Prem Kahani - 1975 of Super Star Rajesh Khanna

Prem Kahani (1975)
By memsaab


With a title screen (and title) like this, you’d expect a happy movie, right? Wrong! It’s incredibly sad. I sobbed for a good hour. But it’s also really good. The story takes place against the backdrop of India’s fight for freedom from British rule (although no attempt to recreate the period through costumes or anything has been made), and is a love triangle between two best friends and the girl they both love. What saves it from descending into jingoism and melodrama are the marvelous performances by Shashi Kapoor, Rajesh Khanna, Mumtaz and Vinod Khanna; Raj Khosla’s deft direction; and the lovely songs by Laxmikant Pyarelal with beautiful, meaningful lyrics by Anand Bakshi.

This is a pretty long post, because there’s a lot to say about this film. It isn’t perfect, but does so much just right that the imperfections don’t matter.

Rajesh Narain (Rajesh Khanna) is about to graduate from college and dreams of becoming a teacher. His best friend is Dheeraj Kumar (Shashi Kapoor), who has just been promoted to Superintendent of Police and is on his way to his new posting.



Rajesh promises to visit him after he goes home to see his older brother and his family. Brijesh Narain (Trilok Kapoor) publishes a newspaper and is an active participant in the Quit India movement. Rajesh is in love with Kamini (Mumtaz), who lives with her parents next door to Brijesh. Her father Rai Bahadur Sinha (KN Singh) is a supporter of the British, and Brijesh’s activities are a constant irritant for him.



Rajesh himself is mostly apolitical. He wants to teach literature; he’s a poet and a dreamer. This doesn’t go over too well with Kamini’s father, who has found a nice guy with a good government job for Kamini. But Kamini loves Rajesh, although Rajesh is reluctant to approach Sinha with a proposal when he doesn’t have a job yet. They are so cute together! as always! and sing a lovely duet, “Prem Kahani.”



Things are about to take a tragic turn, though. Brijesh leads another peaceful protest march, but instead of being arrested again, he is shot dead.

His grief and anger move Rajesh to join his late brother’s comrades. They try to talk him out of it—one sacrifice per family is enough, they say; who will look after Brijesh’s wife and daughter?—but he will not be deterred and they finally give in.



Meanwhile, Kamini’s father flatly refuses to give his blessing to her marriage with Rajesh. She defies him and goes next door to ask Rajesh to marry her (I love how bold she is!).

He flippantly rejects her, pretending to have never been interested in marriage, only in romancing her. Of course his real motives are that he doesn’t want her to become his widow, but he doesn’t tell her that and she is deeply hurt.



Kamini, thank goodness, sticks up for herself.



But she’s devastated; at home she tells her mother that she’ll marry whomever her father has picked, that she doesn’t trust her own judgment any more. Rajesh is upset too, but he’s made up his mind to sacrifice all for his country.

Soon after this, he and his band of brothers catch the man who ordered his soldiers to shoot Brijesh. Supposedly he’s English, although he looks like an Indian with blue contact lenses; however, the filmmakers do manage to find a gori lady to “act” (badly) as his wife (”No, no please have mercy!” in a monotone).



Hilarious! Rajesh kills the “Englishman” (she pretends to swoon…oh, it’s really bad). This naturally puts a big price on his head, and soon the police everywhere are looking for Rajesh as he continues his revolutionary activities. After some months, he goes to visit his bhabhi and Munni; their house is being watched though (duh!) and the police soon arrive looking for him.

He hides in a pile of blankets, and as Munni watches terrified, her mother puts her hand over Munni’s mouth and nose to keep her from giving Rajesh away. Unable to breathe, Munni dies—this is based on a very sad true story, which you probably have already heard, but it seems a bit unnecessarily over the top here. The police leave without finding Rajesh, although one havaldar shoots his rifle into the bedding where he is hiding, wounding him badly in the arm. This wound is nothing compared to his grief over Munni’s sacrifice, of course.

He needs someplace to hide while he recovers from his injury, and he tells his fellow revolutionaries that he’ll go to his friend Dheeraj’s in Ghazipur. With Dheeraj being the SP there, nobody will suspect him of hiding Rajesh. One of his friends arranges a ride for him with a truck driver named Sherkhan (Vinod Khanna).



Vinod!!! Sherkhan drives Rajesh to Ghazipur, but has to break through a police roadblock to do so. The police note down the truck’s license number, but lose him in pursuit. Sherkhan and Rajesh arrive at Dheeraj’s house and find it lit up like a Christmas tree: it’s his wedding day.

Inside, Dheeraj is shyly approaching his new bride for the first time with a gift—a book of Rajesh’s poetry.



He doesn’t have long to wait on that score, because the wounded Rajesh bursts into the room. Despite his injuries, he wants to meet his best friend’s bride.



Yes, of course: it’s Kamini. She has married Dheeraj per her father’s wishes. The humanity! They are shocked to see each other, and appalled, but Dheeraj remains cheerfully clueless; plus, he’s a little bowled over by his new wife’s beauty. This is quickly replaced by concern, as Rajesh faints into Kamini’s lap.

Outside, Sherkhan is stopped by a police havaldar and arrested.

After bandaging up Rajesh, Dheeraj and Kamini spend an uncomfortable wedding night sleeping on the floor and the sofa, as Rajesh is occupying the bed. In all fairness, he has offered to leave but Dheeraj won’t let him.



Oy, clueless man! In the morning, Dheeraj goes to work, leaving Kamini to take care of Rajesh. It’s exceedingly awkward, as you’d expect, and their rare exchanges of conversation mostly consist of sniping at each other.

Dheeraj arrives at the police station to find havaldar Kotwal (Yunus Parvez) interrogating Sherkhan. He prevents Kotwal from beating Sherkhan for the moment, but Kotwal goes to a higher official for permission to torture him into confessing and gets it. When Rajesh asks Dheeraj if the Pathan has been caught, Dheeraj lies and says he hasn’t—Rajesh is relieved.

Of course, the tension at home is thick enough to cut with a knife. Bewildered, Dheeraj attempts to break it.



Through a gorgeous duet (”Phool Ahista Phenko”) which is fortuitously subtitled for me since the lyrics are brilliant, Rajesh and Kamini communicate their feelings to each other. Kamini expresses her anger and hurt, and indignance that Rajesh should be upset with her that she’s gotten married. Rajesh reveals his sorrow at hurting her and tries to placate her a bit. Their expressions during this wonderful song match it in intensity. I begin sobbing.



He:
When you pluck the rose, pluck it with care
Gently pluck the rose, for roses are delicate
In any case, they are unfortunate to blossom among thorns
Gently pluck…

She:
Gently pluck the rose, for roses are delicate
You do have a lovely little grouse
But isn’t it unjustified too?
Those who always hurt people
Say this when they are themselves hurt
They say, gently pluck the rose, for it’s very delicate
The ones who make people weep eventually cry one day
The rose…

He:
Pluck it gently, for roses are delicate
They hurt not, they are the ones who hurt
Pluck the rose gently

She:
You do have sympathies for the beauty of the rose
And why not? You’re a man too

He:
One answer for a thousand questions
Let not the eyes deceive you
Pluck the rose gently

This is Hindi cinema at its finest, honestly. So much communicated so beautifully in one simple song! How to explain it when someone says “Oh, Bollywood—those are musicals, right?” Sigh.

Anyway. I don’t stop sobbing, because the torture of Sherkhan has commenced. He stoically and steadfastly refuses to say anything about Rajesh. Dheeraj at one point even gives him veiled permission to tell the truth rather than suffer any longer, but he refuses. There isn’t much else Dheeraj can do for him without drawing attention and suspicion to himself, and his helplessness and frustration shows on his face.



Kamini sings another lovely song at a party Dheeraj holds to celebrate their wedding with friends and colleagues. She sings about her “prem kahani” as “water drawn away from the river”—it’s quite sad but beautiful, and after the guests leave, Dheeraj stops her on the stairs.



When they are back in the room with Rajesh, Dheeraj asks him what happened to his romance with the girl he loved. Rajesh (who has overheard Kamini’s song downstairs) explains everything as Kamini listens silently. At the end, though, she tells him that he should have been honest with the girl and that instead of getting married to someone else:



Poor Dheeraj heartily concurs with her and it’s Rajesh’s turn to fall silent. Meanwhile, as Sherkhan endures his continuing torture in silence, Kotwal gradually becomes more suspicious of his superior officer as he discovers clues that he is hiding something.

How can this tangled web resolve itself? Will Sherkhan finally be broken? Will Dheeraj learn the truth about Rajesh and Kamini? Will he be able to save himself from certain arrest, and Rajesh from hanging? What will happen to Kamini and Dheeraj? Or Kamini and Rajesh?

The story builds to its climax perfectly. Yunus Parvez’ performance as Kotwal is very good. The building of his suspicions about his SP is done just right, and is very believable, as is his determination to do his job and capture the fugitive Rajesh. I’ve already said that the main characters have done their jobs exceptionally well too—the performances by all are subtle, believable and nuanced. The undercurrents of patriotism and sacrifice required for the fight for independence is not overdone or cliched for the most part; the heart of the story though is of relationships, of building them and sustaining them, and of letting go when necessary. Well worth seeing, Prem Kahani is another wonderful film from Raj Khosla (and I continue to love his peeping Tom camera angles!).



http://memsaabstory.wordpress.com/2008/12/08/prem-kahani-1975/

First Look of Super Star Rajesh Khanna in Wafaa

For all the Rajesh Khanna fans, here's good news. Last witnessed on the big screen in Jaana – Let's fall in love (if you overlook the special effect appearance in Om Shanti Om that is), the actor is back in Rakesh Sawant's directorial Wafaa. Khanna had earlier acted in Hot Money, a B-grader and Wafaa too seems to fall in the same category. The film also stars Sudesh Berry, Sahib, Tinnu Anand, Take a look....Wafaa is the story of an old man who marries a young girl. The film sees Rajesh Khanna playing a rich businessman

CHHAILA BABU - 1977

CHHAILA BABU - 1977

There are only two things which give me *good* nostalgia for the 70s: ABBA music and Hindi movies. I spent the latter half of that decade wearing hideously patterned Qiana shirts, sporting feathered hair and fighting the tendency of my stomach to overhang hip-hugger bellbottoms, all the while living in rural Indiana and wishing I were dead, so that is actually saying something.
I suppose if I had cable television and thus access to reruns of the original “Starsky & Hutch” television shows that might do it too, but I don’t. I love Laxmikant Pyarelal’s music in this film, though, especially the opening title and background music (although the songs are fab too). It’s funkadelic 1970s, all the way, and reminds me of the opening themes to those 1970s cop shows.
Check it out!
Additionally, this film offers Rajesh Khanna in multiple avatars matching wits with gorgeous Zeenat Aman plus a host of my favorite villains, all doing their best with a completely wacked-out script—it’s a fine way to spend a Sunday afternoon, my friends, especially when you lack cable television.
Nattily-attired bad guys have been assembled for a meeting. Their mysterious host: an infamous gangster called “Scorpion” who has looted and murdered his way across India.

He is enlisting their help to pull off an 80-lakh bank robbery, and assigns each of them a task. It falls to Pratap (Ravindra Kapoor) to deliver the money to Scorpion’s man (Yusuf Khan) at the end of the heist. (It’s ridiculously easy to rob and kill the poor Southern Bank truck driver and his guards so I won’t dwell on it in any detail). Pratap is in love with Lily (Padma Khanna) and so plans to use the cash to set up a new life for them outside of India. Sadly for him, Lily is sleeping with Ranjit too and betrays him (note the requisite villain fish tank above the bed!).

Naturally the rest of the gang and Scorpion feel cheated, and Pratap is shot down at the airport when he tries to make a run for it. As he lies dying in a policeman’s arms, he gasps out that the money from the robbery is with his daughter Rita, and the code is 77203—the rest is drowned out by a plane taking off. The police and the gang are soon on Rita’s trail: she’s in Kashmir.
In Kashmir, Rita (Zeenat Aman) is a ski champion (although in the skiing shots she looks suspiciously like a stunt man). She has several fans cheering her on in remarkably unenthusiastic strangely-accented monotones.

A warning sign on the slopes is chopped down by an unseen person, and Rita skis blithely on into danger. She’s rescued by a local ski guide, who shows up again minutes later as a carriage driver.

When she asks him who he really is, he responds with a song: “Main Chhaila Babu” (translated as “Cool Guy” in the subtitles). It’s so fun, a horse-carriage ride through deep snow. The chemistry between Zeenat and Rajesh that I noticed in Ajanabee is fizzing away here too! And despite his very very bad hair (who was responsible for RK’s hair in the mid-late 70s? They should be shot!) he is very charming.
When he drops her off at her hostel, a CBI Inspector (Om Shivpuri) is waiting for her. He tells her about her father’s murder and asks her about the money. She’s distraught but knows nothing, and he asks her to return to Bombay to help the CBI in their investigation. At the airport observing her arrival are the gang and—Chhaila Babu, wearing a medal around his neck.

Cut to a night-time police chase, with a thief—Chhaila Babu again!—escaping into Rita’s stupendously decorated pad.

A yellow shag-carpeted ledge, the perfect hiding place! After the police leave empty-handed, he watches Rita change clothes (”Baap re!”); then Macmohan and his sidekick break in. They want the money, and they think Rita knows where it is.

Naturally, Chhaila Babu steps in to save her. I will say that his action skills are not even close to his romantic skills, but Rita helps him out by kicking some ass. Macmohan sees his Scorpion medal, and both men flee. Chhaila Babu tenderly administers to Rita’s wounds and kisses her; it’s to-die-for romantic despite his Prince Valiant hair.

He tells her that he loves her and wants to marry her, and if she hands over the robbery money he’ll take it to the police for her—otherwise he’s afraid she’ll be killed for it. Suspicious, Rita sees a diamond necklace hanging out of one of his pockets, and tells him furiously to get out. He tells her that society has made him a thief; that it robbed him of his family and left him with nothing to live for except vengeance, but she’s unsympathetic. After he leaves, though, she cries.
He’s not giving up and the next day he shows up again, this time as a taxi driver. He tells her that her words the night before have changed him.

She melts, of course! So do I. Later, he tells her about his past: that he lost his father and mother, and all he has left is his harmonica which his mother had inscribed with “Chhaila Babu”—her nickname for him when he was little. This morphs into a song, where we see flashbacks from his childhood combined with an old woman begging and looking for her son—his mother (Achala Sachdev) is still alive, and still looking for him!

Mera chhaila babu, mera dil! The humanity! I love this plot twist. She runs into Chhaila Babu and Rita shortly afterwards, and they discuss her lost son and his lost Ma, but fail to make the connection. Meanwhile, the police and the CBI Inspector are pretty sure that Chhaila Babu is Scorpion, but they need evidence.
The CBI Inspector decides to rope in Rita to help them get evidence. To that end, he takes her to a nightclub where she sees Chhaila Babu flirting with Lily, and then playing the drums when she dances to a great tune called “Kal Raat.” It’s a crazy number—worthy of Helen at her finest—Padma does it justice too.

The club happens to belong to Ranjit, and Macmohan is there too; he recognizes Chhaila Babu as Scorpion. As he tells Ranjit who Chhaila Babu really is, someone throws a knife into his chest and he’s killed.

Rita, now jealous, decides to help the CBI to catch Scorpion. What will happen? Will the gang catch him first? Who is Chhaila Babu? Is he really Scorpion? Can Rita betray him? Will he ever find his Ma? Does he really love Rita or is he just using her? And where is the 80 lakhs rupees from the Southern Bank robbery?

Watch Chhaila Babu to find out, and for the sizzling chemistry between Rajesh and Zeenat, the fabulous music, the mod 70s ambiance and the crazed script. It’s not great art—but it’s solid entertainment.

REVIEWED BY MEMSAAB STORY:

Kindly visit her great writings on Chhaila Babu at:

http://memsaabstory.wordpress.com/2008/10/21/chhaila-babu-1977/

Shehzada - 1972 (Review - 1)

SHEHZADA - 1972

Oh oh oh I love this movie! Beautiful Rakhee, yummy Rajesh, imperious Veena, nuanced characters, an interesting story, plot twists, humor, lovely RD Burman songs, and plenty of squishy dil™ (ppcc)! The melodrama was saved for the very end, when it was welcome, because by then I cared so much about everybody and everything turning out okay. The film is also beautifully shot—a visual feast, with sumptuous sets and lovely hilly scenery, and interesting camera angles. And beautiful Rakhee and yummy Rajesh!
Wealthy Rajlaxmi (Veena) rules her palatial home and her company with a steely perfectionism. Her son Ratan (Karan Dewan) is an invalid who is pining for his wife and son.

He’s a spineless sad-sack; Rajlaxmi long ago had forced him to choose between her and his wife Janki, and to his everlasting regret he chose to stay with his mother. For her part, Rajlaxmi loves him and supplies him with the best doctors, nurses and medicine, but he longs for his wife and son who now live in poverty—although he is too much of a coward to leave home.
His son Rajesh—called Raji—(Rajesh Khanna) has grown up to become a truck driver, and he has an ongoing flirtation with a lovely shopkeeper named Chanda (Rakhee).

Chanda has an abusive uncle (Madan Puri) who takes all her earnings and spends it on booze. Raji can’t stand him and hates to see Chanda cry. He cheers her up with a song (”Ho Tere Athroo Chun”) and his bare chest.

It’s so sweet that it makes my heart hurt. Raji is away from home sometimes for days at a time, and his mother sends him a letter asking him to come see her. He finds Janki (Pandri Bai) chopping wood and chastises her for not buying it; after all, he says, he gave her 60 bucks last month. She teases him.

They also have a sweet relationship: she clearly dotes on him and he on her. It bothers her though to see him working so hard to earn money when he could live like a “prince.” She points out that his grandmother hates her, not him, and would welcome her grandson home with open arms.

Janki in true good Indian biwi style still loves and worries about her husband too, but Raji is immovable on the subject and refuses to discuss it further. It strikes me that he strongly resembles his grandmother in his implacable obstinacy!
Meanwhile, Chanda’s uncle is selling her off in marriage to an older man for a bottle of liquor.

Raji’s friend Nandu (Mohan Choti) is in the bar and overhears the transaction, and hurries to tell Raji about it. The next day, Chanda’s pleas are falling on deaf ears but Raji and Nandu arrive in the nick of time to stop the wedding. After a great deal of very athletic fighting with long sticks (what kind of fighting is this stick fighting? I just saw it in another film as well), he carts her off.
When he asks where she wants to go, she says pitifully that she has nobody, only her tears and poverty. His response is funny: “Wah, wah.” He doesn’t tolerate her teary self-pity for even a minute–but is affectionate about it. They sing a sweet duet, “Na Jaiyo Na Jaiyo Chhod Ke Na Jaiyo Meri Rani” which I wish I understood—but Eros doesn’t believe in subtitling songs (what’s wrong with them?)…

He takes her home to Janki, who welcomes her with open arms.
Meanwhile, Ratan thinks that he hasn’t long to live, and he wants to see Janki and Raji. To that end, he tries to enlist the help of his mother’s right-hand man Nekiram (Sunder), who points out that Rajlaxmi has eyes “behind her head” and that even the walls have ears.

Sure enough, Rajlaxmi calls Nekiram into her office—and has a recording of the entire conversation.

Poor Ratan has no chance of getting help from anyone in the household. Back at home, Raji continues to tease Chanda.

Their romance continues apace with my favorite song in the film, “Rim Jhim Rim Jhim Dekho”:

Janki has a bad dream about Ratan and tells Chanda the reason for her mother-in-law’s enmity. Janki’s father was a freedom fighter, but Rajlaxmi’s husband was a DIG working for the British who supported them and helped wage war on the men fighting for India’s independence. This ideological clash ended in Janki’s father shooting and killing Ratan’s father.

Rajlaxmi (naturally enough) could not bear to have her husband’s killer’s daughter living in her house (Janki’s father was hanged for the murder), and booted her out with her infant son, giving Ratan the option to stay or go; as we know by now, he stayed with his mother. I wonder briefly why Rajlaxmi with her wealth and resources didn’t force Janki to give up her son too, but if she had there would be no Shehzada for me to enjoy and I let it go.
Janki’s dream has worried her, and she’s determined to visit Ratan. Raji refuses to let her go, and goes instead to fetch his father. Ratan is overjoyed to see him, but afraid to go with him until his mother goes out of town on business later that evening. Alas, her trip is canceled and she catches them as they are about to drive away. She invites Raji to come in.

She shows him the room she’s kept as his, stocked with the clothes and toys she bought in trips abroad when he was a child. When she asks him to come live with her and Ratan, he says he’ll be glad to—when she apologizes to his mother. Her response is predictable!

He returns home to his mother, and tells her that his father is fine. She’s overjoyed that Rajlaxmi welcomed him, but he repeats that until his grandmother welcomes his mother too, he’s not interested. She’s not pleased with that, though she has bigger things to worry about soon.

Raji manages to fight off Chanda’s uncle and his array of colorfully-turbaned goons, but not before her uncle threatens revenge. Janki points out that the only way to really protect Chanda from her uncle is for Raji to marry her, and he does so the very next day. All I can say is—it’s about time!

Post-marriage, Raji discovers that his grandmother has bought out his employer Bandhu Transport and promoted him to manager, but he tells Rajlaxmi to eff off with another song (I think, although of course I have no real clue what he’s saying) called “Thokar Mein Hai Meri.”
Then Chanda’s uncle strikes again. He hires a girl to entrap Raji by falling in the road in front of his truck and then screaming “Rape!” when he jumps out to help her. Raji refuses the expensive lawyer sent by Rajlaxmi, and is sentenced to two years in jail. At the same time Chanda discovers that she is pregnant; she and Janki go to see Raji in his cell where Chanda shyly has trouble telling him why she’s not feeling well.

He is overjoyed to hear about his impending fatherhood, although obviously it’s tempered by sorrow that he’s behind bars. Still, he makes Chanda promise that she won’t let his mother go to Rajlaxmi and Ratan to ask them for help getting him freed. She does, reluctantly and also very literally.

When Raji is finally let out of jail, though, he discovers that Chanda and their son are living in luxury with Rajlaxmi and the ailing Ratan, while his mother still lives in her hut. What has happened in the interim? Was Chanda lured by Rajlaxmi’s wealth? Can he ever forgive her? Will the family ever be united?
This film is just so good. The characters are three-dimensional and believable: as proud and unbending as Rajlaxmi is, she also really loves her son and grandson. Raji is a lot like her, which makes their conflict all the more poignant, and his relationships with his mother and Chanda are so sweet. Chanda and Janki could easily have devolved into groan-inducing weepy sacrificing female stereotypes, but don’t thanks to good performances from Pandri Bai and Rakhee. Raji too is complex: stubborn, teasing and a bit aloof, but warm-hearted and loving too. Rajesh Khanna is at his most charming and endearing here. (Veena does overact a bit, but I think it’s a generational thing: she always did in her early films too. But I love her!)
I also kept waiting with some trepidation for the plot to come unraveled as so often happens in the second half of Hindi movies, but it never did! I was engaged and entertained from beginning to end. This one is going on the shelf of films that I never get tired of. I can (and will) watch it over and over again!


Shehzada is reviewed and beautifully written by Memsaabstory:

Kindly visit at :

http://memsaabstory.wordpress.com/2008/10/26/shehzada-1972/