When I researched the 1983 black comedy Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro for a book a few years ago, a question that often arose was: why was JBDY such a one-of-a-kind film in its own time? Why was there nothing else like it in Hindi cinema? Kundan Shah's movie was about social injustice and the hegemony of the powerful over the common man, but its tone combined slapstick and surrealism with brilliant little non-sequiturs, and college-skit-level buffoonery. It occupied a different space from any of the other filmmaking modes of the era, being at a remove from both the self-consciously solemn "art" film and the unselfconsciously hyper-dramatic mainstream movie.
Of course, there were a few films that were inspired by JBDY, mostly made by newcomers, and involving the participation of some of the people who had worked on the earlier film. One such was Pankaj Parashar's Ab Aayega Mazaa, which I watched on a rare DVD just a few weeks ago, only to be gobsmacked by what an unusual little thing it was.
It begins with a sequence where a man prances about a graveyard in a black cloak, talking about how everyone ends up with a "plot" here sooner or later - but this is revealed to be a nightmare, and for a while thereafter Ab Aayega Mazaa seems like a middle-class romance, centred on two of the most non-starry actors of the time. Vijay (Farooque Shaikh), who is late for office as usual, meets a sweet girl named Nupur (Anita Raaj) while waiting at a bus-stop (this, boys and girls, is what people used to do in the pre-liberalisation days - before India became all shiny-happy and Lamborghinis dropped from the sky into the backyard of every house). She lives in Golf Links and has three phones in her house (in the mid-'80s even the prime minister didn't have three phones), and their romance begins with a glass of water bought from a roadside stall. But these "straight" scenes are misleading, and the film soon reveals its madcap underpinnings.
This movie's title credits have many points of interest. Parashar would helm the popular TV show Karamchand shortly afterwards, and go to make Peechha Karo, Jalwa and Chaalbaaz, all of which had the manic energy one sees in Ab Aayega Mazaa. More amusingly, this very youthful film was co-produced by two actors who would soon acquire an "old man" image through their work in TV: Alok Nath, who would play Haveli Ram in Buniyaad (and who has been enjoying a late-career resurgence recently, after being the subject of Twitter jokes about his "Babuji" image), and Girija Shankar, the doddering, self-pitying Dhritarashtra in BR Chopra's Mahabharata.
Shankar acts in Ab Aayega Mazaa too, in a part that reminds you of Pankaj Kapur's oily construction magnate Tarneja in JBDY: he is the boss in an ad agency that is really a front for the wicked activities of a Godman who uses incense sticks to peddle drugs. And there are other connections between the films. Satish Kaushik, who co-wrote the dialogue of JBDY, wrote Ab Aayega Mazaa too, the wonderful Ravi Baswani plays an America-returned swain with an over-the-top accent, and the young Pawan Malhotra - an assistant on the earlier film - has a weird little role as one of the Godman's minions who wears a bright purple robe. There are sight gags, like a lamp that switches off and on if you make a coughing sound near it, and many funny throwaway lines (a "dying" man tells his friend "Meri motorcycle bech kar apne scooter ko paint kara lena, dost").
The film is hit and miss, but a notable thing about it is how it takes many of the cliches of mainstream Hindi cinema - lovers separated by an authoritarian parent, a villain trying to pinch diamonds hidden in a statue, even a lost-and-found narrative - and treats them with a mix of parody and homage. There is much "filmi" dialogue, delivered tongue in cheek (those who are used to standing in bus lines get a cold when they travel by AC cars, says Vijay sadly), as well as romantic songs, a Bachchan-like comic-drunk scene in a bar, and a couple of fights. Given that much of the story is about how to "present" or "advertise" yourself, one could suggest that this low-budget film with lunacy in its DNA is disguising itself as something more mass-viewer-friendly. They must have had a gala time making it.
Of course, there were a few films that were inspired by JBDY, mostly made by newcomers, and involving the participation of some of the people who had worked on the earlier film. One such was Pankaj Parashar's Ab Aayega Mazaa, which I watched on a rare DVD just a few weeks ago, only to be gobsmacked by what an unusual little thing it was.
It begins with a sequence where a man prances about a graveyard in a black cloak, talking about how everyone ends up with a "plot" here sooner or later - but this is revealed to be a nightmare, and for a while thereafter Ab Aayega Mazaa seems like a middle-class romance, centred on two of the most non-starry actors of the time. Vijay (Farooque Shaikh), who is late for office as usual, meets a sweet girl named Nupur (Anita Raaj) while waiting at a bus-stop (this, boys and girls, is what people used to do in the pre-liberalisation days - before India became all shiny-happy and Lamborghinis dropped from the sky into the backyard of every house). She lives in Golf Links and has three phones in her house (in the mid-'80s even the prime minister didn't have three phones), and their romance begins with a glass of water bought from a roadside stall. But these "straight" scenes are misleading, and the film soon reveals its madcap underpinnings.
This movie's title credits have many points of interest. Parashar would helm the popular TV show Karamchand shortly afterwards, and go to make Peechha Karo, Jalwa and Chaalbaaz, all of which had the manic energy one sees in Ab Aayega Mazaa. More amusingly, this very youthful film was co-produced by two actors who would soon acquire an "old man" image through their work in TV: Alok Nath, who would play Haveli Ram in Buniyaad (and who has been enjoying a late-career resurgence recently, after being the subject of Twitter jokes about his "Babuji" image), and Girija Shankar, the doddering, self-pitying Dhritarashtra in BR Chopra's Mahabharata.
Shankar acts in Ab Aayega Mazaa too, in a part that reminds you of Pankaj Kapur's oily construction magnate Tarneja in JBDY: he is the boss in an ad agency that is really a front for the wicked activities of a Godman who uses incense sticks to peddle drugs. And there are other connections between the films. Satish Kaushik, who co-wrote the dialogue of JBDY, wrote Ab Aayega Mazaa too, the wonderful Ravi Baswani plays an America-returned swain with an over-the-top accent, and the young Pawan Malhotra - an assistant on the earlier film - has a weird little role as one of the Godman's minions who wears a bright purple robe. There are sight gags, like a lamp that switches off and on if you make a coughing sound near it, and many funny throwaway lines (a "dying" man tells his friend "Meri motorcycle bech kar apne scooter ko paint kara lena, dost").
The film is hit and miss, but a notable thing about it is how it takes many of the cliches of mainstream Hindi cinema - lovers separated by an authoritarian parent, a villain trying to pinch diamonds hidden in a statue, even a lost-and-found narrative - and treats them with a mix of parody and homage. There is much "filmi" dialogue, delivered tongue in cheek (those who are used to standing in bus lines get a cold when they travel by AC cars, says Vijay sadly), as well as romantic songs, a Bachchan-like comic-drunk scene in a bar, and a couple of fights. Given that much of the story is about how to "present" or "advertise" yourself, one could suggest that this low-budget film with lunacy in its DNA is disguising itself as something more mass-viewer-friendly. They must have had a gala time making it.
Jai Arjun Singh is a Delhi-based writer