Humsaaya (1968)

In which Joy Mukherji single-handedly (with some help from the snow-clad Himalayas) defeats an invading army of Chinese guerrillas, thus lending a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘humsaaya aasmaan ka’.

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Yeh Zindagi Kitni Haseen Hai (1966)

Every now and then [with distressing frequency], I come across a film that, just by looking at its cast and crew, sounds mouthwatering enough. This was one of those. Saira Banu, when she still looked pretty. Joy Mukherji, still at the height of his career. Ashok Kumar. Motilal. Ravi as the composer. RK Nayyar as the director. Europe.

Sounds good?

Saira Banu in Yeh Zindagi Kitni Haseen Hai

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Love in Bombay (2013)

Or 1971, if you go by the year the film was made, not the year the film was released. Or 1974, which was when the censor certificate dates from.

I came to know of Love in Bombay a few months back, when a newspaper article mentioned that Joy Mukherji’s sons were finally going to be releasing this film. I forgot about it until I discovered that it had finally been released this last Friday—and then I was in a quandary. To see or not to see, as I put it. Various friends urged me on: Harvey, for instance, said that with Agha Jani Kashmiri having revised the script, it may be pretty good. Beth said that she’d heard the costumes were good. Sidharth Bhatia suggested that the presence of Joy Mukherji and Kishore Kumar might be one reason to watch.

Kishore Kumar, Narendra Nath, and Joy Mukherji in Love in Bombay Continue reading

Ten of my favourite Joy Mukherji songs

Because my Ravi tribute was swiftly turning into a Joy Mukherji tribute – and because I thought Joy merited a tribute all his own – I decided to do a Joy Mukherji post. My intention had originally been to review a Joy Mukherji film – until I realised that I’d already reviewed all my favourite Joy starrers.

Joy Mukherji (Feb 24, 1939-Mar 9, 2012) was the son of Shashadhar Mukherji, one of the founders of Filmalaya. Filmalaya, therefore, was the company which launched Joy in the 1960 film Love in Simla (which also marked the debut of Sadhana). Of all the aspiring young actors who tried to emulate the vastly successful Shammi Kapoor in the 60s, the tall and handsome Joy Mukherji was probably the best at projecting some of the effervescence, the joie de vivre, and the sheer attractiveness that made up Shammi’s onscreen persona. Where Shammi danced up a storm with Aaja aaja main hoon pyaar tera, Joy was joy personified with Duniya paagal hai. While Shammi oozed romance with Ae gulbadan ae gulbadan, Joy was tender in O mere shaahekhubaan, seductive in Aa jaa re aa zara aa.

You will be missed, Joy. Sorely.


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Ek Musafir Ek Haseena (1962)

My post on how similar classic Hollywood actually is to classic Bollywood omitted a popular cliché: amnesia. So, if Greer Garson’s character could fall in love with a soldier who’d lost his memory in Random Harvest, Sadhana can do so too, in Ek Musafir Ek Haseena.
Two years after they both debuted in the generally-enjoyable Love in Simla, Joy Mukherji and Sadhana acted together again in this film. It has lots to recommend it: a very beautiful lead actress (I personally think Sadhana looks her best in this film), a superb musical score by O P Nayyar, Raj Khosla’s direction—then why, at the end of two and a half hours, do I feel a sense of dissatisfaction?

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Eye Candy Part 2: Bollywood’s Classic Hunks

Sabrina Mathew’s recent post on cinema’s most beautiful women reminded me that it was time for me to do the second of my eye candy posts. Men again, but this time it’s good old Hindi cinema. As a reader pointed out, early Hindi cinema—the 30’s and 40’s—doesn’t seem to have had too many men who could be classified as hunks, but by the 50’s and 60’s (the period I concentrate upon) we had them in deliciously large numbers. Here goes, more or less in order, with my top ten:

Bollywood's handsomest

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Love in Simla (1960)

Memsaab reviewed Love in Simla a while back. I am, on purpose, not reading it again, just to make sure I don’t end up subconsciously lifting phrases and ideas (though my excuse can always be that imitation is the sincerest of flattery!) I can’t hope to write as delightfully as memsaab does, but for what it’s worth, here’s my two cents.

Love in Simla is the quintessential Cinderella story: the fairy godmother helps turn the ugly duckling into a swan so she can steal Prince Charming from the clutches of the evil stepsister. Of course, this being Bollywood, the swan has a heart of gold and can’t bring herself to harm even the evil stepsister.

Sadhana in Love in Simla

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Love in Tokyo (1966)

Love in Tokyo was before my time, but I can well imagine what its trailer should’ve been:

Japanese gardens! Asha Parekh in a kimono! Joy Mukherji in a wet shirt! Mehmood as a geisha! Mehmood as an Arab doctor! Mehmood as a nawab! Mehmood as Asit Sen!

And so on and so forth. It probably would’ve mentioned a few other attractions: Pran as a lecherous villain (so what’s new?), Lalita Pawar as a tyrannical matriarch with a soft heart (ditto), surprise revelations, a gold digger without a conscience, and a comic side plot without a shred of sense in it.
In spite of all that lunacy, though, this is an entertaining film with a certain mad charm about it.

Asha Parekh and Joy Mukherji in Love in Tokyo

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Phir Wohi Dil Laya Hoon (1963)

Someone once said that Nasir Hussain came to Bombay with one story in his briefcase, and created a series of blockbusters out of it. This is one of them, and a vastly entertaining film: total paisa vasool. You get your money’s worth.

The story’s similar to that of Dil Deke Dekho, Tumsa Nahin Dekha, and Jab Pyaar Kisise Hota Hai: a couple separates, and one of them raises their only child, a son. He grows up, meets his `other’ parent (who’s wealthy), and they don’t quite hit it off—but he does fall for that parent’s adopted daughter. To complicate matters, there’s a villain who pretends to be the long-lost son, whom the parent has been yearning for all these years.

Joy Mukherji and Asha Parekh in Phir Wohi Dil Laya Hoon

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