I’ve had some fun taking screen caps from the song “Aa Chuva Chu,” the Kabaddi song in Anjaan (1956)…
And I can’t help thinking: Poor Helen, always losing competitions to Vyjayanthimala, even at such a young age! But I’ll grant her this, I think she is actually a better attraction than Vyjayanthimala here – even if she loses the game, she wins the style contest within it. (And she also seems to be much more in focus in this scene. I apologize for the fact that at least one of the blurred stills below makes Vyjayanthimala’s face look a bit grotesque.)
And this is the best song clip out of a few found in this film, all of which have marvelous music by Hemant Kumar. Unfortunately, there are no copies of the song available (although there had been one a while back, which I did post).
Anjaan also includes other great moments, such as an early Minoo Mumtaz mujra and a pretty good Vyjayanthimala swings song. It also should provide some good amusement for any Johnny Walker fan, since he has a bigger role here than in any other film that I’ve seen him in. And Pradeep Kumar is pretty good in this movie too. But overall, plotwise and so forth, it’s a wholly unoriginal and forgettable piece of fluff. (So, something else that is a must-have strictly for the songs.)
I hope people like at least some of these screen caps… I’m not usually one to say that the great actresses were their most beautiful when they were still teenagers (really, I am not that type!), but I do think Helen here is at the prettiest I’ve seen her and can understand now why certain people were baffled that I hadn’t found room for her on the Bollywood Beauties list. A lot of it, again, has to do with style. I’m afraid “OTT” Helen of the late ’60s and ’70s is just not as attractive to me, though she was funny, a good dancer, and a good actress in many films stretching a span of 20+ years. (And as a couple of other guys have agreed in off-blog conversation, she was unusually sexy in Sholay.) I also feel that she was much more attractive with her regular, dark hair.
There was at least some potential wasted with Helen when she began to get so typecast… And it is refreshing to see Helen out of the cabaret and/or out of the brothel (they let Minoo Mumtaz take care of that angle in this film) and on the Kabaddi field instead! (Though maybe this early on, it’s just that they hadn’t started putting her in the brothel or the cabaret yet?) This is also the best Kabaddi scene of any that I can remember. Actually, I can remember just one other, with Dilip Kumar playing and Vyjayanthimala acting as a spectator… That was five years later, in Gunga Jumna, and this scene is much better!
I just happened to notice the other day that June 15 is Suraiya’s birthday – and this was right after I had put together my post on Padmini’s birthday, and also commented on a couple of other blogs celebrating Nutan’s birthday the week before… Clearly, June contains quite a few classic Bollywood stars’ birthdays, which gives us a nice excuse to post plenty of stuff. Now, in real life, I don’t keep such good track of people’s birthdays and I don’t pay that much attention to birthdays in general (especially not my own), but they are good to keep track of for doing a Bollywood, etc., blog!
I put up an all-Suraiya post right after I reviewed Anmol Ghadi, a little over a year ago. But most of those videos were wiped out, and, besides, there are better clips available now, so a Suraiya songs post is long overdue…
This is a slightly stylized video of a song in the movie where I first heard and saw Suraiya – or at least where I first became completely aware of her. Cineplot has played around with the video a little, but it’s still good (plus it’s the best copy of this song that I could find without obnoxious commercials).
I’m very fond of this song in Singar – which is no surprise, since the music director is Kurshid Anwar:
But, of course, Naushad did the most great Suraiya sountracks. This song from Dastan often stays in my head… I definitely want to see this film sometime – I think it will be interesting to see Suraiya with Raj Kapoor, and all the clips I’ve seen from this are quite good.
One Naushad soundtrack that I listen to a lot (since I have it on MP3) is Dard. (I’ve also seen this one in one of the low-priced DVD stores, but without subtitles. Still it’s tempting…) I have to say, though, that I probably isten to the soundtrack just as much for Uma Devi (who sang in this film for Munawar Sultana). This is a great duet with both of them:
Dillagi is another Naushad/Suraiya soundtrack that I listen to pretty often (though not quite as much). (I’ve also been thinking of buying the DVD but hestitate because, ugh, it’s from FRIENDS!) Here’s my favorite song from that one:
And this is a very nice duet with Talat Mahmood in Mirza Ghalib, composed by Ghulam Mohammed:
I think I’ll stop there for now, but I could easily continue another time because there are a lot of Suraiya songs that I like. And there is also the possibility that I’ll write up a Suraiya movie soon (though no promises – I still have to decide which one to choose, which will probably be based on what risks I want to take regarding the quality of the DVD).
Once again (for the third time on this blog), happy birthday to Padmini, who was born June 12, 1932. Of course, I also did some Padmini birthday celebrating yesterday, so it is obviously lasting more than one day (and might very well be going on all the time). But for today, this time around, I thought I’d post the wonderful, famous dances from Thillana Mohanambal. The first, “Malanthana,” is one I haven’t posted before. but I’ve been watching it a few times lately, and I have been noticing more and more things in this dance that delight me, from the great major body movements down to small details in her costume (notice the little things shaking at the tips of her tiara) and her fantastic facial expressions (abhinaya is very significant in this film). The second two, merged together in the second clip, are dances I have posted and talked about: the iconic “Marainthirunthu Paarkkum” (which I’ve referred to as the “Nine Emotions” dance, because it illustrates the nine emotions in bharatanatyam), and that dizzyingly daring thillana in which Padmini shows off her bloody feet (a filmi dance move that, as we’ve discussed here before, would be repeated by others in Pakeezah and Sholay)… Lots of credit should also go to music director K.V. Mahadevan and the singer P. Susheela and, almost needless to say, the other great performer here, Sivaji Ganesan.
Dr. Kotnis Ki Amar Kahani is a unique film for a number of reasons, starting with the basis for the plot. This film is based on the real-life story of Dr. Dwarkanath Shantaram Kotnis, a famous Marathi doctor among a group of five Indian doctors who went to China in order to provide medical assistance to Chinese soldiers fighting in one of the Sino-Japanese wars, in 1938. (Although not discussed in the movie is the fact that the soldiers Dr. Kotnis and his group assisted were Communists, and that Kotnis ultimately joined the Communist Party and worked in the service of Mao Tse-Tung. So this was very much a pro-Communist movie – at least sympathetic to the Communists in battle, if not overtly in ideology – but those details were brushed over a bit. Then, ironically, some years later, portions of the film were used in a virulently anti-Communist American propaganda/exploitation movie called Nightmare in RedChina. But that’s another whole strange story altogether….)
Now, Dr. Kotnis did some very good things while in the service of the Chinese fighters, and his deeds sometimes required major sacrifices. For instance, he is known for curing a plague that was spreading among the Chinese soldiers and, at least according the version of the story in this movie, in order to find a cure for that plague, he had to use himself as a test subject, deliberately injecting himself with pus from an infected victim so that he could get a first-hand sense of the effects. Dr. Kotnis survived that experiment, but he eventually succumbed to other problems, as the pressures and hardships of life in the army took a toll on him. (Some movie guides wrongly state that he died from the infection that he gave himself. But history and close attention to the film will tell you something else… History says he died of epilepsy, exacerbated by wartime stress. And in the film he does appear to be experiencing mild seizures of some kind…) Dr. Kotnis also fell in love with, and married, a Chinese assistant, and he stayed in China for much longer than the other doctors. For these reasons and probably more, he was revered by the Chinese people, who honored him with a statue and a fancy tomb.
(By the way, thanks to Wikipedia for giving me most of this information. At least sometimes, that encyclopedia is very good.)
So, with the real story of Dr. Kotnis as its basis, this film already had a big head start toward becoming something memorable or even historic itself, and with the very able help of director V. Shantaram, his actress wife Jayashre, his music director Vasant Desai, and the writer Khwaja Ahmad Abbas, that’s exactly what happened. But the execution of this story was even more unusual than the story itself, and it’s understandable if, for a variety of reasons, some people find it to be a bit odd.
For instance, if you go by the conventional standards of realistic cinema, then in many ways and many parts, this movie appears to be way off. For one thing, it is a film full of the most un-Chinese-looking Chinese people you’ll ever see. They all have their eyes slightly fixed up as though that’s going to make them look like Chinese people, but they look more Indian than most of the Indian actors I’ve seen in Hindi films.
And, of course, there’s the issue of the acting and dialogue, especially in the beginning, where people sometimes recite extremely patriotic platitudes in a stentorian fashion rather than actually being engaged in a conversation that real human beings might have. (By the way, I am far from the first person to point out that problem. In fact, look, not too far into the past, at Dustedoff’s review, and you’ll see some of the same thoughts regarding the delivery and dialogue, not to mention the physical appearance of the cast.) But for me, when I consider this film’s other qualities, these digressions from realism don’t matter all that much. In fact, as often is the case with Shantaram, sometimes his work is best when it is most un-realistic.
There are many times throughout his career when V. Shantaram proved himself to be a good surrealist. And though this film isn’t as “out there” as some of the stuff he directed between the late ’50s and the ’70s, there are lots of elements that help to create a slightly surreal atmosphere: In addition the presence of the aforementioned Indian “Chinese” people, we have Desai’s unusual, slightly Chinese-inflected Hindi film music and those very stagey-looking dramatic backdrops (which seem in quite a few places to have been designed to look like Chinese Communist propaganda posters). And then, to complement all of those things, sometimes we are treated to some Shantaram-film versions of Chinese ballet:
Knowing little about Chinese music or theater (though I know quite a bit about Hindi music and films), I can’t really say how authentic this performance to “Dekho Mauj Bahar” might be as a tribute to the Chinese traditions. I suspect that it’s rather stereotypical and probably doesn’t seem that authentic, but even if my suspicions are right, it doesn’t really matter in the end, because this song/scene is fascinating, catchy, and charming too.
And speaking of charming, Jayashree deserves a lot of credit for her charm in this film. What’s more, although her eyes are done up in the same way as everyone else’s, to me she seemed like the most authentic of the Chinese characters (so to speak). There may be a good reason for that, if we are to accept the information at IMDb that Jayashree actually had Chinese origins, and was in fact one of very few Bollywood actresses or actors who did. But I have also heard people dispute this notion, so it would be great if we could confirm this fact one way or another. At any rate, regardless of what her real background may have been, she does very well playing Ching Lan, the Chinese medical assistant who becomes Dr. Kotnis’ wife.
For the most part, Jayashree plays a delightfully sweet and somewhat vulnerable sort of character, helping us to share Dr. Kotnis’ constant desire to protect her (which tendency, of course, fits with the mostly traditional male-female dynamic portrayed in this Hindi movie from 1946). But maybe this only adds to the delight that this viewer felt at the moment that she transformed into a picture of determination and patriotic devotion (albeit a very cute picture also) as she climbed a hill to rally the troops…
Yet for all its peculiarities and slightly surreal departures from conventionally good drama, Dr. Kotnis ends up being very moving in the straightforward dramatic sense. The combination of Shantaram (as both actor and director), Jayashree, and music director Vasant Desai becomes especially effective when Dr. Kotnis descends into illness and the atmosphere becomes bitter-sweet:
And incidentally, though there were no subtitles provided for the songs (which is a big shame), I had no trouble whatsoever feeling an emotional impact from these songs, especially toward the more effectively dramatic latter part of the film.
The scene for this song, “Chit Dole Nit Dole,“ is particularly interesting as well because of the way it brings out Ching Lan’s maternal qualities. Watching this, I was reminded of similar traits shown (by Sandhya) eleven years later in the otherwise highly eccentric heroine of Do Ankhen Barah Haath . I am not sure how all of this might register for viewers with feminist concerns, but some of Shantaram’s movies do very well at bringing those sorts of qualities out in the heroine, and that adds to the movies’ overall appeal.
Dr. Kotnis himself doesn’t seem to have quite as interesting a personality, but he is sympathetic enough as the good guy, and V. Shanataram was pretty good at portraying characters who had good values and a lot of integrity. (Balraj Sahni would eventually do that sort of character even better, but Shantaram was still pretty good.)
And partly because we are given such sympathetic main characters, Dr. Kotnis consistently builds up to being a very good tear-jerker by the end.
Maybe another reason this drama turns out to be so good by the end is that despite the film’s eccentricities, it manages to avoid some of the weird elements commonly found in other old Hindi films. For instance, it was a great relief to find that Dr. Kotnis contained no “WTF” moments (as many of us are fond of calling them) in terms of sudden strange behavior on the part of any main characters or outrageous out-of-the-hat plot twists. The plot progresses in a well controlled fashion, free of the convoluted or nonsensical turns familiar to many Hindi film fans (much as we love these movies, etc.). And it is also refreshing to watch a Hindi film that doesn’t have some villain who individually introduces a whole lot of complications to screw things up. (This is not to say that I don’t love a few Hindi film villains either, but the complete lack of such villain is just another factor that helped to make Dr. Kotnis a rather different viewing experience.) Of course, there is a collective villain, i.e., the Japanese fighters, who are portrayed rather briefly and stereotypically (in fact, one might say they are a bit dehumanized, in a way that is not “PC” at all). But the real focus for much of the film is the unshaken friendship/comaraderie among all the main characters, which is used very well to symbolize a great moment of friendship between the nations of India and China.
Altogether, Dr. Kotnis Ki Amar Kahani is a moving and rewarding film as well as being quite unique. And considering its historic significance (for not only its subject matter but also the time it was made and its recognized importance among Shantaram’s movies), this is a movie that should be given a high priority on many Hindi film fans’ lists.
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