Pradeep Kumar and Vyjayanthimala in Nagin (1954) - climactic sequence in lush Gevacolor

Filmistan’s dance-cum-musical romance, “Nagin,” directed by Nandlal Jaswantlal and starring vivacious Vyjayanthimala and Pradeep Kumar in the romantic leads, was premiered in Bombay at the luxurious Liberty Cinema on Friday, December 24th, 1954.

Based on a highly improbable story by Bijou Bhattacharya and scripted by Hamid Butt, with dialogue and lyrics by Rajinder Krishan, “Nagin” has a music score by Hemant Kumar. Dances are the highlights of this film and they have been designed and directed by Sachin Shanker, Hiralal and Yogen Desai.

Superbly mounted, the film has excellent production values throughout its length. Special mention should, however, be made of Fali Mistry (Shyama’s husband) who was responsible for pleasing photo­graphy throughout the film and the exqui­site Gevacolor sequences at the end. Sharing the credits with Fali Mistry for the climactic sequence in lush Gevacolor is Ram Kumar who designed the imaginative sets. Kudos should also go to Sayed Ahmed and G. J. More who are responsible for the black and white decor in the rest of the picture.

In spite of these redeeming factors which were smuggled into the picture with an eye on the box-office, “Nagin” is a deplorable pro­duction from a studio which won acclaim recently with such a thought-provoking film as “Nastik”.

The story is neither fish, flesh, nor good red herring, and defies classification. It has neither habitat nor locale, in spite of the claim by the producers that the two pivotal characters in the film belong to tribes “living in the hilly districts of India”. In fact the film is the crea­tion of wild imagination and Nandlal Jaswant­lal fails to rescue the hackneyed plot from the triteness in spite of this.

The fantastic story revolves round a boy and a girl belonging to rival tribes of snake catchers who deal in the poison extracted from the reptiles. Their love incurs the wrath of the warring tribes and in the ensuing turmoil the Nagin is bitten by a snake sent to kill her lover. She is, however, restored to life by him when he brings the venomous creature to cure her, and they live happily ever after.

Vyjayanthimala in the title role puts over a commendable performance besides looking ravishingly beautiful as the belle of the hills. Her dancing, too, is very graceful, specially in those eye-filling colour sequences and delight­ful ballets towards the finish.

Pradeep Kumar is unimpressive in a role -poorly etched and directed, and Jeevan as the jilted lover thirsting for the blood of the hero is theatrical throughout.

Mubarak, the old-timer, in spite of his out­landish costume and poorly-written role, is res­ponsible for an excellent characterization as the stern but kind-hearted father. The rest of the characters are lost in the scenic trappings.

Hemant Kumar’s musical score is in keep­ing with the theme and the songs have a rare lilt and may prove popular.

As mentioned earlier, the piece-de-resis­tance of the film are the superbly conceived and dexterously designed ballet sequences, a delec­table appendage to a depressingly poor film (Filmfare Magazine, 1955)

Cast and Production Credits

Year – 1954, Genre – Musical/Fantasy, Country – India, Language – Hindi, Producer – Filmistan,  Director – Nandlal Jaswantlal, Music Director –Hemant Kumar, Cast - Pradeep Kumar, Vyjayanthimala, Jeevan, Sulochana, Krishna Kumari, I. S. Johar, Mubarak

Sulochana

Sulochana’s was the visage that changed the face of Indian cinema. Before her, the socially-disreputable job of playing cinema heroine was usually assigned to slim young men as even prostitutes refused to exhibit themselves before the whole country.

It was not easy convincing the Anglo Indian Sulochana (Ruby Myers) to take on such a dubious profession. When Mohan Bhavnani of the Kohinoor Film Company first approached this telephone operator, she was, in her quintessentially British India argot, ‘tickled pink’. She turned him down but when he persisted, she gamely agreed, despite having no knowledge of acting whatsoever. But in those early days of cinematic craft, the consideration of paramount importance was her pretty luminosity which shone through in those black, white and silver films. Chubby, petite and brown-eyed, the self-christened Sulochana’s pulchritudinous appeal matched what had been indoctrinated in the Indian psyche for centuries.

After a rumbustious start in adventure hits like Wildcat Of Bombay (where she essayed eight roles), Telephone Girl, Typist Girl (all reminiscent of Hollywood’s The Perils of Pauline series), Sulochana dabbled in several genres like fantasies (Heer Ranjha), stunt films (Punjab Mail), before three romantic superhits in ’28-’29 with director R S Chaudhari — Madhuri, Anarkali and Indira B A — established her as the silent era’s first and foremost star.

So widespread was her fame that it was used to promote khadi too. A little- known fact is that the first Indian talkie venture was a short on Mahatma Gandhi inaugurating a khadi exhibition, alongside which was added a hugely popular dance of Sulochana’s from Madhuri, synchronized with sound effects.

Ironically, when Sulochana’s home company Imperial, launched the first genuine talkie film, Alam Ara in 1931, it was Sulochana’s rival Zubeida who was chosen to play the heroine because of her command over Hindi. Hurt but determined, Sulochana took a year off, learned the language and made an ego- affirming comeback with the record-breaking smash of the talkie version of Madhuri. Further talkie versions of her silent hits followed and with Indira (now an) M A and Anarkali, Sulochana reclaimed her position at the top of the heap. She was once again the highest paid star on the Indian cosmos, drawing Rs 5,000 per month, as compared to Master Vithal’s Rs 2,500; she had the sleekest of cars (Chevrolet 1935) and one of the biggest heroes, D Billimoria, as her lover. With her strong fan base, the powerful Sulochana could dictate terms to Imperial and ensure that between 1933 and 1939 she worked exclusively with her handsome Parsi paramour.

Theirs was the love story of the 20s and the 30s. When it ended, so did their careers, sending Sulochana spiralling down a vortex of crises. She left Imperial to find no outside offers forthcoming. New names were now lapping on the shores of Bollywood, swept by the tidal power of change. The queen now had to make do with imitation jewels.

In 1953, she acted in her third Anarkali, but this time in a supporting role. However, she still had the power to excite controversy. In 1947, Morarji Desai banned the Dilip Kumar-Noorjehan starrer, Jugnu, because it showed such a morally reprehensible act as an aging fellow professor falling for Sulochana’s vintage charms.

The roles kept getting smaller. Worse, Sulochana had seemingly ignored the Jewish side of her ancestry and was now reduced to penny pinching. The original glamour queen of Indian cinema passed away in her Kemp’s Corner flat — aged, alone and penury stricken.

This was the woman who once became famous for drawing a larger salary than the Governor of Bombay!