Imran Khan and Zara Sheikh in Laaj (2003)

Our history, or more accurately our recent history, has an overbearing effect on us. The experience of being colonial subjects, the pain of living in the perpetual shadow of an overbearing majority and the suffering caused by the partition of the sub-continent along with what many people prefer to call a ‘religious divide’ have been pivotal in shaping our collective consciousness.

So, if somebody thinks that all these factors can be successfully played upon to make people go to the cinema, he is perhaps being too naive. For people in the business of making films firmly believe that history has always provided great fodder for cinema. No doubt it does. Remember Ben Hur, Gladiator, Lawrence of Arabia and hundreds of other Hollywood blockbusters. Closer home, the historical romance of Noor Jehan has been the fodder of successful Bollywood filmmakers like nothing else. Lagaan, Ashoka and a couple of Bhagat Singh flicks are only the most recent additions to a seemingly never ending list of Indian movies based on history, both real or imagined.

Pakistani cinema has a comparable list to show if not in quantity than at least in the variety of historical subjects — romances, wars, anti-colonial struggles and Hindu-Muslim conflicts.

And if you want to see all these combined, go to see Laaj. The film set in the spring of 1936 moves to and fro between Bannu and Bekanare, two mutually distant parts of undivided India. It tells the story of a rich Hindu girl Ram Kori in love with a poor Muslim boy Noor Ali — this class division being another filmi favorite — set in the context of a war of independence from the British being fought in the backdrop of a simmering religious conflict between the Hindus and the Muslims.

All these themes are strong enough to evoke passion and consequently appeal for the movie. Sadly for Laaj’s writer-director Rauf Khalid this hasn’t happened. Even a casual viewing of the film shows that he has only himself to blame for the failure. First, he has tried to do too much. In a short span of three hours, he has attempted, unsuccessfully though, to prove or disprove too many theories – that Muslims are forgiving and considerate, that the British exploited Hindu-Muslim divide to strengthen their rule in India, that goras succeeded because of fifth columnists among us, that Pashtuns fiercely guarded their independence against the colonial invaders, that love knows no differences –the list can go on forever like this.

The problem this plethora of themes creates for the writer/director is an ideological confusion. The cine-goer is not sure even after watching the whole of the movie whether Rauf Khalid is supporting something or opposing it. When a Hindu girl shows her readiness to revoke her religious belief for the sake of her lover, she is quickly reminded that Islam does not favor a conversion for amorous purposes. You are not sure whether the writer/director stands for the poor girl or for the selfless pursuit of puritanical religious affinity.

In another set of contradictory ideological choices, the writer/director is caught between approving traditional Pashtun customs and opposing them for being too illiberal and inhuman. The film opens with a Pashtun girl facing the wrath of her tribe for getting abducted. The subsequent events show that our writer/director disproves it as being rather cruel. When it comes to fighting the British, however, he seems to eulogize the same Pashtunwali — customary Pashtun law — for providing people courage to defy the colonial order.

Nationalism/patriotism falls victim to a similar fate. Fakir Ippi, a controversial and little known Pashtun tribal figure, who is known to have kept fighting against local/national authority even after the foreign/colonial rulers have left makes it impossible for the audience to identify with. The movie leaves people wondering which side of this ideological battle they should take and consequently they fail to associate passionately with any of it.

In fact, the viewers expected to see many of these things in a Rauf Khalid film. He has to his credit a couple of TV serials made in defence of a staunchly Pakistani version of Kashmir issue. As if this was not enough, he opens Laaj by attributing it to late writer/director Riaz Shahid known for his historical hits like Zarqa and Gharana.

Had the movie been a faithfully correct reproduction of the events it purports to show, the audience might have tended to overlook the entire theoretical muddle. The problem is this is hardly the case with Laaj. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that the movie — like most cinematic narratives — creates history retrospectively. And a retrospectively created history is selective at best and distorted at worst depending on who is behind the effort and what are their motives. If the purpose is to show that pre-partition Muslims as being the only upholders of bravery, chivalry and loyalty then all Hindus and British need be portrayed as being the embodiment of all that is quite the opposite — greed, cunningness and treachery.

Not that these historical stereotypes are the only thing wrong with the narrative. The presentation, too, is faulty. At a time when the British are shown to be using aero planes against Pashtun insurgents, the hero is made to travel 1000 miles on horseback through the most difficult terrain imaginable. Another important omission is a correct reproduction of accents — only a Rajisthani dance girl, a couple of minor Pashtun characters and the British actors are the only ones who remain faithful to their native accent, all the rest use as chaste Urdu as is possible.

And they say the director has taken pains to be faithful with details! Maybe. Because first the ruins of Cholistan’s Darawar fort are too much in the picture for the audience to believe that the action is taking place further southeast in Rajisthan and second the clothes worn by the Rajisthanis make them look more like clowns than real people. Only characters in Indian movies and real-life Rajisthanis are known to have been using dresses like the ones we see in Laaj.

The flawed details apart, even the broader scheme of the movie fails to take hold of all its ingredients. Love, freedom struggle, religion and nationalism when contained — with too much of an effort — in the story, they stretch it too thin for the hapless viewer to be able to make any sense of it all. Various events appear in the movie like clothes hanging on a washing line — that is, without any apparent link to each other.
The most tenuous of all these links is the one between love and war. Was it the former which triggered the latter or the link between the two is only accidental, you never know. The writer/director drops a couple of broad hints that it was the love affair the mishandling of which caused the Pashtuns to take up arms against the British. But does the history bear this out is the matter of a wild guess.

This may be because Rauf Khalid is motivated by a desire to outdo the established writers/directors of Pakistani cinema. A story with a single-minded focus on vulgarity or violence or both is not his cup of tea. His are lofty aims, so must be his story. Even the most ordinary of human affairs — that is the relationship between a man and a woman — must, therefore, be rendered in such a way that it edifies the viewers. But the problem is that all these aims are lost in the muddle that the movie is and the viewers are left wondering whether it has been any different from the run-of-the-mill Pakistani cinema.

On at least two other counts, the movie also gives away its Pakistani origin. First, it is a continuation of so many other Pakistani films produced in reaction to Bollywood movies allegedly made on anti-Muslim themes; second, it sizzles with all the requisite filmi masala which good movies should not — and this happens in spite of the writer/director claiming to the contrary. So you see a courtesan, a barely clad gypsy girl and a ready to reveal heroine all prancing and dancing for no apparent reason. The music and the lyrics, too, smack of following popular pattern — a Poorbi song for the courtesan, a Rajisthani number for the gypsy girl and a Pashtun tune for the hero. A case of abundance of formulas, not of their absence.

It is precisely this abundance, which leaves Rauf Khalid unable to deal with all his subjects in time for the movie to end. So it drags on, maybe unnecessarily, but even then he finds it impossible to resolve all the conflicts in it on screen. Hence a long written passage to tell what happens after the movie ends.

The movie is not without a couple of redeeming features, though. One is the outstanding performance of Talat Hussain as Fakir Ippi and the other is the rather brilliant portrayal of the war scenes. With possible exceptions of Nirma as gypsy girl and Nayyar Ejaz as the bad guy, most of the other characters — especially Imran Khan playing Noor Ali and Zara Sheikh playing Ram Kori — are unable to do justice to their roles.

Now that the public verdict on the movie is already out and most viewers appear to have rejected it by staying back, the writer/director must take note of the fact that there should at least be some difference between entertainment and ideologically motivated propaganda. While the former attracts, the latter more often than not repels. The viewers should be forgiven for desiring to be entertained not taught and sermonized.

Cast and Production Credits

Year – 2003, Genre – Drama, Country – Pakistan, Language – Urdu, Producer – N/A, Director – Rauf Khalid, Music Director – N/A, Cast – Imran Khan, Zara Sheikh, Nayyar Ejaz, Nirma, Talat Hussain

Ejaz and Firdous in Heer Ranjha (1970)

Producer-Director Masud Parvez and music wizard Khurshid Anwar are back in splendid form. Together they have scored again; and this time it is Waris Shah’s Heer Ranjha. Between them, these two proven artists and craftsmen have made a color film version of the romantic classic that, despite a few slips, is a worthy tribute to its creator.

The film begins in the form of a fantasy the director’s conception of the Quranic injunction that matches are made in Heaven. It is quite a beautiful sequence and the rendering of Waris Shah’s verses in the background, preceding the sequence and during it, adds considerably to its impact.

The actual story opens in Ranjha’s village with Ranjha romping about, teasing the girls and breaking their pitchers. With Ranjha’s carefree and romantic character established, the story gathers momentum.

Event after event occurs at a brisk pace and the story races to the thundering climax sequence that fades out in a final touch of fantasy.

The director keeps a steady hold on the audience and in this he is ably assisted by the camera work, the acting, the editing and the music. Picturisation of the song-cum-dance sequences, particularly those on Firdous, is very good. Despite not being of the crude and vulgar type seen in the usual run of Punjabi pictures, they draw spontaneous applause.

Dwelling on picturisation one cannot help mentioning the sequence of a song on Firdous, at the end of which Masud Parvez Frames a diya and the full moon. It is a beautiful artistic touch that gives added meaning and depth to the situation. That this little touch draws cheers from the audience is ample evidence that our cinemagoers appreciate and welcome the subtle and the artistic.

On the whole, Masud Parvez has done a fine job, but there are a few slips. For example, the song-and-dance sequences featuring a lot of village girls, the background prop in the roof-top sequences, Heer’s dresses and jewelry, particularly those she dons before her marriage, the fight sequence on Ranjha, Ranjha’s hiding under a basket that could hardly cover a child, Heer’s imbecile husband, etc. Such weak-points in a Masud Parvez’s film are surprising. His major, or basic, slip is that he has not given adequate attention to the mystic aspect of the classic, which basically portrays the conflicts between the body and the soul.

A lesser flaw is the abrupt occurrence of the tragedy. This particular sequence could have been developed with more telling affect.

Khurshid Anwar has found his best form again. Both in the tunes and the back ground music he is in top form. His music in fact is the chief highlight of the picture.

On the histrionics side, Ajmal dominates. He has put over a first-rate performance.

Firdous has done well as Heer. Color is flattering to her, but one wishes the big close-ups on her had been avoided or their angle changed to cover the hairline of her upper lip.

Ejaz manages to do well in the romantic sequences but when it comes to portraying a tortured soul, he is less than convincing. For this he has to thank the limited range of expressions and gestures that he employs in almost every film. But most of all, it is the fact that he has put on. It is particularly unbecoming when he dons the Jogi’s garb.

Rangeela, in a brief appearance, has done so well that in one sequence he almost overshadows an acting giant like Ajmal.

Munawar Zarif is one of the film’s major disappointments. One is tired of seeing him do and say the same things over and over again. And his over-acting makes him more unbearable.

Ahmed Rahi’s dialogue is nice, forceful and witty but at places he falls to the pedestrian level dictates of the `box-office’ or `popular taste’ perhaps. His songs, almost all of them, are first-rate.

Heer Ranjha is a creditable effort that is head and shoulders above its predecessors. It is film, that; minus the village girls’ song-and-dance sequences and a careful pruning of Munawar Zarif, can be exported to any foreign market with confidence and a measure of pride.

In a way it is a milestone, for it has not only set a new and laudable trend in Punjabi films but has also brought Khurshid Anwar and Masud Parvez together again. It revives the memory of Intezar, Zehr-e-Ishq, Jhoomar and Koel and one hopes that these two gifted film-makers will stay together and give cinema goers many more like them – Q.Z. Malik

Cast and Production Credits

Year - 1970, Genre – Legendary, Country - Pakistan, Language - Punjabi, Producer – Ejaz and Masud Pervez, Director – Masud Pervez, Music Director – Khurshid Anwar, Cast -Firdous, Ejaz, Zammurd, Salma Mumtaz, Rangeela,Munawar Zareef, Aqeel, Ilyas Kashmiri and Ajmal

Zeenat and Sabiha Khanum in Sassi (1954)

Produced in 1954, Sassi – a love legend from Balochistan and Sindh – was a big budget movie and was filmed around the most picturesque areas of the country. Sabiha was cast in the title role, as the daughter of the chief of the washermen’s clan of Sindh, and as such got individual credit in the title role. The remaining cast, including Sudhir who played Punhu, was mentioned as a group slide. Shahnawaz, Ghulam Mohammed, Nazar, and Asha Posley played their roles adequately. Under the direction of Daud Chand, the camera work shows a lot of movement, very long panning of the king’s court, and crane shots at the dhobi ghats, i.e, washermen’s ponds. In places an effort has been made to create surrealistic scenes, but due to the drabness of the props, and a lack of imagination because of which the entire scene is filmed in a single flat shot, the effect is not achieved. The film producer also desired to include the plagiarized version of a popular Indian song by Hemant Kumar Na ye chand hoga na tare rahain gey, magar hum humaish tumhari rahain ge. The movie got a clean bill from the censor. Sassi was a great commercial hit by J.C. Anand and created an all time record for being the first golden jubilee film of Pakistan.

Sassi was based on the famous folk legend of Sassi Punhu mentioned below.

The Story of Sassi Punhu

Of all the folk legends, Sassi Punhu is the most widely known tragic tale of love, adopted as the theme of their poetic works by different sages of Sindh, Punjab, Balochistan, Gujarat, Uttar Pradesh and Rajasthan. The story though simple and fairly commonplace is narrated with a host of both complex and abstract events that give varied expression and meanings to its generic contents.

It begins like some stories of the Torah and Rigveda when a superstitious king of Bhambhore is alarmed by the mishaps that befall him at the birth of his first child, a baby girl. To ward off the misfortune predicted by his astrologer, pundit, and mullah, he puts the newborn in a box full of jewels and ornaments and floats it down a river. The river, the life force, finds a secure abode for the child and safely hands her over to the custody of a washerman. The baby, disowned by her father, brings good luck to the poor childless man. She is pampered and brought up with love and affection. She grows up to become a beautiful young woman. But the girl becomes restless as if waiting for someone-perhaps a Prince Charming. Her longing takes the shape of a face she sees in a portrait put on show by an artist in the market-place. The portrait is that of Punhu, prince of Mekran. The painter is stunned to see Sassi and her fascination for the painting. He refuses to sell the painting even when Sassi offers him his asking price. The painter then helps to fulfil the lovers’ tryst with destiny by going to Punhu and telling him about the beauteous admirer of his painting. The besotted prince pronounces that it must be Sassi. The fire of eternal love has equally inflamed him. Soon he finds his way to Sassi’s land which is located in enemy territory. Sassi and Punhu meet and fall in love without exchanging a word as if they had known each other from eternity. Punhu poses as a washerman and wins the confidence of Sassi’s father. Their marriage is solemnized after some minor bickering.

Now the king of Mekran comes to know about his son’s marriage to an ordinary girl. He summons his other sons and orders them to bring Punhu back to Mekran. The entourage reaches Bhambhore and manages to drug the lovers with a sleeping potion. They kidnap Punhu and rush to Mekran on fast moving camels. Sassi wakes up and soon realizes the fate of her love. In spite of warnings and misgivings she embarks on a journey all by herself in search of her Punhu. Shah Abdul Latif Bhitai, the most renowned mystic poet of Sindh, ascribed five surs (versified chapters) to Sassi’s wanderings in the desert of life. For Bhitai, true love transcends the barrier between Creator and creation and the search for the beloved is an eternal thirst that cannot be quenched, but is further exacerbated after meeting the loved one.

During her sojourn in the wilderness of the desert of Uthal, Sassi encounters a shepherd who is a predator and a lecher in contrast to the painter-the love harnesser. The man promises to lead her to Punhu, but instead tries to molest her. Like all great love legends, this one also ends in cataclysmic grief. The earth erupts like a mother goddess and takes Sassi into its embrace, to save her from the treachery of the evil-monger. Punhu reaches there, but is too late. The shepherd repents and tells Sassi’s tale of woe. The separation of true lovers is now unbearable for mother nature as well. The earth unfolds its arms and again offers an eternal abode to Punhu in the company of his love, Sassi – Mushtaq Gazdar

Cast and Production Credits

Year – 1954, Genre – Legendary, Country – Pakistan, Language – Urdu, Producer – J.C. Anand, Director – Daud Chand, Music Director – G.A. Chisthi, Cast – Sabiha Khanum, Sudhir, Asha Posley, Shahnawaz, Ghulam Mohammed, Zeenat and Nazar