Sawan Bhadon (1970)

No wonder people look back fondly to the ’60s and the ’70s as part of the “Golden Age” of Bollywood movies when family entertainers extolling and promoting traditional, homegrown values were very much to the fore “westernized” concepts seemed somewhat alien and misplaced. These were days of the “family socials” characterized by classic films such as the Rajesh Khanna – Mumtaz smash Do Raaste, which was a modern film set in a contemporary urban setting but which promoted strictly “desi” values and scorned on the materialistic values of the “evil” west.

In the late ’60s, Dilip Kumar scored a big success with Ram Aur Shyam, another fairy tale like fable involving evil step-parents and huge fortunes. A load of family intrigue – but at the end of the day, it’s the homegrown, traditional values that always prevail, and the westernized mod lot usually end up with eggs on their faces, if not worse. (Ram Aur Shyam was remade again in the early ’70s as Seeta Aur Geeta and was even more successful than Ram Aur Shyam had been) Sawan Bhadon is a film that will always be remembered as Rekha’s debut Hindi feature.

Rekha, just in case one needs reminding, was to become nothing short of a Bollywood legend and is still going strong thirty-odd years after Sawan Bhadon first hit screens. The film is a throwback to the vintage family-oriented yarns concocted so expertly by Bollywood and South Indian scriptwriters during the golden years.
One ought to keep in mind that many films that succeed in Bollywood are originally regional hits picked up and remade by canny producers sensing a kill. Sawan Bhadon became Rekha’s debut by accident. She had already signed with the renowned sleaze merchants the Pal Brothers from East Africa (not to be confused with the Pang Brothers of South East Asia), who had signed her for Anjana Safar when she had been a mere 13-year-old.
Fortunately for Rekha, Anjana Safar got bogged down with censor problems and couldn’t secure a release. Rekha managed to escape her contract because she had been a minor when she signed. Her career, which could have been over before it started, was given a second life when she got signed on by seasoned producer-director Mohan Segal to play the role of a buxom, feisty village belle opposite dashing and upcoming young star Naveen Nishal. And so, not knowing a word of Hindi nor how to dance, this dusky, unpolished beauty got her break – without even having a screen test.

Mohan Segal and especially his assistant were so convinced that they had landed themselves the genuine article in young BhanuRekha (as she was known before the Bhanu was dropped).

Sawan Bhadon was to become a significant success celebrating Silver Jubilees in 34 centres, and Rekha’s career was successfully launched as she went on a signing spree of 18 films in the immediate wake of Sawan Bhadon’s success.

Naveen Nishal also benefited momentarily, but it was clear that this somewhat likeable performer was too gawky and geek-like to make it to the big league. It was a matter of time before he was relegated to becoming a horror star and appeared regularly in about a thousand Ramsay and Bhakri shockers during the dreadful ’80s. Anyway, the plot of Sawan Bhadon is vintage Bollywood pulpy family drama stuff involving plenty of intrigue and twists and turns along the way.

The story goes a little like this. Geek-like and self-righteous heir apparent to the vast inheritance of dear departed Daddy arrives home from Europe to be met by the dutiful driver Qasim at the airport. The various stepfamily members being far too busy with their interests to bother going to the airport to receive the future master of the house. Once Vikram (Naveen) reaches home, all is hunky-dory with his stepmother and his kid sister Dolly.

He is somewhat surprised to have grown up into hot pants wearing go-go dancing siren rather than the timid, sari wearing doormat that his dead father would have hoped for. He is also somewhat taken aback at his clubbing, alcohol swigging and a rather trendy mother in law who isn’t averse to a bit of hip-shaking herself from time to time.
The other parasites in the house include the stepmothers gambling loser of a brother known as Mama, and the group is soon joined by slimy Madan, who is hoping to snare dumb cutie Dolly in his nefarious scheme. The driver Qasim appears to be the only person who is genuinely faithful to Vikram as he tries to assert his authority on the family affairs, something he finds that his stepmother is out to scupper at every given opportunity.

It doesn’t take long for Vikram to realize that his beloved family only has eyes for the inheritance and that he is viewed as an obstacle to achieving their glory days. Meanwhile, Vikram comes across feisty village belle Chanda who doesn’t take too long in becoming the apple of his eye.

The plot thickens as the scheming family plot party pooper Vikram’s demise so that they can lay their hands on the entire inheritance and live the debauched lifestyle they so adore. Then the shocker, they murder Vikram and are just getting down to some serious celebrations when a dead ringer shows up claiming to be the “dead” Vikram. More importantly, claiming the entire inheritance as his own as was the original instructions of his fathers will.

With the wild celebrations cut short, the magnificently wicked stepmother with the diabolical hairdo comes into her own. Open warfare ensues with Vikram, Chanda and her mother at loggerheads with Shyama, Dolly, Mama and their lot. Meanwhile, Chanda isn’t entirely convinced that this “up from the dead” Vikram is the real Vikram, as he claims.

Then, the diabolical mother in law decides that a second murder is the only way forward, and so a plot is hatched to poison the fake Vikram, having already blown the real one to bits with a time bomb! Believe it or not, there are a couple of twists still left in the tail of this wonderfully cooked concoction of deliciously old fashioned melodrama.

Director Mohan Segal maintains a tight grip on proceedings and the pace never flags – no mean feat in a film that runs close to 150 minutes. The movie cast is in top form, with Rekha turning in a performance that belies her zero experience – clearly acting was in her blood. Mohan Segal’s assistant had spotted it, and it is abundantly clear that the girl on screen here had a certain allure and spark and had “star” plastered all over her. She exudes confidence despite being a 14-year-old child making her debut in Bombay.

Navin Nishal, on the other hand, poor fellow, doesn’t have what it takes. When he breaks into his dance routines to woo Rekha with a typically spunky Mohammad Rafi number, one fears that he might fall over wobbling – perhaps the Funky Chicken or the Legless Ostrich more likely. He is embarrassed in his attempts at song and dance and blessed with such a gormless personality that he spends more time wondering whether that thing on his head is his natural hair or a fake hairpiece than watching his performance.

Shyama, who took over the mantle of Bollywood’s prime bitch once the wonderful Shashikala had gone into exile, is excellent as the wicked, scheming, foul-mouthed bitch on the warpath, while Jayshree T is a perfect foil with her airhead comments and bimbo outfits. Shyama was soon ousted by Bindu, who arrived with a bang with the abovementioned Do Raaste to take over as Queen Bollywood Bitch for many moons to come. Iftikhar enjoys a role when he isn’t a police officer and turns in a fine supporting cameo.

One weakness the film has is in the musical department – Sonik-Omi were never able to make the A grade (or even the b grade for that matter) and wallowed in the Z grade department bagging the films that the big names wouldn’t touch. This was a big break for them, and their tunes were not unpopular. Still, when one considers the vibrant music coming out of Bollywood during that era – this soundtrack is remarkably unremarkable.

Sonik-Omi were very one dimensional in their compositions and relied on recreating some popular folksy Punjabi tunes to suit the demands of Bollywood – none of their work sounds particularly interesting or creative. One is hard pushed to remember even one composition of theirs that sticks in mind. Indeed Cheecho Cheech Ganderian fails to qualify, though that is the only somewhat tuneful song of their that I can recall offhand,that too from another Naveen Nishal Rekha movie, the name of which escapes me at the moment.
Sawan Bhadon was such a successful concoction that a remake was made in the late ’80s as Mera Haq starring Sanjay Dutt in Nishal’s role and Bindu retreading Shyama’s dastardly steps. Even the remake was pretty enjoyable, if nowhere near as deliciously stylish as the heavily South influenced original. One of the film’s vintage moments is a giveaway that reveals South Indian connections were the gloriously gaudy title sequence featuring wild kaleidoscope colours cascading all over the screen. At the same time, the credits roll – this “type” of title sequence being the hallmark of vintage and not so vintage South productions from the glory days of the ’60s and ’70s.

It’s a scintillatingly entertaining movie from beginning to end but don’t be too hasty in fast-forwarding all those admittedly sub-standard songs. You will only be depriving yourself of the joy of watching Naveen Nishal’s Do the Funky One-Legged Ostrich dance numbers!