Still from the first feature film of East Pakistan, Mukh-o-Mukhosh (1956, Nazma, Benoy Biswas) directed by Abdul Jabbar Khan.

1956 was an eventful year in the history of Pakistani Cinema because it saw the birth of Bengali cinema in Dhaka, then the capital of East Pakistan. A. Jabbar Khan produced and directed Mukh-o-Mukhosh. Being, off-and-on, a stage actor all his life, Abdul Jabbar Khan had no practical knowledge of film-making. However, with two other partners he launched the first successful film production company of the province – “Iqbal Films”. He met Q.M. Zaman, a former assistant of some camera-men of Calcutta and Bombay, who was looking for a film-maker who could utilize him. They both went to Calcutta and bought a second hand “Eymo” camera and returned to Dacca to shoot Mukh-o-Mukhosh based on Jabbar Khan’s own stage play, a thriller called “Dakat”. There were no artistic pretensions and the story was chosen on the consideration of its suitability for outdoor shooting. For sound recording they borrowed a Philips household tape-recorder. When the film was completed in 1956, Mr. Khan discovered that it was not much of a film. The sound synchronization was particularly atrocious. The entire production cost, however, came to a paltry Rs. 64,000 all inclusive. Artistes which included Zahrat Azra, Kazi Khaleque and Inam Ahmed worked free of charge.

As expected, the distributors refused to take the film – the fear was not only of bad business but also of a threat of potential damage to cinema house’s property. However, Kamalendu Bannerjee who was then the managing partner of ancient “Roopmahal” cinema decided to take the risk of releasing the film on `compassionate’ grounds. On 3 August 1956, East Bengal’s first ever full-length feature film was released and contrary to the predictions of the pundits, movie-goers literally showered it with unreserved love. It was a moving experience for all concerned. Of the 4 prints, 3 others were released in Chittagong, Narayangunj and Khulna and the reactions were the same everywhere. The first release collection went over Rs. 42,000 net. But because of the really bad quality the prints were discarded for good after the first run.

One cannot deny that Mukh-o-Mukhosh did not add much to our film art. But its appearance had been significant in many respects. It dispelled successfully the unfounded fear that film-making had no future in East-Pakistan. It also helped to bring home to the government the indispensable necessity for a studio which could contribute toward creating a worthwhile film industry and end East Bengal’s costly filmic reliance on Calcutta and Bombay – Alamgir Kabir

Cast and Production Credits

Year – 1956, Genre – Suspense/Thriller, Country – Pakistan, Language – Bengali, Producer – Abdul Jabbar Khan, Director – Abdul Jabbar Khan, Music Director – Samar Das, Cast - Purnima, Saifuddin, Benoy Biswas, Jabbar, Inam Ahmed, Zahrat Azra, Nazma and Kazi Khaleque

Shamim Ara un Hamraaz (1967)

Khurshid Anwar’s Hamraaz provides an excellent example of a film artist’s ability to make a clean and engaging film even when compelled to compromise in the selection of theme. Hamraaz is a thriller, but vastly different from the thrillers made in Pakistan because the characters symbolize the contest for supremacy in a cognizable social system. Moreover, having set this story going the writer does not try to introduce everything considered essential for a thriller but follows the demands of the characters and their interests, incorporating only such action as is compatible with them.

Briefly, the film describes a conflict generated by a man’s demoniacal lust for possession and power which he disguises as a mission to preserve the values inherited from his feudal forefathers, and for whose gratification he does not hesitate to intrigue and kill. Some of the people who come in his path are ruthlessly felled, some escape by sheer ingenuity, and over them all rules the natural laws of balance and retribution. The story began long ago, perhaps when the Nawab of Qaisarabad died and left the jagir to his three sons, one of them a sophisticated mixture of Macbeth and Richard III. The film begins when both of his brothers have died, one leaving an imbecile (who, quite suggestively, sports a cowboy costume and constantly plays double agent), and the other leaving two girls (Again, suggestively – one fond of teddy culture and the other fond of traditional dress and music). He draws up a plan to do away with all these claimants to the family throne and almost succeeds but for the intervention of a young doctor who takes a stand against evil largely because his conscience rejects it and to a lesser extent because he likes one of the girls marked for liquidation.

The writer starts telling the story from the point of view of the doctor. He (doctor) finds a mysterious girl on the road, she disappears, and when he tries to follow up the trail he lands himself in the thick of the plot. The writer then reveals some facts to the audience (the doctor is not taken into confidence) but the essential part of the mystery is unraveled by the doctor and the audience simultaneously. This is one of the better known techniques for treating a mystery and the director exploits it to the maximum advantage. Quite frequently one feels that he is trying to invest his characters with symbolic value as representatives of socio-cultural trends in our society. Although the screenplay is skillfully written, but somewhere along the line a link is suppressed and the average spectator is likely to find some questions unanswered.

As usual with Khurshid Anwar’s films, he uses music to further the plot. If you remove a song, you destroy a link. Even when the leading lady goes out to dance, her movements help the doctor to get rid of an illusion. Such sequences and the firm handling of the artistes make Hamraaz very much a director’s picture, particularly in the last scenes when some ghastly business is so delicately handled that the spectator feels its impact without being shown repulsive details. On the whole the artistes have responded commendably. Shamim Ara excels in the dual role, remaining faithful to both the girls — she portrays. Mohammad Ali looks relaxed after a long time. Talish is his confident self and Rangila has a role tailored for him. Tariq Aziz has not been able to decide when a worldly-wise professional ceases to be flippant. As for the musical score, it seems the demands of the story have considerably affected the compositions but Khurshid Anwar preserves his style and at least two of the compositions are outstanding. The technical values are adequate and Nabi Ahmed’s work behind the camera is excellent.

Cast and Production Credits

Year – 1967, Genre - Thriller/Suspense/Mystery, Country – Pakistan, Language – Urdu, Producer(s) – Sh. Abdur Rashid and Kh. Khurshid Anwar, Director – Khurshid Anwar, Music Director – Khurshid Anwar, Cast – Shamim Ara, Mohammad Ali, Nabila, Lehri,Tariq Aziz, Meena Shorey, Rangeela, Changezi, Ajmal and Talish

Santosh and Nayyar Sultana in Ghoonghat (1962)

An off-beat, purposeful theme, mounted with the skill and precision of a surgeon, and treated with the warmth and imagination of a poet, Ghoonghat is another addition to classic Pakistani films. Ghoonghat is not only a source of inspiration for the imaginative technicians but a slap on the face for the plagiarists and the box-office pundits.

Opinions have always differed as to who and what makes a good and successful film: is it the Producer, the Director, the Writer, the Music Director, the Star or the Technician? The few big names in modern cinema the world over tend to agree that, it is the team that matters. It no doubt does, but there is one person in the team who has to use the team in transforming the film on paper to the film on celluloid: the Director. If the story, photography, performances, music, decor, sound, editing, processing all matter, it is the putting of all these together, the blending of all into a compact absorbing narrative, that matters most. This is most creditably affected in Ghoonghat and is Khurshid Anwars major achievement, major because he is not only the Director, but the Producer, Script writer and Music Director too. While he has excelled in all the three latter departments, he has done much more in the former, the most challenging job. It was easy for Khurshid Anwar the Music Director to have dominated the film. What has actually happened is that Khurshid Anwar the Director is on top while at the same time Khurshid Anwar the Music Director is as appealing and refreshing and as hauntingly melodious as ever. There could be no more convincing proof of this man’s versatility.

For his subject, Khurshid Anwar once again goes off the beaten track. Discerning film-goers will not forget his Zehr-e-Ishq. No one can honestly say that he slipped in that earlier experiment but for a slight misjudgment of his audience – Zehr-e-Ishq went across to the intelligentsia, but not to the masses. Khurshid Anwar realized his misjudgment and that realization have aided him in infusing into Ghoonghat an appeal that is almost universal:

A newly-wed, educated and sensitive Young girl is on her way with her husband to her new and real home. She is clad in the traditional bridal attire and jewelry of her faith and culture. The traditional veil Ghoonghat is still hiding her face. She is sitting huddled up in the corner of her seat in a 1st Class railway coupe in the traditional posture of a newly-wed maiden. Outwardly she is calm, silent and motionless almost lifeless, a true picture of the fabled Eastern bride, but within her an unfamiliar and strangely pleasant mixture of joy, excitement, misgiving and apprehension is wildly surging.

The bridegroom a wealthy young man with a fertile imagination that has won him recognition as short-story writer approaches and addresses her with gentleness and love. The storm stirs in his heart. . . “This is the biggest day of my life and you my biggest possession”, he says… “I often asked my mother how my bride would look like and she told me: Your bride will be a Purban ki Rani. . . Have you ever heard of Purban ki Rani?” he asks. “Her name was Usha Rani and she lived in Purban. . . everyone in that land of beauty calls her Purban ki haw. When I was a little boy, I visited Purban with my parents. There, I heard her story and then I saw her in my dreams. She is dead long ago, but her spirit, they say still returns to Purban when the moon is full … ah ever since my childhood she has lived in my thoughts and I have cherished her…” He breaks off and moves towards her with a longing in his eyes, ” Lift your veil now, my bride, and let me see your face… let me see her… let me see Purban ki Rani …”. He approaches the bride but she huddles up in traditional modesty and resistance. “Please!” he pleads. The strange storm raging within appears to take hold of her, she lifts her head slightly and shakes it in alarmed pleading. The bridegroom gives in, smiles understandingly and moves towards his own berth. Alright, he says, “I give in… don’t lift your veil here. You must be tired. I will let you rest… but at home, you will have to lift, it. . I make sure that the face I see is the one that I long to see. . . . the face of Purban ki Rani”. The bridegroom stretches on his berth, turns on his side and eventually goes to sleep. The train rattles on. The storm within the bride bursts to the surface and grips her; but now it is something familiar, it is no longer strange. Her bowed head lifts and her motionless body stirs in nervous movements.

The train rattles on… a lifted shutter crashes shut. The bridegroom wakes up with a startle… he notices the lavatory door bang loudly shut, then slowly open, and bang shut again with the motion of the train. He looks at the other berth and finds it empty. Rising, he moves to the lavatory and hesitatingly looks in. Suddenly, he stiffens and turns round to look at the empty berth, the bridal garlands scattered on it, the brides shoes on the floor board, the broken water pitcher near the door, and his jaw sags in shock, he springs towards the emergency chain and pulls it… the train squeals to a halt, the Guard arrives, and on his heels, the bridegrooms father from the adjoining compartment. . . .Father, stammers the bridegroom, “Naheed my bride she! she has disappeared”.

This is the base from which Khurshid Anwar proceeds to unravel a strange story with such warmth understanding and skill that the audience remains spellbound to the final fade out.

There is not much of a story in the general sense, but the idea that has inspired this versatile writer, music director, producer, director has received such masterly treatment at his hands that one remains absorbed to the end.

The substantial part of the picture, however, is the world of spirits, which appears to be more realistic than the matter-of-fact scenes of every day life, which only serve as a backdrop, against which the main emotional experience is projected. This world of spirits is a dream world conjured up by the artistic genius of Khurshid Anwar by an exquisitely sensitive blending of ethereal patterns of melody with suggestive pictorial imagery. The result cannot be analyzed in terms of independent elements of experience. It is a totality of experience, which is the hallmark of all that is really good in art.

The biggest technical achievement of the director in collaboration with the cameraman is the atmosphere of mystery that has been captured in the outdoor location sequences of the picture. It is comparatively much easier to create such an effect on the artificial sets, where the studio lights are under the control of the cameraman and a limited space facilitates the manipulation of artificial mist. But to successfully launch such a venture in the wide expanses of a mountain is an achievement of which our film industry, can well be proud.

One of the major highlights of the picture is Nabi Ahmads photography, a highlight, one may say but it has all the delicate shades of mood, that, the director appears to convey. It was no mere accident that white mist was used in all scenes suggestive of the purity of Ushas spirit and dark foreboding mist when the hero brings his wife to the forest lake with the intention of murdering her.

Performances unmistakably bear the impress of directorial suggestions, particularly in the delicate, nuances of gestures, except in the case of the versatile Talish who gives a spontaneous portrayal of a comic character. But credit goes to Nayyar Sultana for having integrated the suggested gestures with feeling and giving the most convincing performance of her stereotyped actions. Santosh could not have done better in the role of an escapist dreamer.

The audiography of the picture is of a surprisingly high standard, particularly in the recording of songs. There are a few lapses in the mixing at some places but, keeping in mind this sadly mishandled technical aspect of Pakistani pictures in general, recordist Afzal Hussain deserves the gratitude of the industry.

Khurshid Anwar’s music is as original and appealing as it has always been. But this time his imagination gives shape to a weird experience and his keen and deft sense of orchestration blooms forth into such strange flowers as can grow only in a fairyland. The eerie yet sublime and soothing sound patterns, in which bass flute plays an important part are Khurshid Anwar’s latest contributions to the repertoire of Oriental music – Q.Z. Malik

Cast and Production Credits

Year – 1962, Genre – Thriller/Suspense/Mystery, Country – Pakistan, Language – Urdu, Producer(s) -Kh. Khurshid Anwar & Sultan Jilani, Director – Khurshid Anwar, Music Director – Khurshid Anwar, Cast -Nayyar Sultana, Santosh Kumar, Neelo, Laila, Bibbo, A. Shah and Talish