The Ladykillers (1955)

Long-time readers of this blog probably know by now that I have a soft spot for suspense films, heist films, comedies, and—where these genres sometimes meet—films about bumbling crooks. The funny heist film, so to say, where everything goes wrong. Some months back, when I watched Gambit (which I enjoyed very much), a subsequent search for funny heist films threw up another suggestion that I’d heard of before: The Ladykillers. Like Gambit, this too starred Herbert Lom, an actor I like, and because I was fresh from watching Gambit, I thought why not give this one a try too.

The Ladykillers begins with the lady in question: sweet, somewhat scatter-brained old lady Mrs Wilberforce (Katie Johnson), who emerges from her house at the end of a lane and walks down the street nearby. Everybody around seems to know and like Mrs Wilberforce: people greet her, and when she reaches her destination—the local police station—the cops are indulgent. Mrs Wilberforce has come to clarify that her friend, another elderly lady who had informed the police station about spotting a spaceship, was actually misinformed… Mrs Wilberforce’s explanation is detailed and apologetic, and her earnestness shines through bright and clear.

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Barjatri (1951)

Aka The Wedding Procession, though Hindi speakers will probably be able to relate to a more exact approximation of what barjatri means: baraati. The people who, at a wedding, accompany the bridegroom to the venue, invariably in great pomp and to be made much of. This delightfully funny film centres around a group of young men whose story begins just before all of them are to travel, as baraatis, for their friend’s wedding.

One of these is Ganesh ‘Gansha’ (Kali Bannerjee), who lives in his uncle’s home, and is unemployed. Uncle (?) has been pushing Ganesh to find a job, but Ganesh couldn’t be bothered. He would rather spend time sitting with his pals, chatting and smoking, all of them generally enjoying themselves.

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Amrapali (1966)

Happy birthday, Vyjyanthimala! (it’s either her 90th birthday or her 87th today, it doesn’t seem very clear which, but anyway).

Among the recent books I’ve read is Advait Kottary’s Siddhartha: The Boy Who Became the Buddha, a fictionalized retelling of the story of the Buddha. While Siddhartha is the focal point of the narrative, several other important historical personages appear in the book, among them the nagarvadhu or courtesan of Vaishali, Amrapali. Amrapali is shown to have originally had a relationship with the ruler of Magadha, Bimbisara: so much so that she bears him a son, whom she is later compelled by circumstances to hand over to the Buddha to bring up. Bimbisara’s belligerent and headstrong son and heir, Ajatshatru, though he’s never seen ‘his father’s courtesan’ (as Kottary describes her), detests Amrapali.

… until he, injured in a way with Vaishali, impersonates a Lichhavi (native to Vaishali) soldier in order to escape with his life. Fate brings Ajatshatru and Amrapali together: she, thinking him to be Lichhavi, tends to his wounds and heals him, and they fall in love.

It’s been ages since I watched the Vyjyanthimala-Sunil Dutt Amrapali, and while I remembered some of the core elements, I’d forgotten much of it. As far as I remembered, the film had nothing whatsoever about Amrapali’s relationship with Bimbisara or her having a son with him. To be honest, I’d have been very surprised if that aspect of her life had been shown: it would have been far too bold for Hindi cinema, back then, to have a heroine who could have affairs with both father and son, and bear a child out of wedlock.

So I decided it was time to rewatch Amrapali, which begins in Magadha. Here, the king, Ajatshatru (Sunil Dutt), is in conference with his trusted advisor, friend, and Magadha’s commander-in-chief, Veer (Premnath). Ajatshatru is a hot-headed warmonger, and right now baying for the blood of the democratic Lichhavis, whose land, Vaishali, lies across the river to the north.

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Insaniyat (1955)

This is one film that’s been on my to-watch list for several years now, mainly because it is the only film that stars both Dev Anand and Dilip Kumar. Also, as I’ve gathered from a few articles and posts I’ve read, this is also possibly the only film that doesn’t feature Dev Anand as a modern city slicker. He’s still somewhat of a sophisticate—by no means an illiterate rustic—but this is set in some undefined ‘raja-rani’ time period where Dev Anand spends all the film in something other than Western clothing.

But, to begin at the beginning. Zangoora (Jayant) is a nasty tyrant whose idea of ruling his kingdom is to be brutal with his subjects. Every now and then, his soldiers are sent out into the countryside to loot villages and bring back all that they can find. Zangoora’s troops are vile, uncaring, as brutal as their boss.

They’re at one village, upturning things, grabbing and snatching, when a furious village woman, Durga (Bina Rai) comes charging up. Durga lets fly at the man leading the troops, Bhanu Pratap (Dev Anand, his upper lip topped with a ridiculous moustache). Durga slaps Bhanu, and then proceeds to berate him for his mindless cruelty.

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Spring in Park Lane (1948)

PG Wodehouse is one of my top favourite writers. I’ve read most of his books, and I’ve explored some of his intersections with cinema: the films he was involved in, and the films that were based on his books. Of the latter, I’ve realized again and again, there seem to be very few that do anything close to justice to Wodehouse’s inimitable blend of humour. Some of the shorter TV films (like Heavy Weather, starring Peter O’Toole as the eccentric Lord Emsworth) or TV series like Jeeves and Bertie are good (though Jeeves and Bertie, after a few good episodes, went off the rails).

But now and then I come across a film that has nothing to do with Wodehouse, but seems somewhat like a homage. With the same light-hearted charm of the master, the same frothy humour that never fails to appeal to me.

As in Spring in Park Lane

The film begins with Judy Howard (Anna Neagle) ringing the doorbell of her home in London, only to have the door opened by a complete stranger (Michael Wilding). Judy is surprised, and the conversation that ensues has both her and the man quite baffled. It’s only with a little perseverance, and some help from the butler Perkins (GH Mulcaster), who comes rushing up from below stairs, for the fog to clear. This man, Richard, is the new footman.

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Operation Y and Shurik’s Other Adventures (1965)

Or, to give it its original Russian title, Operatsiya Y I Drugie Priklyuchenia Shurik.

And, before you get intimidated by that rather ponderous title, a little carrot that I will dangle: this is a movie that’s recommended for those times when you’re feeling drained and overworked and your brain needs time off. It happens to me every now and then, when trying to relax by watching a film is not enough; the film too has to be something that I don’t need to think about: a film that I can just sit back and enjoy. This is that film.

Operation Y (which is how I will refer to it; the entire title is just too long) is about the eponymous Shurik (Aleksandr Demyanenko), a young college student at a polytechnic institute. In his spare time, Shurik works at a construction site; otherwise he’s a nerdy, earnest student, so focused on his studies that he mostly cannot see beyond his books…

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Zabak (1961)

Zabak is a film I’ve been wanting to watch for a while, mostly for Shyama. I like Shyama a lot, and as far as I know, this is one of the rare colour films in which she acted as a lead. Plus, given my penchant for raja-rani films, I thought this might be worth a try.

Zabak (Mahipal) is the son of a healer and hamaam owner named Hassan Shah Isfahani (?). Hassan Shah is much acclaimed as a man who knows his medicine, and everybody around, from the Haakim (the Lord) of Isfahan to the man in the street, comes to him for relief from a variety of ailments. Zabak is a happy-go-lucky sort, spending his time joking around town, and romancing Zainab (Shyama), the daughter of the Lord of Isfahan.

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Ramat Ramade Ram (1964)

Which, since I’ve not been able to find out exactly what this means, I choose to interpret from the subtitles of its title song: ‘Ram Plays a Game’.

If you’ve been following this blog for a while, you’d probably know of my near-constant mission to find subtitled Indian films. Regional films, non-Hindi ones. Sadly, not very many old films (barring Bengali) seem to be subtitled, so when I do find one that has subs, I am pleased as punch.

Especially when it turns out that it stars one of my favourite actors (Sanjeev Kumar) and that pretty much all the videos on YouTube, even the ones featuring only certain songs or scenes tag the film as a romantic comedy. I am all for rom-coms, and rom-coms that feature Sanjeev Kumar? This I needed to see.

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Lahore (1949)

I’d been meaning to watch this film for a while now, because there’s a family history related to Lahore.

My uncle David Vernon Liddle ‘Verni’, as some of you may know, was a guitarist in Hindi cinema (this guest post, written by my father, Verni’s younger brother, is all about him). In 1947, Verni—then very young, no more than 16 years of age, but already an accomplished musician and making inroads into the Hindi film industry—was in Lahore and recording the songs for Lahore. Partition happened, and of course, there was so much violence and chaos that Verni had to flee Lahore and head eastwards into India. En route, during his travels, he ended up losing his sole pair of chappals and for quite a few days wandered about barefoot. Once he landed up in Punjab, he was able to make his way to some relatives in Ludhiana, and an aunt finally gave him a new pair of slippers! Verni also spent some time right after he came into Indian Punjab, working at a langar in a camp. The camp included Muslims and Sikhs, and Verni, being a Christian, was one of the few who was therefore not regarded with suspicion by anyone. This was what got him a job (sort of) serving food at the camp.

I am not sure about the story behind how Lahore came to be made. Since the music of most films back then used to be recorded before the film itself was completed, it’s possible that the songs of Lahore (written by Rajinder Krishan and composed by Shyam Sundar) had been readied even before filming began. As it is, it’s not as if the songs are very specific to this film or any particular scenarios; they are ‘generic’ love songs and sad songs, which could be fitted in pretty much anywhere in the average 50s or 60s film. It may just be that the real story of Lahore, of Partition disrupting a romance and a family, evolved somewhere in the course of time before, during and just after Partition.

So, this was a film I wanted to watch.

Sadly, I could find only one copy online (on the SEPL YouTube channel, never one I am happy to view films on because they have zero QA). This version turned out to be a mess: not only were there scenes arbitrarily chopped off, midway through the film, the sequence of the reels went for a toss too, so the chronology was all haywire.

This review, therefore, will be a little different from my usual style. What follows is not as detailed a synopsis as I usually provide, and it includes most of the film, so be aware that there are

Some spoilers ahead.

The story is set in Lahore, where Chaman (Karan Dewan) and Leelo (Nargis) are neighbours as well as collegemates, and sweethearts. Their love story is known and approved by their respective families. Leelo only has her mother (?), but Chaman lives with a fairly large family.

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All About Eve (1950)

I am always a little intrigued by films about cinema: the inward-looking eye, the self-criticism (more often than not). From The Artist to Kaagaz ke Phool, there’s something about films like this that I usually find appealing: perhaps because they offer a glimpse, even if unsavoury, into what lies beyond what one is currently viewing.

All About Eve isn’t about cinema; it’s about a related art, theatre (but there are nods here, aplenty, to cinema: there’s a passing reference to Zanuck—who produced All About Eve; and there are instances of people vying for a role, possibly even a career, in Hollywood). It’s about the ambition, the cut-throat competition, the fiercely burning desire to stay in the limelight—or to claw one’s way up there, in the first place.

The story begins at a glittering but exclusive awards night. This is the annual awards ceremony of the fictitious Sarah Siddons Society, and the who’s who of the theatre world is gathered here. While a boring veteran actor gives his speech, we are introduced, through a voiceover, to some of the characters attending this function. Characters, too, who play an important part in the story.

To begin with, there is Addison DeWitt (George Sanders), an influential journalist.

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