Filmi Geek

Brahmachari (1968)

ब्रह्मचारी

As Shammi Kapoor vehicles and stylish 1960s movies go, Brahmachari ("celibate man," also the main character's name) is not the most memorable exemplar of either category, compared to gems like Teesri manzil or Kashmir ki kali.  For the most part, it is a series of entertaining set-pieces knit together fairly loosely.  Supplemented by a terrific soundtrack and entertaining supporting cast, though, Brahmachari is a satisfying enough movie for smiling away a rainy afternoon. 

The young man who calls himself Brahmachari (Shammi Kapoor) has opened his house to a passel of orphaned children.  He devotes his life to caring for them and finding ways to provide for them - whether by selling his photographs to the newspaper, singing in a nightclub, or sweet-talking the landlord (Asit Sen) into giving them a break on the rent and an extra Rs. 200 besides.  When he comes across Sheetal (Rajshree) on the brink of drowning herself in the sea, he has a new waif to care for.  The source of Sheetal's distress is her rejection by the rich playboy Ravi Khanna (Pran), to whom she was engaged to marry when both were children.  Observing that Ravi's tastes run to westernized sorts of women, Brahmachari offers Sheetal a complete makeover, giving her a brief education in how to dress, dance, and eat like a modern girl.  The plan works, and Ravi falls for Sheetal - but not before Brahmachari's unique kindness to her and the children begins to turn Sheetals's heart in a different direction.  To get what he wants, the powerful and unscrupulous Ravi stops at nothing to drive a wedge between Sheetal and Brahmachari, and hits Brahmachari where it hurts most - threatening the well-being of the children. 

Brahmachari is an obvious antecedent to Mr. India, which followed it two decades later.  In that film, too, the hero selflessly devotes himself to caring for helpless orphans, and fast-talks his landlord into letting them stay and providing them with favors.  However, where the villains in Mr. India engineer injustice on a grand scale - tainting food supplies in a hostile takeover bid aimed at the nation itself - Brahmachari's injustices are writ smaller.  Nevertheless, there is still a sense of grandness in them, a hint of the struggle between traditional Indian goodness and western wickedness that was so commonly addressed in movies of the 1960s. Sheetal's demureness and Brahmachari's self-sacrifice are presented in sharp relief to the wicked western ways of the libertine Ravi Khanna. Another of Ravi's innocent victims, a girl named Rupa (Mumtaz) whom he married, impregnated, and cast aside, is caught between the two worlds - an innocent victim but also perhaps a cautionary tale.

Whatever there is in the way of broad social theme, though, is not what feels first and foremost as Brahmachari careens from bit to comical bit (including a funny, but too long, comical side plot involving a reformed pick-pocket trying to win over his girlfriend's father).  Shammi Kapoor is in fine form, charming and adorable and somewhat less manic than he is in some other movies (such as his spastic performance in Kashmir ki kali).  His interactions with the children are funny and sometimes very touching, as when he sings them to sleep with the haunting and lovely "Main gaoon tum so jao."  His antics as he investigates Ravi Khanna offer some laughs, too, despite the cringe-inducing blackface disguise he wears.  There's no danger of forgetting it's the 1960s, either, as he shakes it to the superb "Aaj kal tere mere pyaar" with a bee-hived, twisting Mumtaz.

The Pygmalion-esque sequence in which Brahmachari teaches Sheetal to wear western clothes, to dance, and to eat with a fork is good for several laughs too, although one should not think too hard about why he's doing it.  After all, by that point he's had a good look at what sort of a jerk Ravi Khanna really is.  I do wish the Pygmalion aspect of the story had been a stronger thread - there are brief scenes of Sheetal struggling with each of her lessons, but the film jumps to her complete mastery of western self-presentation, and that's all we get - there's nothing like My Fair Lady's "Move yer blooming arse!" scene to make comedy hay after the transformation is complete.  No matter, though, as Brahmachari is not at all short on entertaining moments.  Fans of trippy, nonsensical song picturizations will not want to miss "Dil ke jharoke" which features men in Robin Hood getup competing with men in lizard costumes for the pleasure of dancing with women in evening gowns.  And rounding out the random bits of fun is the send-up of Mehmood's song from Gumnaam that earned the child actor Junior Mehmood that nickname. 

Blackmail (1973)

Blackmail is one of those films I really want to like more than I do.  One of my favorite directors in Vijay Anand, one of my favorite stars in Dharmendra, a gentle and sensitively portrayed romance - there's really no reason I shouldn't adore this movie.  And yet, the whole seems to me less than the sum of its parts, and I can't put my finger on why.

Kailash (Dharmendra) is the business manager of a power plant.  Shy and earnest, he has long nursed his love for Asha (Rakhee), his childhood friend and the daughter of Mehta (Iftekhar), who happens to own a rival company.  Kailash's best friend Jeevan (Shatrughan Sinha) works for Mehta, and - unknown to Kailash - is all but engaged to her.  But, when Kailash's uncle, Professor Khurana (Madan Puri), develops a solar-powered battery that promises to make them a fortune - not to mention put Mehta out of business - Jeevan starts scheming.  He machinates to get Kailash and Asha married - only to drive a wedge between them, in hopes of manipulating them to get his hands on the blueprints for the battery. 

The unquestionable strength of Blackmail is its sweet, mature portrayal of the romance between Kailash and Asha as it grows, both before and after their marriage.  Asha's conscience struggles as her developing feelings for Kailash challenge her commitment to Jeevan, and Rakhee's performance conveys Asha's internal conflict very sensitively.  Kailash's nervous shyness is sweet, too, and contrasts intriguingly with Dharmendra's remarkable masculinity.  (Indeed Dharmendra, who is quite good at this sort of tender romance, is at times too masculine for me in this role - I kept finding myself aware of his thick, enormous hands, his square body and shoulders.  Viewers who like that sort of thing would, I think, find Kailash utterly perfect.) 

The romance is expressed most perfectly in two of Blackmail's superb songs.  The first is the lovely "Pal pal dil ke paas," which draws on a delightfully unusual device for its picturization.  Kailash has written Asha many love letters over the years, but only finally finds the courage to give them to her, all at once in a bundle, before fleeing in a fit of bashfulness.  The song shows Asha reading the letters, falling slowly in love with Kailash as the poetry of his words reaches her - and reaches us, as the words of his letters are the words of the song.  The second splendidly romantic song, "Mile mile do badan," occurs during the film's climax, after Jeevan engineers Asha and Kailash's estrangement.  Fleeing from the bad guys - the rift between them not yet nearly reconciled - the couple takes refuge in a woodpile, and there, with armed enemies swarming around in search of them, they provide one of the most satisfyingly steamy song picturizations you'll ever see in a Hindi film.

For all the delicacy of the romance, though, the rest of Blackmail just isn't very memorable - and is at times marred by touches of ridiculous that undermine the better parts of the movie.  The international crime syndicate that Jeevan works for is pointlessly absurd, headed by a creepy, fey "Italian" called Antonio (Kuljit).  Banter about the "formula" - as the film's characters call the battery blueprints - lends the movie a masala air that isn't really appropriate to the tenderness of the main story. (Though the "filmi science" grates a little throughout, it's offset by some marvelous machinery scenes during the film's credits, which for all I know were shot inside a real power plant.)  And despite a groovy outfit or two on Rakhee, the movie doesn't offer anywhere near the overwhelming mod style of some of Vijay Anand's others. 

On reflection, though, I think I am being hard on Blackmail.  For sure it has its weaknesses, but they are less bad than the better parts are good, and should be amply offset.  For sure Rakhee is not my favorite star, but her performance hit the right notes for Blackmail's best aspect, the mature and delicate romance.  I think, in time, I'll forget what is forgettable in Blackmail, and let the exquisite sweetness of "Pal pal dil ke paas" linger. 

Shaan (1980)

शान

When you watch enough masala movies, they start to blend together in a sort of meta-masala of fun pranks, wacky costumes, and sociopathic villains.  Only a few standout films rise above this masala miasma, distinguished as truly great movies and not just paisa vasool masala.  Shaan ("grandeur") is not one of them.  But even if it's not the richest masala dish ever offered, Shaan serves up a tasty enough meal for a rainy afternoon.  

Shiv Kumar (Sunil Dutt) is a fine, principled police officer.  He risks his life to chase bad guys, and puts law and order first in his life, as he repeatedly explains to his wife Sheetal (Rakhee).  To his chagrin, though, Shiv's younger brothers Ravi (Shashi Kapoor) and Vijay (Amitabh Bachchan) are little more than layabouts and con artists. When Shiv Kumar runs afoul of a smuggling gang headed by the megalomaniacal sadist Shakal (Kulbhushan Kharbanda), the villain forces sharpshooter Rakesh (Shatrugan Sinha) to attempt to assassinate the officer.  Rakesh betrays Shakal, who completes the job himself and offs Rakesh's wife for good measure.  Devastated, Rakesh joins forces with Ravi and Vijay to extract their revenge from Shakal.

Shaan fully provides what Beth calls the "Recommended Masala Allowance" of comedy turns, caricatured villains in elaborately unlikely lairs, and cute stars pursuing cute romance.  It's asking a lot of a masala movie to deliver more than that.  And yet, director Sippy and writers Salim-Javed set such a high bar with so many superb masala films - dishing substance with the dishoom-dishoom - that Shaan can't help but come out unsatisfying in comparison.  In Shaan, there is little more than personal revenge at stake; unlike Salim-Javed's Mr. India - a later film with a similar ending - there's no greater message about the common man giving his life to protect the republic.  Indeed, there is little of anything in the way of grand theme; the value of law and order gets some lip service but the film doesn't seem to mean it.  There is no message of redemption or friendship or unity, or any of the principles that lend gravitas to the best masala movies. 

Still, when one doesn't hold it to the gold standard movies of its era, Shaan is a heck of a lot of fun.  Most of its best moments come in the first hour, in a brilliantly constructed series of escalating cons.  After duping a hotel operator out of 15,000 rupees, Ravi and Vijay find the tables turned as the uncle-niece team of Chacha (Johnny Walker) and Renu (Bindiya Goswami) con them out of twice the sum.  Then the four of them join forces, only to be one-upped again by the night-club singer Sunita (Parveen Babi).  These sequences are as good as any cleverly turned by Salim-Javed and are a joy to watch.  They reach their culmination as Sunita joins the gang for an elaborate religious and musical hoax, the hysterical song "Dariya mein jahaz". 

There are other surprising touches as well, including some remarkably good cinematography.  The film is full of interesting shots through doorways, from overhead angles, and other unusual vantage points.  A friend of Ravi and Vijay, the paraplegic Abdul (Mazhar Khan), propels himself through Bombay on a wheeled board, and his excellent song ("Aate jaate hue main") and chase scene are full of dizzying views of the whirling bustle of Bombay whizzing by at knee-level.  And of course, in addition to the photography, the "Shashitabh" combo always delivers some good old-fashioned musical double-romance ("Jaanu meri jaan").  And for the connoisseur of masala villains with elaborate underground lairs, the bald-pated Shakal's tribute to the classic Bond villain Blofeld (almost two decades before Mike Myers gave us Dr. Evil) is not to be missed - complete with remotely-operated exploding chairs, shark tanks, and an alligator moat. 

Dilli ka thug (1958)

दिल्ली का ठग

Returning to Hindi films after a bit of a hiatus, I've rewatched a couple of movies that I saw about a year ago but didn't get around to writing up, and it's been interesting to note that some of them I liked better the second time around.  Ashanti was one such. And another is Dilli ka thug ("Delhi rogue") - while not much more than a pleasant timepass, it is loaded with smiles, songs, and antics that just reminded me why I love Hindi movies. 

Kishore (Kishore Kumar) is an unemployed newspaper reporter who makes his living conning rich folks at the gambling table.  His mother scolds him, fearing that his roguish antics threaten his sister's engagement to a boy from a respectable family.  But Kishore has no respect for the rich, whose unscrupulous greed, he says, ruined his father's name and caused his death.  Meanwhile, Kishore's friend Suhanlal, who is mixed up with a counterfeit medicine racket, is murdered by the racket's mastermind Amarnath (Krishnakant).  Kishore learns from Police Inspector Dilip Singh (Ifthekar) that this murderer is likely the man responsible for Kishore's father's downfall and death.  Kishore vows to find him and bring him to justice - but he has no idea that the man is the uncle of the charming girl he's set his heart on, Asha (Nutan).

Dilli ka thug does not pack much in the way of substantial messages or delicate themes.  But it does have its surprises.  Asha is a champion swimmer, a doctor, and owner of a controlling interest in a pharmaceutical company  - her intellectual superiority to Kishore is made quite plain, both in the lead-up to the charming song "C-A-T Cat" and in several clever tricks she plays on him.  And she shows her guts in the film's climax (aboard a pilotless aircraft), where she steps up to take the film's decisive action. 

The real star of Dilli ka thug, though, is Kishore Kumar's relentless and adorable energy.  He dons costumes, leaps around the screen waving his rubbery limbs every which way, smiles and pouts with a charming childlike air.  Even the fight scenes are played for laughs, and his comic interactions with the owner of a drugstore where he works are hysterical.  In one delightfully manic scene, Kishore cons three investors (very broadly caricatured themselves - a rich nawab, a South Indian swami, and a Parsee businessman) by pretending to negotiate with a maharaja.  He jumps - literally - from one side of the conversation to the other, first playing his own role, then the role of the maharaja, then back again.  He even manages to squeeze in a few lines for the maharani.  

And in his courtship of Asha, Kishore's manic energy takes a very sweet tone.  I grinned like a dope all the way through "Hum to mohabbat karega," both at Kishore's adorable courtship and at Nutan's sweetly and willingly weakening resistance to it.  There are other very fun songs too, including two excellent cabaret numbers and an impressive display of synchronized swimming that features Nutan emerging from the petals of a giant lotus blossom.  But the sweet moments of Kishore's courtship of Asha - and her gradually warming  to his goofball earnestness - are the best pleasures of Dilli ka thug.  It's not in the same league as Chalti ka naam gaadi - but that is pure perfection, one of the most fun films ever made.  Still, if you liked Kishore and the tone of the romance in that movie, you will find something to enjoy in Dilli ka thug.

Ashanti (1982)

अशांति

Not all masala is created equal.  There is masala with a message - Amar Akbar Anthony comes to mind - where there is a bit of social commentary baked into the fluffy cake of  wild stunts, dashes of romance, comedic disguises, and over-the-top misanthropic villains.  And then there is masala that invites you to check your brain at the door and just come along for a wackadoodle ride.  Ashanti ("unrest") is that kind of masala.

Bhishm Bahadur Singh (Amrish Puri), scion of maharajas, is bitter that he is merely rich, and no longer royalty.  He vows to undermine law and order, sowing chaos and unrest to take his revenge against the democratic society that dethroned him.  To carry out this plan he engineers a counterfeiting operation and a string of bank robberies executed by his son Ramesh.  Police inspector Kumar (Rajesh Khanna) is framed and sent to prison by Ramesh.  Released from prison some years later, Kumar hunts Ramesh down, only to lose his leg in their violent confrontation.  Plotting his revenge, he collects three young women - Kamini (Shabana Azmi), Sunita (Parveen Babi), and Sonia (Zeenat Aman) - all of whom have been terribly and violently wronged by Bhishm Bahadur Singh and Ramesh's gang.  He trains them in combat and surveillance, and with the help of the spirited bootlegger Shankar (Mithun Chakraborty), they set to work tracking down the villains and seeing that justice is done.

As with many light-on-substance films, though, the pleasure of Ashanti is not in the intricacies of the plot - it's in the grab-bag of masala elements and over-the-top moments.  Ashanti puts its filmi touch on its Charlie's Angels-inspired setup.  Kumar and his three angels solemnize their vow of revenge in a temple in a kind of 4-way wedding.  The angels get up to wild disguised comedy antics as they carry out their plan.  And in the scenes leading up to the climax, they naturally perform a jaunty song to con their way into Bahadur Singh's palace.  To Ashanti's great credit, as well, it's very satisfying that the girls get to kick some serious ass in the movie's wacky fight scenes.

The angels aren't the only ones who contribute to the parade of memorable masala moments that make Ashanti thoroughly paisa vasool.  Shankar has a big gay shirtless fight with Bob Christo, and a truly terrific drunk song with Sunita.  A sweaty Bahadur Singh proves how badass he is by deliberately goading a venomous snake to bite him.  There's even a role for the wonderful Nadira, who in a kitchen fight scene, gets a brinjal in the mouth from Sonia:

That fight scene also bears mention as another of Ashanti's tempting, if trippy, set pieces - the girls take on the hijra kitchen staff with ridiculously comic violence, as when Sonia slaps dough on top of a hijra's head and stuffs the head, and the dough, into a tandoor - pulling out a perfectly cooked naan. 

Kumar, for his part, makes the most of his maiming - he gets a gun installed in one of his crutches and fires it with wild abandon, and in the film's climax he pulls off his prosthetic leg and beats Ramesh with it (never mind how he stays standing while he does so).

In short, if you are a fan of nutso masala, then run - or at least hobble on your bullet-loaded crutches - to the nearest DVD player and watch Ashanti.

Gumnaam (1965)

गुमनाम

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.    

Raat aur din (1967)

रात और दिन

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.

Bombay to Goa (1972)

It is sometimes commented that if you took all the extraneous side-elements out of a masala movie and focused on the plot, you'd be left with a streamlined tale that would be done in an hour. The road movie Bombay to Goa goes the other way - it dispenses with a plot almost entirely, leaving little but gags and silliness, and it clocks in at less than two hours.  While it lasts, though, it's a pretty enjoyable ride.

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.   

Chhupa Rustam (1973)

छुपा रस्तम

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.

Pyar to hona hi tha (1998)

प्यार तो होना ही था

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.