Lal-e-Yaman (1933)

Aka Parviz-Parizaad.

I had heard of Lal-e-Yaman (literally, ‘Rubies of Yemen’, though why it’s so named, I couldn’t tell) before, but it wasn’t until I read Manek Premchand’s Director’s Chair: Hindi Cinema’s Golden Age some weeks back that I was reminded of it: it appeared in JBH Wadia’s filmography, being the first film he produced and directed, along with his brother Homi Wadia. Premchand described Lal-e-Yaman as an ‘Arabian Nights kind of adventure’, and that piqued my interest.

The story is not explicitly set in Yemen, though it’s probably someplace in the Middle East. The King (Jal Khambatta) of a kingdom has recently remarried after having been widowed. He has a ten-year old son, Parviz (?) from his first wife; now the second wife (Mohini) is sitting beside him when a dervish arrives. This man prophesies that the new queen will wreak havoc, that the king will be much plagued because of her.

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Penn (1954)

When I reviewed Zindagi (1964) some time back, blog reader Maitreyee, in a comment, asked me if I had watched any of Vjyyanthimala’s Southern films. I admitted I had not, and that mostly because it’s so difficult to find subtitled versions of South Indian films. I did have one Tamil film, with subtitles, bookmarked, and when Maitreyee too mentioned it (as a comedy), I decided it was high time I watched Penn, (in Tamil, ‘Girl‘).

The film begins by introducing us to Rani (Vyjyanthimala), a firebrand who goes about singing songs of women’s emancipation, gender equality, and the crushing of patriarchy. Rani walks the talk too: for instance, when she comes across a woman being beaten by her husband, Rani (who is an enthusiastic equestrienne) gets her whip out and uses it on the man.

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The Three Worlds of Gulliver (1960)

A few weeks back, after years of telling myself I must read more of the classics, I finally got around to reading Jonathan Swift’s highly-acclaimed satirical novel, Gulliver’s Travels. Over a period of time, I’ve realized that books of this sort—extremely popular, appearing on just about every list of ‘must-read English novels’—are popular, too, among film-makers looking for material for screen adaptations. Of course, given that Gulliver’s Travels would require (I guessed) a fair bit of special effects, I had little hope that I’d come across anything from before the 70s; but guess what? It’s there: The Three Worlds of Gulliver, directed by Jack Sher and with special effects by Ray Harryhausen.

The story begins in Wapping, England, in 1699, where a physician, Lemuel Gulliver (Kerwin Mathews) is torn between his fiancée Elizabeth (June Thorburn) and his profession. It all actually boils down to his love for Elizabeth: she deserves more than to live in a hovel and subsist on next to nothing, because Gulliver is such a sweet welcome mat that he goes around treating people left, right and centre, often for free, or for payment in kind. Like cabbages and hens that run away.

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Jhansi ki Rani (1953)

Given my penchant for history, it’s hardly surprising that I would, sooner or later, end up watching this film. It’s been on my radar for a while, though it was only last month that I was reminded of Jhansi ki Rani, because it showed up in my list of YouTube’s suggested videos. Oddly enough, what YouTube suggested wasn’t exactly this film but its English-language counterpart, The Tiger and the Flame, which was released in 1956. Sohrab Modi, who produced and directed (besides acting in) both versions of the film, went all out on creating a spectacular production, bringing in technicians and other crew from Hollywood, including Oscar-winning cinematographer Ernest Haller, who was responsible for the cinematography of Gone with the Wind.

This film was not just made in two languages, but with other differences between them too. The Tiger and the Flame is in Technicolor (the first India-made film in Technicolor) while Jhansi ki Rani is in black and white. Jhansi ki Rani has songs (composed by Vasant Desai with lyrics by Pandit Radheshyam), The Tiger and the Flame is minus the songs. Other than that, though, the films were much the same: the same cast, the same script.

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Rififi (1955)

Fact 1: In the 1956 Hindi film CID, there was a song (composed by OP Nayyar, lyrics by Majrooh Sultanpuri) which went Jaata kahaan hai deewaane… kuchh tere dil mein fiffi, kuchh mere dil mein fiffi. The censor board pounced on the song, accusing that ‘fiffi’ word of being obscene. Sultanpuri, Nayyar, and the director Raj Khosla insisted that it was a meaningless word, just put in as a filler to help marry the tune to the lyrics. The censor board refused to change its stance, and the song remained out of the film. In the 2015 film Bombay Velvet, the song was resurrected and sung by Suman Sridhar.

Fact 2: In the 1955 French film (note the year: 1955, a year before CID) Rififi, there’s the title song, sung (and performed onscreen too) by Magali Noël. Though the French word rififi (which is military slang) can be roughly translated as ‘rough and tumble’, referring mostly to the macho strutting of toughs of the like of this film’s main characters, the song’s lyrics give it a differently nuanced spin. Innuendo, through and through.

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Yaadein (1964)

In its category for Fewest actors in a narrative film, the Guinness Book of World Records begins the list with this:

“Excluding monologues, the only narrative films with a single cast member have been Yaadein (India, 1964), written, directed and produced by Sunil Dutt (India), who was also its only actor….”

(Only two other films are listed in this category; one is the 2002 French-American production Lettre; the other is the 2004 Kannada film Shanthi).

I have known about Yaadein for a long time now; it was aired on Doordarshan when I was a child, and I remember my parents watching it. I wasn’t allowed, because this is one of those rare Hindi films from that era which had an A certificate. I do recall, though, my parents telling me that it was a unique film, with only Sunil Dutt in it.

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Howrah Bridge (1958)

Aaiye meherbaan baithiye jaan-e-jaan, and Mera naam Chin Chin Choo. Two great actresses, two iconic songs.

When I was doing the Helen tributes last month, I was reminded of Mera naam Chin Chin Choo all over again—and remembered, too, that I had never reviewed Howrah Bridge on this blog. It has also been many years since I last watched the film (before I launched Dusted Off), so I decided it was high time I revisited this.

Howrah Bridge begins very far from the bridge, and in fact from Kolkata: in Rangoon, where Prem Kumar (Ashok Kumar) finds his father (Brahm Bhardwaj) in a flap. Daddy is distraught because Prem’s elder brother Madan (Chaman Puri, in a cameo role) has run off from home, taking with him an invaluable family heirloom, a dragon which has been in the family for generations. We later discover that the dragon was crafted in China many centuries ago, and from there came to be owned by the king of Burma, after which it passed into the possession of Prem’s family.

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Sleeping Car to Trieste (1948)

This little-known British film was recommended to me by YouTube, and given that I am a fan of train films (The Lady Vanishes is a favourite, as are Murder on the Orient Express and North-West Frontier), I decided I had to watch.

The story starts off with a bang (actually, almost literally: there’s a fatal gunshot in the very first scene). In an unnamed embassy in Paris, a party is in progress, when one of the guests, a Captain Zurta (Albert Lieven) slips out of the ballroom, makes his way to one of the more secluded rooms in the embassy, and having broken into a safe there, purloins a diary. He is caught red-handed by a footman who enters just then.

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Great Expectations (1946)

Charles Dickens was one of those authors whose books, I think, might be very difficult to adapt to cinema. Most of his works have a plethora of characters, and characters, too, who are described in great detail: people who play an important part in the proceedings. The books are long and involved, and there’s a style to them that would be more suited, I’ve always thought, to a television series rather than a film.

But every now and then, there comes along a fine adaptation of a Dickens novel that manages to retain the essence of the original, and translate it effectively to screen. Adapted for the screen (along with several other people) by David Lean, and directed by him, Great Expectations was a film I’d approached with some trepidation, wondering how it would work as a film.

The story begins with orphaned Philip Pirrip ‘Pip’ (Tony Wager) running along near the marshes that border the village he lives in. Pip’s parents died years ago, and Pip has been brought up by his very hot-tempered, sharp-tongued sister, Mrs Joe Gargery (Freda Jackson) and her husband, the blacksmith (Bernard Miles). What Mrs Gargery lacks by way of human kindness, Joe makes up for: he’s a sweet, gentle, wise man, who is very fond of Pip.

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Zindagi (1964)

The main reason I watched this film was because of the songs, which include some very good ones. And Vyjyanthimala, whom I invariably enjoy watching. The two male leads, Rajendra Kumar and Raj Kumar, are not favourites of mine, but they aren’t absolutely unbearable either. And there was a star cast of several other people I like, such as Prithviraj Kapoor and Helen. Ramanand Sagar, who wrote and directed Zindagi, also has to his credit one film I really like (Aankhen) and some (Aarzoo, Ghoonghat, Charas) that I don’t mind too much. I figured there might be enough here for me to enjoy.

The story begins with Beena (Vyjyanthimala) coming home to her mother (Leela Chitnis) with the news that she has found a job, finally. Ma is happy, until Beena tells her what the job is: Beena is now a theatre actress. Ma is very upset and goes into a long harangue of how it’s better to be poor than to be in the theatre; their name will be mud, blah blah.

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