Ek Thi Ladki (1949)

Harvey’s recent post on Mr Sampat sparked off a brief discussion on one of Hindi cinema’s finest character actors, Motilal. Since Motilal was known—at least in the 50’s and 60’s—as a character actor, it seemed appropriate to review a film in which he’s the hero. Not that Ek Thi Ladki (‘There was a girl’) really allows much scope for a hero. True to its name, it centres around its heroine, the spunky and vivacious Meena Shorey. But Motilal is a very likeable leading man; I S Johar, in his debut, is a deliciously crooked crook; and one of my favourite vamps—Kuldeep Kaur—is in it too.

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Kanoon (1960)

9 years before he made the superb suspense thriller Ittefaq, B R Chopra produced and directed this film. It too starred Nanda (though not in as pivotal a role as in Ittefaq). It too didn’t have a single song—though it did have a ballet performance. And, like Ittefaq, it hinged on a murder.
But Kanoon wasn’t by any means a precursor to Ittefaq. Ittefaq is mainstream murder mystery; Kanoon straddles with consummate skill the line between crime detection and social issues. It’s an excellent, unusual and gripping film that merits viewing.

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The Inn of the Sixth Happiness (1958)

The Chinese wish each other five happinesses: wealth, longevity, good health, virtue, and a peaceful death in old age. The sixth happiness one must decide for oneself.

Richard’s recent post on Dr Kotnis ki Amar Kahani reminded me of this film, because the two films share a lot in common. Like Dr Kotnis ki Amar Kahani, The Inn of the Sixth Happiness is based on a real life story—in this case, that of the Englishwoman Gladys Aylward (1902-70), who in 1930 went off to China to ‘serve’ the people there. Like Dr Kotnis, she too fell in love with a Chinese national, and is even today, 40 years after her death, regarded as something of a national heroine.

The Inn of the Sixth Happiness, while not completely true to the story of Gladys Aylward (artistic license makes films sell!), is accurate enough in the basics. It tells, with sensitivity and feeling, the story of a brave woman’s determination to go halfway across the world—to a land of which she didn’t even know the language—simply in order to follow her dream.

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Agni Pariksha (1954)

Or Ogni Porikkha, if you want to be phonetically correct.

Over the last twenty-odd years, I’ve heard countless Bengalis rave about Uttam Kumar and Suchitra Sen as the ultimate onscreen romantic couple. I’ve seen both of them act (separately) in a few (admittedly Hindi) films, and have been very impressed.
So, finally: an Uttam Kumar-Suchitra Sen film, and one that was a big hit too. Agni Pariksha: ‘trial by fire’.

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Thoroughly Modern Millie (1967)

One of my biggest failings when it comes to cinema viewing is the naive belief that an actor or actress whom I’ve seen and appreciated for the first time will necessarily be fantastic in all their subsequent films that I watch. Thus, having watched The Sound of Music—and raved over every single element of it, especially Julie Andrews—I began searching out other films that starred Julie Andrews, in the childish hope that they’d all be as fabulous as The Sound of Music.
Alas, no. This one, for instance, made only two years after the von Trapp saga, is nowhere close to as endearing. Julie is superb as the 20’s flapper girl Millie Dillmount, trying her best to be hard-heartedly modern, but the film is a bit of a drag.

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Jewel Thief (1967)

This is one of those films that have a very interesting—and unexpected—twist that can come totally as a bolt out of the blue if you’re watching it for the first time. Subsequent watchings, no matter how far apart, tend to dilute the suspense a good deal because (unless you have a really frightful memory) you know what’s coming. And somehow, unlike films like Teesri Manzil or Mera Saaya or Woh Kaun Thi?, Jewel Thief lacks other elements that could encourage repeated viewings.

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Kismet (1943)

My mother’s grandfather was one of those domineering patriarchs who governed everything his family did, including the films they saw. The films deemed worthy of watching were very limited; Hollywood, by virtue of producing films with a Biblical theme, managed to get some (like Quo Vadis, The Ten Commandments and Ben Hur) past his strict censorship, but Hindi cinema didn’t have a chance. Kismet holds the distinction of being the only Hindi film he allowed his family to see. Considering it’s quite a formulaic potboiler (with an anti-hero and a girl who gets pregnant without being married), I was surprised at his choice—but then, it may have had something to do with the fact that Kismet was a huge hit that ran for 3 years in a theatre in Calcutta, where my mum’s family lived. Great-granddad must’ve thought anything that sustained so must have some merit.

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The Mark of Zorro (1940)

If there’s one film that’s quintessential Tyrone Power, it’s this one. The Mark of Zorro changed Tyrone Power from being just a pretty face to being a pretty face who could also do some very fancy stunts with a sword in hand. It made him a swashbuckling star, a stereotype that was to stick with him for a while, even though he tried to shake it off with roles like that in Nightmare Alley.
And what a film. What a rollicking, enjoyable, delightful film! I love every bit of it, and have been looking forward to sharing the joy with everybody ever since I first saw it, a few months back. So, without more ado, here goes.

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Blood and Sand (1941)

Several months ago, I did a week-long special featuring Robert Mitchum. In the course of that week, I reviewed one of my favourite Mitchum films, Not as a Stranger. Watching Blood and Sand—a film Tyrone Power cited as among the favourites of those he’d worked in—I was struck by the similarities between the two films. Both are about ambitious men who don’t let anything get in their way of making it to the top, men who fall prey to a femme fatale despite being married, men who falter both in their professional and personal lives.
But Power’s Juan Gallardo is also different from Mitchum’s Lucas Marsh. And his story too is eventually different.

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Nightmare Alley (1947)

Through much of his career, Tyrone Power bemoaned the fact that his ‘pretty face’ resulted in him being typecast—usually as the swashbuckling hero, sometimes as the dramatic hero, but always the basically good guy, even if he had his weak moments.
Which is why Nightmare Alley was the film of which Tyrone Power was most proud. He was a pretty face in most of the film (well, he couldn’t do much about that, could he?), but he also had more going for him: a very powerful, negative character that allowed Power to show that he could, despite that pretty face, act.

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