There is really only one compelling reason to watch Ponga Pandit: the costume designer (credited as Manorama Ralhan, who—judging from her other film assignments—I would guess was married to OP Ralhan).
This is a movie where an Elvis poster competing for wall space with a picture of a skinny fuchsia guy and a pair of teepee chairs are not the most startling visuals in the room. Plus, Go-Go Barbie goes practically unnoticed!
For a much better and way more progressive version of the basic story (if, you know, that’s what’s important to you), watch Mem Sahib from 1956 instead.
Regular readers here know that by and large I adore Manmohan Desai and his films and can mostly forgive him for anything except Ganga Jamuna Saraswati. It has long been my great sorrow that two of his movies, Shararat and this one, are not available with subtitles. Manmohan Desai’s complicated plotting has always seemed daunting without them and though I have had both films for a long time I never quite had the courage to watch them. So imagine my great joy when I finally sat down with this one and (despite no doubt missing many nuances) could actually follow what was going on. There is a lot going on!
As is usual for him, he sets up the many characters and plot threads masterfully. Creating a web of relationships torn apart by misunderstandings and loss, he carries us along breathlessly rooting for our protagonists to *just stop already* missing each other by mere inches and find their way back to the lives they should be leading. As is also usual for him, the last 45 minutes or so go completely and a tad disappointingly off the rails into Crazy-land, taking the focus away from the pure emotional joy of the reunion(s), but never mind.
Memsaab: “But…but…Ranjeet and Bindu get married! And play good guys! How can that possibly be bad?!”
Shalini (patiently): “Why is it bad? Let’s see: for the first half of the movie Neetu plays a rich little suicidal (she thinks she has cancer and only has months to live) girl who hires unemployed, working class Randhir to kill her. It’s nobler/braver, you see, to “defeat” death by taking it in your hands rather than doing something sensible like consulting with doctors to see if there might be some treatments/cures. Anyway, she spends the second half of the film trying to not fall victim to an elaborate, sick revenge plot concocted by deranged, homicidal Ajit. Ajit becomes unhinged when his only child (a young Gufi Paintal) kills himself over his unrequited love for Neetu. He of course blames Neetu for not loving his son back and is determined to make her pay for her “crime.” Neetu and Randhir fall in love in the midst of all of it, because what could be more romantic than this plot?”
Memsaab: “OMG! Ajit STABS A PICTURE OF A KITTEN, he is so crazy!”
Shalini: “Keeping Paintal’s preserved body in the bedroom is worse.”
Memsaab: “That’s probably true.”
Shalini: “Do you realize that Ranjeet (and Bindu) are the most *normal* characters in this movie?! I suppose that’s reason enough for this movie to be immortalized.”
When I look back at pictures of my younger, prettier and thinner self and then look in the mirror at the me of today, I feel the way this film would probably feel if it could look back at Hum Kisise Kum Naheen: the same old thing, but wearier, more bloated and not any smarter or more mature. It is the middle-aged incarnation of HKKN after bad plastic surgery, making it occasionally fascinating in an “I want to look away but can’t” kind of way. Mostly it’s just dull, though, and I might not have bothered to write it up but for my friend and fellow Hindi film music fan PC over at Third Floor Music. He has waited patiently for me to gather the courage to go through this eyesore again for screencaps, and we are doing a tandem music-review post. He has uploaded the RD Burman soundtrack for your delectation, so grab it here and read on!
In October 1971 the first issue of Stardust magazine was published and a new era of film journalism began: it was snarkier, more gossipy, more intrusive, and a smash hit with readers.
Seven years on, a special edition of the magazine called “The Best of Stardust” was published to commemorate its success.
My latest Manmohan Desai kick (triggered by the insanity of Mard) continues with this film, and it’s oodles of fun too although not nearly as unpredictable. I didn’t even mind the innocent rustic Raj Kapoor-type character, mostly because it was enacted by his son Randhir, who is much more believable in the role (not sure if that’s really a compliment or not, but I mean it as one). Rekha and her sarees and hairdos were spectacular, and Shatrughan Sinha had plenty of style—and youth—on his side as well. Ranjeet and Padma Khanna (and Faryal) also made brief but gorgeous appearances, and the plot contained plenty of separated family members and coincidences.
So: lots of eye candy and a fast-paced action-packed story equals solid Desai-style entertainment, which is only enhanced by RD Burman’s lovely songs! Plus, removable snake tattooes!
Five seconds into the film (just after the censor’s certificate) this notice appears:
Hilarious! I absolutely adore the sarcastic, essentially unrepentant tone of it, and apparently it worked just fine for the censors too. This film could be used in a directing class as an example of what can happen when you work “over-enthusiastically” without a script. Halfway through, I had to stop so that I could diagram all the criss-crossing plot threads and character relationships in an effort to keep them straight. It’s not boring! but there is a definite seat-of-the-pants feel to the story, and little things like logic and continuity are thrown right out the window.
MemsaabStory 