oscar Calamity Jane won).
And yes, I must make special mention of the dialogues, which are often delightful. Here’s an example. Calam and Katie are going off in a horse-cart to Calam’s cabin, where Calam has invited Katie to stay. Various admirers have congregated to say a rueful goodbye to Katie, and Bill is at the forefront.
Katie to Bill, smiling: “And Mr Hickok, please feel free to drop in any time.”
Bill: “Thank you kindly, Ma’am.”
Calam (who’s been listening in on this conversation): “Feel it, but don’t try!”
What I didn’t like:
The blossoming of the romance is all too sudden to be believable. Yes, I’ve seen enough Hollywood musicals to know this is more the rule than the exception, since it’s a tough ask to fit lots of songs, a coherent storyline, and a believable romance into what’s usually below even two hours, but still.
Despite that, though, a good film. And an appropriate one with which to remember Doris Day.
RIP, Doris. May your films continue to live on, may your voice continue to charm generations to come.
As a child, I was surrounded by music. On the radio, on the LPs my parents played so often. The LPs, thanks to the fact that my maternal grandfather had worked with HMV for many years, were a very mixed bag, ranging all the way from Pandit Hariprasad Chaurasia to Runa Laila and Geeta Bali to The Golden Gate Quartet, Harry Belafonte, Jim Reeves, Engelbert Humperdinck… and one of my absolute favourites, Nat King Cole.
Life has been very hectic the past few months. I’ve been working on several writing assignments, switching from one novel to another; the LO, now poised to leave kindergarten and progress to Class I, requires a good deal of attention, and various lit fests or other book events have entailed (and are going to entail) some travelling.
So, when British actor Albert Finney passed on February 7th this year, while I did notice the news article about his death in the newspaper, I passed it by without it really registering who Albert Finney was (Poirot, in the 1974 version of Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express, just in case, like me, you were clueless too). It was blog reader Hurdy Gurdy Man who, a few days later, reminded me of Finney’s death and asked me if I was meaning to review a film of his by way of tribute. I thought I would: Two for the Road, I told Hurdy Gurdy Man in an e-mail.
But, the sad irony of fate: just a couple of days back, I got another e-mail from Hurdy Gurdy Man, informing me that the director of Two for the Road, Stanley Donen, had passed away as well. Stanley Donen (who died on February 21) had directed some of Hollywood’s most popular musicals, such as Singin’ in the Rain, An American in Paris, and Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, before he directed Indiscreet and then moved to the UK, where he directed (among other films) The Grass is Greener, Charade, and Two for the Road, an important landmark in the history of British cinema—a classic film of the British New Wave.