Ghar Ki Izzat (1948)

[To anyone who read this post in an earlier version, I have added another paragraph to make it a more complete review. Because I wanted to get the post out on January 30th, I really did send out a write-up with a rushed and choppy ending – which is actually pretty appropriate, considering the film, itself.]

Back in the library a couple of weeks ago, I finally found a playable copy of the film Ghar Ki Izzat (1948). It had been a few months since I tried the copy that didn’t work, but maybe this was a better time for me to watch the film anyway, considering that I had just recently viewed and reviewed Basant (and also fondly remembered a relatively recent viewing of Kismet). Unfortunately, of the three Mumtaz Shanti films I have mentioned, Ghar Ki Izzat is by far my least favorite, at least in the form I watched. It does contain nice messages championing the poor and advocating the right of people to choose their own spouses, etc. – the good subjects covered in quite a few films of this time. And not only does it star Mumtaz Shanti but also Dilip Kumar, who always added some quality to a film, even this early in his career. But the direction and editing of the film seem a little off. (The director, Ram Daryani, actually directed a couple of better films that I’ve seen, Bari Behen and Tarana.) It seems particularly rushed at the end, but that could be the result of a chopped up print, whether it was the fault of Shemaroo or whatever source Shemaroo used. The turns in the plot are also unexceptional and predictable, probably even for 1948. But, on the other hand, the film is not unpleasant, either, thanks to the cast (which also includes Gope, Manorama, and Jeevan) and thanks to its good song sequences…

One very noteworthy song in this movie is “Sari Duniya Ke Sartaaj.” I wanted to talk about this one today – and actually rushed to get the post out today – because it is such a perfect song to view on January 30, the death anniversary of Mahatma Gandhi. It is a song about Gandhi’s death, and it contains some moving historical footage from the time. Mumtaz Shanti also gives a lovely performance here (as one would expect her to do in any patriotic song). And the singing, headed by Shamshad Begum, is certainly a treat. (The music is composed by Pandit Gobindram – a lesser-known music director, but obviously worthwhile nonetheless.)

The song sequences in the film are all good, and there is another song that could be considered the best among the bunch. This one, “Meri Duniya Ke Garibon Jaago,” is a good patriotic wake-up call. And it has very uplifting music, but it is most noteworthy for the dance and the way that this dance is filmed. This is not the only film dance that I have seen in which the chorus dancers appeared as shadows (which is always interesting), but it might be the best. The choreography is highly intriguing – which is not a surprise, since the choreographer is K.S. Moray. This choreographer’s name came up during a long discussion about Cuckoo, and while we could not find any text that stated this definitely, the evidence strongly suggests that he was Cuckoo’s husband.

I think that as time goes on, I will probably remember those two songs – and the interesting facts surrounding them – much more than I will remember the rest of this film. (Although I might remember some of the other song sequences if someone plays a few notes of a song, etc.) I might remember the plot because it is so basic and familiar: Poor girl marries into rich family who didn’t know how poor she really was, and they consider her a dishonor to the house, and the mother-in-law is the most abusive, etc. (you know how it goes). I already have very little memory of the secondary characters played by Manorama and Gope, outside of their being kind of nice and funny (of course). And I don’t think I will try to refresh my memory by watching Ghar Ki Izzat again. On the other hand, I have already watched those song sequences a few times, and I probably will a few times more. The film does have its moments (in those sequences and a little beyond), as well as some historical value. For those reasons alone, I guess I would recommend it to anyone who can find a copy, as long as you don’t expect too much. Actually, I would also list Mumtaz Shanti as a good reason to watch it. She did a pretty good job with the material she was given here, and I am still a Mumtaz Shanti fan.

The Three Mumtazes in Basant (1942)

I finally watched Basant (1942) all the way through last week (after watching songs and snippets for the past couple of years), and I enjoyed it. I thought of doing a regular film write-up, but I haven’t been in the mood to go into the details and plot descriptions that a real, full write-up might require. Suffice to say, it was a charming and uplifting film. It did not seem like the most original film ever made, but as I’ve said about some other films from the 1940s that I saw after watching so many from the ’50s and beyond, if I found some of the film to be cliched, I appreciated the fact that at least the cliches were a bit newer in this movie than in most. (And by the way, I noticed a strong similarity in plot between Basant and the Golden Age film Kathputli (1957).) Basant also has truly delightful music, composed by Anil Biswas and his brother-in-law Pannalal Ghosh, with much of it sung by Anil’s sister (and Pannalal’s wife), Parul Ghosh. (Some of these films were quite the family affair, especially in the music department.) And it has an all-around great cast. It is always a pleasure to watch an acting performance by Ulhas, even when he plays a real jerk (as he did both here and in Lal Haveli (1944)). Also apart from the three Mumtazes (whom I will get to in a minute), it was a pleasure, finally, to see a substantial film role played by Pramila, the Vintage-era Jewish beauty queen. She did quite well playing the role of jealous villainess, and she also did some nice dancing. But within this cast, I still think I had the greatest fun watching the three Mumtazes.

Since I already mentioned Pramila, let’s start the main part of this post with the dance that she did with Mumtaz Ali. Until a short while ago, I could not even find film scenes of Mumtaz Ali in his heyday, but, thankfully, I have not had that problem during the last couple of years. He was very charming back in the early 1940s, and his two dances in this film are very nice in addition to being historically significant. And, as I was saying, Pramila is very good here, too.

The second time Mumtaz Ali dances, it is with another Mumtaz, Mumtaz Shanti. I have seen some people complain that they are not crazy about Mumtaz Shanti or her acting style, but I have to strongly disagree. I loved her performance in Kismet (which was made one year later), and I love her here, too. She is very sweet in both films, and she seems to be well suited for the role of the good heroine. She is also quite cute. She is definitely one of my favorite actresses from films of the ’40s.

Among the Mumtaz Shanti songs in this film, my favorite is “Mere Chhote Se Man Mein…” Part of the reason for this might be that I had been listening to the song for years before I ever saw it in Basant. A few years ago, I downloaded a number of MP3s of songs sung by Parul Ghosh, and this happened to be the one that I picked to listen to most often. The tune is very catchy, and that might be why it is featured in the film three times. But the best time it is featured is when Parul Ghosh sings it for Mumtaz Shanti. (By the way, the clip below seems to have a different title from the other two versions, coming more from the second phrase in the song. I don’t know if that listing difference exists in any other copies of the film, but it is definitely the same song.)

I am almost equally fond of another song in the film, “Tumko Mubarak Ho,” which we get to hear twice. Mumtaz Shanti is quite wonderful performing this one. She is the perfect actress to perform a song of poor people telling off the rich, explaining why the poor are more virtuous than the rich. (And that is a type of song that is also close to my heart.) Just look at Mumtaz’s expressions! She is adorable.

The next time we see this song performed in the film, it is sung – both on screen and off – by this strange-looking, chubby child. This is the third Mumtaz in the film, Baby Mumtaz. Some years later, she would become Madhubala, the great beauty queen. Who would ever have thought…?

And at the end of the film, Baby Mumtaz also gives a song-and-dance performance of “Mere Chote Se Man Mein” with her filmi parents, Mumtaz Shanti and Ulhas, looking on. This final performance in Basant gives us the best reason to value this movie for its historical significance alone.

Unfortunately, the sound in the copy of the film that I am linking to is not always very good, but in other ways this copy is exceptional. One reason, of course, is that it was put up on YouTube by that most frequent source of film clips for this blog, Tom Daniel, so the visual quality of this film and its songs is better than in any other copies that were posted. Another reason is that it was custom-subtitled in English by Reeba (aka in comments as Pacifist). She apparently did a fine job, because I very much enjoyed some of the dialogue and, especially, the lyrics (which were written by P.L. Santoshi). Since my own Hindi skills are still quite rudimentary (and slipping at this point), there is no way I could have come close to understanding and enjoying this movie as much without these subtitles. And unless, say, Shemaroo Vintage distributed a new copy in the U.S., it might be the only English-subtitled copy of the film available. So, especially if you, too, are Hindi-challenged, I highly recommend looking at this version of Basant.