Prisoner of Golconda (1954)

Aka Golconda ka Qaidi: a film made both in Hindi as well as English, though I’ve only seen the English version, not the Hindi, which I couldn’t find anywhere, despite much searching.

Prem Nath directed and starred in Prisoner of Golconda, which also starred his wife Bina Rai and his younger brother Rajendra Nath (whose debut this was, going by the film’s credits). I don’t remember now how I happened to stumble upon the film on YouTube, but I was immediately intrigued; Indian films in English from that era always have that effect on me. What’s more, on a web page, I saw it mentioned (as it turned out, incorrectly) that Prisoner of Golconda was a fantasy. This, I decided, was a film that might merit watching, since the last Prem Nath-starrer fantasy I saw, Aab-e-Hayat, was a thorough entertainer.

But no, Prisoner of Golconda is no fantasy at all. This is a patriotic film, a story set in the early 1940s, and Prem Shankar (Prem Nath) is a police officer, an ASP, who comes to the rescue of a besieged police station where the local officer, Zorawar Singh (Hiralal) has found himself surrounded by a crowd of irate locals. These people, full of anger for the high-handed ways of the British government (and, naturally enough, seeing in the police the embodiment of that colonial government) have been on the rampage. They have already set fire to a post office and are now getting ready to destroy the police station as well.

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Mere Humdum Mere Dost (1968)

When Dharmendra passed away earlier this year, it struck me that while I have watched many of his films—from both before and after 1970, the cut-off year for my blog—I have reviewed relatively few. I decided, therefore, to make amends. By watching, for instance, Aaye Din Bahaar Ke and Aaya Saawan Jhoomke. Here’s another one, teaming Dharmendra with one of his more frequent co-stars, Sharmila Tagore.

The story begins on a road where Sunil (?) is walking along with his father, Hari Ram (?). Daddy, walking in the middle of the road [? Why? Also, you know what’s going to happen when a character walks in the middle of the road], is hit by a car, and the next we see, he’s dying in hospital, with Sunil, Sunil’s younger sister, and their mother (Achla Sachdev) looking gloomily on while a policeman tries to get Daddy’s final testimony. Daddy manages to gasp out an accusation: Seth Vishwanath has murdered him; the car accident was no accident. He dies, and the cop goes off to arrest Sethji.

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Stage Fright (1950)

After a long, long time, a review of an Alfred Hitchcock film. Hitch has been one of my favourite directors ever since I (then aged twelve) first watched The Lady Vanishes. In the first few years of blogging, I ended up reviewing most of my favourite Hitch films from before 1970: The Thirty-Nine Steps, Rear Window, The Trouble With Harry, The Man Who Knew Too Much, Spellbound, Lifeboat… and others. But it’s been a while, and this film has been lying among the bookmarks on my browser, waiting to be watched, for quite a while now.

The aptly-named Stage Fright is set in the world of theatre, where Eve Gill (a very young Jane Wyman) is an aspiring actress. She has still not quite managed to make it into any productions, really, but she is hopeful. When the story begins, though, Eve is not acting or rehearsing: she’s busy helping a friend of hers who’s in trouble. Jonathan Cooper (Richard Todd) is likely to get implicated in a murder, and Eve is driving him to (hopefully) safety.

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Chupi Chupi Aashey (1960)

In 1947, as a birthday present for Queen Mary, Agatha Christie wrote a radio play called Three Blind Mice, about eight people snowed in, in a manor—one of them (who, we don’t know till the end) a murderer. Later adapted into a short story and then a theatrical play called The Mousetrap (because Three Blind Mice was already the title of a play), Christie’s work set a record. The Mousetrap, which saw its 30,000th performance in March 2026, is the longest-running play in history.

Such an iconic play, such a popular one, surely it must have been adapted for the screen many times (especially given the popularity of Christie’s books as source material for cinema)? But no; when the play was first staged at West End, one of the clauses in the contract was that no work on a cinematic adaptation could begin until the West End production had been closed for at least six months. And the play continues to be performed at West End…

But that, it seems, didn’t stop film-makers in other countries from using the story and making their own versions of it. The Bengali film Chupi Chupi Aashey (‘He Comes Stealthily‘) is an adaptation of The Mousetrap, and was supposedly the first Indian film to be based on a book by Agatha Christie.

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Amardeep (1958)

Given that I am a fan of mid-1950s-early 1960s Dev Anand, and that this film also stars Vyjyanthimala (whom I like a lot), it should come as no surprise that I’ve had this film bookmarked for several years now. Somehow it kept getting ignored, until some weeks back, when I discovered that Amardeep was a remake of the 1956 Tamil film Amara Deepam (starring Shivaji Ganesan, Savitri, and Padmini). And that Amara Deepam was based on Random Harvest.

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Thank You, Jeeves! (1936)

What I didn’t like about this film:

Yes, I am breaking with tradition: this is not going to be the usual type of blog post format I use for film reviews on Dustedoff. For the simple reason that this travesty of a film doesn’t deserve that much time and effort.

So, what I didn’t like:

The mockery they’ve made of a Wodehouse story. Writers Joseph Hoffman and Stephen Gross, and director Arthur Greville Collins, give credit to Wodehouse but all that remains in the film that is even vaguely connected to Wodehouse and his style are the two main characters: Bertie Wooster (David Niven) and his gentleman’s gentleman, Jeeves (Arthur Treacher). Nothing else, not the elements of the story, not the language, not the story, is anything like the Jeeves-and-Wooster stories.

The characters are insipid. Wooster isn’t a chump; Jeeves is. In fact, Jeeves is such a moron, he doesn’t even realize he’s literally on the edge of something big. He is distinguished only by that stiff upper lip; no brilliant brains, no coming up with genius schemes to haul the young master out of the mulligatawny. In fact, when Jeeves eventually does come to Bertie’s help, it’s with fists flying. It’s Jeeves’s fighting skills, not his brainpower, that comes in use here.

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Aarzoo (1965)

A couple of months back, my sister Swapna was invited to head a quiz team at a pub quiz (Jai Arjun Singh, who was also there, wrote about it here). Telling me about the quiz later, Swapna mentioned that there was one question that even Jai didn’t know. In Aarzoo, which place in Delhi does Rajendra Kumar’s character say he belongs to?

Nobody could answer that question. But the answer is Okhla Village.

… which sort of struck a chord with me, because till we shifted from Delhi to Noida, my husband and I had spent many years living very close to Okhla. And Noida, in case you weren’t aware of this, is actually an acronym for New Okhla Industrial Development Authority. Okhla follows us around. Or we refuse to really move away from Okhla.

This incident reminded me, though, that I have never reviewed Aarzoo on this blog, though I’ve watched the film at least twice. Time to amend that, I decided.

Newly-minted medical graduate Gopal (Rajendra Kumar) and his neighbour Ramesh (Feroze Khan) have been best friends since their childhood. Gopal’s younger sister Sarla (Nazima) and his widowed mother (Achla Sachdev) regard Ramesh pretty much the same as Gopal: a member of the family, a brother/son just as Gopal is.

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Raahi (1952)

This was a film I watched by way of tribute to Nalini Jaywant earlier this year. I had initially not planned to review it, but there were several points about Raahi that I found unusual enough to make me decide it needed to be documented.

I first heard about Raahi on Anitaji’s blog, where she mentioned that it was based on Mulk Raj Anand’s novel Two Leaves and a Bud—which is where one of the songs of the film, Ek kali aur do pattiyaan, draws its inspiration. Anitaji had included this song in a list of songs picturized in tea gardens, and it intrigued me. The story, set in a tea garden where friction between the workers and a heartless, predictably colonial (money-minded, racist, contemptuous) management causes problems, sounded like something that might merit watching.

Raahi begins on a country road in Assam in 1945. A Britisher (S Michael) going by in a jeep loses his temper at Ramesh (Dev Anand), who’s walking in the middle of the road.

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Ashwamedham (1967)

My go-to expert for opinions on old Malayalam and Tamil cinema is Anu. Some years back, I’d been complaining to Anu about how so few old films from the South are available with English subtitles, but then I found a bunch of them on Jio HotStar. Anu asked which ones I’d found, and then was kind enough to give me her opinion on the films. About Ashwamedham, she wrote: “Ashwamedham deals with the social attitudes towards leprosy patients. Fabulous performances, especially from Sathyan. If you want to see the then-reigning triad of Malayalam actors from that age – Sathyan, Prem Nazir and Madhu – this is the film to watch.”

That sounded good, so why not watch (finally!)?

The film begins in the home of Keshavan (PJ Antony), whose wife Laxmi (Santha Devi) is expecting her tenth child. She’s quite sick of the whole thing and had been wanting to get surgery done to prevent her getting pregnant again, but Keshavan had refused. Now she’s pregnant again, and very upset about it. Already they have lost three children; already they have four daughters whom they need to marry off… the strain, both financial as well as emotional (not to mention physical, on Laxmi) is tremendous.

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Aaya Saawan Jhoomke (1969)

When Dharmendra passed away some months back, it reminded me that while I have seen a good bit of his filmography from the 1960s—including little-known, forgettable films like Begaana, Main Bhi Ladki Hoon, Chandan ka Palna and Jab Yaad Kisiki Aati Hai—I haven’t reviewed too many of his films. Some, yes; but plenty, even much-loved films or well-known ones, have somehow slipped under the radar. Time to correct that, I decided.

And why not with this film (directed by Raghunath Jhalani), which I had last seen perhaps a little over 20 years ago, and which I remembered vaguely. Nirupa Roy, having (once again) misplaced a child. Aruna Irani on the verge of becoming an unwed mother if some good Samaritan doesn’t come to her rescue. Asha Parekh, lower lip quivering and eyes swimming with tears. Some very well-known songs.

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