In the run-up to the centenary of Indian cinema, in this Film Impressions special feature we take a look (through an extensive photo-feature and an accompanying essay) at all the women from the Indian film industry who have been decorated with state honors, and what this cross-section of diverse talent tells us about our cinema.
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Raj Kumar Santoshi's magnum opus from 2001—Lajja—hasn't ever been a critics' favorite, with its undeniably well-meaning roster of ideas obscured by the garish masala elements that Santoshi's cinema has long been associated with. Still, it remains one of the Indian cinema's few attempts at using a mainstream idiom to give voice to women's issues in an all-expansive pan-Indian manner, that some may have considered overwrought at the time of its release. As it pans out, Lajja now occupies its own niche as a cult classic—a slice of 'found art' entertainment where women took centrestage in several irrepressible ways, even if it required a man in superhero mode (Ajay Devgn) to save the day in the end. The cast of women were spear-headed by Rekha, Madhuri Dixit, Mahima Chaudhury and a luminous Manisha Koirala. In this special Film Impressions slide-show, we pay tribute to the ensemble of female actors who tried their best to make Lajja an enduring human document, but failed gallantly.
Thespians Manisha Koirala and Rekha in a pivotal scene in the film
Shyam Benegal's Bhumika—The Role (1977) featured Smita Patil in arguably her greatest role, for which she won her first National Award. One of Benegal's masterpieces, Bhumika was based on the autobiography of Marathi actress Hansa Wadkar. Amol Palekar, Anant Nag and Sulabha Deshpande play significant supporting parts, as well as a roster of fine women performers who are the subject of this slideshow, part of our Shyam Benegal retrospective.
Sanjana Kapoor has recently announced her departure from Prithvi Theatre, and the setting up of Junoon, an organisation that will take plays from around the country to smaller towns. Here is a look at a film in which she made her first appearance—Shyam Benegal's cult classic from 1978, the similarly named Junoon, in which a host of women had strong performing parts. This continues our restrospective on The Women of Benegal. Junoon, based on Ruskin Bond's novella, A Flight of Pigeons, and is amongst the few films that dealt with the 1857 mutiny, a list which includes Satyajit Ray's Shatranj Ke Khiladi and Ketan's Mehta's Mangal Pandey—The Rising.
As another edition of Mumbai’s premiere film festival gets underway on Oct 13th, here’s our selection of some of the films that may tickle your senses over the coming week, in all the right ways.
MELANCHOLIA (Denmark / 2011 / Col. / 130’)
It’s a shame that the cinematic achievement that is Lars Von Trier’s Melancholia has been all but obscured by his pro-Nazi comments uttered in jest at a Cannes press conference. The director was declared persona non grata by the festival directors, while actress Kirsten Dunst’s appalled countenance as she reacts to Von Trier’s public unraveling, became one of the defining images from the festival. Dunst’s searing performance as one of two sisters (the other is played by Charlotte Gainsbourg) caught up in a far-fetched but unnervingly immediate pre-apocalyptic scenario (a planet on a collision course with Earth) is a beguiling tour-de-force, light years removed from the franchise movies she usually traipses around in, and won her the Best Actress award at the festival.
A devastating turn from Kirsten Dunst in Melancholia
Trikal, an ambitious (but ultimately unsuccessful) period drama helmed by Shyam Benegal in 1985, serves up a delectable slice of Goa in the 60s, when it was still under Portuguese rule. The late Leela Naidu starred as the doyenne of a crumbling Goan Christian clan. It remains one of the few films in which women took centre-stage with its ensemble cast including many fine talents. Here we remember the film's wonderful cast of women.
(left to right) Neena Gupta, Leela Naidu (seated), Sushma Prakash and Aneeta Kanwar in Trikal
This month marks the 5th death anniversary of the doyen of 70s middle cinema, Hrishikesh Mukherjee, who was also affectionately known as Hrishida. In this specially curated photo essay we catch glimpses of movie-making in the 70s when the semblance of a finer sensibility still existed in our cinema, before the terrible B-movies of the 80s took over.
These photographs have been reproduced using standard fair use policy.
I can't put a finger on exactly when I fell in love with her. I must have been 10, or thereabouts. Memories only come back as random scraps, the kind I once gathered on the pages of a diary from a year gone by. Painstakingly, relentlessly, lovingly. The dates had lost their relevance, but that thick book, it's ugly brown cover adorned with the logo of a tin manufacturing company, was the sole repository of my obsession.
Wonderful original poster for the first French release of this Indian film, Mangala Fille des Indes (Indian title, Aan) in vivid pink, red, blue. Measures 47 in. x 63 in. On linen.
Unfortunately, as a western critic said, Mehboob Khan's Aan does go 'aan' and 'aan' and 'aan'. I thought he was being uncharitable as I watched the credits open over some remarkable cinematography (by Faredoon A Irani)—Mehboob Khan was the great showman that they always said he was. However, the literally eye-popping bad turns by the leading women, Nadira and Nimmi, make it difficult to salvage this fare despite even the camp appeal. This is 'big blockbuster' epic film-making but the acting doesn't pass muster. Watch a clip after the jump.
Hema Malini as Madhuri in Sushil Majumdar's Lal Patthar (1971)
In Lal Patthar (1971) there is a regal splendor to Hema Malini in the scene where she stands menacingly next to a mounted tiger in the mansion. She is Madhuri, the unlettered, wild adivasi woman, who the zamindar has tried playing Pygmalion to. When it’s apparent that she just wouldn’t do, he brings home a second wife. Madhuri is livid and doesn’t fall into the usual regressive mode of the proverbial sacrificial lamb. She calls him out on his double standards as a man, taunts him and berates him. She may have been accorded the armoreal position of the mistress of the household, but she ends up as nothing more than a keep. The zamindar is patronizing—showers her with gifts, tries to get her educated in English—but she thwarts all his attempts at moulding her into a person she is not and could never have been. Yes, the script does paint her as something of a virago but Hema Malini invests this character with a screen presence that makes her almost an elemental tigress of sorts.