Anita (1967)

When, for May 31st this year (the 100th birth anniversary of film director Raj Khosla), I wanted to review one of his films, Anita was on my shortlist. Over the course of the years I’ve been writing this blog, I’ve reviewed several of Khosla’s films, including two of the three films (Woh Kaun Thi?, Mera Saaya and Anita) that comprise Khosla’s Sadhana suspense trilogy. Since Manoj Kumar had also passed away earlier this year, it seemed fitting to watch and review Anita, the last of the three films, and a film that starred Manoj Kumar opposite Sadhana.

For a tribute to Khosla, I ended up reviewing Kaala Paani instead. But I did watch Anita (a film that I’d last seen so long back, I remembered only the basics of it). And it seemed appropriate to review it too.

Therefore…

The film begins with a short, rather abrupt scene in which Seth Biharilal (Sajjan) visits a somewhat shady-looking pandit (Ulhas). Biharilal has brought along the horoscope of his 19-year-old daughter Anita for the pandit to have a look at, and to comment upon. The pandit has a peek, and says that this year is going to be really vile for Anita.

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Sapphire (1959)

Not even half an hour into this 1959 British film, directed by Basil Dearden, and I was wondering: “Why isn’t this one better-known? How come I hadn’t heard of it before?”

Having finished watching Sapphire, I think I know the answers to those questions. It’s not as if Sapphire is an obscure film; in Britain, in knowledgeable film circles, it’s probably fairly well-respected, given that it won the BAFTA Award for Best Film in 1960. But here in India, while British cinema of earlier years (Hitchcock’s early cinema, the films of Laurence Olivier and Leslie Howard in the 30s and 40s, for instance) were the stuff of my childhood film-watching—thanks to Doordarshan, which would air the great classics—by the 1950s and 60s, the cinema that seemed to be most popular was Hollywood. I am not talking of what English-language films were actually screened in India back then; I am talking of the 50s and 60s English-language films that were aired by Doordarshan in the 1980s and early 90s, when much of my film-watching was on TV.

Anyway, better late than never, I guess. I finally watched Sapphire (because of a serendipitous discovery on YouTube; the film is available here). And this, I can safely say, is one of the more unusual noir films I’ve seen. While it is a solid police procedural, a whodunnit revolving round a murdered woman, it is, too, a comment on society, on norms, what is right and what is wrong.

The story begins on Hamstead Heath, where two little children, playing with their ball, tumble onto the body of a young woman (Yvonne Buckingham) who’s been stabbed to death. The police are called in, and Chief Inspector Bob Hazard (Nigel Patrick) comes with his team to examine the scene of crime. The young woman’s body is taken away for autopsy.

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Aar-Paar (1954)

I saw this on the big screen, on August 10, 2025.

Given that getting to see a Hindi film as old as this on the big screen, as a proper commercial release (re-release, in this case), is a very rare treat, it needs to be put up front.

To mark the birth centenary of Guru Dutt, the National Films Division Corporation of India (NFDC) and the National Film Archive of India (NFAI) collaborated to restore and re-release several of Guru Dutt’s films. These were shown at PVR and Cinépolis cinema halls across India on August 8th through to 10th. Left to myself, I would happily have seen all the films that were being screened; but duty calls. August 9th was rakshabandhan, and we had family coming over for lunch. I was busy all through the previous day cleaning and cooking and generally preparing, and then again through half of the next day. But, once our guests had eaten, I scurried off cinema-wards to watch Sahib Biwi aur Ghulam. The following day, I managed to watch Aar-Paar.

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Where the Boys Are (1960)

RIP, Connie Francis, the voice of my teenage years.

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Baaz (1953)

Today, July 9, 2025, marks the 100th birth anniversary of one of Hindi cinema’s best-known film directors. Born in Mysore on this day in 1925 as Vasant Kumar Shivshankar Padukone, Guru Dutt studied in Calcutta before joining Uday Shankar’s India Culture Centre (in Almora, present-day Uttarakhand) to train in dance. By the time he turned 19, he had moved to Pune, where he began working as a choreographer for Prabhat Studios. By the time Prabhat Studios folded up (in the early 1950s), Guru Dutt had formed a close friendship with Dev Anand, because of whom he received his first break as a director: in 1951, he directed Navketan’s Baazi, starring Dev Anand, Geeta Bali and Kalpana Karthik in a noir thriller that was to become a defining film for Navketan: edgy, stylish, dark, very urban.

Guru Dutt is today revered more for the hard-hitting, cynical cinema he made: films like Pyaasa, Sahib Bibi aur Ghulam and Kaagaz ke Phool hold up the mirror to a world that is selfish, cruel and opportunistic. These are bitter films, films that plumb the depths of human nature; films that—despite following most of the standard tropes of commercial Hindi cinema (a romance between the lead couple; a fair number of songs; a comic character invariably played by Johnny Walker)—were quite different from other Hindi films.

These, too, are the films for which Guru Dutt is mostly remembered today. Is that because over the decades, people have seen how the tragedy and turmoil of Guru Dutt’s personal life was probably reflected in films like these? Is there a voyeuristic tendency to try and spot the man behind the director?

But Guru Dutt also made other films, on other subjects. This one, for instance, an adventure/patriotic film set on the high seas, with Geeta Bali starring as the eponymous ‘Baaz’ (falcon), a woman who becomes a pirate to free her land of a colonial tyrant.

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Udan Khatola (1955)    

Does Udan Khatola hold some sort of record for largest number of love/lust triangles?

Here’s a rough count:

There’s the unnamed aviator, the pardesi (played by Dilip Kumar) who is in love with the local peshwa’s daughter Soni. Who, in turn, loves him back.

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Beyond This Place (1959)

Given that I reviewed Raj Khosla’s 1958 film Kaala Paani—based on AJ Cronin’s novel Beyond This Place—last month, I thought it appropriate to also watch and review an English-language adaptation of the same book. And, as always happens when I do something of the sort, to compare the two, see what they do with the same source material. Here, I must point out that that I haven’t read Cronin’s novel, so I cannot say how much Beyond This Place (directed by Jack Cardiff and with a screenplay by Ken Taylor) resembled Cronin’s book.

But, to begin at the beginning.

As the credits roll, we see a man, Patrick Mathry (Bernard Lee) and a boy, Patrick’s son Paul (Vincent Winter) running through the woods, laughing and obviously happy in each other’s company.

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Kaala Paani (1958)

Today is the 100th birth anniversary of one of my favourite Hindi film directors, the suspense-specialist Raj Khosla (I hasten to add: I am well aware that that’s a generalization, since Khosla made a lot of films, too, that had nothing to do with the thriller/suspense genre: Mera Gaon Mera Desh, for example; Chirag, Main Tulsi Tere Aangan Ki, Do Badan, etc). But it is Khosla’s prowess with this particular genre that I especially admire, a skill and talent he showcased in classics of the genre such as Woh Kaun Thi? ((1964), Mera Saaya (1966), CID (1956) and Kaala Paani (1958). In each of these films, he managed to combine the classic elements of the Hindi masala film—a romance, a comedic side track, lots of fabulous songs—while making sure that the suspense remained (mostly) taut, the mystery a solid one.

To commemorate Khosla’s birth centenary, I wanted to review one of his suspense films. Several of these (CID, Mera Saaya, Ek Musaafir ek Haseena, Woh Kaun Thi?) I have already reviewed; I was torn between some of the others: Solva Saal, Kaala Paani, and Anita, all of which I have seen at some time or the other. I decided, eventually, that it was time to rewatch Kaala Paani, a film that I’ve watched several times, but too far back to have reviewed it on this blog.

The story begins on a night in Bombay, with a woman (Mumtaz Begum) hurrying through the streets to the home of a family friend, Mr Kapoor (?). She is in great distress, and confides in Kapoor: Karan has discovered the truth. What this truth is we discover when Kapoor hurries to Karan’s home to find Karan (Dev Anand) sitting, looking bereft. He has found out (how, we aren’t told) that his father Shankar Lal has, for the past fifteen years, been incarcerated in Hyderabad jail for the murder of a tawaif named Mala. Not, as Karan has been led to believe all these years, dead.

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Ten Little Indians (1965)

I was reminded of this film the other day, because I was lecturing at a Delhi college on historical detective fiction, and ended up mentioning And Then There Were None/Ten Little Indians (no, it’s not historical detective fiction, but I wanted to check how many people in the audience had read this book). The novel, first published in 1939, is Agatha Christie’s most popular book (also, the world’s top-selling mystery book), and one which Christie described as being the most difficult one to write. It has been adapted to screen multiple times, in different languages (in Hindi, as Gumnaam, which sadly did not credit Christie even though the film was very obviously based on the book).

I have reviewed—many years ago—an earlier film adaptation, And Then There Were None (1945), directed by René Clair, and I’ve reviewed Gumnaam too, but decided it was high time I watched a later version. This one, directed by George Pollock.

Ten Little Indians gets off to a flying start, the credits rolling as eight guests arrive by train at a snowy, deserted-looking railway station. They proceed, first by horse-drawn carts and then by cable car, up to a grand (but forbidding-looking) mansion situated high up on a rocky, lonely mountain. There, they are met by a couple of servants: Grohmann (Mario Adorf) and his wife (Marianne Hoppe).

The Grohmanns show the guests to their rooms. None of these guests have ever met each other, though from the curious looks some of them bestow on the others, it’s obvious they’re at least interested. The American Hugh Lombard (Hugh O’Brian) and the host’s newly-appointed secretary, Ann Clyde (Shirley Eaton) seem, for instance, to like what they see.

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Point and Line (1958)

In the original Japanese, Ten to Sen. The English title is also often translated as Points and Lines, which was how I originally saw it being referred to.

In a cinema that—at least to the outside eye—seems to be dominated by the works of directors like Akira Kurosawa and Yasujiro Ozu, films that are rather more ‘pure entertainment’ tend to get overlooked. The amusing yet insightful little look at childhood, Ohayo (1959), for example; or this classic noir, a police procedural that revolves around trains: their schedules, their stations, their networks… and how they (along with a ferry and various aeroplane routes) might have been instrumental in helping a murderer pull off a crime.

The story begins on a bleak and deserted seashore, where two dead bodies have been found. The cops from the Fukuoka Police Department have come to investigate, and seem to have reached a consensus that this is a case of a double suicide: everything points to it. A man and a woman, her head sweetly pillowed on his arm, lying stretched out beside each other. The police doctor comes to the conclusion that they’ve died of cyanide poisoning.

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