Kranti (1981)

From left to right: Dilip, Manoj, Shatrughan and Shashi, all wielding the flame of revolution during the titular dance number.

We'll just get to the point. Kranti (Revolution) is bad. It's only a few notches above Mard, a similarly exaggerated fable of British Raj India. These films take place out of time, in a land where the British are all-powerful and all-evil, and Indians are perpetually victimized and ennobled by their suffering. Like Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal, Anglo-Indian race relations are painted with all the subtlety of a toddler's handpainting.

We at the PPCC are annoyed by these films because, apart from their racism, they also seem to dishonor the memory of the real Indian independence movement. Why invent all these ridiculous stories when the real one is more moving, more inspiring, and, best of all, true? What's the point of making inflammatory statements (Kranti's knock-out being the story of the evil British soldiers who denied a widow the right to burn herself on her husband's pyre only to then gang-rape her)? Don't you trust the real history of oppression, with all its complexity, to be more emotionally affecting than this beefed up grotesquery? Eh, Manoj?!

And who the hell is the target audience?

It certainly isn't the PPCC. And while we were happy to give Kranti more than a sporting chance - all-star cast! Manoj Kumar directs, writes, stars! epical! our beloved Shashi! - it quickly squandered that chance.


Evil collaborator Prem Chopra rules his land with an IRON FIST. (Ha, ha, ha...)

That's not to say it's all bad. It has some nice pro-girl moments; Parveen Babi and Hema Malini star as two kick-ass revolutionaries integrated into the boy's club of violence. The romance between Shashi Kapoor and Parveen Babi's characters is, while brief and mostly insinuated, also cute. Manoj and Shatrughan chew up the scenery in a most satisfying manner while Dilip Kumar seems to sail alone on the good ship Subtlety.

But even those rare lights of OKness are dimmed by the tired, unearned drama and endless vilifying. There are also - as in Mard - some bizarre and misused moments of eroticization. Whips, chains, oppression, racism - who gets kinky at a time like this?! Also, everyone - and we mean everyone - in this film kisses their weapons before using them, which becomes something of an unintended running joke/drinking game.

The plot structure is similar to several other films of the era, and indeed, most of the same people are involved. Sanga (Dilip Kumar) and Radha (Nirupa Roy) are two humble, God-lovin' folk trying to get by in 19th century India. After he inadvertently gets caught between the evil collaborator Indians (led by Prem Chopra, as usual) and their evil British overlords, Sanga finds himself on the wrong side of the law. After some twists and turns, Sanga, Radha, and their two infant sons are all separated, each believing themselves to be the only survivor in the family.

Fast forward some years, and Sanga is now a revolutionary pirate (yes, really) who goes by the name and flies the flag of Kranti (revolution). Meanwhile, his elder son, Bharat (meaning India, Manoj Kumar), is a Robin Hood-type revolutionary who also goes by the name and flies the flag of Kranti. The younger son, Shakti (meaning Strength, Shashi Kapoor), has gone Vichy on the family and is living the life of an Anglicized Indian prince in the palace. As per the required Hindi Movie Irony, Mother Radha labors in that same palace's kitchens as a slave.

Not enough stars for you?! Well then have some more! Spoiled Anglicized Princess Meenakshi (Hema Malini) is abducted by Young Kranti's gang, and she butts heads with salt o' the earth bombshell Sureli (an excellent Parveen Babi). Think you know which heroine ends up with which hero? Not so! The tables turn when Sureli is sent off to the palace, impersonating Princess Meenakshi by (she's instructed) acting rudely to everyone. There follows a too-brief and funny sequence where Sureli goes wild in the palace, getting drunk at a party and (yet again) wooing Shashi at the same time.


At one point, she gets him to kiss her weapon, that cheeky tart.

And let's not forget our Muslim freedom fighter and walking pep talk, Karim Khan (a bad-ass Shatrughan Sinha, as usual), who appears every so often to weild his bad-assery and give everyone a morale boost. OK, we admit it. Every time Shatrughan appeared onscreen, we were PUMPED. YEAH. YEEEAH! LET'S KICK SOME ASS! RAAAH!

Amidst all this, there is the occasionally touching romance between Manoj and Hema (who knew!), numerous scenes of imprisonment, a long and weird sequence on a galley ("Row, ya bastards!" - Eddie Izzard), numerous tales of the Britisher's debauched, purified EVIL embodied in nice guy Tom Altern, and the inevitable reunion of four severely misplaced family members.

The performances are all fun, but that's because all the stars - Manoj, Hema, Dilip, Nirupa, Shashi, Parveen, Shatrughan, Prem, even Tom Altern - are such likable and familiar faces. Indeed, our love for these people is the only reason we watched this silly film until the end.

Special note must be made of Dilip Kumar, who, unlike his fellow Krantites, refused to give into the outrageousness. While Shatrughan and Manoj achieved new heights of uber-drama ("Bastarrrrrd!"), while Shashi bawled with abandon in his Ma's arms (out-emoting even brother Raj, king of emo), Dilip put in a stubbornly authentic, softspoken, heartfelt performance. More than once, we wondered, "What is he doing in this movie!? He must think he's in Gandhi."


It was hard to catch Shashi's bawling, as he moves around a lot, but compare it to older brother Raj's tantrums in Anari.


Actually, poor Shashi goes through the meatgrinder in this film. Here he's been forced to shoot the eye of a rotating mechanical fish, blindfolded, while his foster mother stands right behind the fish eye. Don't miss, my son!


Here, he gets his ass kicked by older brother Manoj. As if that wasn't humiliating enough, some of Manoj's cronies then run him over using his own carriage. Fear not, Shashi Kapoor/Ben Hur fans, he emerges unscathed (well, excepting his pride). Heh! It takes more than some cloven hooves and a three-hundred pound carriage to knock off our big hero.

Another special note must be made of the Manoj-Shatrughan jodi. You know, some pairs just have it. That certain special something. That hint of magic. Much is made of Amitabh and Shashi (and, after seeing this, we would say Shashi and Whoever's Playing His Mom), but we must say Manoj and Shatrughan have something oddly and equally magnetic about them. At least, there's this silly sequence when they're both imprisoned in the galley of a random British boat together. After a single cut, they've both grown matching beards and it all turns a bit Monty Python. When Shatrughan starts despairing to the point of histrionic meltdown, and Manoj grabs him in a bear hug from behind, beckoning him to, "Take it easy, man!" - well, gosh, the PPCC was touched. These two are lovely together. They play off each other so well, feeding each other's melodrama: Manoj's hurt moans of "NAHIN!" coupled with Shatrughan's enraged roars of "NAHIN!" Have they made any more films together? Please say yes, internet!


These two were an unexpected, happy surprise of this film. If the PPCC could make films on demand, we would demand that they make a special subfilm of Kranti called: Manoj and Shatrughan, The Galley Days.

But alas. An unexpected jodi can't save the rest of this film. This film came in at the low tide of ideas (and other things). Manoj's legendary patriotism - which we approved of in Roti Kapada aur Makaan - was misspent and tiresome. So were Dilip's naturalist acting, Shashi's maudlin tears, and Parveen's zaniness.

The songs were also pretty disappointing for Laxmikant-Pyarelal, though thankfully some of the picturizations were flamboyant enough to be entertaining. Manoj and Hema's kinky love duet on the boat, where he is strapped to the mast (a la Odysseus!) and she (a la Siren!) writhes around on the deck in front of him is... pretty shocking. We at the PPCC also really enjoyed Shatrughan and Hema's disguise song which they use to rescue Manoj (chained up, yet again) - Shatrughan, doomed and blessed to play the bad-ass that gets killed off in the end of every movie, is a lot of fun doing comedy.

This film's basic problem is that the emotional kicks - which are a masala film's life-source - don't work. We don't buy the faux historical context, and we're not particularly sold on the family drama either. Roti Kapada aur Makaan is an example where Manoj Kumar got his formula really right: a broad socially-minded context involving the Plight of Mother India, and, cast against that, a moving story of human relationships. Kranti, on the other hand, is an example where the formula went horribly, terribly wrong.


First: is Manoj wearing a ski cap? Let me tell ya, it was very distracting.
Second: the film went out of its way to empower this disabled guy with no arms. Manoj introduces him (in the above scene) as Yet Another Victim of British brutality (the British cut off his arms... just because he was Indian!), but then the guy ends up becoming an integral supporting character who saves our heroes from imminent death on more than one occasion. Indeed, we see this guy achieving amazing feats - climbing aboard the ship with a knife between his teeth, stealing guns and shooting British minions, rescuing Manoj and Hema, dancing in the big show-stopping numbers. It was like... YEAH, GUY, YEAH!

Roti Kapada Aur Makaan (1974)

This one goes out to all the bleeding heart liberals in the house!


And this one's for all my psychadelic hippies in the hooouse!

The PPCC has several buttons. If you push these buttons, we will be eternally in your subjectitude. These buttons are:

1. A proletarian aesthetic.
2. Jump cuts between contrasting scenes, tracking shots that either follow or pass by characters, tasteful slow-motion, and the cunning use of wind machines.
3. Shashi Kapoor with long curls.
4. Ass-kicking heroines.
5. Little babies.
6. A hero who smolders like his cigarettes and broods like his chickens.
7. A blunt, bleeding-heart socioeconomic message.

Roti Kapada Aur Makaan (Food, Clothes and Shelter) has all this and more. It also has some seriously mental psychadelic song sequences, lots of fun and innovative imagery, proto-Shashitabh who eventually steal the show, several awesome songs, several reprises of awesome songs, and enough symbolism to sink a boat with.


BABY.


Epic songs by the disadvantaged.


Shashi looking so fine he looks like a plastic doll. According to some people.

We should probably say: this movie goes for your heart, your stomach and your brain with a battering ram. The PPCC prefers loud, blunt symbolism over hollow subtlety any day, so we loved this movie. Like loved it big time. It was fun, it was tragic, it was truly epical. Yeah! Even Manoj Kumar, who we only knew via the Om Shanti Om scandal and his way oversensitive behavior regarding it, even that guy, managed to be a compelling hero and an excellent director. You go, Manoj, you use that glitter and you brood the hell out that scene and you keep touching your face, man! Go, man, go!

The songs! The fashion! The unshaven, returning hero Amitabh! The unshaven, gilded bourgeoise Shashi! The sacrificial Zeenat! The everything!

But let us begin at the beginning. Cue entrance of Bharat (Manoj Kumar, or, as he'd prefer, Mr. India Himself). Bharat is the older brother of a swarming family. He has a degree and cannot find a job. The middle brother, Vijay (Amitabh Bachchan, very proto-himself) is angry and young (!). The youngest brother, Deepak (some guy), is part of the wallpaper until the end. Anyway, Bharat's girlfriend, Sheetal (Zeenat Aman), is fun and zesty and lands a job secretarying for this incredibly hot businessman, Mr. Mohan (The Shashi Kapoor). It's not long before Sheetal melts in Mr. Mohan's hotness like butter in the microwave. Bharat is hurt, almost inconsolable. He touches his face a lot.

Bharat lands a job at a building company. He befriends the zesty, proletarian Tulsi (Moushumi Chatterjee) and the Sikh stereotype (Prem Nath). Tulsi is a rape victim. In maybe the bluntest symbolism we've seen in a while, Tulsi was gang-raped by the Food Man, the Clothes Man, and the Shelter Man. OMG.


The highly disturbing, highly stylized rape scene.


Honestly, we think this might be one of the most gorgeous moments ever captured on film.

So basically everyone's under a lot of economic pressure, like big time. Bharat is freaking out. His dad passes away. He has no money. His girlfriend just left him for Mr. Heartbreaker Kapoor. Argh! Bharat starts to fall in with the wrong crowd: a bunch of smugglers, gangsters, and economic evildoers led by an evil Madan Puri and an interestingly morally ambiguous Poonam (Aruna Irani).

Thankfully, the return of a one-armed brother, the gregariousness of the Shash, the love of his girlfriend, and the massive brawn of Prem Nath help Bharat save himself, first, and then save India. It really is a wonderful movie.


Another moment from out favorite song, wherein Manoj is wonderfully sweet and poignant. The bit when he sings his verse is just lush.

We just loves ensemble casts where everyone fits together like puzzle pieces and everyone is sympathetic. And they all work together to make a better world, sigh! But to say that made the movie for us would be untrue, because what we loved and enjoyed - more! more! - was the crazy, intense imagery and the film's overall aesthetic style. It was so freaking interesting. Manoj Kumar seems to have taken a big lesson out of the Woody Allen school of directing, because he favored lovingly long shots which zoom in, zoom out, pan across the room, follow characters, linger on meaningful objects, return to the action, and so forth. Several conversations were shot in single takes! Yeah! Manoj also favored geometric patterns and classical set-ups, where tension is built via lighting or stares. Yeah yeah!


Their heads form a diagonal, their lines of sight form the tension. Gush!

And (big and here) the songs! They ranged from the absolutely tripping Main Na Bhuulunga - the anthem of Bharat and Sheelat's love, which became more and more poignant with each reprise (three!) - to the stylized and geometrical Aur Nahin Bas Aur Nahin, to the sublime and proletarian Mahengai Mar Gai (memories of Immaan Dharam's gorgeous Konjam Konjam!), to the bittersweet and zany Panditji Mere Marne Ke Baad. Guh. We loved 'em all. ALL. We loved the moment after Aur Nahin when the Shash has clearly understood everything, he blows out the fire ("A singer like that ignites fire in the audience's hearts!"), and engages in a slightly sinister, slightly piss-take, slightly joyous whistling reprise! (And note that when Zeenat and Shash start clapping and spinning, it's all one take.) We loved the moment when poor, hopeful Tulsi, who can't stop talking about how great Bharat is, gushes, "Oh, Dad, you know what he said once?!" And the scene zips to Mahengai Mar Gai, where the singer croons, "They said, 'Who are you?' I said, 'Your love.'"

But we could fill up a book with all the little moments we loved. We took more than 50 screencaps of the movie, because there were so many beautiful little shots that we wanted to keep. But how can you catch a cloud and pin it down? Alas, we lose the kinetic magic of the movie itself in just posting some stills like this.


We loved the tension in this song. So emo! So complex!

In terms of performances: first, as we said, Manoj Kumar was bad-ass awesome as the brooding, struggling, weight-o'-the-world-right-here first son. Like Zeenat, we were torn: Shashi's the hottest thing since fire, but poor Manoj - look at him! He's gonna get a pimple if he keeps rubbing his hands all over his face like that! Indeed, we felt a lot better when (spoiler spoiler) Shashi rights his inadvertent wrong and joins the Amitabh jodi instead (where he belongs, you could say). Manoj only became annoyingly preachy towards the end, but this was also because he was starting to get outshone by Shashitabh and Zeenat. Which brings us to: Shashitabh and Zeenat! Shashitabh first. Both Amitabh and Shashi were FINE in 1974, gush. Or, as my friends never tire of pointing out, Shashi looked like a plastic doll. Whatever. A FINE plastic doll. It was odd to watch these two towering icons of awesomeness play second banana to the face-touching guy, but then they ended up becoming progressively more and more awesome until their sheer force of awesomeness could not be denied. We can just imagine the Bombay producers in those cinema seats: "Look at these two! That's GOLD, right there. Freakin' GOLD." Zeenat, likewise, was kicking ass big time - and, while we usually share Beth's weariness with the whole self-sacrificing archetype in Hindi cinema, we actually got quite weepy during that one scene where... you know. We won't say it.


When there's something bad, in the neighborhood. Who you gonna call?


The freakin' Shashitabh, that's who. I ain't 'fraid o' no ghost.

All in all, this was the type of the movie where we ended up yelling into our TV screen, "GET HIM!" and, when the credits rolled, "SEQUEL. WE MUST HAVE A SEQUEL." The sequel could be called The Black Ishtone.