Jaanwar
Director: Bhappi Sonie
Music: Shanker-Jaikishen; Lyrics: Shailendra/Jaipuri
Year: 1965
Running Time: 2 hrs and 46 minutes
One may have to suspend some belief to accept
the jowly 34 year old Shammi Kapoor as a fast talking college student falling
in love for the first time, but he brings such youthful energy and exuberance
to his role that this disparity only crosses your mind from time to time.
In the 50’s Shammi had begun his career as a swashbuckling Errol Flynn
type of action hero and with his pencil thin moustache he looked quite
suave and sleek, but he never had much success until he started putting
on the pounds, shaved off the moustache and took on a much more casual
and cocky capricious attitude. From the late 50’s through the 60’s he was
quite the rage and though his films are considered too light and commercial
to be critic favorites, many of them were box office successes. Some of
this success must also no doubt be attributed to his often-used composers,
Shanker- Jaikishen, and his always-utilized playback singer, the legendary
Mohammed Rafi.
Here he is one of two sons to a wealthy tyrannical
father (played by Shammi’s father, Prithviraj Kapoor) who is intent on
marrying off his sons to good families in order to create some important
business connections. The older son (Rehman) seethes under this patriarchal
pressure, but Shammi just scoffs and shrugs it off and goes to Kashmir
along with his comedic sidekick (Rajendranath) to participate in a college
tennis tournament. Though I found his tennis game highly suspect (a weak
serve and a non-existent net game), his game of flirting was much sounder.
In a typical “hate at first sight that melts into love” scenario he first
crosses swords and then later songs with another tennis playing college
student (Rajshree). After relentlessly chasing her in a fashion that would
be considered stalking in any situation other than a Bollywood film (where
it is typical courtship strategy), he begins to break down her dislike
of him. Soon they are madly in love and singing and snuggling on boats,
around trees and while rolling in the snow. What could possibly go wrong?
This being an Indian movie – everything of course.
Her family is not only poor – she is an orphan – and clearly no match for
the son of a wealthy industrialist. When Shammi returns home trouble is
brewing. His brother has been dispatched on business to Calcutta and the
parents are planning his marriage while he is gone – but into this comes
a secretary who claims to be carrying his child. The father kicks her out
of the house and worried that she might commit suicide, Shammi takes her
to Calcutta to look for his wayward brother who has taken up equally with
alcohol and a sultry heart of steel courtesan.
Rajshree comes desperately looking for Shammi
after her parents were ordered by Prithviraj to get her married off to
someone other than Shammi or else – and sure enough she spots Shammi with
his brother’s pregnant girlfriend and assumes that she is Shammi’s kept
woman. Now she wants to commit suicide. It is of course up to Shammi to
straighten up everyone’s problems and save the day. The film moves gradually
from being a light goofy romantic comedy to becoming fairly touching and
as the camera pulls back for the final shot it ends on a very satisfying
note.
The plentiful music is excellent and has some
great choreography to go along with it as it ranges from melodic sweet
love songs full of poetic lyrics to a rock and roll dance number that has
everyone twisting the night away. There are three numbers that really stick
out though. The first is the lovely ballad, Mere Mohattat Jawaan, in which
Shammi sings of his newfound love and how “young is my love and always
will be” into Rajshree’s yearning big brown eyes. Later Shammi in disguise
as an Arab procurer induces the courtesan to dance for him, but he gets
a double treat as the famous Helen joins in for a fabulous and fast moving
choreographed number. In the films from this period it was often the vamps
that got the best dance numbers as they were allowed to really let themselves
go and they certainly do so here in this lengthy dance duet.
The most delightful song though is Tumse Hai Dil
Ko, a romping guitar driven Beatlesque number with four mop tops going
at their guitars while a similarly mop topped Shammi and Rajshree dance
up a storm on the floor. This is Rajshree’s finest scene, as she appears
to be having a ball with her dance, light hair and tight gold skirt. This
song may not reach the dizzying heights of the one in Gumnaam, but it certainly
is a giddy romp that is near addictive in its energy and good spirits.
It begins with four lads in Beatle mop tops thumping away on their guitars
to a tune suspiciously sounding like the guitar riff from I Wanna Hold
Your Hand - then Shammi and his bulk glides into the frame - also adorned
in a mop top wig that resembles a badly worn recroom shag rug that is trying
its best to stay put and a Little Lord Faunteroy suit and bowtie - and
he begins twisting away. The leading lady Rajshree who until then was playing
a proper conservative Indian maiden appears suddenly in a tight as a can
of worms gold lame dress that she manages to shake, rattle and roll all
the parts of her body in and strikes some fanciful poses before going into
another spasmodic fit of dancing. Flitting thru the scenery are other dancers
- the men dressed in striped barber suit quartet jackets and the women
fashioned in flapper outfits from some remake of the Great Gatsby. As the
song begins to hit its cresendo, Rajshree begins yelping and shaking her
head - and the last minute is a headshaking orgy that everyone on the floor
joins in like some sort of alien invasion that has possessed their bodies.
Sadly the song ends. And you play it again and again and again. Interestingly,
the band is Ted Lyons and his Cubs, the same band in the famous dance number
in Gumnaam.
My rating for this film: 7.0
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