Wednesday, March 05, 2008Dharam-Veer Release Year: 1977Country: India Starring: Dharmendra, Zeenat Aman, Jeetendra, Neetu Singh, Pran, Sheroo the Wonder Bird, Jeevan, Indrani Mukherjee, Dev Kumar, Azad, Ranjeet Writers: J.M. Desai, Kader Khan, K.B. Pathak, Prayag Raj, Pushpa Sharma Director: Manmohan Desai Cinematographer: N.V. Srinivas Music: Laxmikant Shantaram Kudalkar, Pyarelal Ramprasad Sharma (Laxmikant-Pyarelal) Producer: Chandan Desai, Subhash Desai, Chandrika G. Shah Once you're done with the knowledge-based cherry picking, there are a wide variety of factors that come into play in deciding which are the potential gems among the selection of five dollar Bollywood dvds at your local Indian grocer or favorite online vendor. Familiar names or faces in the cast or crew of a film are always helpful, but there are also certain thematic or conceptual lures that might serve to tip the scales. In the case of Dharam-Veer, for instance, it certainly didn't hurt that the cast included the stunning Zeenat Aman--and while its male lead, Dharmendra, isn't one of my favorite actors, I do harbor a lot of good will toward him thanks to his co-starring role--with Amitabh Bachchan--in the classic Sholay, as well as his appearance in other highly enjoyable films such as Ankhen and Alibaba aur 40 Chor. But what really closed the deal for me with Dharam-Veer was the fact that its action was described as taking place in a vaguely mediaeval "mythical kingdom". This aroused in me fevered hopes that Dharam-Veer would be some kind of mind-boggling ahistorical period piece--something, in other words, along the lines of Mard, the 1985 classic whose depiction of hero Amitabh Bachchan's battle against the British Raj managed to include MTV-inspired eighties fashions, gladiator battles, and women in frilly Victorian garb strapped to the front of Sherman tanks. These hopes of mine would have been even more fevered had I realized at the time that Dharam-Veer's director, Manmohan Desai, was also Mard's director. And, though my expectations would have no doubt bloated accordingly, I probably still would have come away from Dharam-Veer satisfied. The mythical land of the film's setting is indeed a gumbo of anachronisms--a greedy mash-up of mediaeval Europe, ancient Rome, and the 1001 Arabian nights that also manages to contain, along with its jousting matches and Roman chariots, gypsies, pirates and a climactic battle at sea involving canons--which I'm fairly sure had yet to be invented in the respective eras of King Arthur, Caesar and Scheherazade. This freedom from the constraints of history not only emboldens Dharam-Veer's art direction, but also allows its costumers to follow their muse wherever it may take them, a creative liberation that results in such singular sights as Zeenat Aman's Mediaeval gauchos and black nylons, black leather assemblages that put the "glad" in gladiator, and Jeetendra in some almost indescribably flamboyant flamenco dancer outfits (and, in those instances where the reach of the clothiers' imaginations exceeds that of their budget, baggy white long johns to fill the gaps). I want to describe Dharam-Veer as a visual feast, but it's actually something less nutritionally balanced than a feast--more like a visual raid on the candy jar, given the candy jar is mostly full of Neco Wafers, Jolly Ranchers and Zots. The costumers render their otherworldly creations in a splashy comic book palette that, combined with the preponderance of brightly painted cardboard in the sets and backdrops, makes Dharam-Veer look like Prince Valiant by way of Flash Gordon by way of the Classics Illustrated version of Ben Hur. And, fittingly, all of this riotous display is in service of the type of over-heated, coincidence-dependent, improbably convoluted and cheerfully chaotic plot that seems to have been the exclusive territory of 1970s masala films. Whatever food metaphor you choose for the experience, you're bound to come away from it engorged - and, if you bring the right attitude to it, you'll be giddily satisfied as well. Dharam-Veer was one of four successful films directed by Manmohan Desai that were released during 1977, all of which dealt with the enduring Bollywood "lost and found"--or "separated at birth"--theme. The most successful of these was the blockbuster Amar Akbar Anthony, which starred Amitabh Bachchan, Vinod Khanna and Rishi Kapoor as brothers who grow up separately, unaware of one another's' existence--one raised as Hindu, another Muslim, and another Christian--ultimately to be united in vengeance against the man responsible for shattering their family. Following this model, Dharam-Veer opens with a complex shuffling of the familial deck. Interestingly, however, thanks to a chain of coincidences, all of these elements manage to fall back into their proper place over the course of the film, and the final dramatic revelation simply reveals that everything is pretty much as it should be, despite it not seeming that way. As the film opens, a line of young noblemen are presenting the King with marriage offers--as in of jewels and other forms of valuable exchange--for his daughter, the Princess Meenakshi (Indrani Mukherjee) . The Princess, however, is unable to witness this touching spectacle, because she--headstrong, independent girl that she is--is off in the wilds hunting tigers. Unfortunately for Meenakshi, a gang of thugs hired by her brother, Satval Singh (Jeevan), is also on the hunt... for Meenakshi. Satval Singh has been told by a seer that he will die at the hands of his firstborn nephew, and so has decided to cut off the whole nephew-birthing business at its source by having the Princess killed. Fortunately, Jwala Singh (the mighty Pran), a proud hunter who, we later learn, is "well versed in the ways of the Samurai" and who has at his side a super intelligent falcon, Sheroo (played, according to the credits, by Sheroo The Wonder Bird), happens upon the scene and rescues Meenakshi from her attackers. The grateful Meenakshi promises Jwala Singh anything he wants as a reward for saving her life, and Jwala Singh asks that she become his wife. Immediately. Proving that she is truly a woman of her word, she agrees, and the two are married in a ceremony that Jwala Singh performs himself. Sadly, Jwala Singh and Meenakshi's first night of marital bliss is interrupted when one of the tigers Meenakshi had been hunting shows up at their door looking for some payback. Jwala Singh takes off in pursuit of the animal and on his way comes across a local whom the tiger has fatally mauled. Covering the corpse with his own cloak, he continues on and is soon locked in a death struggle with the enraged beastie. Meenakshi, meanwhile, wanders out after Jwala Singh and, seeing the dead body wrapped in his cloak, doesn't bother to go in for a closer look before jumping to conclusions and plunging into a deep state of shock. Meenakshi is eventually discovered and returned to the castle, where she remains in a wordless trance. Even so, the King still needs to get her married off. So when a nobleman with suitably diminished expectations comes courting, the deed is hastily done. This leads to the film's best line of dialogue, when Meenakshi finally awakens from her stupor in the presence of her new husband and he, in explaining the situation she finds herself in, says "You were not conscious when we got married". Fortunately, Meenakshi's new husband, despite being willing to marry an unconscious woman, is a true gentleman. So when she informs him that not only is she married to the hunter Jwala Singh (whom she now believes to be dead), but also now with child as a result, he stops short of making the demands of marriage upon her. Rather, he agrees that the two of them should live separately under his roof, raising the child as man and wife, while not taking part in any of the carnal activities that such a union might imply. Though in return he asks that she promise to never reveal the true nature of the child's parentage (and we've seen how Meenakshi is about keeping promises). After the required interval, Princess Meenakshi gives birth to twin boys, a circumstance which is of no small concern to the craven Satval Singh, who is still determined to avoid the destiny the seer has laid out for him. Luckily for Satval Singh, his wife has also given birth--at exactly the same time as Meenakshi. Seeing an opportunity to serve two ends at once, Satval Singh switches the second born of the Princess's twins, Veer, with his own child, then takes the first born twin, Dharam, and drops him off a parapet. As the gods would have it, Sheroo The Wonder Bird is flying by at precisely that moment and, unwilling to tolerate infanticide on his watch, scoops Dharam up in his beak and flies off into the sunset. (It must be said here that most of Sheroo's wonders are performed by either a puppet or by Sheroo with a clearly visible tether tied around his midsection.) Meanwhile, Satval Singh's wife has had a crisis of conscience and has, unknown to him, switched her child back with Veer. Sheroo The Wonder Bird deposits baby Dharam with the kindly blacksmith Lohar and his wife Dhano. As fate according to Dharam-Veer would have it, Lohar and Dhano just happen to be nursing back to health the wounded Hunter Jwala Singh, who has been in a coma for the entire nine months since getting on the wrong end of that tiger, and who awakens from that coma at the precise moment that Sheroo makes his baby delivery. Of course, Jwala Singh has no way of knowing that the baby is his--or even that he has fathered a baby--so all he can say is, basically, "Nice baby you've got there". Twenty or so years go by, during which both the King and Meenakshi's husband somehow manage to die, leaving her Queen of the realm. Because Satval Singh has believed all along that his son, Ranjeet (Ranjeet), is actually the child of Meenakshi, he has beaten and verbally abused him constantly, and so the boy has grown up to become a resentful lout much like his father. Veer (Jeetendra), on the other hand, has grown up to become a somewhat exuberant young man with a taste for big puffy sleeves with frills--and Dharam has grown up to become forty-two year old Dharmendra. Lohar has raised Dharam to be strong like the bull, and in an earlier scene we see him showing a younger version of Dharam how to split wood with one swing--that younger version of Dharam played by Dharmendra's actual son, billed here as "Bobby Junior Dharmendra", but better know today as the Bollywood star Bobby Deol. (For those who don't know, Dharmendra is also the father of the actor Sunny Deol.) The class boundaries in Queen Meenakshi's kingdom are obviously considerably more porous than those of mediaeval England or ancient Rome (or even modern India, for that matter), because Prince Veer and Dharam, the poor blacksmith's son, have somehow, over these twenty-some years, become inseparable friends. As such, they spend their (by all appearances considerable) leisure time dancing across the kingdom's lush hillsides, proclaiming and demonstrating their love for one another with a homoerotic intensity that almost threatens to eclipse that of even Feroz Khan and Vinod Khanna in Qurbani. Somewhere in the course of their frolicking, they encounter Pallavi, a mean princess played by Zeenat Aman--an occasion which the two men commemorate by singing a charming song about how one must keep one's woman on a short leash in order to prevent her from developing a haughty attitude like Pallavi's. Dharam declares that Pallavi, despite all appearances to the contrary, will ultimately be his, and so begins a strange courtship in which Pallavi shows her affection for Dharam by forcing him to perform in life and death struggles in her personal coliseum, locking him in cages where he is poked with spears by midgets, and having him bound and whipped. Finally Dharam convinces Pallavi to come away with him, and what follows is a jaw dropping musical number in which a singing Dharmendra leads a bound Zeenat Aman around on a rope while forcing her to do menial tasks. It appears that Pallavi is beginning to enjoy this treatment, but then she takes the first opportunity to stab Dharam in the gut, leaving him to bleed to death as she hightails it back to her castle. AS LUCK WOULD HAVE IT, who should come upon Dharam's wasting body but the hunter Jwala Singh himself. Jwala Singh nurses Dharam back to health, and Dharam, impressed by the remarkably out-of-shape looking Jwala Singh's mastery of the Ways of the Samurai, asks to become his pupil. Pallavi, meanwhile, has had an attack of conscience over her gutting Dharam like a stuck pig and returns contritely to his side. Ultimately, she realizes her love for Dharam and, in so doing, becomes virtuous and kind. This is an unhappy development for Sujan, the man to whom Pallavi has been promised in marriage, as well as for Pallavi's brother, Dev Singh (Dev Kumar), and the two quickly become part of the growing list of Dharam and Veer's mortal enemies, which also includes Satval Singh, Ranjeet and, for reasons I won't even go into, Azad, the leader of a band of gypsies. Ultimately this axis of evil will conspire to turn the two BFF's against one another, a plot which will lead to Lohar, Dharam's adoptive father, being framed and punished in the Queen's court for a crime that he didn't commit, and ultimately to the murder of Dharam's adoptive mother in circumstances that place suspicion upon the royal family. Despite the Queen's assurance that the family is innocent of these crimes, Dharam asks that in recompense she leave her castle and come to his hovel to take the place of his mom. As demonstrated before, Meenakshi is honorable to a fault, and so acquiesces to this demand, spending her days from that point on cleaning up around Dharam's hut, feeding him food with her hands and giving him foot rubs. And so, as mentioned earlier, those familial bonds that fate conspired to break at Dharam-Veer's outset manage to, despite all obstacles, reassert themselves by its final act. It is the purpose of the "lost and found" films to serve as a testament to the strength of these bonds, and dramatize how, as an expression of God's will, they exert a magnetic pull that no barrier of class, character or simple geography can resist. In the case of Dharam-Veer, this means that everyone ends up having the relationship with one another that they're more or less supposed to be having (though admittedly with some markedly creepy overtones), even though they don't know it--until, of course, events lead to a round of startling revelations... and battles at sea involving pirates and lots of swinging back and forth from the masts of long ships. Now, I have spent a lot more time than I normally would summarizing the story of Dharam-Veer (even though, believe it or not, I haven't come close to giving everything away). The reason for this is that the insane convolutions of Dharam-Veer's plot are such a large part of its appeal. As with many of the best masala films, in between marveling at its many visual delights, one can't help sticking with it just to see what preposterous turn of events it will throw at you next. And just when you think you've got a handle on what type of cards the film has up its sleeve, it comes at you from a whole different angle, blindsiding you anew by way of some extremely bizarre primitive special effects or absurd action choreography. Those above mentioned special effects largely consist of shots--shots that are none too seamlessly integrated into the sequences in which they feature, I must add--in which horses are made to perform leaps that said horses either wouldn't or couldn't do by means of what appears to be animation using cut out photographs against a still background. The result is actually quite arresting visually, in a surreal sort of way, if you disregard that you were actually intended to accept it as reality. As for the fight staging, the defining philosophy appears to have been "You can never have too many back flips". People perform this move in response to even the slightest bit of physical force--and in defiance of all known laws of physics--and also incorporate it into their attacks, forcing their opponents to wait until they have spiked their landing before running them through. Given its vintage, the one thing that really would have put Dharam-Veer over the top for me is a seriously funky score. However, the score by the team of Lamikant-Pyarelal is actually quite conservative, depending a lot on relatively traditional Indian rhythms and instrumentation. This is still not a bad thing, and the songs are pleasant overall, if not exceptionally memorable, and always manage, at their most lively, to get the head doing that little sideways bob that any good Bollywood soundtrack should. Of course, it's often hard with these movies to separate the songs from the production numbers--or "picturizations"--that contain them, and many of those here are top notch. The sequence for "Hum Banjaron Ki Baat Mat", in which a literal army of floridly garbed singing and dancing gypsies overwhelms Princess Pallavi's amphitheater of pain, is without question the moment when the picture is at its most excruciatingly colorful. But it is another gypsy themed number, the climactic campfire rave-up "Band Ho Mutthi To Laakh Ki Khul Gayi To Phir Khaak Ki", that was the clear standout for me--though it was less characteristic of Dharam-Veer in that it is merely dazzling, rather than overwhelming, in its use of color. On the acting front, Dharam-Veer's cast does a good job within the constraints of the comic book world that the film creates. Dharmendra is a performer who's very good at standing on top of things, puffing out his chest and booming out defiant proclamations - often while pointing - to the corrupt powers that be, and he gets to do a lot of that here. Zeenat Aman, who has shown elsewhere that she is an actress of considerable range, spends the first half of the film pouting and scowling, and the second half winsome and starry eyed. Jeetendra, by far the most abused of the celebrity clothes-horses on display, does perhaps the most admirable job by managing not to be completely eclipsed by his wardrobe. Lastly, Jeevan, thanks to a spirited commitment to shaking his fists and hissing the heroes' names through clenched teeth, makes for a fine two dimensional villain, though he's no Amrish Puri. Dharam-Veer is a movie designed to thrill, and it succeeds on all of the intended levels, as well as on many levels that probably weren't so intentional. In addition to the thrill of watching its spectacular musical numbers and beautiful stars, there is the singular thrill that comes from seeing combinations of color and fabric that will likely never be repeated in human history. Adding to Dharam-Veer's singularity is the fact that it's pretty much guaranteed to be the only place where you can see a special effects shot of a horse jumping over a castle wall that is at once so patently phony and so hauntingly compelling. Even if you could find any of these elements in another film, the chances of that film also starring Sheroo The Wonder Bird are slim to none. Perhaps, then, Dharam-Veer can be said to be a film that exists against the odds--and perhaps even in defiance of reality itself. And given that it comes to you, in spite of all probability, with all these many gifts in store, how can you refuse it? Especially when it's only five bucks. Labels: Bollywood, Fantasy: Sword and Sorcery, Stars: Dharmendra, Stars: Zeenat Aman, Year: 1977 posted by Todd at 9:38 AM | 3 Comments Sunday, November 11, 2007Katilon Ke Kaatil Release Year: 1981Country: India Starring: Dharmendra, Rishi Kapoor, Zeenat Aman, Tina Munim, Amjad Khan, Nirupa Roy, Shakti Kapoor. Writer: Anil and Arjun Hingorani Director: Anil and Arjun Hingorani Producer: Arjun Hingorani Music: Anandji Veerji Shah and Kalyanji Veerji Shah Availability: Buy it from India Weekly Try to imagine that, like me, your life has become a steady parade of disappointments and squandered potential, but then one day, the following happens: having recently been enlightened as to the existence of a Bollywood ninja movie -- a rip-off of American Ninja from the same cast and crew that brought the world Disco Dancer, no less -- you go to your little website forum and theorize that, given the popularity of kungfu films in India and the proliferation of Bruce Lee imitators and crappy "Bruceploitation" films during the 1970s, there was no way Bollywood didn't produce at least one film cashing in on the death and popularity of Bruce Lee. After proffering this notion, however, subsequent searches for Indian Bruce Lee exploitation films yield no results. This does not sway you from your belief, of course, and given how poor the quality and variety of coverage for Indian cult films is, it hardly surprises you. But it does cause you to put your search for such a film on the back burner in favor of tracking down the remaining Kommissar X films or finding a copy of Agente Logan: Missione Ypotron. And then, one day you are emailing back and forth at work with your friend Beth about Mithun Chakraborty's film Dance Dance. You search for, find, and play a clip from the film on YouTube, and then, out of the corner of your eye after the clip has finished and YouTube is displaying those "if you liked this, check this one out" recommendations, you see something titled "Dharmendra vs Bruce Li."
Still your heart young movie fan, you tell yourself as you struggle to click on the clip before it vanishes and is replaced by another recommended clip. But alas! You are too slow, and the clip vanishes. No worries, though. As your trembling fingers fumble at the keyboard, you manage to type "Dharmendra vs Bruce Li" into the search box. Careful, lad! Don't let your giddy excitement get the better of you. This could be nothing more than some lame DJ splicing together disparate clips of the world's premiere Bruce Lee imitator with scenes of Indian action star Dharmendra, all set to some generic techno or hip hop beat out of the German underground. Feeling both fear and elation, you play the clip. And there it is! Dharmendra, with what appears to be a picnic table cloth wrapped around his neck, locked in mortal combat with...no! Not Bruce Li! Not Bruce Li at all! Why that's...no it isn't possible. And yet...yes! Yes it is! That's Dharmendra locked in mortal combat with Bruce Le -- the world's premiere Bruce Li imitator! Finally! After years of disappointment and failure, after watching your dreams crumble and become so many ashes, the world is new and young again, and there is hope yet, you tell yourself. A quick scan of the comments turns up the title of the movie -- Katilon Ke Kaatil, though no one seems able to agree on the number of the letter "a" that goes into each word. Apprehensive, you sneak on over to India Weekly to do a title search, and...argh! No luck! But wait! What if I alter the configuration of a's in the words -- success! And a mere $6.99 and four days later, it is yours.
And then you discover not only does it star Dharmendra -- 70s/80s action icon and father of 80s/90s action Icon Sonny Deol -- it also stars your favorite Bombay bombshell baby, Zeenat Aman. How could this deal get any better, you ask yourself as tears of joy stream from your eyes. And then Dharmendra fights Bigfoot. I've complained, most recently and verbosely in my review of the 1967 espionage film Farz, about the lack of quality information regarding Bollywood films, especially the crazier and older ones. Let me now shift gears and offer up a bit of celebration. I knew nothing about Katilon Ke Kaatil. I had never heard of it, and I had no reason to ever think that I needed to hear of it, let alone see it. And then I found out this Katilon Ke Kaatil featured Bruce Le, apparently getting his ass handed to him by Dharmendra, and I was excited. There were no reviews online anywhere, and as usual, all links led to about a thousand identical webpages that did nothing but list the top two or three actors and the musical composer, surrounded by lots of Flash and Google ads. But no worries. I didn't need to know anything about the film other than Bruce Le was in it, along with Dharmendra. That was more than enough for me. And then I'm sitting there watching the movie and goddamned General Ursus from Planet of the Apes shows up!
That's why I enjoy doing this. After all these years, and after Teleport City has failed to amount to anything other than a tiny niche site that gets no attention from people looking for someone to write liner notes or a book or join their circle of occult-obsessed jaded rich people who retire to country manors for weekend binges of Bacchanalian debauchery and excess, there remains the simple thrill of stumbling across an unbelievably ludicrous movie like Katilon Ke Kaatil. Like many masala films, a simple description of the basic plot hardly does justice to the madness that whirls about it like a raging tornado. If I told you this is a movie about two thieves who pose as the long lost sons of a wealthy woman so they can get their hands on her loot, you'd probably shrug and think to yourself, "Yeah, seen it." And if you know a thing or two about Bollywood films, you'll probably even think, "And I bet in the end, they are redeemed and turn to good when they find out they really are her long lost sons." A plot summary like that hardly leaves room for Dharmendra to fight Bigfoot or punch Bruce Le through a brick wall. But then, if you really know two or three things about Bollywood, you know that they require a simple plot wrapped in fantastically convoluted and outrageous incidents that detour the movie into truly warped territory.
As summarized above, Dharmendra and Rishi Kapoor star as Ajit and Munna, the two sons of a wealthy family in possession of a sacred, jewel-encrusted gold chariot. Evil bearded villain Black Cobra (Amjad Khan -- Qurbani, Jani Dost, Bombay 405 Miles) takes time out from shooting his own men and obsessively stroking his Blofeld brand evil cat in order to attempt to steal the chariot, a plot which involves him dressing up like a police inspector then berating other police inspectors for not questioning his identity thoroughly enough. As part of the demonstration of how crappy the police are, Black Cobra tells them how easy it would be for Black Cobra to waltz in, steal a cop's gun, and hold everyone hostage. Then he does just that, which is pretty cool as far as super villain bravado goes. In the ensuing fracas, however, Cobra and his men are unable to pull off the heist, so they return later than night to pick up where they left off. You'd think if the most notorious criminal in India was after your jewel-encrusted golden chariot, you'd up the security or something. Now this fracas eventually results in young Ajit and Munna getting separated from their family. Munna is discovered, crying on the road, by...oh no! It's that wacky eyebrow guy who annoyed us so in Farz. Over a decade later, he still annoys. Luckily, the movie doesn't let him delve too deeply into his Shemp-quality shenanigans. While Munna is rescued by an aging odious comic relief actor, Ajit has it slightly worse -- but just slightly -- when he witnesses Black Cobra beating his father to death with a studded leather strap. In an attempt to avenge the murder, Ajit winds up falling off a cliff and into a passing train full of hay, where he lands right next to a slumbering woman who thanks the gods for delivering this child to her. This is going to be the least of the movie's improbably events. Meanwhile, Black Cobra's right hand man, Michael...all right! It's Shakti Kapoor! We last saw him as the evil military commander in Commando. He's still trying to get that damn chariot, because despite all the killing and the whipping and the falling off of cliffs into trains full of hay, Black Cobra still didn't manage to get the chariot. And they still don't get it! Geez! I think even I could have stolen it at this point. Michael, on the other hand, gets blown up in a helicopter explosion.
Ajit is afflicted with plot-convenient amnesia, and is raised by the woman as Badshah, a local thug and all-around bully. Munna grows up to become a hustler and con artist. Good thing these guys always grow up to be cops or criminals. What would Bollywood do if the story was, "Two brothers separated at birth. One grows up to be a helpdesk operator at Dell's call center; the other becomes assistant manager at a record store." Hmm, that sounds like a Bollywood vehicle for John Cusack. Anyway, the movie settles in to an incredibly long and often boring middle section here in which Badshah woos a singer named Jamila (Zeenat Aman -- Don, Shalimar, Qurbani) while Munna plays cat and mouse with another charming thief (Tina Munim). The bad news is that the musical numbers are pretty boring, the comedy is unfunny, and the drama is tepid at best. There is no chemistry at all between Zeenat and Dharmendra, and their entire relationship comes out of nowhere. Rishi and Tina fare slightly better, thanks in part to Rishi being the impish one and Tina having a monkey in sultan pants as a criminal accomplice. But still, this lengthy second act is a chore to get through. It's punctuated by a completely out-of-the-blue showdown between Dharmendra in his hot pink kerchief (somehow, he makes it work!) and Bruce Le. In the years immediately following the death of Bruce Lee, sleazy film producers rushed to crank out an endless series of ultra low-budget kungfu crap that featured a guy who looked marginally like Bruce Lee, or had Bruce Lee's haircut, or thumbed his nose like Bruce Lee, or whatever they could think of to trick people who didn't know better into watching what they thought was a Bruce Lee film. The best-known of the Bruce Lee imitators was a Taiwanese actor named Ho Chung Tao. Ho was nothing special and had no notable career to speak of until producers tapped him to be the stand-in for Bruce Lee as they struggled to piece together a finished film from the footage the real Bruce Lee had shot for Game of Death. Ho declined, but shortly after that he hooked up with producer Jimmy Shaw, who came up with the Bruce Li name and kicked off Li's career as Bruce Lee lite. Li starred in a string of Bruce Lee biopics, films in which he was passed off as a true student of Bruce Lee, or as the official successor appointed by Bruce Lee in unofficial sequels to Bruce Lee movies, or as Bruce Lee himself.
Li's success as Lee meant that other producers were looking for their own Bruce Lee, or their own Bruce Li. Among these was Wong Kin Lung, an actor at the Shaw Brothers film studio in Hong Kong. Wong had starred in, among other things, the Shaw Brothers outrageous sci-fi kungfu epic Inframan alongside Danny Lee (best known for his roll in John Woo's The Killer, but also the star of a couple early Bruce Lee exploitation films, one of which -- Bruce Lee I Love You -- starred Bruce's real-life mistress, Betty Ting Pei, and was based on her version of what happened between her and Bruce). Like Bruce Li, Wong was adopted by another studio and redubbed as Bruce Le in order to cash in on his passing resemblance to Bruce Lee. Le never achieved the acclaim of Li, as ridiculous as all this may sound, but he did have a knack for showing up in films from other countries, often with absolutely no connection whatsoever to the plot. This happened in the ridiculous time travel film Future Hunters, where star Robert Patrick is looking for the Spear of Longinus and thinks this monk might have some clues as to its whereabouts. Exactly why a Buddhist monk would have info on a Christian relic I don't know, but whatever. Anyway, he goes to the temple, fights Bruce Le for no reason, and then goes, "Well, they didn't known anything," and that's the last of it. Le's appearance in Katilon Ke Kaatil is no less bizarre. Dharmendra has attempted to win Jamila's heart by pretending to hang himself out of heartache and disguising himself as a famous singer. When both deceptions fail to convince Jamila that Badshah is the man for her, she wanders off into a garden and walks by a table where Bruce Le is sitting. He jumps up to menace her, and Dhamrnedra shows up to fight Bruce Le, and that's the first and last we see of Bruce Le. He's not a henchman of Black Cobra. He has co connection at all to the movie. He just happens to be sitting there for one scene. That said, even though Bruce Le gets little respect for his accomplishments in shoddy Hong Kong productions, his fight with Dharmendra -- or with an anonymous stunt man (probably from Hong Kong) in a Dharmendra wig -- showcases just how advanced even mediocre Hong Kong fight choreography was when compared to choreography from anywhere else in the world. Bollywood has no shortage of kungfu fights, but while they are often energetic and outrageous, they are also terrible. Even the best of them is pretty bad when held up in comparison to the fights in a similarly budgeted Hong Kong movie. This isn't to sling mud at Bollywood -- Hong Kong in the 80s blew everyone away. But that's really made obvious when Bruce Le shows up to thumb his nose and allow Indian film distributors to sell this as a Bruce Lee versus Dharmendra movie. See India's number one action star beat the tar out of the world's number one martial arts legend! Never mind that Bruce had been dead for over a decade. He was the Tupac of kungfu films, making new movies long after his death. Too bad no one ever tried to hire a rapper who looked a lot like Tupac and have him release new albums under the name Tupak Shakir or something.
Although it has nothing to do with the movie in which it is nestled, the Bruce Le scene is pretty great. The fight choreography is suddenly infinitely better as two seasoned vets of the Hong Kong film industry (again, assuming the anonymous Dharmendra stand-in was Chinese) go head to head, with occasional shots of Dharmendra staggering backward or flying through a wall. Katilon Ke Kaatil has its share of problems, but a lack of people flying through walls is not among them. Then we return to the movie itself, which drags on for a while as we maneuver Munna and Badshah/Ajit into meeting one another and ending up both trying to con their actual mother -- who they do not realize is their mother. We also learn than Michael is still alive, having faked his own death to escape the wrath of Black Cobra (who in twenty years has not aged at all) over failing to get that chariot. And even twenty years later, Cobra is still talking about that goddamned chariot. Surely he could have come up with some other scheme by now. Or at least succeeded in stealing a golden chariot from a solitary woman who is still collapsing with grief over the loss of her sons like it happened yesterday. When Black Cobra discovers Michael is still alive (by happening to pull into the one gas station in all of India where Michael happens to work), he sicks Recha on the poor bastard. And that's where Katilon Ke Kaatil really starts to get weird.
Recha is described by Black Cobra as being the hellish offspring of a woman raped by a bear, but for all intents and purposes, he is a gorilla from Planet of the Apes. He's also bullet proof. While people are scared of him based on his size alone, no one seems all that amazed by the fact that this giant, fur-covered sasquatch of a beast exists. Maybe India is crawling with sasquatch men, or maybe the countryside is full of leather-clad gorillas on horseback catching unlucky humans in their nets. Recha manages to shatter Michael's leg and kill Michael's beloved wife, meaning we now have our villain who can be redeemed by teaming up with the good guys. His interest in the chariot revived, Black Cobra devises a plot that relies heavily on the sort of contrivances and coincidences that only happen in a Bollywood film, where the improbability of anything can easily be explained away with a dismissive wave of the hand and a statement about events being guided by the hand of the gods. Black Cobra's plot hinges on the mother randomly wandering up to a temple to pray for the return of her sons, and this temple will just happen to be the one where Black Cobra and his gang have disguised themselves as priests. Predicting that she will know her youngest son by the trident pendant he wears, he then gives one of the henchmen a trident pendant and sends him off to randomly run into the woman. Naturally, after a bit of wackiness, Munna ends up with the pendant.
It all goes on for a while, until Munna and Ajit have their big revelation and team up to kick Black Cobra's ass. If the middle portion of the movie has been somewhat a chore to get through, at least the investment is paid off for in the finale, in which our heroes, teamed up with Michael, battle Recha in a lengthy and hilariously awesome showdown that culminates in them blowing up a huge vat labeled "Highly Inflammable." They then infiltrate Black Cobra's inner sanctum by disguising themselves as members of a dance troupe Black Cobra has hired to entertain his men and celebrate the successful theft of the chariot, which by this point, is an operation that probably cost him more than the actual value of the chariot. This represents...what? Like the ten millionth time the good guys have infiltrated the bad guy's lair via a troupe of dancers? Why do these bad guys keep hiring dance troupes to come in and perform for them in their secret lair? Doesn't bussing in a bunch of dancers sort of spoil the whole "secret" part of the secret lair idea? And, of course, Jamila and whatever Munna's thief girlfriend's name is are part of the troupe, even though neither has ever been associated with the troupe before and Tina (because I don't know if she's ever given a name in this movie) has never been established as a singer or dancer. Making matters sillier, Black Cobra sits the chariot out in the middle of his throne room/dance hall, and the disguised heroes come out and sing a song that is basically a summary of everything Black Cobra has done to their family. I guess this is a variation of Hamlet, where they stage a play that recreates a murder Hamlet thinks has happened, but it doesn't seem like the best way to maintain your cover. Oh well, it all leads to our heroes killing about fifty million guys Arnold Schwarzenegger style, so that's OK.
Katilon Ke Kaatil has its share of awesome action sequences, but ultimately, they are too scarce to make up for the rest of the film, which rarely rises above the point of being mildly interesting and often sinks below the point that things become tedious. The Bruce Le fight is great, as is Dharmendra's showdown with some Steve Reeves looking bodybuilder in hot pants, and of course the finale is wonderful, but there's an awful long road in between these morsels. Dharmendra doesn't exude much charisma in this film, and at times I'm not even sure he's aware of the fact that he's being filmed. Rishi is more energetic, but really, he's often upstaged by the monkey in shiny sultan pants. The biggest disappointment of all, however, is Zeenat Aman, who here contributes absolutely nothing to the movie. For a woman who built her career on challenging the conventional "damsel in distress" uselessness of a woman in Bollywood films, to see her as a conventional damsel in distress who is completely incapable of doing anything is a major let-down. She doesn't whip out any kungfu, she doesn't use her brains to outwit -- she doesn't do anything but stand there. You could have hired any woman to fill this role? Why cast Zeenat Aman unless you want Zeenat Aman? And having Zeenat means she's gonna kick some ass, one way or another. Not so, here. Rishi Kapoor is better in his role, but like everything in this film, he's underdeveloped. Rishi is part of the Kapoor dynasty that seems inescapable in Bollywood. Raj Kapoor is his dad. Rajiv is his brother. Shashi and Shammi are his uncles. Babita was his sister-in-law. Kareena and Karisma are his nieces. It may be physically impossible at this point to watch a Bollywood film that doesn't star one of the Kapoor clan. Katilon Ke Kaatil represents the first time I've seen Rishi in action, and he wasn't half bad. He's not much of an action star, playing second fiddle to an occasionally bored and/or confused looking Dharmendra in much the same way Shashi played second banana to Amitabh in Shaan. The big difference is that, while Amitabh could make an average film above-average, Dharmendra cannot.
Dharmendra -- who we first met in the excellent swingin' 60s espionage adventure Aankhen -- is best known to modern fans for being the father of 90s action superstar Sonny Deol, though when you see Dharmendra in action here, you might wonder if Sonny isn't his son after all, but in fact a clone. Dharmendra was a big deal with a lot of great films under his belt, but Katilon Ke Kaatil isn't one of them. By the 1980s, it looks like he was floundering a bit and trying to find his way in a cinematic landscape that had been changed considerably by the arrival of Amitabh Bachchan. However, even in his mid-forties, he looks convincing in action and makes a credible tough guy, even if whupping Bruce Le is a bit of a stretch (seriously, compare those physiques and the speed of motion -- and dig Dharmendra's numchuck skills). As with his son, the trouble begins when Dharmendra has to do something other than kick someone's ass. While he doesn't do that nearly enough in this movie, when he does, it's pretty great. I think I failed to mention the part where he fights a guy in blackface. And I mean, literally. The guy's make-up is soot black. Shakti Kapoor is his usual self, always dependable. Black Cobra certainly looks imposing, but Amjad Khan could have played him way more over the top, and that would have made this film better. Rounding out the main cast, Tina Munim has a little more to do than Zeenat, owing primarily to the fact that she has a monkey thief for a sidekick. It's bad news when Zeenat isn't the most memorable woman in your movie, but such is the case here. Tina's performance is by no means stand-out, but she and Rishi show all the charisma and chemistry that Dharmendra and Zeenat lack. She started her career as a pet project of Dev Anand's, and the chemistry she shows here with Rishi must have reached beyond this single film, because they were frequently paired together. Still, her career never really took off, and she eventually left India to attend college in America, returning to marry an industrialist and become a charity events coordinator. Also, the woman is seriously cute.
The musical numbers are also pretty dull. Although you get a couple glittery nightclub scenes, they don't make up for the endless scenes of a holy man wandering into the camera to sing summaries of the plot up to that point. And even the nightclub scenes succeed on the merits of psychedelic set design rather than the merits of the singing, dancing, or even the costumes. We do have the scene where Dharmendra and Zeenat get drunk and dance around Mumbai, playing on teeter totters and then, for no reason other than Benny Hill level comedy, dress Dharmendra up in drag, but even this goes on a little too long, and you'll start thinking to yourself, "Man, I wonder what that monkey in the genie pants is up to." As much as I love the outlandish bits, Katilon Ke Kaatil is ultimately kind of a let-down. There is too much uninteresting filler, and Zeenat is completely wasted in a do-nothing role that is beneath her talents. I have plenty of tolerance for slapdash Bollywood action films, but even I was toying with the fast forward button for part of this. And while there are plenty of films of somewhat questionable taste I may foist upon people, often starring Mithun Chakraborty, I can't see myself doing the same with the whole of Katilon Ke Kaatil, though I will absolutely make everyone watch the Bruce Le stuff and the fight scenes with Bigfoot...err, Recha. Those are why I watched this movie, and they were worth the effort even if the rest of it really wasn't. Next quest: I know Bollywood must have ripped off Santo movies at some point... Labels: Action, Bollywood, Martial Arts: Kungfu, Stars: Dharmendra, Stars: Zeenat Aman, Year: 1981 posted by Keith at 4:30 PM | 5 Comments Monday, November 27, 2006Boom Digg this article. 2003, India. Starring Amitabh Bachchan, Jackie Shroff, Gulshan Grover, Padma Lakshmi, Madhu Sapre, Katrina Kaif, Javed Jaffrey, Zeenat Aman, Seema Biswas, Bo Derek. Written and directed by Kaizad Gustad.Whenever someone names a predictable title like Plan 9 from Outer Space or Robot Monster or Yor, the Hunter from the Future as one of the worst movies of all time, my inevitable response is that if they think that's one of the worst movies of all time, then they obviously haven't seen enough movies. Certainly not enough to be making such bold proclamations such as naming it one of the worst of all time. Now as you can imagine -- I've seen some bad films in my time. Not just, "so bad it's good" bad, or "guilty pleasure" bad; no, I mean "gnaw your own paw off to escape the trap" bad. I mean "I'd rather gut myself and strangle myself with my own innards than watch another second of this film" bad. More than all that -- I mean "boring" bad. As I've said before, there is no greater sin in cinema, in my opinion, than being boring and tedious. I can take pretty much anything else. Hit me with your worst shot. But boring? That takes me out of the game almost instantly.
The 2003 mega-budget disaster Boom has a reputation as one of the worst movies in Bollywood history. That's one hell of a claim, I tell ya what. And Boom is certainly an utter and complete fiasco of a movie. There isn't a single competent second in the entire overlong running time. Despite a bloated budget, international locations, the glam and glitz of the fashion world, and ample displays of writhing female flesh, the movie still manages to look ugly and grubby. The cinematography is mishandled, the direction never attains any sense of pacing, and the script seems to have been assembled in cut-up Burroughs style using the scripts of the complete filmography of Andy Sidaris as the source material. And the acting? Man, there's no word to even describe it. No adjective has yet been invented that satisfactorily expresses just how phenomenally atrocious the acting is. It's somewhere below the worst acting in micro-budget horror films -- and not the relatively competent (by comparison) modern micro-budget horror film. I'm talking, these people may one day achieve the level of acting we saw in Splatter Farm. You can see where I'm going with this, can't you? Everything in this movie is so inexpressibly, mind-blowlingly awful that Boom becomes one of the greatest movies I've ever seen. When I reviewed Asambhav, I said that as bad as the film was, I still thought fans of bad action films should see it because it was so absurd. In the case of Boom, however, let me state straight-out: absolutely, under no circumstances, should you take my advice regarding Boom. Do not listen to me. No matter what you hear, no matter how much I scream and beg, you must not listen to me, because I'm going to say, "Dude, you haven't seen Boom? You have to see Boom. It's one of the worst movies I've ever seen. It's awesome." It's the equivalent of, "Oh man, this milk has gone sour. It's awful. You have to smell it." Boom is that foul yet enticing carton of spoiled milk that gets shoved to the back of the refrigerator and forgotten until one day, you notice it there behind the half-finished jar of BBQ sauce and the half-dozen Coronas, can't help but open it and take a whiff, and then realize with horror that the rotting, curdled stench overpowers all else in the house and demands, as if possessed by some otherworldly power of mind control, than you immediately rush out and find others to share in the putrid rot. Boom is the cursed video from Ring. Once you've seen it, you will feel the overwhelming urge to make someone else see it, lest your head explode, the last image in your mind being a buff guy in giant nylon raver pants doing the pelvic thrust and shouting, "come on, baby, yeah!"
What really pushes Boom into the realm of the sublime and makes Krishna himself weep sweet, sweet tears of humiliation, is the fact that the film is stuffed with brand name talent. Eternal king of Bollywood cinema and de facto Prime Minister of India, Amitabh Bachchan, is on hand looking resplendent in his white suits. Queen of Bollywood and the unchallenged queen of 70s Hindi cinema, Zeenat Aman, came out of retirement to appear in this film. Jackie Shroff took time out to appear in the film as well. These are actual actors -- which is more than can be said for the rest of the cast. Seeing these proven, seasoned veterans showing up in this film, some after a fifteen plus year retirement, only to have the film be so jaw-droppingly horrendous is, honestly, as sweet as magic gumdrops. The goofiness begins right at the concept: during a flashy fashion show, two models get into a cat fight, resulting in a pile of stolen antique diamonds falling out of the hair of one of the models. You might think that if you were smuggling stolen diamonds, you wouldn't stick them in your hair and bring them to your fashion show, but really, that'll be the least of your concerns once this film gets rolling. The smuggler-model flees and goes into hiding, which means the gangsters who stole the diamonds have only one lead to finding them: the other model.
The other model, Anu (beauty pageant veteran Madhu Sapre) lives with her two model friends, Sheila (model turned Salman Rushdie wife and spice food spokeswoman, Padma Lakshmi) and Rina (Katrina Kaif). There is, however, absolutely no reason to remember their names. Just remember that there's the tough one, the smart one, and the dumb one. Of these three characteristics assigned to each of the women, only one of them is communicated onscreen with any hint of believability. I will not be handing out any prizes for correctly guessing which one it is. The brainy one communicates her braininess by continuously yammering out figures to the tenth decimal place, though they stopped short of having her constantly pushing up a pair of big-rimmed glasses (she does wear glasses in one scene, though). The tough one communicates toughness by emoting as little as possible. And the dumb one effectively communicates her idiocy by, it seems, just being herself. All three of these women are models. None of them are actresses. It shows. The gangsters (middle man Jackie Shroff, whose character consists of "he snorts coke," and big cheese Amitabh, whose character consists of "he reads comic books") send goofball muscleman Boom Shankar (Javed Jaffrey, the only legitimately entertaining part of the whole movie) to kidnap the models and give them a choice: either they perform fashion shows until the cost of the diamonds is paid off, or they become whores until the price of the diamonds is paid off. The girls, of course, decide for a third option which consists of using their incredible talents to beat the most dangerous criminal in the entire world at his own game. Keep in mind that the last plan they hatched was to keep anyone from finding out about the fashion show debacle by sending their maid out to try and purchase every single issue of the India Times in Mumbai before anyone else saw it. Another of their plans will involve robbing a bank while wearing masks of their own faces, which I have to say, is absolutely fucking brilliant.
A lot of the criticism that was leveled at Boom in the Indian press at the time of its release dealt with how foul-mouthed and crude the movie was, and I guess by Bollywood standards, it is foul-mouthed and crude. But I'm an American, damnit, and I say to the people who though the worst thing about this movie was that it was a tad dirty that there are plenty of other things that make this movie worth ripping to shreds. So many, in fact, that I'm almost overwhelmed, like a kid in a candy store, if the candy store didn't stock Now and Laters and Laffy Taffy but did have shelves stuffed with giggling killers in raver pants and Amitabh Bachchan in a little novelty kiddie car. I'll start with the writing, assuming any of this movie was actually written down at any point. Back in the late 1990s, there was a trend in Hong Kong action films of filming the movie, or at least a large chunk of it, in English. Ostensibly, this was done to give it a hip, international edge. Practically, speaking, however, it resulted in films packed with some of the worst acting and most nonsensical dialogue ever as actors who often had limited English-language skills read English-language lines written by scripters with limited English-language skills. The result, perhaps best epitomized by Gen-Y Cops and China Strike Force, was the creation of an entirely new language, one comprising of English words but not English sentences. Everyone was stilted in their delivery (often because they were unsure of their language skills, but just as often because, although the actor was a native English speaker, they were just really bad, or didn't give a damn), which only augmented the fact that the dialogue completely failed to reflect any semblance of actual spoken English. No one talks like that, or says those things. And English speakers listening to the English dialogue actually have a better chance of deciphering the meaning of the Chinese language dialogue. It was even better when these lines were read by people you know speak English fluently. Michael Wong (the world's most dedicated bad actor), Daniel Wu, Mark Dacascos, Coolio -- these people speak English. But I guess they just weren't that interested in reading the lines and changing them on the fly to something more akin to real English. And so a new and baffling mutant language has been born, with roots that can be traced back to bad English subtitles in old Hong Kong films and the similarly baffling mangling of English that happened when Italian films got dubbed.
At no point is the lack of understanding of the nuances of the English language more evident that when the characters start cursing or talking in slang. Back in the day, I worked at a college bookstore that served as the headquarters for the university's "English as a second language" courses, so everyone had to buy their books from us. One of the titles required for an advanced English class one year was something like, "Speaking Real English," and it was meant to teach students who had learned formalized "language class" English how to speak and understand the real thing as used by real people. And I felt so, so sorry for any poor kid from China or Ghana who picked up this book and went to a party a week later spouting off hip, 1990s slang like, "Hey my jive turkey brother, what's rad with you, Holmes," (actual sentence from the book). It was like some horrible joke a bunch of racists played. "If we publish a fucked up book of slang, then Chinese kids will get their asses kicked at parties." Anyway, whenever one of these movies starts to have their characters curse in English, it sounds like something out of that book (and I'm sure my "How to Speak Saucy Japanese" book is just as bad in the other direction). Effectively cursing requires an intimate knowledge of the language. I know people who are offended by cussin' fall back on the tired old, "it's a sign of a limited vocabulary, my jive Holmes street brother," chestnut, but I disagree. Being an effective curser is a sign that you have truly mastered the nuances of a language. I don't mean just blunt "screw you" stuff; I mean the really complex, foul-mouthed poetry. Listen to a cranky old Chinese woman curse out another cranky old Chinese woman who snaked her seat on the subway. That's a stream of misanthropic beauty that rages with the poetic grace, unbridled rage, and stinky pollution of the Yangtse River itself. I could never do that. At best, I can muster a feeble, "Hwai dan" or "ma bi," but that's mostly going to amuse people rather than infuriate them. Hell, I'm not even sure I'm saying it right. I don't speak Chinese fluently, and as a result, I can't curse in Chinese. It's no different for English.
But that never stops these movies from trying. And Boom really tries hard, peppering the dialogue with a steady stream of inappropriately used inappropriate words. throwing English words and sentences into the mix has been common in Hindi cinema for decades, but this is the rare instance where English is the primary language of the film. It's like a bunch of little kids who have just learned some bad words but haven't mastered their proper application, but that doesn't stop them from using them non-stop in the most comically unsuitable fashion. It's also kind of desperate, like when a comic book proves it is mature and adult by having superheroes who say "fuck." Rather than being cool or tough, it just sounds pathetic, like a meek whimper for attention. Look at me! I'm tough! I am! Far from setting the film apart as edgy or international, the foul-mouthed English-heavy dialogue in Boom is the spoken word equivalent of a greasy fat kid with a bowl haircut and "fat guy lisp" showing off his bo staff skills at a comic book convention. I know some of the people in this movie probably know some English (actually, I assume that Amitabh knows everything about everything) but none of them show any skill with it in their acting. Which brings us to the acting. Our three female leads are dreadful. It's almost inconceivable that stars in a major, professional film could be this bad. I mean, I know you people think Tom Cruise is bad, or Paul Walker, or even Paris Hilton. Forget it. This is a whole different level of game. Watching these three idiots try to act is going to make you realize how good those other supposedly bad actors really are.
But these gals have an excuse, right? They're models. They were cast for their looks, not their talent. Even this baffles me, though. Because, as I said to a friend, only in Bollywood could you eschew your usual pool of actresses, cast three supermodels in your movie, and still come up with women who are less attractive that your average Bollywood actress. Come on, man. Bollywood actresses are hot. I don't think there's any other film industry in the world that can boast so many gorgeous, and often genuinely talented, actresses as Bollywood has at its disposal. Bollywood has so many beautiful actresses from which to chose that it almost becomes humdrum. Yes, we know Aishwarya Rai is the most beautiful woman on the planet. We get it. Let's move on (actually, Manisha Koirala is the most beautiful woman in the world, but that's another debate entirely). Given that, why would a casting director even think to look to the throng of wannabe supermodels for their leads? I mean, nothing against these three women, but why go for second-rate looks and acting talent when you have so many better prospects? Maybe every name actress in Bollywood read this script and turned it down. Well, every one of them except Zeenat Aman. Zeenat ruled the 70s, and a good portion of the 80s, starring as a kungfu ass-kicker alongside Amitabh in movies like Don and The Great Gambler, along with being an industry-challenging pioneer who fought for substantial, strong female roles, and even starred in some of the first non-arty Bollywood productions to not feature musical numbers. She was a risk-taker and an ass-kicker, and she looked better than anyone else while she was doing it. In 1989, she retired from filmmaking (though she is credited with an appearance in the 1999 film Bhopal Express, but I have no idea how substantial her role in that film was). Whatever the case, that's more or less a decade and a half of virtual absence from movie screens.
And then, in 2003, someone -- or something -- convinced her that she should make a glorious comeback, and that this movie would be the one. It's sort of like if Hank Aaron came out of retirement in 1982 but did it by playing for the Toledo Mudhens in a game against the Norfolk Tides. Seriously, what the hell? What was it about this movie that suckered Zeenie Baby in? I can only assume that her old buddy Amitabh approached her with piles of cash, keys to a new Aston Martin, and a gun to the head of her firstborn. Nothing less than that could explain her agreeing to appear in this movie. I mean, Amitabh may be the emperor of the universe (a throne vacated upon the death of Testuro Tanba earlier this year), but he's also got a case of the Michael Caines (or the Tetsuro Tanbas). He'll appear in any damn movie. They probably could have gotten him to be in Splatter Farm if they'd asked. Amitabh, especially Amitabh from the late 1990s on, is a seemingly permanent fixture in awful movies, the go-to guy when you want to trick people into thinking there might be some redeeming factor to your movie. So seeing him in Boom was embarrassing, but it certainly wasn't unexpected or out of the ordinary. But Zeenat? She got out of bed for this? Notably, however, in her one brief musical scene (she slinks around a posh office to the tune of Hare Krishna Hare Rama, from the movie of the same name, which also happens to be the one that made her a cinema icon), she manages to be sexier than all three of the vapid young leads combined. Zeenie Baby, you're still tops in my book.
As for Amitabh, the former coolest man in Hindi cinema still looks cool, with his white hair and white suits, but he was apparently bitten at some point by a radioactive Robert DiNiro, giving him the proportional strength and speed for destroying prior respectability as the actual Robert DiNiro. Boom is Amitabh's Bullwinkle. Watching the scenes where he tools around a toy store in one of those novelty kiddie cars, or when he frolics down the beach shouting "Bo!" as an imaginary Bo Derek emerges from the water (played by the actual Bo Derek, in a pointless five-second cameo), and you'll start to wonder why anyone thought this guy was cool. Trust me, he is, and one need only return to the Fertile Crescent that is Don to be reminded of how cool Amitabh is when he's not in a movie as wretched as Boom. Jackie Shroff just sort of mumbles his way through his lines. The only guy really putting any oomph into his role is Javed Jaffrey as Boom Shankar (is that a Young Ones joke?), the shiny-shirt wearing professional hitman who is easily the least professional professional hitman I've ever seen. He bugs out his eyes, barks nonsensical lines, and generally seems to at least be enjoying the time he gets to spend in the company of three supermodels, one of whom (Madhu Sapre) looks sort of like a tired, past-his/her-prime transvestite in many scenes (shallow insult, but frankly, if you are going to try and get by on your looks, then I get to criticize you based on those looks).
Shankar's not even that likable, but he's still the most likable character in the movie. The three leads are nightmares. I can't imagine anyone having the slightest bit of sympathy for them. They're annoying, shallow bitches when the movie begins, and when it ends, they're still annoying, shallow bitches. Every time they open their mouths, the results are shrill and grating. I spent the whole movie wishing that Boom Shankar would just kill all three shrieking harpies, and we could move on to some other movie that was merely "incredibly bad," instead of "nightmarishly atrocious." And the scene where the three girls get in their post-robbery tiff -- that's got to be one of the single worst scenes ever filmed. Oh man. You know, I thought I was going to end up telling you that this movie is so awful, you really should see it. I was wrong. This movie just irritates me. It's sloppy and boring, and nothing makes any sense. The cinematography is ugly and awkward -- scenes that should be well-framed are always a bit off, so that everything looks like it was shot by a first time camera operator with a permanent crick in his neck. The lighting makes everything look grubby. And what's the deal wit the sound recording? Not that I really want to hear it, but come on! If you're going to have dialogue, even idiotic and nonsensical dialogue, at least mix it in a way that it can be heard. All the dialogue sounds like it was recorded with the actors standing across the room from the microphone.
This movie cost a ton and ended up being one of the most expensive films in Bollywood history. I have no idea where that money went. It's certainly not on the screen. The costumes are boring. There's nothing lavish about the production. The sets are dull and plain. I assume that a vast amount of the cash went to convincing Zeenat, Jackie, and Amitabh to show up for it. Otherwise, I have no idea where all that money went. Oh, it's just awful. Everything is awful. The bank robbery? It's the worst. Somehow, we're supposed to be convinced that these girls have been transformed into bad-ass robbers by Boom Shankar, despite all the evidence to the contrary in the movie. And come on, this movie was made in 2003 -- there is absolutely no excuse for having your characters hold their guns sideways. That's so 1999. The bank robbery is also the moment in which the film indulges in its one full musical number, and it's as sloppy and poorly staged as everything else in the movie. I'm starting to lose myself in just how bad this movie really is. Let's come back to the major criticism leveled at this film by many members of the public in India and the Indian film industry: it's dirty. And yes, it does feature the rare on-the-mouth kiss. And yes, there are a lot of poorly-used English curse words. And yes, boom Shankar makes dick jokes. But the girls aren't as hot as the average Bollywood actress, and there's not nearly as much sexual suggestiveness or skin on display as you can get from the average Bollywood masala. If you are going into the film looking for cheap titillation and skin and all that lewd perversion some people seemed to see, you're actually going to be pretty disappointed. Likewise if you are looking for action. The only action scene is the bank robbery, and the action there consist of nothing but three models wobbling in on high heels and yelling "Everybody get the fuck down!" over and over until they finally make a clean getaway via a slow-moving RV. The rest of the movie is just a bunch of people sitting around in an office or a living room, having conversations that don't make any sense. At no point is there a pay-off to any of the tedium. Even the finale is a total bore.
Boom -- it's really just incredibly awful. I like to always try to think up something positive to say about any movie, and with Boom, about the best I can come up with is, "It's only an hour and forty minutes long." That's practically non-existent by Bollywood standards, and even at that brief running time, you're going to be checking the watch and hitting the fast-forward button. I thought, when I began writing this review, that I was going to tell people this movie was so awful that you should see it, but now, you know what? Fuck Boom. See this movie if you need a solid example of how bad a movie can be. I alluded earlier to this being sort of the Bollywood equivalent of an Andy Sidaris movie without actual nudity, but that's not being fair to Andy Sidaris. Boom wishes it could be as bad as an Andy Sidaris film, but it's so much worse. Someone watched Boom at some point and must have realized how awful it was, because the movie was quickly retooled to be marketed as a "comedy." This smacks of a preemptive attempt to derail inevitable criticism by hiding behind the aegis of "parody." But it's not parody. It's just a really, really horrible failure of an action film that was ret-conned into being a comedy. But just as it's not a successful action movie, it's also not a funny comedy. It's not anything but a dreadful, boring mess. I can hardly even believe a professionally made movie can be this bad. Labels: Action, Bollywood, Stars: Amitabh Bachchan, Stars: Jackie Shroff, Stars: Zeenat Aman, Year: 2003 posted by Keith at 6:25 PM | 15 Comments Friday, October 24, 2003Don
1978, India. Starring Amitabh Bachchan, Zeenat Aman, Pran, Iftekhar, Om Shivpuri, Satyen Kappu, P. Jairaj, Kamal Kapoor, Arpana Choudhary, Helen, M.B. Shetty, Mac Mohan, Azad, Yashraj, Devaraj. Directed by Chandra Barot. Buy now from India Weekly. Sit back, brothers and sisters, and I'll tell you the story of a man who once held the vast population of India in the palm of his hand; a man larger than all others in heart and influence if not in stature, and to whom others could look for inspiration, for strength in times of need. Who is this man? No, not Mahatma Gandhi. No, not even Bose Chandras, the daring Indian dissident general who was the real reason the British finally freed the country. No, these men may have been great historical figures, they may have been great men, but when's the last time you saw Gandhi jump backwards out of a tree to kick some guy in the face while wearing powder blue flares? No, brothers and sisters, the man to whom I refer is none other than Amitabh Bachchan, the biggest box office draw in Indian cinema throughout the 1970s and the crown prince of Bollywood cinema. Perhaps you are unfamiliar with Amitabh Bachchan and his seminal works from the era. It would be understandable. After all, only hundreds upon hundreds of millions of people celebrated his name at the height of his popularity. Granted, the numbers for recognition were definitely in his favor, but in the United States at least, few people started their morning by waking up, cursing out President Carter about the gasoline rationing, then thinking to themselves, "I wonder who's big in Indian movies these days." It was our loss. The 1970s were the golden age of bad-ass action heroes, an era that will, unfortunately, probably never roll around again in today's climate of ultra-young pretty boy stars and high-tech, high-cost, low-quality computer effects. Gone are the days of grizzled, chain-smoking transit cops sitting at a control desk and barking into a radio at some terrorist. Gone are the days of guys like Joe Don Baker, Lee Marvin, Walter Matthau, and Clint Eastwood. It's been washed away by the cult of youth, by the lack of interest in making movies about and/or for adults, or at least for people who don't buy nine-year-old Ben Affleck as a world-weary ex-FBI agent. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, the 1970s may have had some bad music and some truly foul fashion trends, but it was a classic era for the action film. Standing amid the heroes, proud, dark, and lean, was Amitabh Bachchan, relatively unknown in the US but never the less Bollywood's mega-popular answer to Bruce Lee, Clint Eastwood, and whoever was considered at the time to be the Lee Marvin of Bavaria. I think it might have just been Lee Marvin, though it could also have been Helmut Kohl or some guy named Hans. When it comes to Bollywood films, I already know what you're probably thinking, and for the most part you would be dead on. Indian films are almost always filled with delirious amounts of singing and dancing, even if they are horror films or those jingoistic, Pakastani-hating right-wing deals where Indian soldiers run in slow motion a lot while defending mother India and liberating grateful Kashmiri youth from the clutches of hand-wringing, bloodthirsty Pakastani terrorists. Hey, just because it's one of the most volatile and potentially catastrophic stand-offs in the history of civilization, with potentially millions of people at risk from nuclear attack, doesn't mean that Sonny Deol Sonny Deol or some other brave and noble Indian hero (actually, not some other now that I think about it. It always seems to be Sonny Deol) can't pop off for a lavish five-minute-long song and dance number with flashing lights, blue smoke, and a rump-shaking Bollywood beauty.
Yep, for those outside the culture (and even for quite a few within), the song-and-dance formula films so popular and plentiful in India can be a real chore to get through. We in the West lap up the once-a-year foray some Indian director takes into arthouse cinema with no musical numbers and maybe even some flashes of nudity, but looking at the foreign film section in the average American video outlet would delude you into thinking the only films ever made in India were Bandit Queen, Monsoon Wedding, and the collected works of Satyajit Ray. Admirable films and filmmakers all, but it's just not right to reduce the film capitol of the world (more films produced per year than the United States, or any other country for that matter) down to a few serious arty titles. That's like thinking the only filmmaker in Japan is Akira Kurosawa or that all American art films have the same emotional subtlety and low-key approach of arthouse filmmakers like Michael Bay and Jerry Bruckheimer. You just don't get a proper feel for a film industry, or for a people, if all you watch are the serious art circuit films. If that was the case, then everyone in America would be upper-middle-class gay or lesbian yuppies struggling to come to terms with their homosexuality amid a backdrop of quaint New York City cafes and coffee shops. There is very little in our arthouse fare to clue you into the fact that most Americans are beer-swillin' yahoos who can be entertained for months on end by shouting "What?" after every sentence uttered by Stone Cold Steve Austin. So I implore you, especially those of you in other countries, please do not judge us based on our neurotic arthouse cinema. Please show objectiveness and thoroughness by instead judging us based on the number of pork rinds we can cram into our mouth at one time and the fact that we still, for some ungodly reason, cheer for Hulk Hogan. Understanding of a culture can come in part through their popular entertainment, no matter how bizarre and bad that entertainment may be. The intellectuals of any given country will bemoan the fact that they would be judged by popular entertainment, but let's face it: the reason it's called popular entertainment is because that's what most of the population enjoys. I'm not proud of the fact that I live in a nation that laughed its ass off during Saving Silverman, but what can I do? The fact of the matter is that most Americans are prone to liking crap like that, and so judging us as a people is sadly more accurately done based on pop cinema than on anything I like. Likewise, I'm sure the intelligencia of any country doesn't want you to think their nation is full of idiots who tune in to Razzmatazz or that show where Beat Takeshi wears a lobster suit and shoots naked men out of a bungee cord cannon, but that's what the folks like, and that's who makes up your country. Only by exploring what people actually like, as opposed to what snotty film critics and lit professors tell us people like, can we begin to uncover cultural truths like, "All peoples are pretty goofy." Based, then, on my research regarding their pop culture, I am now more in tune with the fact that in India, everyone sings and dance and magically transports between discos, mountain meadows, fields of flowers, and neon-lit back alleys in the space of a few seconds. Everyone in India is just half a breath away from belting out a song and having the whole street bust out some well-choreographed dance moves. So says popular cinema, so it must be true. Likewise, all Americans are crudely rendered computer graphics accompanied by a blaring rap-metal soundtrack everywhere they go and all British people are forty-year-old flamboyant gay men working at the Grace Brothers department stores and rolling their eyes every time that Mrs. Slocum makes some comment like "my pussy was soaking wet last night," meaning of course that she left her cat outside in the rain. Whether or not he was well-known in the United States, no ongoing commentary about the action films of the 1970s (or of any decade, for that matter) would be complete without spotlighting Amitabh Bachchan right there with the rest of the greats. Spotlighting Bachchan is cool with me, because the man was pretty boss. He was born the son of a captain of industry turned nationally-known poet and a woman whose only occupation seems to have been "socialite," which I guess is better than your only occupation being sociopath. While it would be cool and romantic to paint Bachchan as some impoverished young man who struggled up from the Calcutta ghettos to become the king of Indian cinema, the fact is that he was born into a pretty posh lifestyle in the town of Allahabad. When he became interested in acting, few people saw him as anything more than a rich college boy out on a lark. That all changed once folks started getting a load of his on-screen charisma, booming voice, and innate talent at the craft. Within a few movies' time, Bachchan was well on his way to becoming the biggest star in the history of Indian cinema. During the 1970s, he was the posterboy for the Indian action film, though he didn't limit himself to that genre any more than the average action film limited itself to the action genre - Indian films manage to pack pretty much every genre into the single average film. Taking cues from spaghetti westerns, black action films, martial arts movies, and the various cop and gangster films, Bachchan was at the forefront of what became known as the masala film, spicy blends of violence, action, melodrama, sex appeal, and cool. Bachchan became best known as the originator of the "angry young man" character, often torn between the laws of kinship and the laws of the state, frequently falling on the wrong side of the laws of the state.
It wasn't long before Bachchan's characters struck a chord with the people of India, who like everyone else in the 1970s, weren't having a very good time. With the social strife and global turmoil. Bachchan's films presented them with wily underdogs and allusions to working class problems and unrest, even if he himself was nowhere near working class. Zanjeer was the film that rocketed him to the top, and there was no stopping him once he was there. When he suffered a grave injury on the set of a film called Coolie, the nation sat in anxious anticipation as they listened to frequently broadcast updates on the actor's medical condition. Eventually, Bachchan decided to parlay his celebrity into a political career, winning an elected office in 1984. In a unique approach to campaigning, part of Bachchan's publicity for his bid included the release of his film Inquilab, the finale of which features Bachchan's character laying waste to a room full of corrupt politicians. He wasn't long for this political coil, though, thanks primarily to a little scandal involving his ties to organized crime. It was no big surprise that Amitabh would have connections to the underworld. Much like the Hong Kong film industry throughout the 1980s and first half of the 1990s, the Indian film industry of the time was more or less run entirely by organized crime, which is slightly different than in the US where film studios are often run by criminals, just not the organized variety. If you were making a movie at the time, then you were rubbing shoulders with gangsters and other unsavory characters. Still, it was enough to force Bachchan's eventual resignation from politics, which in turn signaled the beginning of his stardom's decline. Bachchan's popularity faded as the 1980s progressed, and although he briefly revitalized his career from time to time with a hit movie, it wasn't the same. In the 1990s, Bachchan mounted another comeback attempt, which failed pretty miserably when each movie he made became one more in a string of bombs. India still loved the guy; they just didn't want to watch the crappy movies in which he starred. He countered by starting a corporation for managing and distributing talent and pop entertainment (and produced film like the controversial though lauded in the West Bandit Queen), but thanks to the low return on his movies, that didn't really pan out either. Just as it was looking like it was Amitabh's time to ride off into the sunset, he starred as a determined bank robber in the slick, formula-breaking heist film Aankhen, which many people said showcases the best performance of his career. Having not seen the film as of the writing of this review, all I can say is that in his older age, Bachchan is looking more and more like Al Pacino. As for his many films from the 1970s, many people regard Don as his best. Of course, many people regard Deewar or Zanjeer as his best, and still many others will tell you its Sholay. The thing about India is that there are so many people that you have enough people around to provide "many people" opinions for quite a few films. Whether or not it's Bachchan's best film is debatable since he made so many good ones, but Don is certainly one of the finest action films from the 1970s despite the Bollywood song and dance trappings. It's action-packed, fast-paced (a rarity for a Indian film, even an Indian action film), well-written, compelling, and full of low-budget charm and heart. It's a great example of everything that was right with action films at the time, and everything that's since been abandoned in favor of bigger, louder, faker looking CGI explosions. Don is the kind of movie where someone will ask, "Who are you?" or "Who do you think you are?" just so Amitabh Bachchan can cast a steely glare at them and announce in his booming voice, "Don," which is invariably punctuated by a blast of dramatic music and a fast zoom in tight on his face., possibly followed up by an equally fast and tight zoom in on the face of his antagonist displaying one of those looks of combined awe and dread. If you're interested in my opinion -- and for some mad reason you must be if you've bothered to read this far -- the dramatic fast-zoom just isn't used enough these days. Back in the 1970s, especially in low-budget action films, it was all you could do to keep the cameraman from doing the dramatic fast-zoom as often as possible. Heck, a kungfu villain couldn't walk five steps without someone zooming in on his dour face and hitting the loud blast of dramatic music. And as much as I like the technique, the world just didn't need that many close-ups of Wang Lung-wei. I'm sure if some directors had their way, the fast-zoom and dramatic music would follow every single line in a film, even plain vanilla ones like, "Would you care for an appetizer?" or "Who's the number one radio station in the tri-state area?" I'm not saying every single little line of dialogue has to be punched up with this technique. Maybe just half of them. I'd be pretty happy then, though to be honest, I'd rather look at close-ups of Wang Lung-wei than ever see a giant stadium-seating theater projection of Martin Lawrence zooming at me. Don opens with a classic action film sequence in which a group of gangsters are standing in a swaying, sunlit field as another gangster speeds toward them. When he gets out of his cars, the other guys say, "Don" soothe camera can zoom in fast on him and his Amber Vision sunglasses. Does Don have the money? Of course he does, but rather than making the exchange as planned, the other goons pull their guns on Don since no transaction in the entire history of the underworld has gone off without some hitch or one party attempting to double-cross the other. Don is no sucker, though, and he's watched enough action films to know there was a double-cross afoot. He sneers as he tosses the briefcase full of money over to the criminals. They scatter into very small pieces as they discover that rather than money, the briefcase contains a bomb. That's Don, baby. He blows up people before the credits even roll! When the credits do roll, they're rotoscoped fluorescent green and red scenes of mayhem and ass-kicking from elsewhere in the film, not unlike the cool credit sequence from Foxy Brown. And that theme song! Forget all that Bollywood pop nonsense! Don has one of the flat-out funkiest, hardest action theme songs of the 1970s. Don doesn't even have to kick your ass with his own foot. He can just throw on his theme song and let it kick your ass for him. If you bought the Bombay the Hard Way: Guns, Cars, and Sitars CD (which you should do if you haven't already), then you're already familiar with the theme from Don, as well as a few other tracks and dialogue samples that show up in original or remixed format on that disc. Ever wonder who's deep, rich baritone voice that was brushing off some unseen hot Hindi lass with the simple utterance of, "Some other time, baby." That was...Don! Bachchan's character of Don, or The Don as he is often called (like how you can call Dwayne Johnson "The Rock" or "Rock"), is, unsurprisingly, one of the most notorious crime bosses in the entire world, but especially in India. That's why they zoom in on him every time his name is uttered. Tubby Interpol agent Malik comes to town to help the local DSP catch the wily criminal. Meanwhile (there are a lot of meanwhiles in this film), Don has to worry about the widow of one of his men, who Don himself killed when it was discovered that the guy - who is a dead ringer for Lars Ulrich - wanted to leave the criminal underworld and start a new life. The film's first musical number comes when she tries to delay Don's departure from a hotel room with her sensual pelvic thrusting and wild gyrations. I think just about every Hindi movie I've seen features a scene in which a woman tries to distract or delay someone by staging a song and dance number, but the context of this sequence actually sets it apart from a lot of other Indian films. By that, I mean it looks like it could actually belong in the same movie as the rest of the action. When Indian films indulge in their musical sidebars, a lot of them tend to handle it like a music video that just gets plopped down in the middle of a movie. It often has nothing at all to do with the movie itself, and frequently they'll feature outlandish montages and location changes. One minute, a group of soldiers will be hunkered down in a snowy bunker high up in the mountains, facing a line of Pakistani machine guns, and one of the Indians will say, "This is intense. I am glad we have leave tonight." Then they'll just cut to five minutes of disco dancing, wild costumes, and MTV lighting as everyone sings and dances and gets filmed wandering through The Swiss Alps, Paris, the Taj Mahal, and some nightclub full of bubbles ands smoke. Then the next scene will just cut back the soldiers in the b |