Manmohan Desai has a knack for satisfying masala.  His movies are packed to the gills with his choice wacky elements and overloaded symbols - brothers separated in childhood, medically improbable blindness, gentleman rogues, grudges held for decades by heroes and villains alike.  Suhaag ("good fortune," particularly the sort of good fortune supposedly enjoyed by a married woman) is no exception, and if you check your brain at the door you will be rewarded with an amusing and goofy masala escape.

Durga (Nirupa Roy) is ruined when her husband, a gangster called Vikram (Amjad Khan), refuses to recognize their marriage and rejects their twin infant sons.  Matters get worse for Durga when a rival gangster Jaggi (Kader Khan) kidnaps one of the babies and sells him to a small-time crook (Jeevan) who makes his living exploiting child beggars.  Durga does her best to raise her remaining boy on her own, and he grows into Kishen (Shashi Kapoor), a devoted son and police officer of sparkling integrity.  The other boy, raised among petty thieves, becomes Amit (Amitabh Bachchan), a drunk and a con-artist.  Coincidence brings Amit together with Kishen and Durga, as he helps engineer a romance between Kishen and Anu (Parveen Babi), a sweet-hearted student who falls for Kishen.  For his part, Amit is in love with Basanti (Rekha), a recalcitrant tawaif with a secret connection to Anu. And things become very tangled indeed when Vikram resurfaces - he hires Amit to assassinate the meddling police inspector Kishen, unaware that either young man is his son. 

That plot, such as it is, is almost more trouble to describe than it is worth, something Suhaag has in common with other Manmohan Desai films like Amar Akbar Anthony and Parvarish.  It's enough to hang on to while it's happening, though.  After all, crazy coincidences are the bread and butter of masala - especially coincidences involving long-lost family members, which are particularly numerous here.  And for all its adherence to masala formula, Suhaag does offer a few rarer treats. For instance, Rekha's Basanti is one of the most appealing characters I've ever seen her play.  I am not a fan of Rekha's ephemeral, will-o-the-wisp persona, and in Basanti she offers a gutsy, earthy, worldly woman in sharp constrast to the aloof tawaif she played in Muqaddar ka sikandar - Basanti could have been a repeat performance of that character, and I was delighted that she was not.  

Durga, too, is a departure from Nirupa Roy's typical "Nahin!"-screaming maa roles - at least for the first half of Suhaag.  There, she is bold and forceful, taking charge and muttering snarky commentary; the sequence of scenes in which she meets Anu and tries to arrange Anu's marriage to Kishen is particularly wonderful.  Unfortunately, Durga's story is bookended by simpering devotion to her singularly undeserving husband Vikram.  This is Suhaag's great weakness; the movie lacks Amar Akbar Anthony's charming syncretism and paeans to Indian unity, as well as Parvarish's wry commentary on nature vs. nurture.  As a fan of Manmohan Desai's hearty message-masala, I felt baited and switched when the promising Durga was in some ways more Sita than Durga. 

Still Suhaag is fun when masala is on the menu - nothing else quite matches the buddy chemistry of Shashi and Amitabh ("Shashitabh," as the jodi is affectionately known in among Bollybloggers), who alone are worth watching for, and they plus the splendid songs ensure a satisfying, if silly, experience.  Of these, Parveen Babi's intoxicated turn in " Main to beghar hoon" and the buddy-jodi song "Ae yaar sun" are standouts, along with the hysterical "Tere rab ne bana di jodi," in which Amitabh and Rekha dance bhangra in disguise.

Gumnaam ("unnamed, anonymous") is a slapdash, inadequately scripted, totally non-suspenseful mystery. It is nevertheless great fun to watch, thanks entirely to a passel of thoroughly entertaining songs and fun comic performances by the likes of Helen and Mehmood.  

A group of strangers at a masquerade party are delighted when they are chosen, apparently at random, as winners of an exciting foreign vacation.  The trip gets off to a rough start, however, when an emergency forces their plane to land in a remote wilderness.  And things take an even more sinister turn when the plane takes off, leaving them stranded.  Soon they find an isolated mansion, tended by a valet (Mehmood) who knows their name and seems to have been expecting them.  A mysterious diary in the mansion reveals the reason they are there:  It says they are each responsible for an unjust death, and will be forced to pay the ultimate price.  And sure enough, one by one the travelers begin to die violently ... and the murderer must be among them.  

Gumnaam takes Agatha Chrtistie's Ten Little Indians as its inspiration. It follows that classic story fairly faithfully, but Gumnaam is very light on the plot details that made the original tight and compelling.  There is no real payoff - the killer's motivation for assembling this particular group is stated, but with a few exceptions we are told neither whose deaths they caused, nor why the killer thinks justice is his responsibility.

One result of the slapdash plotting is an utter lack of suspense, which is compounded by the travelers for the most part not behaving as if they fear for their lives. The other filmi touches, like Mehmood's broad South Indian caricature and other roles (like Pran's and Madan Puri's) played for laughs, don't bolster the story.  But unlike Raat aur din, where filmi touches detract from what could have been a taut psychological drama, in Gumnaam they are the saving grace of what would otherwise be a dreadful film. 

The best thing about Gumnaam is the film's songs, most of which are upbeat, splendid fun.  Helen, as one of the doomed guests, gets three of these, including Mehmood's fantastic dream sequence, an adorable beachside romp, and the rare treat of a drunken buddy-song in which the revelers are both women (Helen and Nanda). And no discussion of the songs of Gumnaam is complete without mention of the wild, mod goodness of "Jaan pehechaan ho".

Gumnaam is a masala film, and so of course a romance thread is woven through as well.  This thread is wasted, though, on the film's milquetoast hero and heroine, Manoj Kumar and Nanda.  Greta (of Memsaab Story; thanks to her for the screencap) commented that Gumnaam would have been a totally different movie if Shammi Kapoor had been the hero, and I have to agree.  It could possibly have been an all-time classic on the level of Teesri Manzil or Kashmir ki kali - with Shammi as the hero and Asha Parekh, Sharmila Tagore, or really anyone else as the heroine.  Nanda and Manoj's songs are entertaining enough, but they pale in comparison to the other songs in the film; Manoj attempts Shammi-like moves, but even though he's younger and slightly less chubby, he lacks the energy and charisma that Shammi brought to his best movies.

In the end, though, even to critique a movie like Gumnaam is to ask too much of it. It is thoroughly amusing while it's happening - at its best moments, it shines - and that's all it sets out to do.    

The psychological drama is a genre I've not seen much in Hindi films.  Satyen Bose's Raat aur din ("night and day") is not the finest psychodrama ever, but as a rare Hindi example of the form it holds its own, thanks to a rangy and vibrant performance by Nargis.  

Varuna (Nargis) is a sweet, if melancholy, country girl, who meets Pratap (Pradeep Kumar) when his car breaks down near her mountain home.  Though Pratap is on his way to Shimla to meet his betrothed, he is taken with Varuna, and quickly breaks his engagement to marry her instead.  But Varuna has a dark double life; by night she transforms into a vivacious boozer who calls herself Peggy; she sneaks out of their Calcutta home to dance at swanky, Anglophone night clubs, and awakens with no knowledge of these escapades.  With the help of Dilip (Feroz Khan), a man who meets "Peggy" during one of her nights on the town, and a pair of tenacious psychiatrists (Anwar Hussain and Harindranath Chattopadhyay), Pratap and Varuna return to Shimla in hopes of uncovering the root of her mysterious split personality.

With its echoes of Alfred Hitchcock's Spellbound (as well as prescient shades of Sybil, which came somewhat later), Raat aur din is both chilling and compelling.  The inherent creepiness of the subject is enough to glue one's attention to the screen, and the film offers enough hints at the nature of the trauma that splintered Varuna's psyche that I found myself guessing at the analysis, eager to find out whether I was correct.  It suffers, though, under the burden of some filmi touches that detract from the tautness of the psychodrama.  For example, Anoop Kumar is somewhat fetching as a hapless doctor overwhelmed by the willful Peggy, but his broad physical comedy is out of place and distracting at points when psychological tension could have been building to great effect. 

Nargis's performance, though, stands out and makes the film worth watching.  Apart from one instance of classic movie-madness - wild cackling giving way to violent sobbing - she presents a chillingly engaging portrayal of her character's split personality.  Her Varuna is sad and troubled; though unaware, consciously, of her illness, she nevertheless appears melancholy and ill-at-ease, as though the demons that drive her nighttime excursions swirl precariously just below the surface.  And her "Peggy" is not a care-free party-girl; there is a desperation in her thirst for alcohol, music, and stimulation that is palpably pathological.  Raat aur din is Nargis's film, and it is a showpiece for her skill. 

Raat aur din also features a handful of very nice songs by Shanker-Jaikishen, like the lovely and plaintive title song and the jaunty "Awaara ae mere dil," which reminds you that it is the 1960s.

I watched this movie with Greta of Memsaab Story; you can read her comments about it here. Thanks to Greta also for the screencap.

Mala (Aruna Irani) is beside herself with excitement when a man called Sharma (Shatrughan Sinha) promises to make her a movie star.  Her parents are not quite as thrilled, though; her father (Nasir Hussain) pops a gasket when he sees her picture in a flashy magazine.  His concern is to lock up her marriage to the young man they have chosen for her, Ravi (Amitabh Bachchan).  In the dead of night, Mala steals all her parents' cash and runs away to Sharma, handing over the bulk of the money for his bogus "production".  She soon learns that Sharma is not what he appears to be, and after she witnesses his murder of a compatriot over the loot he swindled from her, she flees.  She finds herself on a bus to Goa, under the care of its conductor, Khanna (Mehmood), and surrounded by an outrageous and rag-tag bunch of fellow-travelers.  Much wacky hijinks ensue.

Unfettered as it is by the requirements of a well-developed story, Bombay to Goa is free to focus on its humor, which derives for the most part from broad comedy strokes - slapstick and stereotypes.  The mish-mash of ethnic and regional archetypes paints a bus-bound microcosm of a nation that feels a bit like Mr. and Mrs. Iyer on crack.  But they are an awful lot of fun, and diverse and cleverly-rendered enough that it doesn't feel like ticking off the boxes on an Indian stereotype bingo card. Very funny comic performances by Mehmood, his real-life brother Anwar Ali as Conductor Khanna's bus-driver brother Rajesh (get it - Rajesh?  Khanna?), and the likes of Manorama, Lalita Pawar, Yusuf Khan, and Keshto Mukherjee as passengers ensure that the laughs keep coming. 

I'm a big fan of Amitabh Bachchan too, of course, and his earlier films are a particular pleasure.  Here he is in fine form - though I wish there had been more of him - especially in the manic song "Dekho na hai".  (His chasing down the bus on his motorcycle to rescue his lady from peril is almost certainly referenced by Arjun Rampal's similar ride in Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd., another film that packs a busload of diverse Indian personae off to Goa for comedy fun.)  A delightful cameo by the adorable Kishore Kumar - with a song, of course - rounds out the fun.  It may be light on substance, but all in all, Bombay to Goa is a thoroughly entertaining way to kill a couple of hours.   

The story of Dev.D is familiar, as Devdas is a Bengali tale that has been told many times both in Hindi film and in other Indian cinemas.  Dev and Paro are childhood friends, separated when Dev's family sends him to school abroad.  They remain in touch through his long exile, and upon his return, the young adult Dev (Abhay Deol) and Paro (Mahie Gill) find that their friendship has developed into strong romantic attraction.  They intend to marry, but social forces intervene.  In this version, Paro is led to doubt that Dev will want her because her family is of lower status than his, while Dev overhears an angry servant telling salacious tales about Paro and, electing to believe them, rejects her.  Paro marries a widower selected by her family, and Dev falls into a deep drug- and alcohol-fueled despair, in the company of a prostitute called Chanda (Kalki Koechlin), who cares for him despite his narcissism and his rage.

It is in the treatment of Dev's relationship with Chanda (Chandramukhi in more traditional versions of the story) that Kashyap's Dev.D improves over earlier renderings of the tale.  Chanda is given a heartbreaking backstory that offers her some substance and helps motivate her warmth for Dev.  And Dev, for a change, is permitted an arc; in contrast to the simpering, unchanging pile of misery in Bhansali's film, here he grows in Chanda's care.  Chanda analyzes Dev, seeing that he loved the idea of possessing Paro more than he loved Paro herself.  The film's best moments come when Chanda confronts Dev with his narcissism; he accepts her insight and evolves in response to it.

In addressing, rather than indulging, the flaws of Dev's character, Dev.D is elevated.  It is not merely a gritty retelling of the old tale, dressed up with frank sexuality, coarse language, and a rock soundtrack.  Instead, it's a touching and mostly believable story of two damaged people finding each other in the darkness of their anguished lives.  Paro is sidelined, compared to other tellings of the tale, but she isn't missed; the story is Dev's and Chanda's.  And when Paro does reappear in the film's second half, she too has grown; instead of wasting herself pining for Dev, she takes a maternal pity on him.  The result of giving these young characters a chance to develop is that Dev.D advances the Devdas legacy.  Like its characters, Dev.D learns from history, rather than wallowing in it. 

The good news is that I have decided to say goodbye to my career as a patent attorney, and in a little over a month I will be starting a new career and a new job as a technical writer. 

I don't know exactly what the future holds, but I miss Hindi films and I miss blogging and I will definitely be back.  So please stay tuned for postings soon, as I turn the page on my professional life and, with any luck, get back some of the energy I used to spend here thinking and writing and communicating with all you folks out there. 

Thanks for reading, and I'm looking forward to getting back in touch with all of you. 

Loins of Punjab, the largest distributor of pork loins on the east coast, is sponsoring a weekend-long talent contest called Desi Idol, and desi dreamers from all over New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut have descended on a humble New Jersey conference hotel to work their talents for a chance at the $25,000 prize.  The contestants include Sania Rehman (Seema Rahmani), a mediocre New York actress with Bollywood aspirations; Vikram Tejwani (Manish Acharya), a laid-off financial analyst who breaks down everything - including romance - into probabilities and statistics; Preeti Patel (Ishitta Sharma), a high school student suffocating under the thumb of her rigid, but loving, immigrant family; A gay hip-hop Bhangra dancer calling himself the Turbanotorious B.D.G. (Ajay Naidu); and Joshua Cohen (Michael Raimondi), an American admirer of Indian culture.  Joshua enters the contest at the urging of his girlfriend Opama Menon (Ayesha Dharker), who soon grows less supportive when she realizes he is the ridicule of the Indian contestants. 

The film's delight is in the detail with which each of these characters, and even the many others who come and go throughout the film, are painted.  Although Acharya draws on stereotypes, he does so with deep affection for the many-faceted NRI culture from which the stereotypes arise.  And more importantly, he does so with great original humor; the jokes are not merely based upon the stereotypes, but are built upon them in satisfying layers.  So while there are broad laughs to be had from such moments as a Gujarati uncle asking for "wedge snakes" (his mispronounced version of "vege snacks") or Sania's inability to string together a sentence in Hindi despite her Bollywood dreams, there is subtler humor as well - like a running joke of desi characters taking Joshua for a waiter, or the poignant jokes about the contestant called Saddam Hussein, a security specialist who can't get work because of his unfortunate name.  This sort of joke adds a slight tinge of edginess to the humor, hinting at the darker aspects of life as a desi in America, without burdening the film with too much preachy politics. 

Of course the main attraction for me is the vicious socialite, Mrs. Rrita Kapoor (Shabana Azmi), for whom no tactic is too low if it will help her win the contest.  She intends to donate the prize money to her pet charity - if only to upstage a generous donation by her chief rival in her high-tone social scene - but her noble intentions can't compensate for the dirty pool she plays.  Her performance is as broad and scene-chewing as any in her career, and watching it almost is almost as much fun for us as giving it seems to have been for her.  But notwithstanding my own Shabana-centric reasons for awaiting this film so eagerly, no one character stole the show.  They are all likeable (well, except Mrs. Kapoor), sweet, and very, very funny. 

The resolution of Loins of Punjab Presents carries a warm-hearted message which, in one of the film's many clever and funny twists, is incoherently verbalized by its dumbest character.  If you have the opportunity to see it, you should.  It is an outstanding debut film, full of smiles and "awwww"s, and deserves to be picked up for broader distribution. 

It's not quite as stylishly perfect as Jewel Thief, nor does it achieve the sublime mod-noir heights of Teesri manzil.  But if you are a fan of Vijay Anand's unique brand of caper film, Chhupa Rustam (perhaps most pithily translated here as "hep cat," but used to mean a person with a hidden or unexpected talent) is definitely one to look out for.

Greedy Vikram Singh and his hapless son Bahadur are searching for ancient treasures in the mountains of Himanchal Pradesh.  To leverage their position Vikram Singh and Bahadur have captured the wife and son of a millionaire who holds the digging rights to the valley where the ancient city is nestled - hoping to force the millionaire's daughter Ritu (Hema Malini) to marry Bahadur, giving them access to the gold.   Ritu capitulates to the cruel captors' demands, only to be spirited away from her own wedding by the qawwal hired to perform there, Natwar (Dev Anand).  Sparks fly between Natwar and Ritu despite her anger and mistrust of him - but soon it becomes clear that he is not what he appears to be, and her warm feelings for him are not misplaced.  Together with Natwar's sidekick Jimmy Fernandes (Vijay Anand), Natwar and Ritu plot to give Vikram Singh and Bahadur their just deserts. 

The plot is unmemorable, but it is of little import; style and fun are the raisons d'etre of Chhupa Rustam.  As the performers romp through their roles they seem a hair's breadth away from bursting into irreverant giggles.  Hema Malini is as adorable as ever, and Dev Anand once again somehow manages to be an engaging hero despite being old enough to be her father - and despite the air of dirty old man that lingers about him every time he unleashes his leering grin. Prem Chopra's Bahadur (the name means "brave" or "gallant") is anything but; he's a delightfully hateable mix of smarmy and stupid, tough-talking and weak.  

But the film's real treat is Vijay Anand himself, who not only lends his directorial vision to the film (see Greta's review for a generous look at the film's fantabulous style) but is also laugh-out-loud hysterical as Natwar's big-hearted pal Jimmy.  He falls in love with Bahadur's moll (the delectably curvaceous Bindu) and the pair's two scene-stealing songs are among the highlights of the movie.  Actually all the film's songs are delightful, including this one in which Natwar wins over a recalcitrant Ritu with his ode to the humble bedbug.

Main Azaad hoon ("I am Azaad"), one of a very few Javed Akhtar films that Shabana Azmi appeared in, is an interesting rumination on how an ordinary - and anonymous - man can be moved to tremendous sacrifice by the plight of his fellow human beings.   

Publisher Gokulchand's (Manohar Singh) newspaper is not selling, and his columnist Subhashni (Shabana Azmi) is facing the ax.  To boost the paper's sales - and to save her job - quick-thinking Subhashni concocts and publishes a letter from a fictional man named Azaad - the name means "independent" - who threatens to kill himself in protest against social injustice throughout the state.  Azaad is an immediate sensation throughout the city, and Subhashni pens more letters, creating an entire backstory for the fictional man.  Gokulchand is delighted with the result in the paper's bottom line, and to keep the charade going he authorizes Subhashni to find a suitable man they can pay to play the role of Azaad.  Subhashni discovers a charismatic vagabond (Amitabh Bachchan) who is willing to take on the role in exchange for a few good meals and a generous handful of rupees.  Azaad's mystique grows, and everyone with a grievance seeks his aid, from slumdwellers in search of clean water to striking factory workers clamoring for a living wage.  Azaad is moved by these causes, and soon he is acting from his heart instead of merely acting the part that Gokulchand and Subhashni have paid him to play.  And his heart is tested when the power players who created him try to use him as a pawn for their own advantage.

Main Azaad hoon's script is little too wordy; there were places where the story dragged.  But Javed sahib's award-winning dialogues deliver with the expected style the film's statements against manipulation of the common man by those in power  - like when one character, an elected official, says that the key to politics is to "make promises to the poor, and make deals with the rich."   Subhasnhi's character arc in particular is compelling.  She starts out just as manipulative as the power players - she is very shrewd in fact, acting in calculation of her own interests only, and is not moved until she sees Azaad willing to commit himself to the fullest for the rights of others.

Indeed, there are parallels to Shabana Azmi's own experience built into Subhashni's story that are so striking I had to wonder if Javed sahib didn't write the script with his wife in mind.  Subhashni begins with the view that her newspaper column is strictly entertainment for the masses.  As the film wears on, she struggles to keep entertainment separate from social responsibility, just as Shabana Azmi herself did, and, again like Shabana, ultimately follows her heart in the direction of activism.  The film contains parallels between Azaad and Amitabh Bachchan too - in one scene, Azaad emerges from his rooms to find an overwhelming crowd of supplicants awaiting darshan; I have read about such crowds at Amitabh's own home, especially in the early 1980s.

Javed Akhtar once said that Hollywood films are short stories while Hindi films are novels. But the characterizations and scope of Main Azaad hoon are, in some ways, more like the former.  Rather than offering reels of epic backstory, Azaad's true origin and life story remain a complete mystery.  We learn a little about Subhashni's father - he was a hero, a freedom fighter on the eve of independence - but no friends or relatives of hers are present in the film.  By filmi standards, the two principals are unanchored and lonesome (though Azaad has a sidekick who makes a few appearances) - these loners are given their sense of purpose by devoting themselves to a wider community to which neither fully belongs. 

After some weighty discussions about feminism and Partition, it was definitely time to write about something with a bit more levity.  Fortunately Pyar to hona hi tha ("Love had to happen") was there to do the job.

Sanjana (Kajol), an orphaned Indian living in Paris, is engaged to her sweetheart Rahul (Bijay Anand).  Rahul's business takes him on a trip to India, where he is swept off his feet by a sexy modern vixen named Nisha (Kashmira Shah), and breaks his engagement to Sanjana.  Heartbroken, Sanjana heads to India to win him back.  On the way, she meets the roguish thief Shekhar (Ajay Devgan), on the run from his one-time friend, Police Inspector Khan (Om Puri).  Circumstances conspire to strand Shekhar and Sanjana in Shekhar's village, where she learns that inside scoundrel there beats a heart of pure gold.  Shekhar agrees to help her win back her lost love.  Sanjana and Shekhar pretend to be lovers to make Rahul jealous.  But as the film's title suggests, it's not long before the pretense becomes reality.

Pyar to hona hi tha is an innocuous and pleasant romance.  Like any romance, its charm depends upon the appeal of its principals, and they deliver well enough to make the movie engaging and sweet.  Kajol is talented at physical comedy, and that talent is put to good use in Sanjana's clumsy streak; her klutziness is cute and funny (though, unfortunately, it has no real bearing on the story).  And Ajay Devgan is better here than in some films where he broods and mopes incessantly; Shekhar is permitted moments of insecurity that show through his facade of cool.  The result is an endearing pairing that the viewer can really root for.  

I've been told that Pyar to hona hi tha is a remake of a Hollywood romance flick called French Kiss.  I've never seen the original, but most people seem to think the filmi touches are an improvement.  I guess that Bollywood really does have a way with romance.  Some of the better filmi elements in Pyar to hona hi tha are the songs, which are very cute; they are mostly innocuous pop, but surprisingly catchy.  There are entertaining picturizations too, especially the village engagement party and a trippy song that takes place on an airplane.  The latter includes segments having different musical styles, including a qawwali and a uniquely filmi adaptation of the Macarena.   The less felicitous additions from the filmi bag of tricks include a couple of lengthy car chases and a random, unnecessary shooting and hostage sequence in a shopping mall.  On balance, though, Pyar to hona hi tha offers a pleasant helping of everything one might require of a Hindi popcorn romance. 

Greta of Memsaab Story, with whom I watched Pyar to hona hi tha, considers the film a sentimental favorite; here's what she has to say about it.