Tag Archives: Hindi cinema

Chaar Darvesh (1964)

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YouTube suggested this film to me, and for a few days, I was torn. Should I watch it (Feroz Khan is not a favourite of mine, though I don’t find him as irritating as some others), or should I not? Sayeeda Khan, after all, is someone I’ve wanted to watch, mostly because I was intrigued—she was married to film director/producer Brij Sadanah, and was murdered by him on their son’s eleventh birthday party (Sadanah also shot and killed their daughter, before committing suicide). Yes, macabre (not to mention tragic), but that’s how it is.

Eventually, it was the music—by the very talented but vastly underrated GS Kohli—that tipped the scales in favour of my watching Chaar Darvesh. Kohli, who did a lot of work as assistant to OP Nayyar (and it shows, in the rhythms and styles of much of his work), composed music on his own for several B-grade films, of which among the best-known are Shikari (1963; easily his magnum opus, with one great song after another) and Chaar Darvesh. Even if just for the music, I wanted to watch this film.

The story is set in some fictitious fantasy kingdom somewhere in the Middle East. At a shrine, three bearded darveshes, clad in flowing robes, have gathered to pray for boons. One is seeking a treasure [that sounds a little shallow, for a darvesh]; another is searching for his sweetheart, who’s gone missing.

These three men have learnt, though, that their wishes will only be granted once they have been joined by a fourth darvesh… who, thank heavens, arrives soon after. This is Qamar (Feroz Khan in blackface), and he proceeds to tell them his tale of woe and to explain how he happens to have turned so black.

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Jaal (1967)

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I had first watched this film many, many years ago, probably as a young teen. It had been aired on Doordarshan, back in the good old days when our family used to watch pretty much every film that was shown (including some seriously grotty ones like Fauji).

I remembered little of Jaal: Mala Sinha and Biswajeet, yes; and that it was a suspense thriller set in a spooky mansion beside the sea. That was all.

While I don’t like Biswajeet, and the music of Jaal (by Laxmikant-Pyarelal) is forgettable enough to not want to watch it for the songs, I decided I should give this one another try. At least find out what it’s about.

The story begins on a stormy night at sea. A small boat is tossed about on the waves, and we catch glimpses of the lone man on board: Sunder Singh (Sujit Kumar) as he tries to control his vessel. In the distance can be seen (like the boat and the waves, looking patently artificial) a lighthouse. Sunder, however, cannot make it safely to shore; his boat crashes against the rocks and explodes in a great burst of fire.

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Aasmaan Mahal (1965)

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Blog reader Raunakjoy, commenting on Himalaya ki God Mein (which won the Filmfare Award for Best Film, outdoing films like Waqt and Haqeeqat), remarked that there were, besides these contenders for the award, also lesser-known but equally—if not more—meritorious films, like Aasmaan Mahal.

I had to admit I had never even heard of Aasmaan Mahal before, let alone watched it. Directed by Khwaja Ahmed Abbas, this film—as I discovered from a cursory look at Google search results—appears in the Limca Book of Records as one of the first Hindi films to not use sets for shooting. Also, the film won Prithviraj Kapoor an honourable mention at Karlovy Vary for his portrayal of an ageing and impoverished nawab trying desperately to hold on to the tatters of his family’s once-substantial prestige.

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A two-film Tapan Sinha article

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… not on this blog, but here, on Learning and Creativity’s Silhouette e-magazine.

Highly acclaimed director Tapan Sinha was born on 2nd October, 1924, in Kolkata, and at the height of his career, was considered one of a quartet of top Bengali directors, along with Satyajit Ray, Mrinal Sen, and Ritwik Ghatak. He was to make some very fine Hindi films too (including Ek Doctor ki Maut and Sagina—the latter a remake of his own Bengali work, Sagina Mahato), but it was in the realm of Bengali cinema that Tapan Sinha made a special mark, with poignant, insightful films like Kabuliwala (which, by the way, Anu from Conversations Over Chai has written about, exquisitely, here).

Khaniker Atithi, made by Tapan Sinha in 1956, was remade by him 16 years later in Hindi as Zindagi Zindagi. The two films are basically the same story, but it’s the details that make all the difference. You get a glimpse of how Sinha’s mind worked, how he tailored his film to suit two different eras, two sets of audiences with probably very different expectations from cinema.

The editors at Silhouette had asked me to contribute a piece on any of Tapan Sinha’s films for their Tapan Sinha centenary celebrations, and I’m grateful to them for giving me this opportunity: I got to see two very interesting films, always a thing of joy.

Click here to read the article.  

Sapan Suhaane (1961)

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Starring Balraj Sahni and Geeta Bali. With music by Salil Choudhary.

How could I—with a well-established reputation for watching films based on a single name I like among the crew and cast—pass up this one? Balraj Sahni is a favourite, as is Geeta Bali. And Salil Choudhary is one of those rare music directors for whom I’ll watch a film (even if I could just as well just listen to a playlist of the songs online).

These three were the reason I watched Sapan Suhaane, and I’ll admit that till more than midway through the film, I was congratulating myself on having stumbled on a hidden gem. Or, if not strictly a ‘gem’, at least a film that was watchable enough. After that…

But to start at the very beginning, when we are introduced to Shankar (Balraj Sahni) and his younger brother Dilip (Chandrashekhar). Shankar and Dilip are stepbrothers, but deeply devoted to each other. Shankar has given up his own comfort, his own prospects, in order to work so that he can finance Dilip’s studies.

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Tumse Achha Kaun Hai (1969)

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Lalita Pawar plays an ageing and very wealthy woman who employs a man (played by Shammi Kapoor) to reform her granddaughters, who are getting too wild for her liking. The man, poor and in desperate need of money to pay for the treatment of an ailing family member, takes up the offer, even though it will require him to pretend to be someone he’s not. In the process, he ends up falling in love with one of the granddaughters—much to the annoyance of the indignant grandmother.

This was the gist of the story of Professor (1962), though with one qualification: Shammi Kapoor’s Preetam in that film is initially hired just as a tutor for the younger brothers of the granddaughters; it’s only a little later that he’s also given the task of tutoring the young women. It was, as I’ve said on more than one occasion—and of course in my review of the film—a delightfully entertaining film, romantic and fun and with absolutely fabulous music.

Seven years later, Shammi Kapoor acted in another film with a somewhat similar plot. Here, in Tumse Achha Kaun Hai, he is Ashok, a musician; and Lalita Pawar plays Sarojini Devi, the very wealthy woman who approaches him with a proposition: that he take on the task of setting to rights her granddaughters, all three of whom (she feels) are a disgrace to Sarojini Devi.

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Sanjog (1943)

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I came to this film quite by chance. Back in April, when I reviewed Jhansi ki Rani, blog reader Maitreyee Mishra, commenting on that review, asked if I’d watched any other films featuring its lead actress, Mehtab. I had had to admit that I hadn’t; in fact, it seemed that most of Mehtab’s films were nowhere to be found—at least not online. I did find one film, though: AR Kardar’s Sanjog (1943), which starred, alongside Mehtab, Noor Mohammad ‘Charlie’.

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Kaagaz ke Phool (1959)

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That first photo, because the space beyond the screen is so dark, may not be very obvious as regards context. But this is a photo from a full-sized film theatre, where I watched the re-released Kaagaz ke Phool on July 17th. The re-release was to mark the 65th anniversary of this film, a semi-autobiographical work that was a flop when it was first released, but has gained in popularity ever since. My niece had alerted me to the fact that PVR Inox would be showing Kaagaz ke Phool across its theatres, one show a day for a week, and I knew I couldn’t miss this one. If only for the fact that I get to see precious few old films on the big screen (Hum Dono was the last I saw).

I had thought I’d probably be one of a handful (ten, at the most?) of people in the theatre, because this, after all, is an old film; and this was an afternoon show on a weekday. But to my surprise, there were actually quite a few people, and—best of all—many of them were fairly young. Heartening.

But, to get to the film.

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Himalaya ki God Mein (1965)

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I realized the other day that there are umpteen well-known old films that I have seen but have never got around to reviewing on this blog—invariably because I had watched them before I started Dustedoff, and because there were so many ‘new’ old films to watch and write about, I never got around to rewatching stuff. It’s time to amend that, and revisit some films that perhaps should be talked about.

To begin with, Himalaya ki God Mein. Directed by Vijay Bhatt, Himalaya ki God Mein beat Haqeeqat and Waqt to win the Filmfare Best Film Award, and was a superhit. I had watched this donkey’s years ago, when it was telecast on Doordarshan. I remembered almost nothing of it except the fact that Manoj Kumar played a city doctor who relocated to the mountains to treat villagers and ended up falling in love with a village girl played by Mala Sinha. That was it. Time for a rewatch, I decided.

The film begins at night, on an aeroplane where Dr Sunil (Manoj Kumar) and his fiancée, also a doctor, Neeta (Shashikala) are travelling. Another passenger on the plane suddenly clutches his chest; Sunil examines him, diagnoses a heart problem, and asks that the plane land immediately.

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Aladdin aur Jaadui Chiraagh (1952)

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Some weeks back, when I reviewed Police (1958), the thought that had stayed in my mind regarding Madhubala’s character—and her acting—in that film and otherwise, in the larger context of her career, was that she got sadly stereotyped. Too many people, film-makers most of all, ended up slotting her as the ravishingly beautiful woman who need only be cast for the fact that she could light up a screen like few others could. Her acting ability (which was actually very good) got overlooked far too often.

Something similar, though in a different way, happened to Meena Kumari. In Meena Kumari’s case, the ‘Tragedy Queen’ label got affixed fairly early in the actress’s career and branded her forever as the Main Chup Rahoongi type: the weepy, self-sacrificing, stoic Bhartiya naari. Despite films like Kohinoor, Azaad, Majhli Didi, Tamasha and Bandish, most people today associate Meena Kumari with ‘serious’ roles.

So, this film, which starred Meena Kumari in one of her lighter roles.

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