Ago Go 67 (Singapore, 1967)

Produced by Shaw Brothers’ Malay language division under the direction of Nordin Arshad, Ago Go 67 hews very closely to the template set by the “pop review” type of films -- think Pop Gear, or Live It Up -- that were issuing from Britain during the 1960s. We have two nice kids with dreams of stardom, disapproving parents, slick music biz types, rapturously frugging teens, and just enough of a plot to serve as the connective tissue between numerous musical vignettes showcasing the hitmakers of the day. Along the way, those of us at a historical remove from the proceedings are given an alluring snapshot of the Beatles-influenced “Pop Yeh Yeh” movement that was exploding throughout Malaysia at the time.

A pair of popular young actor/singers, Aziz Jaafar and Noor Azizah, respectively play Johari (“Joe”) and Fauziah. Fauziah works days as a shop girl while Joe labors at a stable with the film’s designated comic relief (S. Shamsuddin). Nights, however, are dedicated to practicing with their beat band, Dendang Perindu, which, as far as I can tell is played by the real beat band Dendang Perindu. This is an activity that Fauziah must keep secret from her father (Ahmad Nisfu), a blustering martinet who loudly objects to the youth music of today with all of its “yeah yeah yeah”-ing and such.

While visiting a recording studio at the behest of a slick music biz type played by Kuswadinata, the kids in Dendang Perindu see a poster for a record company sponsored talent showcase that just may provide them with their big break. It just may also provide Ago Go 67 with the opportunity to present us with a string of musical performance clips by groups with names like Wan Intan & The Mods, M. Ishak & The Young Lovers, The Terwellos, and Orchid Abdullah & Les Coasters.

One thing I learned from Ago Go 67 and my subsequent research into same is that the associations between Malay singers of the era and the bands who backed them up were somewhat transient, with the bands allying themselves with whichever performer opportunity -- or, perhaps, commerce -- smiled upon at that moment. For example, The Rythmn Boys (sic), who here perform behind singer S. Mariam, became one of the most in-demand backing bands on the scene after winning a Dave Clark 5-themed talent contest, and resultantly played with a number of different artists. On the other hand, singer Siti Zaitan, who here beams through an energetic, spy-themed number called “Alam Seni” to the accompaniment of The Hornets, was more often seen fronting a group called The Firebirds.

Despite defying the prevailing naming conventions, Denang Perindu ultimately win the big break we all knew they would. Unfortunately, as fate and the necessities of three act structure would have it, it is at this time that Fauziah’s father chooses to bring the hammer down on her musical activities. Providing further complications is Salvia, the singer for a rival band played by Malay sexpot Norma Zainal, who has unwelcome romantic designs on young Joe. It will take all of the moxie these teens can muster to make sure everything is set right before the producers of Ago Go 67 see fit to cram in another uninterrupted block of musical performances.

While Fausiah’s dad getting all het up about it provides the required note of generational tension, there really isn’t much on display in Ago Go 67 that one could imagine presenting much of a threat to the status quo. The music is undeniably fun, but lightweight, perfectly suited to the wholesome prancing of the clean cut -- shirts and ties for the boys, knee-length jumpers for the girls -- dancers who shimmy along to it.

This is not to say that there are not standouts among the performances, the aforementioned Siti Zaitan & The Hornets’ being one of them. On top of that, there is the striking androgyny and haunting vocal of D4-Ever singer, D. Hatta, who came into this world as one Mohamed Hatta Abdul Wahab (like some Jewish American singers, Malaysian singers of the era appear to have had a tendency to deracinate their stage names -- perhaps understandably, given the racial strife that was gripping the country at the time). Elsewhere, Blind singer S. Jibeng -- rather than presenting himself as an inspirational figure like so many other disabled artists before him -- seems to be milking his condition for pathos with the song “Nasib si Butah” (“Blind Luck”). He starts by dropping his cane onto the set from off-screen, as if by accident, and then scrambles for it pathetically on the ground before launching into his mournful tune.

Also bearing mention is the level of musicianship on display in Ago Go 67, which is exceptional. The guitar instrumentals of groups like The Ventures and, especially, The Shadows had an enormous influence on Southeast Asian beat groups at the time, which is given ample testament here. The resulting prominence of busy and interweaving, melodic guitar lines requires a lot of lightning-fingered picking on the part of the axemen in these groups. This, of course, does not cancel out the need for showmanship, as equal prominence is given to lots of choreographed guitar moves -- a tradition that I wish would return, along with the practice, abundantly in evidence here, of conveniently labeling the kick drum head with the band’s name.

A movie like Ago Go 67 was likely seen as a quick money maker for Shaw, unworthy of the vibrant color lavished on its Hong Kong productions. Still, one can’t help wishing it could have been otherwise, especially when considering the delightfully campy designs of the individualized sets on which each group performs. All of the staple elements of 1960s variety show mise-en-scène are on view: the giant musical notes, the ascending rampways to nowhere, the stylized street scenes populated by bizarre, human-like effigies. Singer S. Mariam is even provided with an on-stage vanity table and mirror, into which she stares with delicious melancholy, like a Malay Francoise Hardy, brushing her hair absently as the intro plays. What M. Ishak & The Young Lovers did to have their song, “Menari Go-Go”, simply performed in someone’s backyard, I’ll never know.

I think it goes without saying that Ago Go 67, which is currently available in its entirety on YouTube, is a real treat for fans of world pop, be it of the musical or cinematic variety. If, like me, you are a fan of both, it is a little slice of heaven. As an added bonus, the steadfastly formulaic nature of its plot renders subtitles completely unnecessary. For example, I don’t need to speak Malay to know what Fauziah’s father, predictably humbled and chagrined at the film’s end, is saying. Darn those crazy kids!

Sumpah Orang Minyak (Singapore, 1958)

To the degree that any Western cult film enthusiast is aware of the legendary Malaysian bogey known as the Oily Man, it is most likely by way of the Shaw Brothers' 1976 Hong Kong production The Oily Maniac. In that film, Mighty Peking Man director Meng Hua Ho wrestled that eerie bit of folklore into something resembling a more sleazy take on Swamp Thing, complete with about 500% more nudity and sexual violence. As a result, those familiar with that film might be taken aback by the comparatively delicate take on the subject found in Sumpah Orang Minyak (in English: Curse of the Oily Man), an earlier take on the legend from Shaw's Malaysian division.

Of course, much of the difference between Sumpah Orang Minyak and The Oily Maniac arises from the span of nearly twenty years that separates them. But I also can't help thinking that the former's relatively stately and reverent tone is in part the result of it being a star vehicle for the phenomenally beloved Malaysian performer P. Ramlee, who also scripted and directed the film, in addition to contributing to its music. As mentioned in my review of his Tiga Abdul, Ramlee's stature as a musician, actor and all around creative dynamo has lead to him becoming an institution in his homeland, and, as such, it's inevitable that any monster picture in which he took the titular role would be handled with more gravitas than your average tossed-off creature feature.

Here Ramlee plays Si Bongkok, a disfigured hunchback who, as the movie begins, finds shelter with a kindly old batik maker (Idris Home) after being pursued through the night by a gang of village ruffians. It is not long before the batik maker sees that within Si Bongkok's pitifully twisted form rests a gentle and artistic soul, and not much longer before his business is booming thanks to the hunchback's beguiling designs. None of this, sadly, changes the fact that Si Bongkok is routinely brutalized and tormented by the people of the village, especially by the aforementioned gang of ruffians, who are lead by a surly character named Buyong (Salleh Kamil).

Things come to a tragic head when Afida (Sri Dewi), the comely young daughter of the village elder, stands up to Buyong in Si Bongkok's defense. A town festival at which Si Bongkok attempts to show his gratitude to Afida by presenting her with a portrait he's painted only proves to be another occasion for Buyong and his cronies to further humiliate him. Fleeing the scene, a tearful Si Bongkok loudly curses his fate, ushering in a long sequence that's a captivating triumph of naive surrealism and grade school theatrics.

Si Bongkok's lamentations reach the ears of the Orang Bunyan, who, in Malaysian folklore, are a race of forest dwelling supernatural beings akin to elves or goblins. As the sky opens above him, the Orang Bunyan Princess arrives in a kind of land-faring boat to usher him back to her world. There, the King of the Orang Bunyan presents him with a great book from which he can choose one wish. Si Bongkok chooses to be beautiful, and the King asks in exchange that he vow never to succumb to wrath or boastfulness in his dealings with his fellow humans, otherwise the deal will be off. From there, it's only a matter of Si Bongkok bathing in a magic fountain, after which he emerges as beloved Malaysian musician and performer P. Ramlee, who, to be honest, is a pretty good looking dude.

Of course, once back in the human world, it quickly proves too difficult for the now easy-on-the-eyes Si Bongkok to resist telling the assembled villagers to go fuck themselves. In the ensuing melee, Afida is killed by a blade intended by Buyong for Si Bongkok, and after a dramatic, storm-swept brawl, Si Bongkok kills Buyong in retaliation. Not surprisingly, this is seen as a violation by the Orang Bunyan King, who quickly appears to render Si Bongkok invisible for eternity. Fortunately, good old Satan, always eager to set things back on an even keel, is also on hand, and appears before Si Bongkok, offering him a magic ring that will make him once again manifest to the eye. And once that ring is donned, Old Scratch proves good on his word -- though what Si Bongkok becomes visible as is the cursed Oily Man.

The Oily Man, in both tale and popular representation, is pretty much everything that his name advertises: a guy covered from head to toe in greasy black oil. Though -- in Sumpah Orang Minyak, at least -- he is also shown to have the ability to dematerialize, walk through walls, and leap great distances. As far as his visual presentation in the film, it's simply a matter of dressing P. Ramlee in a black body stocking and painting his entire head with some kind of shiny black makeup. Thankfully, the Orang Minyak, much like the Krasue, is another one of those Southeast Asian cryptids so bizarre and unsettling in its very conception that not even the most threadbare representation can completely rob it of its capacity to disturb.

Needless to say, Satan's gift of turning Si Bongkok into an objectionable mass of grease does not come without a price attached, and that price is that Si Bongkok must now rape 21 virgins within the course of the next week -- a task which Si Bongkok sets too with surprising alacrity (perhaps in part due to the fact that the film has exhausted about eighty percent of its running time before introducing its titular menace). This sets up an interesting contrast to the markedly more lurid Oily Maniac, in which the Oily Man is depicted as an avenger -- rather than a perpetrator -- of wrongs, including rape. However, it is Ramlee's version that hews more faithfully to the fabled original, a figure so identified with rape that it appears that even real world rapists have on occasion adopted his guise.

Certainly, Si Bongkok's final rampage does much to undo the goodwill that Ramlee has, over the course of Sumpah Orang Minyak's preceding 90 minutes or so, worked to generate toward him as a Quasimodo-like tragic figure. But I also suspect that Ramlee did so in fealty to his source material. While The Oily Maniac, like any exploitation film worthy of the name, strove to, wherever possible, turn that source into grist for evermore gratuitous displays of tits and blood, Ramlee uses it as a means by which to express his respect for the culture that both created it and, to some extent, him.

And, in this, Ramlee does a fine job, creating a film that is at once dense with mournful atmosphere and elevated by moments of dreamlike lyricism. (His musical contributions -- which, as in Tiga Abdul, are engaging and beautifully sung -- add a lot in this last regard.) In the end, Sumpah Orang Minyak may not provide the course thrills of The Oily Maniac, or the visceral jolt of other Southeast Asian horrors, but, in its own hypnotic way, it offers rich rewards nonetheless.

Zain Again

My latest contribution to Teleport City's bustling Spy Month is a newly revised version of my 4DK review of the Malaysian language film Gerak Kilat, the movie that introduced the world -- or, at least, one small corner of it -- to Jefri Zain, Singapore's answer to James Bond.

Tiga Abdul (Singapore, 1964)

In Malaysia, P. Ramlee is an artist of such stature that he has buildings and institutions named after him. (Yes, that’s plural.) He rose to fame as a singer, instrumentalist and composer in the late 40s, and soon thereafter became a star on the big screen, adding the title of director to his formidable list of accomplishments only a few years later. Tiga Abdul (or 3 Abdul), a 1964 production from Shaw Brothers’ Singapore-based Malay language division, shows the multi-talented Ramlee firing on all cylinders, acting both as star and director, while also singing musical numbers that he wrote and arranged for the film.

Based on a traditional Malaysian folk tale, Tiga Abdul takes place in a fictionalized, time warp version of Istanbul in which everyone wears 60s fashions but still buys and sells slaves in the marketplace. It also appears that every man to a one is born with a fez attached to his head. With most films in which a guy in a fez appears, you could describe him as “the guy in the fez” and feel secure in the fact that you have been sufficiently specific, but, in the case of Tiga Abdul, that would quite literally describe every man who appears on screen. Furthermore, while none of these men are shown sleeping, I imagine that, if they were, they would be shown wearing their fezzes. If not, someone might notice that they are all Southeast Asians who look nothing like what most people’s idea of a Turk is. In short, Tiga Abdul is a real fez-apalooza.

Anyway, Ramlee plays Abdul Wahub, the youngest of three brothers who are all named Abdul. As the film repeatedly strives at the expense of all subtlety to make clear, Abdul Wahub is the most virtuous of these brothers. He is even at one point shown wearing a white suit in conspicuous contrast to their black ones, and is frequently shown gazing reprovingly upon their greedy, hedonistic antics. This, while effective in establishing the elder Abduls’ lack of character, also comes very close to presenting Abdul Wahub as being a bit on the priggish and judgmental side. Luckily, this impression is mitigated somewhat when we see Abdul Wahub in the music shop he owns, rocking out on the electric guitar with pseudo-Turkey’s fez-wearing version of The Ventures.

When the wealthy father of the three Abduls dies suddenly without leaving a will, the eldest Abdul, the grasping Abdul Wahab (Haji Mahadi), is charged with divvying up the inheritance. Likely because Abdul Wahub so obviously hates both of them -- but also because they only care about money, while Abdul Wahub cares about art and music and feelings and stuff -- elders Abdul Wahab and Abdul Wahib decide to split the old man’s vast fortune in assets between themselves, leaving Abdul Wahub with only their father’s rundown mansion to show for his filial devotion. At the same time, an unscrupulous friend of their father’s, Sadiq Segaraga (Ahmad Nisfu), has his own eyes on their newly acquired fortune, and goes about getting it by launching his three attractive young daughters at the boys like so many hourglass-shaped, heat seeking missiles.

Both of the older brothers fall head over heels for these lovelies, and it is only the upright Abdul Wahub who sees through the ruse, greeting the tentative advances of Segaraga’s youngest daughter Ghasidah (Sarimah) with nothing but scorn and reproach. Soon the elder Abduls are approaching Segaraga and asking for his daughters’ hands in marriage, at which point the old trickster springs a contract on them that stipulates that, once married, they can never become angry, lest they should forfeit all of their assets to him and be sold into slavery. The two foolishly agree to this and the wedding bells chime, after which Segaraga, quite unsurprisingly, makes a dedicated project out of making them angry as quickly as possible, first by denying them access to anything beyond the aroma of food, and then by barring them from the marital bed. Needless to say, it’s not long before both are penniless, on the block, and up for sale to the highest bidder.

Soon after these developments, Abdul Wahub’s father appears before him in a dream. Now, given that Tiga Abdul has up to this point exhibited a sort of fanciful, fairytale-like quality, you might expect this to be the juncture at which things will take something of an enchanted turn. But in a surprising display of fiscal pragmatism from beyond the grave, Dad instead advises young Abdul to pay a visit to his lawyer. Once done, this lawyer informs Abdul that, in addition to the domestically accrued fortune that his brothers have inherited, Abdul’s dad also had overseas assets of even greater value, all of which now belongs to him. Now having reaped the huge cash rewards that are the right of any truly virtuous soul, Abdul Wahub sets about scheming with the lawyer to win his brothers’ freedom and deliver Segaraga his comeuppance.

This scheme will ultimately involve Abdul Wahub marrying Ghasidah and then turning her father’s contract back against him, with the result that, after a number of convolutions, Abdul Wahub will end up turning just about everyone involved into human chattel and buying them for himself. He does this, of course, so that he may ultimately free them, but that doesn’t mean that he won’t first harangue them about how awful they all are. The moral of this age old fable, then? Don’t fuck with Abdul Wahub. Oh, and? Get a lawyer. It’s basically like a folk tale written by an MBA.

As a lead actor, Ramlee gives a competent but not especially charismatic or developed performance here, which leads me to suspect that, for his audience, his status as a beloved entertainer was a suitable stand-in for characterization. His musical contributions to the film, furthermore, give us a solid idea of just why that might have been. Ramlee’s tunes are so beguilingly melodious, and the manner in which he sings them –- when he takes the lead -- so relaxed and agreeable, that I ended up wishing that he hadn’t been so stingy with them, and had instead provided more than just the three. Especially nice is the film’s devilishly catchy theme tune, which is sung by Ramlee’s wife, Salmah “Saloma” Ismail, who appears in the delightfully modish credit sequence, singing in split screen as the titles roll beside her.

As for his talents behind the camera, Ramlee’s directorial hand is not flamboyant, but sufficient to get the story told on the obviously limited budget that was provided. It’s becoming apparent to me that the Shaw Brothers’ Malaysian productions were nowhere near as lush as those made by their Hong Kong division, and here that’s evidenced by the preponderance of tiny sets and matte painted exteriors. Still, Ramlee nonetheless manages to conjure up an appropriate, “fractured fairytale” atmosphere with the application of mischievous cartoonish touches and visual puns. He also keeps things moving along briskly, which, with a story that is so obviously grinding inevitably toward a predetermined and all-too-clearly visible moral conclusion, is always welcome.

Having seen Tiga Abdul’s toe-tapping credit sequence on YouTube, I was hoping for it to be an exotic 60s time capsule with cultish appeal. What I got instead was a modest little film with an abundance of quirky charm. I also, as mentioned above, got more fezzes than I could ever have imagined seeing onscreen at one time. Nonetheless, you don’t have to be an enthusiast of traditional Ottoman headwear in order to appreciate this one. But if you are, you might want to wear yours for the viewing.

Mat Bond (Singapore, 1967)

Last year I wrote a couple of posts dedicated to the contributions made by the Shaw Brothers’ Malaysian language division to the 1960s spy craze, specifically the series of films featuring secret agent Jefri Zain, aka Singapore’s answer to James Bond. Well, it turns out that Shaw’s number one competitor in the region, Cathay Keris Films, had their own answer to James Bond, and perhaps to Jefri Zain as well.

But while the Jefri Zain films were fairly straightforward attempts at sub-Bondian spyjinks (as straightforward as such things could be, that is) Cathay’s entry, Mat Bond, was an outright parody. The film’s star, Malaysian comedian Mat Sentul, had worked his way up through the ranks at Cathay Keris throughout the 50s and early 60s, starting out behind the scenes (he is also credited as Art Director on Mat Bond) before graduating to bit and then supporting roles on screen -- including comic relief turns in a number of Cathay Keris’ horror films, among them the successful Pontianak series. By the mid 60s he was acting and directing himself in a series of tailor-made comedy vehicles, all of which bore titles that consisted of his first name followed by whatever the intended target of satire was -- Mat Magic, Mat Pirate, etc. -- among which Mat Bond represents a rough mid-point in the cycle.

Without the benefit of English subtitles, it’s difficult for me to pinpoint the nature of Sentul’s comic persona. While long of face and a bit gangly, he’s not especially funny looking, nor does he partake too excessively in the mugging and pratfalling that so many of his screen comic brethren did. This last, of course, contributes a lot to Mat Bond going down as easily as it does, and I’m happy to have Sentul’s humorous essence remain a mystery in exchange for both him and the film in which he appears being as agreeable as they are.

Mat Bond reminds me a lot of Filipino spoofs like Dolphy’s James Batman, which was made around the same time. It gives a similar impression of reveling in its own low-rent nature, and as such seems to be making as much fun of itself as it does anything else. And indeed it is cheap. Interiors look to have been shot in a cramped basement, while a vacant lot seems to have provided the location for many of the exteriors. The clever booby traps that our hero evades during an opening scene mostly consist of precariously placed planks of wood. And, to flaunt that ghetto aesthetic, many of the sets incorporate handwritten signage complete with words crossed out and written over. What humor translates is also pretty lowbrow: Perhaps in answer to Jefri Zain’s entrance to his secret headquarters being concealed beneath his bathtub, Mat Bond enters his by way of a water-closet-cum-elevator, with the toilet chain serving as the control. At another point, a meeting of international criminals consists of an assortment of broad stereotypes, including a Chinese coolie and an American Indian in full headdress named Sitting Cow.

Also like James Batman, Mat Bond functions as both a comedy and a straightforward action film, so that interspersed with the gags are some fairly run-of-the-mill chases, fights and stunt sequences. But where it departs from its Filipino counterpart is the way in which it targets its satire. Whereas Dolphy took the Bond iconography head on, portraying the super agent as a preening egotist in a ridiculous checkered suit, Mat Bond instead takes the well traveled route of showing us a hapless everyman unwittingly thrust into a James Bond world. Sentul plays –- who else? –- Mat, a good natured bumpkin who still lives with his mom and fantasizes so hard about being a secret agent that he’s built his own makeshift “Oh Oh 7” lair in his home’s basement. While out fishing one day, Mat even sings a jaunty song about being a spy, which, thanks to its intermittent lapses into English, seems to be titled “Spy Spy Spy Bang Bang!” (Another English lyric goes: “Oh Batman, Oh Superman… Dangerman… They are all my friends!”)

It’s the old briefcase trick that eventually serves as Mat’s entryway into the highflying world of international espionage. And when Mat accidentally comes into possession of that case, it proves to contain a bottle of top secret pills designed to grant indestructibility. Not that Mat knows this, of course, but that doesn’t prevent him from popping one of the pills into his mouth. (I mean, what would you do?) This has the result of making him impervious to bullets and other kinds of violent harm. It also makes him the target of various criminal and foreign interests looking to get their hands on the pills. Among these are a gang lead by the requisite guy in an eye patch who spends most of the film barking orders from behind a control panel, as well as sexy lady spy “Lisa”, played by Sherley Koh. Lisa and Mat form something of an alliance of opportunity, at which point Mat gets to start putting some of his dreams of being a spy into bumbling practice. This being a 60s spy spoof, that means that many improbable –- and in this case, very inexpensively realized –- gadgets come into play, including a sort of all purpose umbrella that serves Mat as a combination gun, blowtorch, bullet shield, and parachute.

Even for a non-Malay speaker, Mat Bond is a pleasantly brisk watch. The charm of its bargain bin Bond approximations goes a long way, and its antic pacing, while never really inspiring the level of merriment that I imagine it was intended to, at least serves to keep it from wearing out its welcome. Also serving to keep things peppy and engaging is a wonderfully twangy, electric guitar driven soundtrack by the Malay pop group The Pretenders, which also provides the impetus for lots of scenes of Singaporean teens frugging it up at local (basement situated) nightclubs. Unless you are the type of person for whom the sight of common kitchen appliances standing in for high tech scientific gear does not coax a smile, this is a film that is, at the very least, very hard to hate.

Malay speaking audiences at the time seem to have also found Mat Bond hard to hate, with the result that it is still fondly remembered by some today. Such was the film’s popularity that an aging Mat Sentul later decided to revisit the same territory during the 80s with something called Mat Spy. I thought it would be cute to do a combined review of Mat Bond and Mat Spy, but Mat Spy prevented me from doing so by virtue of being heartstoppingly dreadful. Shot on video, it appears to be either a television or straight-to-video production, and, aside from a clever Bond-style credit sequence, doesn’t really have anything to do with the whole secret agent concept anyway. It instead busies itself with a plot about some hapless jewel robbers, and is capable of generating interesting only among those curious to see just how long it will go on before Mat Sentul is actually introduced into the proceedings. (Answer: quite a fucking long time.) In it’s favor though, it does contain a scene in which Mat Sentul farts in a cobra’s face and it dies. So there’s that.

Mat Spy also serves the purpose of making Mat Bond’s modest virtues, a distinct lack of cynicism and a humble desire to entertain among them, shine all the more brightly. Still, I don’t think you need to suffer through the latter in order to appreciate the former. I did, apparently, but you don’t.

Jefri Zain strikes again

Back in my review of Gerak Kilat -- the film that introduced us to Jefri Zain, Singapore's answer to James Bond -- I mentioned that there were at least two subsequent Jefri Zain movies that I knew of. Those would be 1968's Bayangan Ajal (or, as the credits read, "Jefri Zain dalam Bayangan Ajal") and 1969's Jurang Baraya (ditto). Now that I've seen both of those movies, I know that they are simply the Malaysian language versions of the Lo We helmed Shaw Brothers spy films Summons to Death and The Angel Strikes Back, only with actor Jins Shamsuddin as Jefri Zain standing in for the characters that Tang Ching played in the Mandarin versions. In addition, we have Singapore-born actress Landi Chang stepping in as the leading lady in both films, replacing Tina Chin Fei in the case of Bayangan Ajal/Summons to Death and Lily Ho in the case of the second film.

From the screen grab comparisons below, you'll see that both the Malay and Mandarin versions of these films were shot alongside one another, using the same sets, costumes and camera set-ups. Only some slight changes were made to cater to different local sensibilities, like, for instance, the more conservative swimwear that we see Landi Chan sporting.

Another notable change, in the case of Bayangan Ajal/Summons to Death, is that, while Fanny Fan appears in both versions (along with much of the supporting cast -- not to mention much of the actual footage -- from the Mandarin version), her fanny itself, bared in the Mandarin version, remains covered for the benefit of the Malay speaking audience. And let me clarify for you Brits that when I say "fanny" I mean "bum"; the Shaws may have been getting increasingly risqué as the 60s progressed, but there were still limits.

Watching both versions of these films provided an interesting window into the shrewd economics of Shaws "factory" approach to filmmaking. Here they were not only expanding the potential market for one of their properties, but also, at the same time, adding to an existing franchise at little extra cost (and providing the Zain series with a noticeable boost in on-screen production value in the bargain). You'd think that the logistics involved would be mindboggling. Its easy to imagine one set of actors waiting in the wings while another set completed their shots, only to be then hustled in front of the camera to repeat the exact same shot but in a different language. I'd expect, however, that such a delicate dance, whatever it entailed, would have been no problem for the no-nonsense professionals involved, accustomed as they were to the rigors of churning out features on a day-in-day-out, production line basis.

Shaw also produced a Malay version of the first "Angel" film, Angel With the Iron Fists, but given the film's impracticality as a vehicle for Jins Shamsuddin and his screen alter ego, they instead cast Singaporean star Saadiah in place of Lily Ho and called it Nora Zain: Woman Agent 001. See a YouTube clip here.