Rajkumar (1964)

My blog has featured Shammi Kapoor now and then – with reviews of some of his films, in my list of classic Hindi cinema’s handsomest men (which he topped, by a very long margin), and in various lists of songs.

Yesterday morning, when I woke up and logged on to the Internet, the first news headline I saw was that Shammi Kapoor had passed away. I have never been so affected by the passing away of one of the many stars of the past who have died in the recent past… but the news of Shammi Kapoor’s death brought tears to my eyes. I have a lump in my throat even as I type this.

I had not really intended to write this review now. I am in the midst of a blog project in which each post links to the previous and the next posts in some way or the other. But I could not ignore the passing of my favourite actor. I would never forgive myself for that. So, while this post does have a connection to the last (Humayun was a ‘raja-rani’ – ‘king-and-queen’ – film; so is Rajkumar), it is, first and foremost, a tribute to the brightest, most joyous and most entertaining star of the 60s. A sun that will never set.

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Waaris (1969)

Today’s Holi and much of Delhi has been busy slathering everybody else with colour. Out in the street (and in the neighbours’ yard) I saw people drenched in purple, green, yellow and red.
My husband and I don’t celebrate Holi—we’re both too fastidious and have better things to do in life than wasting hours getting colour off ourselves. So here’s my way of celebrating Holi: watching a Hindi film. And that too a colour film—yes, I’ve suddenly realised that the last Hindi colour film I reviewed was Leader, way back in June 2009. A situation pleading to be amended!

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Bhabhi (1957)

I made such a mistake doing a Westward the Women post for International Women’s Day. Granted, it’s a good film, and highly recommended—but does it really teach a woman anything substantial? Knowing how to harness a mule or drive a wagon isn’t all there is to life. So here’s compensation: a film replete with lessons for women (and men, too). There are do’s and don’ts for just about any situation in life, including—though never stated—filmmaking.

Pandari Bai in Bhabhi

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Shaadi (1962)

Shaadi isn’t one of the better films I’ve seen in recent times. In fact, it had some definitely irritating moments, and it called for more suspension of disbelief than is generally expected in Hindi films. On the other hand, it had quite a cast: Saira Banu, Manoj Kumar, Dharmendra, Indrani Mukherjee, Balraj Sahni, Om Prakash, Manorama, and others. Even more interestingly, it was Saira Banu’s second film and one of Dharmendra’s first few films. Overall bearable, especially since I didn’t have anything better to do.

Saira Banu in Shaadi

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Ek Phool Do Maali (1969)

A very frank admission: I am not intellectual. I cannot summon up the brainpower to analyse a film and go deep into the philosophy of it—which is why arty films are completely lost on me. I never, after seeing a film, question it, delve into its profundities, or explore the hidden meaning of so and so scene.

I am therefore proud to announce that I have finally seen a film that has gone a long way in remedying this lamentable situation. Ek Phool Do Maali made me sit up and think. It made me ask a lot of questions. And it made me vow never to assume that just because a film had a cast I generally liked, meant that the film would be good too.

Sanjay Khan, Bobby and Sadhana in Ek Phool Do Maali

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Neela Akash (1965)

When I see Dharmendra, Mala Sinha, Madan Puri, Mehmood and Shashikala as part of the cast, I’m inclined to sit back with a happy smile and look forward to the movie. I expect to be entertained, not subjected to a string of disconnected scenes that make me want to weep with frustration. But yes, after Baharein Phir Bhi Aayengi (also Dharmendra and Mala Sinha—I’m losing my faith in these two), Neela Akash was another disappointment.

The film begins with the graduation of Neela (Mala Sinha), the eldest of the three offspring of Karamchand (Raj Mehra) and his wife (Sulochana Latkar). Karamchand is the type of father nobody should be subjected to: he’s bossy, selfish, prone to gambling (and worse, losing) at the races, and a drunk. Fortunately, a good-at-heart goon called Abdul Chacha (Madan Puri) hauls him home every night.

Abdul Chacha fetches Karamchand home

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