Totally Filmi

Megabirthday 2013: Mega Sock Yarn!

One of the highlights of my year is when Megabirthday roles around -- it's so enjoyable to see what Cinema Chaat will present for our amusement, entertainment, and, of course, delight. 

So when Temple suggested that this year might involve an exploration of Chiranjeevi's socks, I knew what I had to do.  I was going to be spending a week in July at dye camp, and first on my list of priorities was to dye a sock yarn that would be worthy of being worn by the Megastar.

But what to do?  What colour to choose?  I asked Temple for advice, and what I took away was the idea of black, hot pink, and metallic.  What I came up with?  Was this:

 

 

 

I started with that single hank of hot pink yarn on the far left.  I wanted to make sure I could get that colour Just Right before I started to play around with combinations of pink and black.  In the end, I dyed two hanks of plain sock yarn, starting with pink, and overdyeing with black, and two hanks of yarn with silver stellina in it, starting with black and overdyeing with pink.

 

 

 

What I was trying to do was capture the essence of the Megastar:  I wanted something colourful and bold, and yet masculine.  Something masculine, but for a man willing to wear glitter with abandon!

 

And what I really love was how this tied in with the first Chiranjeevi film I watched in its entirety, for last year's Megabirthday celebration, Yamudiki Mogudu, especially with this song, especially starting around 2:38:

 

 

I really loved the opportunity to try this out, and I am absolutely looking forward to dyeing more yarns inspired by the movies I watch.  I'd really like to work on this Megabirthday colourway a little more, too.  Maybe for next year I'll actually knit up a pair of socks.

 

 

Palate Cleanser Week: The *Other* Megastar

A bit of a discussion on Twitter this morning about the plans to celebrate the birthday of Telugu Megastar Chiranjeevi had me realizing, once again, that although I'm well aware of him (I mean, who cannot be?), I've never managed to getting around to seeing one of his films.  I'm going to remedy that in time for the Megabirthday Festivities, but I also realized that, quite honestly, Chiru is a perfect palate cleanser for those moments when you just need a break, when you need cheering up, when you just need to have a smile on your face -- and after four days home sick, boy, did I ever need that today!

Temple from Cinema Chaat kindly made some film recommendations for me, but she also sent me this terrific link to a song from Jebu Donga, which seems to be a Mr. India remake (and which I would gladly see, subtitled or not):

 

 

How can you top tap-dancing Chiru?  Maybe with this, which asks the important question:  "Can any one beat chiranjeevi in dance at the age of 55?"

 

 

I especially loved the commenter who suggested that the only person who could top him would be Chiru himself, in his next film. 

I also couldn't resist this, "Chiru's Cowboy Song":

 

 

 

And how can you leave Kodama Simham without watching this remake of "Cotton-Eyed Joe"?  I know I couldn't:

 

 

And finally, I couldn't resist this number from State Rowdy.  I love it all, but especially that little moment when they drink tea while dancing:

 

 

BTW, the title of the post is intended as tongue-in-cheek, because of course, since I mostly watch Malayalam films, "Megastar" for me usually means Mohanlal or Mammootty, the former who dances not well but with enthusiasm, the latter, well, who doesn't dance.  So neither of them comes anywhere close to Megadancing Megastar Chiru in the dancing department.  On the other hand, who does, really?

Palate Cleanser Week: Rani Mukherjee

You know, I was just thinking the other day that we just don't get enough Rani on our screens.  I am *so* looking forward to Aaiya, the film that will pair her with Malayalam actor Prithviraj (in his Hindi debut), but I realized that traipsing through the YouTubes watching Rani songs is a perfect pick-me-up in the meantime.

Here are just a handful of favorites:

 

"Chail Chhabeela" from Saawariya (and if I may say so, Rani's probably the best thing about the film):

 

 

"Discowale Khisko" from Dil Bole Hadippa:

 

 

"Kangna Re" from Paheli:

 

 

I will confess to having a huge soft spot for the film Chalo Ishq Ladaaya, and the song "Masti Masti" never fails to cheer me up.  (Seriously.  Two of the best smiles in the business.):

 

 

 

And how can you resist double the cuteness, with Rani and Konkona Sen Sharma, in "Hum To Aise Hain" from Laaga Chunari Mein Daag: 

 

 

Finally, there's the Palate Chaser film of all Palate Chaser films, Bunty Aur Babli.  And while I was sorely tempted to show Abhishek Bachchan and Rani being Shiamaked in "Nach Baliye" , I think I'd rather choose to watch "Dhadak Dhadak":

 

There.  Now I feel better.  Care to share your favorite Rani songs in the comments?

Patang ("Kite", Hindi, dir. Prashant Bhargava, 2011)

 

 

 

Laneways bustling with a wedding party, little boys running to and fro, kites being made and delivered, kite strings coated with glittering glass and chosen with care.  Rooftops where families and neighbours share delectable dishes, sing songs, remember the past.  Kites that dip and swirl and soar on the skyline.  This is Ahmedabad during the annual kite festival.  This is the world that director Prashant Bhargava draws us into, a place where modern and traditional world views collide, and where a family’s emotions and conflicts mirror that of the kites in full flight and fight.

Jayesh (Mukkund Shukla), a successful businessman now living in Delhi, returns to his home in Ahmedabad, along with his daughter, Priya (Sugandha Garg) for a surprise visit during the annual kite festival.  Ostensibly a trip to show his daughter the festival, Jayesh’s motives soon become clear to his family:  he wants his mother to sign away the ancestral home so he can sell it and move them into a modern apartment he’s bought for them.  Initially his family welcomes him – with the exception of his nephew Chakku (Nawazuddin Siddiqui), who harbours a bitter resentment against his uncle, whom he sees as responsible for the early death of his father.  But it becomes apparent that there are old wounds in this family, and that it’s not just the distance between Delhi and Ahmedabad that separates Jayesh from his family.

 

Jayesh believes, as he has always done, that he knows what’s best – progress first and foremost.  But instead of really considering what his family needs, what makes them happy, he judges them, and makes decisions for them about what they need (and what will make them happy).  He recognizes that, as he puts it, every room in his ancestral home contains history; however, he just cannot see the value in it.

Each of the characters in this film is like one of the kites in the festival, individual, trying to seek out his or her own path to happiness.  Some may continue to soar; some may be cut down far too soon, forced to deal with life’s harsh realities.  Chakku is happy enough singing in a wedding band but must face his uncle’s disapproval of his choice; Bobby (Aakash Maheriya), completely smitten with city girl Priya, who left school to work in his father’s shop, and dreams of flying away.  “Times have changed,” he tells Priya, “but my father has not.”  Priya, who is happy flitting around Ahmedabad and filming it with her Super 8 camera (views that are incorporated into the film, and which heighten our sense of intimacy and being in the moment), and carrying on a flirt with Bobby, does not see the real Ahmedabad.  Hamid (Hamid Shaikh), the little boy who lives and works on the streets, rejected by his grandmother unless he can bring her money, is the one voice of clarity who advises the adult Chakku, who says his uncle will never have a loss  – “He will,” says Hamid, sagely.  Sudha (Seema Biswaas), Jayesh’s sister-in-law, who surely, steadily, quietly looks after her mother-in-law, Ba (Pannaben Soni), and mends the rift in this family as surely and as delicately as she mends one of the fallen kites.

 

The film draws us into the lives and the laneways, the sounds envelop us, the music pulses, its rhythms taking us further and further into the streets and lanes of Ahmedabad, the camera view intimate, dipping and swirling like the kites themselves, taking us into the lives of these characters, showing us their thoughts, their secrets, their struggles, their anguish, their smiles.

Flying kites bring small moments of joy to each of these characters, allowing them, for a moment, to be free of the constraints and disappointments of their lives.  Life, like the flight of a paper kite, is so fragile and delicate and beautiful, and happy.  “Are you happy?” Sudha asks her brother-in-law at one point, making the point that for all his belief that progress involves letting go of the past, life is more complicated than that.  And, yet, strangely, more simple, at the same time:  “If you think we are holding onto our past with sadness,” Sudha tells Jayesh, “you are wrong.  We hold onto our happiness.  Our little, little happiness.”

 

Everything about Prashant Bhargava’s film will draw you in and make you feel a part of this place – the story, the visuals, the sounds, the music, the characters – especially the characters.  But what will linger once the film is done are the moments of pure poetry:  the change in Sudha’s expression when she realizes Jayesh is not just on the end of the phone, he’s actually in Ahmedabad; the gulf between two worlds summed up in one expression – “wine tasting”; Chakku eyeing his uncle’s gift of an iPod shuffle with wariness, his eyes flitting back and forth between the package and its wrapper; Chakku later wearing the ear buds, a sign that his grudging relationship with his uncle has, perhaps, taken a new turn; fireworks on a rooftop; Sudha gently mending a kite; kite strings laid out, ready to have ground glass applied to them; Sudha twisting and tearing a napkin in her hand as Jayesh talks about his brother’s drinking; the absence of the brother felt like a presence; Bobby rolling the little car across the countertop towards Priya, and his almost bewildered expression when Priya kisses him; the squeak of the swing as Jayesh talks with his nephew, telling him he never sings; sunrise over Ahmedabad the morning of the kite festival; mouth-watering dishes handed around on plates; Hamid’s reaction when his grandmother closes the door on him.  All of these flavour the film, lace it with sugar and spice, and stay on our minds long after Jayesh and Priya leave to return to Delhi.  Patang shows us that we are like Hamid, his arm in a sling after a fall from the rooftops – we may fall, we may break, but we have the potential to heal, to mend, and to rise and soar again.

 

Agent Vinod (dir. Sriram Raghavan, 2012)

 

This is my favorite of all the posters.  I think it's the shoes. Or the "Saif in action pose".  Or the shoes.

 

A suitcase bomb that threatens the fate of the world, if it lands in the wrong hands – and, of course, in true spy thriller style, it does.  And, also in true spy thriller style, there is one man capable of saving the world – in the case of writer/director Sriram Raghavan’s film, the titular Agent Vinod (Saif Ali Khan).  Vinod travels the world chasing villains, and eventually teaming up with another operative, Iram Parveen Bilal (Kareena Kapoor) in a race against time.

It’s quite possible that the James Bond franchise has spoiled me for movies in the spy action thriller genre.  Exotic locations, cracktastic villains – and Bond himself, impeccably styled and with a wit as dry as his signature martini – “shaken, not stirred”.  One is generally assured of a fabulously good time watching Bond save the world.

And I wish that were true of Sriram Raghavan’s Agent Vinod.  Certainly some of the basic ingredients are there.  The opening credits sequence is, frankly, better than any Bond I’ve seen, styled like a graphic novel.  The background score is terrific.  And any film that has Prem Chopra (fabulous in a ponytail and embroidered silk caftan, and weeping over having to kill his beloved pet camel) and Gulshan Grover (villain in white with cravat!) is okay in my books.  The film is stylishly shot (C.K. Muraleedharan’s cinematatography is terrific and frequently breathtaking) and features a whirlwind of locations from  Afghanistan to Moscow to Morocco to Somalia to Riga to Pakistan to Delhi.  There’s evidence of clever editing – one scene in particular comes to mind, where Vinod is involved in a brawl with someone he has a history with – the back-story brawl is edited together with the present-day brawl, incredibly tidy and visually interesting.  And although Pritam’s songs didn’t do much for me (though I’m always happy to hear a Boney M remake, this time of “Rasputin”), the picturisation of “Raabta” –  a love song set against an assassination attempt on Vinod and Iram --  is brilliant.

It also can’t be denied that Saif Ali Khan’s Agent Vinod is a pretty good protagonist – he’s stylish, looks very fine, handles the action with aplomb, and is even given the occasional witty line.  When his partner chides Vinod for taking a risk with his life, asking him, “What if they had killed me?”, Vinod’s response?  “They’d have given you a medal and your wife a petrol pump.”

Thinking about this, I still stand by my first impression, that for all of that,  Agent Vinod lacks a little je ne sais quoi. Kareena’s Iram is, frankly, as flat and tired as old wallpaper – though I note that it’s not for nothing that the film is called Agent Vinod, because clearly it’s all about him, and quite rightly so.  That said, I still long for a heroine with a little more depth and  sparkle.  I loved the villains, but wished they’d been a little more cracktastic.  And although Agent Vinod is a film lover’s delight – the sepia-toned opening is reminiscent of a Spaghetti Western, right down to the harmonica  (though my favorite film reference?  The Five Man Army, and villain Abu Nazer (Ram Kapoor) compared to Bud Spencer), I couldn’t help thinking that its never-ending ending owed much to the Abbas-Mustan school of filmmaking.

In the end, though, there was more – much more – that I liked about Agent Vinod than I didn't– and I even adored the closing credits sequence, it was incredibly fun.  Ultimately, Agent Vinod was a pretty good outing to the cinema, and quite frankly, it left me longing for a sequel.  So,  Sriram Raghavan and Saif Ali Khan, more Agent Vinod, please?  And soon?

 

Yes, please.  And keep the stubble.

Teri Rehmatein

"Teri Rehmatein" is a new album of Sufi music from Sony Music, featuring  8 original tracks composed by Harpreet and written by Rajiv Pal Singh 'Rana', and performed by singers including Salim Merchant, Sanam Marwi, Tochi Raina, Javed Ali, Richa Sharma, Meenal Jain, I P Singh and Jaswinder Singh.

And this is the video for the title track, "Teri Rehmatein", performed by the terrific Salim Merchant, with cinematography by one of my favorite up and coming cinematographers (and friend) Santosh Vasandi:

 

 

Is that not the loveliest thing you've experienced today?  That just made my Friday!

White Nights: Third Night

(Excerpts from Fyodor Dostoevsky's short story "White Nights" continue with this Third Night.  Way, way, way back I wrote a number of posts about Sawaariya, connecting it to the story it was inspired by.  But perhaps you'd like to read the First Night, the first part of the Second Night , the second part of the Second Night or the third part of the Second Night before reading this, though?)

"Yesterday was our third interview, our third white night.[...]..I went to meet her with a full heart, and was all impatience.  I had no presentiment that I should feel as I do now, that it would not all end happily."

"Do you know why I am so glad," she said, "so glad to look at you? -- why I like you so much to-day?"

"Well, I asked, and my heart began throbbing.

"I like you because you have not fallen in love with me.  You know that some men in your place would have been pestering and worrying me, would have been sighing and miserable, while you are so nice!"

 

"Goodness, what a friend you are!" she began gravely a minute later.  "God sent you to me.  What would have happened to me if you had not been with me now?  How disinterested you are!  How truly you care for me!  When I am married we will be great friends, more than brother and sister.  I shall care for you almost as I do for him..."

"Suddenly she became extraordinarily talkative, gay mischievous; she took my arm, laughed, wanted me to laugh too, and every confused word I uttered evoked from her prolonged ringing laughter....I began to feel angry, she had suddenly begun flirting."

"Do you know," she began, "I feel a little vexed that you are not in love with me?  There's no understanding human nature!  But all the same, Mr. Unapproachable, you cannot blame me for being so simple; I tell you everything, everything, whatever foolish thought comes into my head."

"Listen!  That's eleven, I believe," I said as the slow chime of a bell rang out from a distant tower."

 

"She ceased speaking, and pressed my hand warmly.  I too could not speak without emotion.  Some minutes passed."

"Yes, it's clear he won't come to-night," she said at last raising her head.  "It's late."

"He will come to-morrow," I said in the most firm and convincing tone."

"Yes," she added with no sign of her former depression.  "I see for myself now that he could not come till to-morrow.  Well, good-bye, till to-morrow.  If it rains perhaps I shall not come.  But the day after tomorrow, I shall come. 

 

   *****

 

My original plans for this were to continue right to the end of the story, matching excerpts from Dostoevsky's short story with stills from the film.  I found that the film stuck fairly faithfully to the essence of the original early on -- in fact, in the first half of the film, which I actually kind of like.  But in the second half, Sanjay Leela Bhansali drifts further and further away from "White Nights" which, in of itself, is not a bad thing.  I certainly don't expect adaptations to stick to the letter of the work that inspired them, and I understand that interpreting a written work in a visual medium does change what you can do in terms of storytelling.

But I did wonder:  why did I connect so much more with Shivam Nair's Ahista Ahista, also loosely inspired by "White Nights", than I did, in the end, with Sawaariya?  Bhansali's film seems to actually come unwound after the interval, and as it drifts further from the short story, it becomes a much messier bit of business, and becomes less able to capture my attention. 

That takes nothing away from the fact that I think it's beautiful to watch, and that I do actually like the songs and their picturisations.  As a fan of both Rani Mukherjee and Zoya Sehgal, I was delighted every moment they were on the screen.

As for the debut performances of Sonam Kapoor and Ranbir Kapoor, well, of course, they are both raw around the edges, and that's fine with me.  Ranbir is undoubtedly very talented, though, and later films have allowed him to develop and round off the rough edges.  I think, truthfully, that the role Sonam was given required a maturity and experience as an actor that as a beginner she just did not possess; both she and Ranbir were at their best when interacting with the more experienced Salman Khan and Rani Mukherjee, respectively.  (Yes, this is another one of those films where I actually liked Salman, so go figure.)

To be quite honest, I think my obsessive tendency to watch and rewatch films worked against Sawaariya.  I watched it so many times, trying to find the connections to the story, trying to figure it all out, that I think it was just all too much in the end.  That said (and oh, I cannot believe I'm saying this), all the films I've been watching for Kapoor Khazana make me actually want to watch the film again and think about it solely as Ranbir Kapoor's launch, and how that was constructed, because there's lots of meta-Kapoor goodness going on there.

And although I've long known Sanjay Leela Bhansali really isn't making films for me, all is forgiven when he throws me a lovely bit of Rani eye-candy, like this:

 

Chhabeela by fUcKuTuBe

(And I have to say:  the moment where Ranbir kisses Rani's hand?  Impeccable. 

And?  ::pingpingpingpingping::

Barsaat (1949, dir. Raj Kapoor)

"Love, star-crossed love, being in love with the idea of love, passion and lust -- he takes me through his personal repertoire of romance, his voice soft, if a bit gruff at the edges."

-- Madhu Jain on Raj Kapoor in her book The Kapoors:  First Family of Indian Cinema

 

In Barsaat, two rich city slickers, Pran (Raj Kapoor) and Gopal (Prem Nath), go on holiday in the mountains of Kashmir.  Pran, the sensitive, poetic one of the pair, meets Reshma (Nargis), and the two fall in love.  Gopal, the womaniser, meets Neela (Nimmi), who faithfully waits for him to return during the monsoon season (the barsaat of the film's title); the faithless Gopal, however, has no intention of returning, preferring to spend his time galavanting with other women.

 

 

 

Barsaat, really, is a film about love -- about a kind of philosophy of love.  Pran and Reshma represent true love, love at first sight that hits like a bolt of lightening in a storm of emotion, and that survives any trial or tribulation put in its path.   The couple must overcome parental opposition and class differences (Reshma's father wants to set her marriage to someone in a neighbouring village), accidents (Reshma is washed away in the river when her father, preferring to see her die rather than dishonoured by crossing the river to see Pran, cuts the rope by which she's secured herself; Pran, obsessed by the thought of Reshma's marriage, loses control of the car he is driving and is seriously hurt), and the attempt by the fisherman who fishes Reshma out of the river to force her into marrying him.  Their love is tested, and it is true, and it finally makes an impression on the faithless Gopal, who realizes that he must finally return to Neela and prove himself worthy of her love.

 

 

Barsaat makes most sense to me if I look at Pran and Gopal as two facets of one personality, with two views of love, two experiences of love struggling to exist.  Given what I know about Raj Kapoor (oh, and it is so woefully inadequate, I think), that would make some sense too -- most of Raj's films are known to be highly autobiographical, and given the level of philosophising in Barsaat, I can't help but wonder if this was Raj's way of trying to explore and perhaps reconcile these two seemingly disparate facets of his personality -- on the one hand, a man who believed in the fundamental truth of romantic love; on the other, a complex personality who needed women as muses, to serve as inspiration, to fuel his creativity.  And I think because it's generally acknowledged that Raj stored away his personal experiences just to use them in his films, it makes it much more difficult for me to separate how I feel about his personal life and how I feel about what he created out of it. 

 

 

Barsaat troubles me at times, because I see these very conflicting views of women in it:  on the one hand, the woman as someone to be worshipped, especially in her avatar of mother -- this can be seen when Gopal takes Pran to the woman who is prostituting herself -- love can be bought, according to Gopal, but what Pran sees is a woman forced into this situation because of the love she bears for her sick child.  Pran gives her money for the child, and he touches her feet.

 

Yet, women are also shown as potentially faithless:  Pran tells Reshma the stories of Heer and Sohni, the implication being that what she should be is faithful like Sohni, and not betray her love, like Heer.  The faithful woman as embodied by Neela goes unrewarded, so it's diifficult for me to reconcile what is being asked of Reshma.  Unless, of course, what is being asked is faithfulness on the part of both partners, in which case it makes sense that Neela's love is in vain, since Gopal treats her feelings with so little care.

And ultimately, both Reshma and Neela find themselves prostrating themselves at the feet of the men they love -- the lover as god, needing to be worshipped, the woman  almost begging for love. Sometimes, it's hard not to think that Raj Kapoor was placing his women on pedestals, only to knock them off them.

 

That said -- Barsaat consolidated Raj Kapoor and Nargis as an on-screen couple, perhaps one of the greatest in Indian cinema -- certainly one of my favorites, that's for sure.  In her book, Jain suggests their on-screen relationship was more than just their obvious chemistry:

"What was important was the way the two balanced each other on screen.  They brought out the best in each other, one a catalyst for the other.  Raj Kapoor's searing, at times maudlin, intensity was offset by Nargis's spontaneity; his clowning by her innate dignity."

 

  

 

Something I hadn't realized (but probably should have) was that although Nargis was already a star before Raj Kapoor started putting her in his films, she wasn't considered a great film beauty; certainly, her looks were unconventional, but I'm constantly in awe of her beauty.  "Nargis," writes Jain, "was never as luminous as when caressed by Raj Kapoor's camera":

But from Barsaat onwards there was a subtle transmogrification of the screen Nargis:  her face often looks as if it has been lit by the rays of the moon.  The camera lingers on her profile, gingerly exploring the landscape of her face, incandescent with an inner glow.

 
 

And if there's one thing I can state unequivocally about Barsaat:  it is an incredibly beautiful film.  I had the odd sensation that I was watching something that combined some of my favorite Hollywood films with those of Satyajit Ray -- and discovered that I probably wasn't wrong in that.  Raj Kapoor admired Ray's films, apparently going so far as to ply Ray's cinematographer with drink and pick his brain about lighting and composition;  certainly Barsaat contains an element of intellectualising the concept of romantic love that probably owes much to Raj's desire to create arty films that Jain suggests was equal to his desire to create popular, entertaining films.  But Raj also acknowledged that much of the camera work in Barsaat was highly influenced by the films of Orson Welles, especially Citizen Kane.  The result is a film that is worth watching, for me at least, for the beauty of its cinematography -- its lighting, its framing --  perhaps even more than for the story itself.

 

If you are in the Toronto area, the Toronto International Film Festival is organizing the first retrospective of Raj Kapoor's films to take place in North America in thirty years, and a new 35mm print of Barsaat is on the programme.

And yes, I have tickets to see it.  I can hardly wait to see this film on a proper cinema screen!

Kapoor Khazana Number 3: Lata Mangeshkar

"Raj Kapoor's trinity of women -- Nargis, Padmini and Vyjanthimala -- is widely known.  Less so is his very special relationship with Lata Mangeshkar.  He was entranced by her voice, and she by his chikna face and blue eyes as well as his formidable talent and powers of persuasion.  She looks girlish and coy in photographs taken during the early days of their collaboration.  There is an air of intimacy, of unspoken complicity in a photograph in which Raj Kapoor is grooming Lata.  He is standing behind her as she sits.  A cigarette dangling from his lips, he is dressing her hair, while she looks like a blushing teenager.  Lata Mangeshkar became yet another woman in white; she only wore white saris, but with coloured borders.  While Nargis was his screen beloved, Lata Mangeshkar was her voice and the aural incarnation of the poetic soul of Raj Kapoor in his early days."

-- Madhu Jain, writing in The Kapoors:  the First Family of Indian Cinema, pp. 144-145.

 

The great and seemingly timeless play-back singer Lata Mangeshakar's career preceeded Raj Kapoor's films, and it has certainly lived on beyond them.  Probably the only singer to come close to rivalling her close to seven decade career is her sister, Asha Bhosle.  Lata-ji is purported to have been the inspiration behind Kapoor's Satyam Shivam Sundaram.  Originally planned to be called Soorat aur Seerat (Face and Soul), Kapoor planned to have Lata (who had also worked as an actress early on in her career) star in the film.  According to Madhu Jain, the film was something they planned together, to explore the theme of internal and external beauty -- a theme, of course, that Raj Kapoor had already touched on in his first film as a director (Aag),  and then returned to when he finally made Satyam Shivam Sundaram, starring Zeenat Aman

You'd think it would be easy to narrow down a Lata-ji "best-of" if I were to limit myself to the songs she performed for Raj Kapoor films, but you'd be wrong.  Part of the problem, of course, is that I love every single song in every single Raj Kapoor film I've ever watched.  This fact alone stuns me.  Every.  Single. Song.  Every Single Film.  Kapoor's meticulous craftsmanship extended to his music, from his choice of music directors to the choice of singers, and I've spent hours this morning trolling YouTube and trying to figure out what to pick.

Likely, other Lata songs will surface during Kapoor Khazana, but if I had to choose just one?  It would be the exquisite "Ghar Aaya Mera Pardesi" from Awaara.

In it, Raj (Raj Kapoor), torn between his life of thieving working for the evil Jagga (K.N. Singh) and his love for the beautiful Rita (Nargis), the ward of a judge (who is really Raj's father), falls asleep, and finds himself lifted out of the hell he finds himself in up to heaven, a metaphor for what Rita's love is doing for him. 

Of course, my bias is showing here, because I *think* that Awaara may just turn out to be my favorite Raj Kapoor film.  Certainly the metaphorical dream sequence that makes up "Ghar Aaya Mera Pardesi", with the ethereal Nargis, the vision merging with the voice of Lata Mangeshkar (as Madhu Jain suggests) is one of my favorite picturisations, ever.  Ever:

 

Ghar Aaya Mera Pardesi (Awaraa) by Avaratna

And, of course, the male singer providing the voice for Raj Kapoor is Mukesh, who, although he wasn't the only playback singer Kapoor worked with, was almost synonymous with Raj-sir.

How do you solve a problem like Madhuri?

Answer, OF COURSE:  "How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?" 

There is a lot of Madhuri Dixit love over at the Bollywood-ish blog most days, but particularly this week, devoted entirely to the lovely Mads.

A while back, I pencilled in this week on the calendar, and then....promptly forgot about it.

And sadly, I think that kind of sums up my relationship with Madhuri Dixit.  I know -- I KNOW -- that I've seen her in a gajillion films, but I honestly cannot remember much from most of them.  Several stand out, and not, sadly, entirely for good reasons (case in point:  Koyla, where Madhuri is wonderful, but the film is, well, kind of cracktastic.  Please note, too, that I watch Koyla Every Single Time it comes on telly.

Her dances though -- now those are worth remembering, and they are always, always wonderful.  I thought about doing a week of posts just on the dances, but you know what?  Bollywood-ish has done it, and better than I ever could have.

I've actually discussed precisely one film here on Totally Filmi, Aaja Nachle -- in fact, it's in podcast episode number 2.  It's a film I quite like, but I suspect I chose it because of Madhuri, and ended up liking so much else about it.  I had hoped to go see it in the cinema, but it was a winter release, and you know, winter = snow in Canada, so I never made it, and it pains me that I never got to see this on a proper screen, cos it's glorious:

 

 

Sometimes it seems that there's such a dearth of truly wonderful dancers in Bollywood lately, and I often wonder if Madhuri Dixit got all the dancing genes meant for one generation, because no one -- NO ONE -- dances as beautifully as she does.  Some are better than others, but they are rare, and they still cannot match her.

In fact, I think Madhuri is one of the very few things that got me through Sanjay Leela Bhansali's Devdas, and I've long had a design project sitting on the backburner, inspired precisely by this moment in the film:

 

 

For this performance alone, Madhuri Dixit will always hold a small, special place here at Totally Filmi.  I only wish I could have done her more justice than this one measely little post, but perhaps, one day, there will be a magnificent shawl design out there inspired by her.  And I can think of no better way for me to honour her.

Malayalam Monday: Anandabhadram (dir. Santosh Sivan, 2005)

Alas, this is not a full write-up of Santosh Sivan's Malayalam directing debut film, Anandabhadram, though it's a film I am, as a total Sivan fan, dying to see.

But blog reader Tina kindly sent me links to a couple of songs from the film, with a note that the first one, "Pinakkamano" was heavily inspired by the work of Malayalam artist Raja Ravi Varma, recreating a number of his paintings in its frames.  I'm by no means an expert on Varma's work, but I am familiar with it (and have a Varma project on the backburner bubbling away for the right moment).

So I thought, huh, why not see how many Varma paintings I can recognize in the clip?

 

Okay.  Here's my best attempt, with a link where you can see the portrait, and an approximate time in the clip to compare:

1.  Lady in her Dressing Room - as the clip opens

2.  Reclining Woman - 0:33

3.  The Milkmaid - 0:59

4.  At the Bath - 2:06

5.  Hamsa Damayanthi - 2:16

6.  In Contemplation - 2:38

7.  Stolen Interview - (I think) - start around 3:00

8.  Lady Holding a Fruit - 3:23

And even though that seems like a lot, I have this niggling feeling I'm missing at least a couple more.  Although I've done *far* better than Wikipedia, which identifies three of them.  If you pick out any more, do let me know in the comments!

Betaab (dir. Rahul Rawail, 1983)

"My first film Betaab has been closest to my heart. We worked very casually on that, we did not have any stress on our minds. The film was done beautifully and it was a great experience."

-- Sunny Deol, in an interview that is totally worth checking out. 

 

 Betaab is everything a debuting actor could dream of:  script and dialogues written by Javed Akhtar, sublime music by the great R.D. Burman, and a cast that includes Shammi Kapoor, Nirupa Roy, and Prem Chopra (not to mention a small, but pivotal, comic turn by Annu Kapoor, whom you might remember from Mr. India as Mr. Gaitonde, the newspaper editor).

Sunny Kapoor (Sunny Deol) lives off the fruits of the farm he lives on with his mother, Sumitra (Nirupa Roy).  This is subsistence farming, pretty much -- Sunny looks after himself and his mother, and manages to sell a little of what the farm produces -- milk, eggs, vegetables, chickens.  But it wasn't always so.  Once up on a time, Sunny's parents were rich and counted the rich amongst their friends, including one Dinesh Singh Girji (Shammi Kapoor) and his daughter Roma (also known as Dinky, played by Amrita Singh).  Sunny and Dinky shared a childhood romance, but they were torn apart by the sudden loss of wealth by Sunny's father.  Friends, including the highly class and wealth conscious Dinesh Singh Girji, abandon them, Sunny's father becomes, as they say, late, and Sunny and his mother find themselves farming to make a living.

Sumitra Devi is occasionally wistful about the old days, but Sunny sees the good that surrounds them.  Sunny is happy -- he loves what he does, he loves the farm, he loves the countryside, that they are no longer rich doesn't worry him.

 

 

More than that -- Sunny has a reputation for being fearless and effective when it comes to breaking wild horses, and is often hired to tame them for their owners when their handlers cannot.

 
Two words:  fringed buckskin

 

One day Dinesh Singh Girji buys a stud farm in the Tikamgarh region Sunny's farm is located in.

(Aside:  the outdoor sequences for Betaab, including the sets for Sunny's farm, were actually shot in Pahalgam, in the state of Jammu and Kashmir.  Tikamgarh, where the filmi stud farm is located, is actually further south, in Madhya Pradesh.  The actual stud farm shot in the film, though, was in Delhi.)

Dinky -- now grown up into the spoiled, impetuous, imperious Roma -- decides to visit, and meets up with her long-lost sweetheart Sunny.

The twist here, of course, is that Sunny knows perfectly well who Roma is, but Roma has no idea about Sunny. 

 

All she sees in him is a stubborn, poor farmer who has no place acting as if he's her equal.  Roma is her daddy's girl, believing that wealth and station gives her privileges and rights, and that those who do not have them are Quite Beneath Her.

If Betaab  is a morality tale about the preconceived notions regarding class and station (Sunny, the poor farmer, is essentially a good man and stands in contrast to the pair of conmen who pretend to be rich in order to marry Roma out from under Dinesh Singh Girji and steal his fortune), it's never heavy-handed.  It's rather a good melodrama with touches of comedy, where good triumphs over bad, and where the hero really proves he is worthy of his heroine.

That said -- the romance of Sunny and Dinky is highly inspired by The Taming of the Shrew.  Roma is haughty and imperious;  Sunny is unperturbed, vowing to win her over just as easily as the wild horses he tames.

 

And if you're worried about the possible mysogyny of a such a plot-line -- well, it's true that while Sunny sets about the taming of Roma, Roma is not without need of learning to behave with more respect for those around her.  One day she goes too far -- annoyed with Sunny's behaviour, she sets about destroying everything on his farm.

Sunny insists she work to repair the damage she's done, and to cover the fact that he's keeping her at his farm, he tells her household that she's decided to return to town with her girlfriends.  He forces her to start working on fixing things, but she decides to try to run away, encounters a snake in forest, is bit, and Sunny saves her life by sucking the venom out of the bite.

 

(Let us stop a moment and pause to think about  all the possible inferences we can make from such a sequence, in which Roma writhes underneath him as Sunny sucks on the bite, not the least of which is how this approach to dealing with snake venom has the power to, well, tame the shrew.  Let us then fan ourselves and proceed.)

Roma's life is saved, she is profoundly grateful to Sunny,  the two of them happily set about rebuilding Sunny's farm together, as a team.  Love blossoms, and eventually Roma twigs to Sunny's identity.

Roma and Sunny's rekindled romance is not without its hitches however.  Dinesh Singh Girji, in particular, is less than enthusiastic that Dinky has hooked up with the local stud.  Er.  Stud tamer.  Er.

The conniving Balwant (Prem Chopra) is not keen to see Roma (and more particularly, the family fortune) escape from his clutches, so the two lovers must overcome a number of hurdles before being able to ride off into the sunset, happily ever after.

I know that whatever I've written here, it's nowhere near done Betaab any justice.  Part of the problem, of course, is that I FREAKING ADORE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS FILM, NOT THE LEAST OF WHICH ITS DASHING HERO.

 
And face it, how many films offer me the opportunity to write "Sunny wears black leather and rides bareback"?

Betaab is one of those rare films for which I can, in my imagination, transport myself back in time, to its release, and place myself in the theatre for its opening day.  And I am sure of one thing, without a shadow of a doubt.

If I had been in the theatre when Betaab introduced us to Sunny Deol, I would have fallen utterly, completely, madly in love with him.  I would have purchased every single magazine with an article or photo of him, I would have clipped them out, I would have put them in scrapbooks, I would have pinned them on my walls.  I would have been a complete and utter Sunny fan from film one.  I would have seen every one of his films as they came out.  I would have bought every one of his films and watched them over and over and over again. 

And clearly, the film is designed in such a way as to provoke precisely that reaction.  If you're a woman, you'll swoon over Sunny, because he's so sweet and so handsome and so confident, and the film is so achingly romantic:

 
 

 

If you're a man, you'll want to be Sunny:  determined, a little brash, but ready and able to take action at a moment's notice.

  

Seriously, it's a fight in a rice paddy, and it's so visually beautiful and unusual. 

I can be objective, I can try to tell you what Betaab is about, I can tell you it's a well-written, well-constructed film, that it's entertaining, that its music is lovely, that its picturisations are wonderful.  I can tell you that although it explores some pretty standard filmi themes, at no time is it ever dull or predictable. 

In fact, I'd even argue that Betaab falls into what seems to be recurring themes for 80s films (which Ness touched upon when looking at Love 86):  the impatience (Betaab = impatient) of youth with the generation of its parents, the willingness to challenge social norms -- youth both impatient in love, but also impatient with what it sees as outdated views on love and marriage.

 

 

 

 

As well -- the "Taming of the Shrew" storyline ties itself to a thread of feminism, though perhaps slim by later standards.  Roma may need to learn to respect others, but she's clearly seen as someone with a strong personality, and an ability to work alongside her partner, and just as hard as he does, once her own flaws are tempered.  And Sunny isn't seen as flawless, either.  In fact, as the film progresses, both Sunny and Roma mature and their personalities become more complementary.

Mostly, though -- what I admire about Betaab is how wonderful a launch pad it was for its two young, lovely, fresh stars.  When Sunny comments that working on Betaab was a stress-free experience, and a beautifully done film -- well, it's apparent when you watch the film, too.  Betaab is a satisfying watch on so many levels, and is a "stress-free experience" for the viewer.  Sunny and Amrita are so lovely together, and so charming together, and Betaab is just an awful lot of fun.

 
And totally, utterly swoonworthy.

And so delightful, that I know I've not even begun to do it justice in the course of this post, and I'm inspired to give it a second shot.  More to come...

White Nights: Second Night (Part The Third)

(Including the second part of "Nastenka's Story".   Perhaps you'd like to read the First Night, the first part of the Second Night , or the second part of the Second Night before reading this, though?)

"Now the end is near.  Just a year ago, in May, the lodger came to us and said to grandmother that he had finished his business here, and that he must go back to Moscow for a year.  When I heard that, I sank into a chair half dead; grandmother did not notice anything; and having informed us that he should be leaving us, he bowed and went away.

"What was I to do?  I thought and thought and fretted and fretted, and at last I made up my mind.  Next day he was to go away, and I made up my mind to end it all that evening when grandmother went to bed.  And so it happened.  I made up all my clothes in a parcel -- all the linen I needed -- and with the parcel in my hand, more dead than alive, went upstairs to our lodger.  I believe I must have stayed an hour on the staircase."

"He thought I was a ghost, and rushed to give me some water, for I could hardly stand up.  My heart beat so violently that my head ached, and I did not know what I was doing."

 

"'Listen,' he began, 'listen, Nastenka, I can't do anything; I am a poor man, for I have nothing, not even a decent berth.  How could we live if I were to marry you?"  

  


 
  

"Listen, I am going to Moscow and shall be there just a year; I hope to establish my position.  When I come back, if you still love me, I swear that we will be happy.  Now it is impossible, I am not able, I have not the right to promise anything.  Well, I repeat if it is not within a year it will certainly be some time; that is, of course, if you do not prefer any one else for I cannot and dare not bind you by any sort of promise.'

"That is what he said to me, and the next day he went away."

 

 

"Good God, can I do nothing to help you in your sorrow"' I cried, jumping up from the seat in utter despair.  'Tell me, Nastenka, wouldn't it be possible for me to go to him?"

"Would that be possible?' she asked suddenly, raising her head."

"No, of course not,' I said pulling myself up:  'but I tell you what, write a letter."

"No, that's impossible, I can't do that,' she answered with decision, bending her head and not looking at me.

"'How impossible -- why is it impossible?' I went on, clinging to my idea.  'But, Nastanka, it depends what sort of letter; there are letters and letters and....Ah, Nastenka, I am right; trust to me, trust to me, I will not give you bad advice.  It can all be arranged!  You took the first step -- why not now?'

"'I can't.  I can't!  It would seem as though I were forcing myself on him...."

"Listen; how would you write?"

"Write what?"

"This letter."

"I tell you how I would write:  'Dear Sir'...I am writing to you.  Forgive me my impatience; but I have been happy for a whole year in hope;"

"Yes, yes; that's exactly what I was thinking!' cried Nastenka, and her eyes beamed with delight. 'Oh, you have solved my difficulties:  God has sent you to me!  Thank you, thank you!'"

"Come, enough, enough!  Good-by now," she said, speaking rapidly, '"Here is the letter, here is the address to which you are to take it.  Good-bye, till we meet again!  Till to-morrow!"

 

"She pressed both my hands warmly, nodded her head, and flew like an arrow down her side street.  I stood still for a long time following her with my eyes. "Till to-morrow! till to-morrow!" was ringing in my ears as she vanished from my sight."

 

 

(Okay, I couldn't resist.  And, obviously, the Second Night of Dostoevsky's "White Nights" takes up a goodly portion of the story.  And the film.  And we're only up to the interval at this point.  But next up, the Third Night....)

White Nights: Second Night (bis)

(Including the second part of "Nastenka's Story".   Perhaps you'd like to read the First Night or the first part of the Second Night before reading this, though?)

"But the new lodger, as luck would have it, was a young man, a stranger not of these parts.  As he did not haggle over the rent, grandmother accepted him, and only afterwards she asked me:  'Tell me, Nastenka, what is our lodger like -- is he young or old?' I did not want to lie, so I told grandmother that he wasn't exactly young and that he wasn't old."

 

"'And is he pleasant looking?' asked grandmother.  Again I did not want to tell a lie:  'Yes, he is pleasant looking grandmother.'"

"Well one morning the lodger came in to see us; he asked about a promise to paper his rooms.  One thing led to another.  Grandmother was talkative, and she said:   'Go Nastenka, into my bedroom and bring me my abacus.' I jumped up at once; I blushed all over, I don't know why, and forgot I was sitting pinned to grandmother; instead of quietly undoing the pin, so that the lodger should not see -- I jumped so that grandmother's chair moved."

 

"When the lodger saw, saw that I was ashamed on his account, he bowed and went away at once!"

"A fortnight passed; the lodger sent word through Fyokla that he had a great number of French books, and that they were good books that I might read, so would not grandmother like me to read them that I might not be dull?  Grandmother agreed with gratitude, but kept asking if they were moral books, for if the books were immoral it would be out of the question, one would learn evil from them."

 

 

"Only after dinner he came to see us; sat a long time talking to grandmother; asked her whether she ever went out anywhere, whether she had acquaintances, and suddenly said:  "I have taken a box at the opera for this evening; they are putting on The Barber of Seville.  My friends meant to go, but afterwards refused, so the ticket is left on my hands.'"

"By all means, let us go,' said grandmother; why shouldn't we?  And my Nastenka here has never been to the theatre.'  

"What my impressions of The Barber of Seville were I won't tell you; but all that evening our lodger looked at me so nicely, talked so nicely, that I saw at once that he had meant to test me in the morning when he proposed that I should go with him alone.  Well, it was joy!  I went to bed so proud, so gay, my heart beat so that I was a little feverish, and all night I was raving about The Barber of Seville.

White Nights: Second Night

(Including the first part of "Nastenka's Story".   Perhaps you'd like to read the First Night before reading this, though?)

"The upshot of it is, we must begin all over again, because the conclusion I reached to-day was that I don't know you at all;...."

"Come, make haste -- begin -- tell me your whole history.  'My history!' I cried in alarm.  'My history! But who has told you I have a history?  I have no history...' "

"And so let us begin my history!   Half my story you know already -- that is, you know that I have an old grandmother ..."

"I have an old grandmother.  I came into her hands when I was quite a little girl, for my father and mother are dead."

"It was at that time I got into mischief; what I did I won't tell you; it's enough to say that it wasn't very important.  But grandmother called me to her one morning and said that as she was blind she could not look after me; she took a pin and pinned my dress to hers, and said that we should sit like that for the rest of our lives if, of course, I did not become a better girl.  In fact, at first it was impossible to get away from her:  I had to work, to read and to study all beside grandmother."

"I tried to deceive her once, and persuaded Fyokla to sit in my place.  Fyokla is our charwoman."

"...so then we had to find a new lodger, for we could not live without a lodger -- the rent, together with grandmother's pension, is almost all we have."

"But the new lodger, as luck would have it, was a young man, a stranger not of these parts."

 
  

(More to follow....) 

White Nights: First Night

"It was a wonderful night, such a night as is only possible when we are young, dear reader.  The sky was so starry, so bright that, looking at it, one could not help asking oneself whether ill-humoured and capricious people could live under such a sky.  That is a youthful question too, dear reader, very youthful, but may the Lord put it more frequently into your heart!..."

 

  

"There is something inexpressibly touching in nature round Petersburg, when at the approach of spring she puts forth all her might, all the powers bestowed on her by Heaven, when she breaks into leaf, decks herself out and spangles herself with flowers."

 

 

"I walked along singing, for when I am happy I am always humming to myself like every happy man who has no friend or acquaintance to share his joy."

  

"Suddenly I had a most unexpected adventure.  Leaning on the canal railing stood a woman with her elbows on the rail, she was apparently looking with great attention at the muddy water of the canal."

  

"I was not mistaken, the girl was crying, and a minute later I heard sob after sob.  Good Heavens!  My heart sank.  And timid as I was with women, yet this was such a moment!... I turned, took a step towards her, and should certainly have pronounced the word "Madam!" if I had not known that that exclamation has been uttered a thousand times in every Russian society novel."

 

"But while I was seeking for a word, the girl came to herself, looked round, started, cast down her eyes and slipped by me along the embankment, crossed the road and walked along the pavement."

 

"Suddenly, without a word to any one, the gentleman set off and flew full speed in pursuit of my unknown lady...(t)he girl uttered a shriek...in a flash I was on the other side of the street."

 

"'Give me your arm', I said to the girl.  'And he won't dare annoy us further.'"

 

"'There, you see; why did you drive me away?  If I had been here, nothing would have happened...'  'But I did not know you; I thought that you too...'"

"But tell me how did you find out that I was the sort of woman with whom ... well, whom you think worthy ... of attention and friendship ... in fact, not a landlady as you say?  What made you decide to come up to me?"

 

"What made me? ... But you were alone; that gentleman was too insolent; it's night.   You must admit that it was a duty...."

"Surely there was no harm in feeling brotherly compassion for you.... I beg your pardon, I said compassion....Well in short, surely you would not be offended at my involuntary impulse to go up to you?..."

"But here I am home; I must go down this turning, it's two steps from here....Good-bye, thank you!..."

 

 

"Surely....surely you don't mean... that we shall never see each other again? ... Surely this is not to be the end?"

"And we parted.  I walked about all night; I could not make up my mind to go home.  I was so happy .... Tomorrow!"

 

Excerpts from Fyodor Dostoevksy's short story "White Nights".  Possibly three more nights to come, though, lordy, it does take a long time to do something like this...

ooooo, pretty

I've just finished watching Sanjay Leela Bhansali's 2007 film Saawariya.  Twice.

Two viewings have confirmed two things:  first, the film comes seriously unravelled post-interval.

And second?

It's still worth watching, despite that, just for this:

I spent the whole film sighing and like the film's hero, Raj (Ranbir Kapoor), proclaiming:

And it is.  And in this instance, that is quite enough for me.