MR.
& MRS. '55
(1955, Hindi, 157 minutes)
Produced and Directed by Guru Dutt
Dialogues: Abrar Alvi; Lyrics: Majrooh Sultanpuri; Music: O. P. Nayyar; Cinematography:
V. K. Murthy; Art Direction: D. R. Jadhav
This clever romantic comedy is one of the lighter products of the Guru Dutt
team that would later craft such heavyweight masterpieces as PYAASA and KAAGAZ
KE PHOOL. Evoking debates over social legislation and women’s rights in
the immediate post-Independence period, the narrative pokes fun at upper-class
liberal reformers who seek to impose their ideology on society at large. Since
the reformers in question happen to be women, the film delivers an essentially
reactionary message vis-à-vis gender: its Westernized, bespectacled feminists
are man-hating harpies out to deprive “good” Indian women of the simple
happiness they ostensibly derive from traditional roles as cooks, servants,
and baby-machines for their menfolk. The predictability and (now) political
incorrectness of this theme (for which the director perhaps atoned in his probing
and female-centered meditation on gender inequity, SAHIB, BIBI AUR GHULAM),
is offset by the witty plot, atmospheric mise-en-scène, fine ensemble
acting, strong score, and inventive camerawork—all trademarks of a Guru
Dutt production.
After
the credits (superimposed over a newspaper front page that alludes to a climactic
courtroom scene) the film opens with feminist firebrand Sita Devi (Lalita Pawar)
presiding over a meeting in support of a proposed divorce bill that will give
women more scope to terminate marriages. Though parliamentary passage of the
bill appears imminent, Sita’s cadre of upper-class housewives seem more
interested in debating the relative merits of skin-softening facials, and her
unmarried niece and charge, Anita (Madhubala), slips out at every opportunity
to drool over a tennis pro named Ramesh. Anita’s escapades lead to a chance
meeting with the impoverished Preetam Kumar (Guru Dutt), who instantly falls
in love with her. Preetam is an out-of-work cartoonist (the film’s few
glimpses of his drawings feature the handiwork of famous satirist R. K. Laxman)
whose single rumpled suit and fedora, as well as his silence throughout the
first two scenes (finally broken with the song Dil par hua aisa jadoo,
“Such a spell has been cast on my heart”), contribute to the Chaplinesque
quality of his character—though understandably Guru Dutt’s version,
unlike Raj Kapoor’s “Raju,” evokes the soulful and melancholic
rather than the manic and clownish sides of the Tramp.
Sita Devi’s plans to mold her niece according to her own ideology as an
“independent” woman are further frustrated when it is revealed that
Anita’s late father—anticipating the aunt’s designs—stipulated
in his will that his daughter must marry within a month of her 21st birthday,
or lose her inheritance of seven million rupees. With the deadline fast approaching,
the would-be heiress eager for conjugal bliss (signaled by the song Thandi
hawa kaali ghata, “A cool breeze and dark clouds,” with which
she attempts to woo Ramesh in a swimming-pool scene), and no Suitable Boy in
sight (Ramesh having spurned Anita’s proposal and departed for Wimbledon),
the scheming aunt contracts a marriage of convenience—to be terminated
after one month—with a hired groom, who is expected to be poor but educated,
and willing to forego further contact with his bride after their cursory civil
ceremony. In fact, he turns out to be Preetam, who is uninterested in the promised
fee but hopeful that Anita will fall for him too. She of course does, eventually,
but not before the plot has taken several unpredictable twists, in part through
the machinations of Preetam’s rakish friend and benefactor, the newspaper
photographer Johny (Johny Walker). The latter has his own love interest—a
secretary at the newspaper office—whom he woos with the song Jaane kahan
mera jigar (“God knows where I’ve lost my heart”).
For
those able to pardon (or laugh at) gender stereotyping and an implicit appeal
to male fears that women’s rights will threaten family values—fears
that have not yet been laid to rest in the ensuing half century—there’s
plenty of good fun and good music here, including notable vocal performances
by Geeta Dutt, the director’s wife. Simple yet highly inventive song picturizations
are enhanced by fine use of outdoor locations—Bombay teashops, bus stops,
and a swimming pool. Madhubala looks radiant in Murthy’s chiaroscuro framing,
and Guru Dutt himself appears lovably wistful but not yet tragically doomed.
[The Yash Raj Films DVD of MR. & MRS. ’55—like the company’s
other Guru Dutt offerings—features only a mediocre-quality print; one hopes
that better footage survives somewhere. Though the subtitles miss the finer
turns of Abrar Alvi’s witty dialogue, they are otherwise adequate and are
provided for song lyrics as well.]