I'm saving these, as well. I had a question though: Do you think a younger audience will like all these movies from the 60's and 70's? When I say young I mean 18-25 yrs old. Just wanted to know so I know which ones are worth buying. Thanks, and great work

Great work, Raj. Really useful to guys just getting into Hindi movies, and not knowing any old movies other than Anand, Mughal-e-Azam, Mother India and other biggies.

Discovered this site recently.

http://www.upperstall.com/home.html

Had been planning to bug lakeshore or raj for some movie reviews, but found them here.

All the movies i've chosen so far will be liked by all people,and
each one is worth watching at least a few times as most of them are classics anyway.

Regards the choices at India Times I've only picked the ones
that i personaly like........................

Lakeshore, Vijay Anand was one of the stars in 'Hindstan ki Kasam.........directed by Chetan Anand.

46.Kuch Kuch Hota Hai

*Shahrukh Khan, Kajol, Salman Khan, Rani Mukarjee, Anupham Kher.

(1998)Karan Johar's

AN ABSOLUTE ENCHANTER,

No one thought Karan Johar to be anything more than the rich and spoilt heir of a filmic empire.
He surprised everyone by making a film that tugged intently at the heart strings.
Kajol and Shahrukh were the best of friends. Their presence in Karan Johar's directorial debut was a foregone conclusion.

Karan admits that the film's characters live in a completely make-believe world.
But the film had heart. The Directorseemed to believe in the power of love to heal a wounded heart and soothe a sobbing soul.

The human relationships in 'Kuch Kuch Hota Hai' were refreshingly new-fangled.
The hero's mum (Farid Jalal) ganged up with her granddaughter to get a new wife for her grieving son.
In the second half, Karan introduced the other man, played with heartwarming rakishness by Salman Khan,
thereby stretching the trianguler love story into a simmering quadrangle. Even the slight bond between Salman and his future mother-in-law Reema Lagoo was full of warmth and urbane wit.

Sure, we knew the outcome of the mismatched alliances from beforehand.
But did that stop us from warming up to the fabulously flush songs and music and Farah Khan's Swinging
choreography? Scenes such as the one where Rahul's motherless daughter speaks on the topic of what a mother means to a child, or the one in the park where Rahul runs to tell Anjali that he loves Tina, filled the heart with pleasurable pain.

Transparently sentimental and designed to wrench tears and laughter out of us, 'Kuch Kuch Hota Hai' was
constructed as a spiral with every consecutive sequence, consciously constructed to build a harmony between emotion and technique.
**********************************************

47.Shatranj Ke Khiladi(chess players)

*Sanjeev Kumar, Sir.Richard Attenborough, Amjad Khan, Shabana Azmi, Saeed Jaffrey, Tom Alter, Victor Banerjee and Farida Jalal.

Amitabh Bachchan(Narrator)

(1977)Satyajit Ray's

Wazed Ali Shah is the ruler of one of the last independent kingdoms of India. The British, intent on controlling this rich country, have sent general Outram on a secret mission to clear the way for an annexation. While pressure is mounting amidst intrigue and political manoeuvres, Ali Shah composes poems and listens to music, secluded in his palace. The court is of no help, as exemplified by nobles Mir and Mirza, who, ignoring the situation of their country and all their duties towards their families, spend their days playing endless parties of chess.

Satyajit Ray was already an acknowledged world master when he decided to make
'Shatranj Ke Khiladi', his first Hindi film.
It was based on Munshi Premchand's allegorical story on two men engrossed in a game of chess as disaster knocks at their door.

It began with an animated piece about the British annexation policy, with the voiceover by
Amitabh Bachchan. Scripted by Ray himself, the film had a difficult subject treated at various layers with delicate irony and humour.

Set in the mid-nineteen century, when the decadent Wajid Ali Shah (Amjad Khan, perfectly cast) ruled Awadh, even as the British look for ways to annex his kingdom.
The Nawab has relied on the treaty of friendship with the British to indulge in his artistic passions instead of maintaining an army.
His prime minister (Victor Banerjee) looks on helplessly.

Wajid Ali Shah is more interested in music, dance and poetry than in protecting his lands.
In the capital city of Lucknow, two rich zamindars, Mirza Sajjad (Sanjeev Kumar) and Mir Roshan Ali (Saeed Jaffrey) who do nothing but play chess all day.
Mirza's neglected wife, Khurshid (Shabana Azmi) tries to wean him away, but he is obsessed with the game.
Mir's wife, Nafeesa (Farida Jalal), however, is quite happy if her husband stays out, since she is having an affair with her cousin.
Even when her husband finds out, he does nothing, since he dosn't want to disturb his game.

When Wajid Ali Shah is faced with the unpleasent choice of giving up his throne or fighting with East India Company forces, he chooses the easier of the two alternatives.
He agrees to hand over his crown to the British, and go into exile, singing a Thumri - "Jab chhod chale Lucknow nagri, kaho haal Adam par kya guzri".

Mir and Mirza hear that the Company's troops are marching towards Lucknow.
Afraid of being summoned to help the Nawab or of being forced to take some active part in the turbulent goings on, they abandon their families and go to a quiet village to continue their chess game in peace.
They fight,shoot at each other and shamefully make up,but are still quite indifferent to their responsibilities.
**********************************************

48.Padosan

*Sunil Dutt, Kishore Kumar , Mehmood, Om Prakash, Saira Banu and Mukri.

(1968)Keshto Mukherjee/Jyoti Swaroop.

It's no coincidence that the zaniest musical comedy in Hindi film history featured the original yoodle-master
Kishore Kumar in amajor role.

It was one of the first major hits to feature a macho action hero, Sunil Dutt, in an out-and out comic role, and certainly the first major Hindi film to stick stubbornly to comedy, full comedy, and only comedy for its entire 2 hour 37 minutes in length.

What took this simple film and elevated it to the status of an all-time classic were three elements.

The first, the brilliant casting, to put a major box-office star in the lead role was a coup. No hero ever changed his look and his image as drastically as Sunil Dutt did in this film, throwing himself so wholeheartedly (and whole headedly) into the role.

But the second element which really added a fantastic boost to the movie was the casting and performance of Kishore Kumar. Still not at the peak of his success as a singer (that phase would start only a year later with the release of 'Aradhana'), Kishore was still hungover with his early madcap acting style that we saw in films like 'Chalti Ka Naam Gaadi' and 'Jhumroo'.

Kishore Kumar's performance in 'Padosan' both when singing the wonderful songs of R.D Burman (himself a master of zaniness!) and when acting onscreen, was more than inspired. It was superlative.
The jugalbandi sequence, done so well by everyone involved, was one of the greatest in our industry's history. And there's no question that Kishore Kumar steals the show.
When you consider the fact that the film was produced by Mehmood himself and that the star comedian allowed himself to be upstaged by his rival in the story, its even more creditable.

And finally, the third and most crucial element that made this film deserve its superhit status were the superb songs. Panchamda, as R.D Burman was affectionately called, turned out a marvellous score,
with songs such as "Ek chatur naar karke singaar" and the all-time hit "Mere saamne wali khidki mein".
**********************************************

49.1942 A Love Story

*Jackie Shroff, Anil Kapoor, Manisha Kiorala, Pran, Anupam Kher and Danny Dengzongpa.

(1994)Vidhu Vinod Chopra's

Lavish Filmmaking......A Romantic Saga of Epic Dimensions

The trio of Anil, Jackie and Vidhu Vinod Chopra joined hands once again for this love story set against the backdrop of the Quit India Movement.
As the love struck Nandu, Anil Kapoor exuded freshness as he sported a crew cut, a thin moustache and the trappings of an English lad.

With its huge canvas, the climax shoot required thousands of artistes. Chopra therefore employed the services of fellow directors Govind Nihalani and Shekhar Kapur to execute these sequences.
1942-A Love Story was the second film in history, which had more than one director for a special sequence; the first being Lawrence of Arabia.

Blending musical poetry with epic spectacle, "1942: A Love Story" stands as a definitive work of Indian filmmaking. As the film follows a pair of lovers through the Indian uprising against imperialist Britain, traditional Indian song is used to juxtapose the harsh realities of an oppressed people.
Though the film is grand in size, the fact that a small core of characters inhabits the plot makes for an easily understood picture, even while reading subtitles.

"1942" celebrates the people of India and their struggle for independence. When compared to traditional American films dealing with political revolt, this film wins over in heart.
When compared to traditional American musicals of the 1950s and 60s, "1942" displays a deeper social conscience and a more solid grasp on narrative storytelling.
Above all, "1942" provides entertainment with a rich cultural tapestry.

Credits:

Director.....................Vidhu.V Chopra
Written......................Vidhu.V Chopra
Music........................Rahul Dev Burman
Lyricist......................Javed Akhtar
Cinematography........Vinod Pradhan
Editing.......................Renu Saluja...
Song Direction......... Sanjay Leela Bhansali

Singers:

Lata Mangeshkar
Kavita Krishnamurthy
Kumar Sanu
Shivaji Chattopadhyaya

Awards:

Kavita Krishnamurthy (Best female singer....Filmfare) for "Pyar hua chupke se"

Javed Akhtar (Best Lyricst....Filmfare) for "Ek ladki ko dekha"

Rahul Dev Burman (Best Music Director....Filmfare)

Kumar Sanu (Best male playback singer....Filmfare) for "Ek ladki ko dekha"

Jackie Shroff (Best Supporting Actor....Filmfare)
**********************************************

Nice list. Have not seen most of these movies as am new addict to bollywood movies. Would be nice though if you could also just put your list too in list form for all to see and you or someone else also list the best version to buy on DVD so we all have a defiinitive list as well.

50.Sholay

*Dharmendra, Sanjeev Kumar, Hema Malini, Amitabh Bachchan,
Jaya Bhaduri and Amjad Khan.

Supporting Cast: Satyen Kappu, A.K Hangal, Iftekhar, Leela Misra, Macmohan, Sachin, Asrani, Keshto Mukharjee, Helen, Gita, Jairaj, Jagdeep, Jalal Agha, Om Shivpuri, Sharad Kumar.

(1975) Producer: G.P Sippy.
Director: Ramesh Sippy.
Production House: Sippy Films.

Screenplay: Salim-Javed.
Camera: Dwarcha Divecha.
Music: R.D Burman.

Lyrics: Anand Bakshi.
Playback: Lata Mangeshkar, Kishore Kumar, Manna Dey and
R.D Burman.

Art Direction: Ram Yedekar.
Editing: M.S. Shinde.
Sound: S.Y. Pathak.

'Sholay' : mention the name and you will be greeted with a volley of well-rehearsed dialogues...
'Arre O Samba…Kitne Aadmi The?…Sarkar Maine Aapka Namak Khaya Hai… Ab goli Kha…Hum Angrezon Ke Zamane Ke jailor Hain…Soorma Bhopali A1…Yeh Haath Mujhe Dede Thakur…Chal Basanti, aaj Teri Basanti Ki Izzat Ka Sawal Hai…

' The list is endless. Every dialogue is a moviegoer's delight. Today it is impossible to see the film in a theatre, what with the crowd delighting in repeating the dialogues along with the characters.

Therein lies its strength. Sholay is the greatest, if not the highest money-spinning movie of all times in India. (For the simple reason that the tickets in 1975 cost a mere Rupees Four!) But at today's rates, the six year run (not to add the repeat runs) of the movie would ensure returns that would be unfathomable.
Producer: G.P. Sippy | Director: Ramesh Sippy | Screenplay: Salim Javed | Camera: Dwarka The very mention of the film, 'Sholay' produces an automatic response of fear and trepidation. One tends to conjure up intimidating images of dhamakedar dacoits and dashing damsels,who incidentally are in a fair ammount of distress. The film is fraught with high voltage drama and tension enough to make a grown man weak-kneed.

As a movie, it is difficult to categorize into any single genre. It could well be clubbed as action or drama, musical or romance. It was also seen by some as the curry-western, a milieu of Indian spice and western machoism. In fact many a parallel has been drawn between 'Sholay' and John Ford's 'Stagecoach' (1939). Whatever it classifies as does not interest us because this Ramesh Sippy - Javed Akhtar brainchild blew the collective minds of an entire generation of Indian moviegoers. And is still doing so.

The tale is one of Thakur Baldev Singh, played by the late Sanjeev Kumar, once a senior police officer. In an attempt to fight the evil dacoit Gabbar Singh (the dynamic debut of Amjad Khan), he joins hands with two local smalltime crooks, who despite their criminal records have hearts of gold. The Thakur is quick to recognize the underlying humanity beneath their fearless, tough-as-nails exterior.

These two outlaws, Jaidev and Veeru (played to perfection by Amitabh and Dharmendra respectively) procede to Ramgarh, the Thakur's estate. In an exceptionally poignant moment of the film, the two while trying to break into the Thakur's safe at night and escape with the loot are seen by Radha, the Thakur's widowed daughter-in-law, who offers them the keys on the grounds that at least it would open her father's eyes to the fact that they are crooks, and not the brave fighters he perceived them as.

Through the device of the flashback, the viewer is let into the traumatic past at the same time as Jaidev and Veeru are enlightened by the Thakur.

It is here that we are introduced to the character of Gabbar Singh played by the invincible Amjad Khan. Who, on being caught by the Thakur and unceremoniously being sent to jail, swore revenge. Gabbbar Singh escapes soon after and guns down the Thakur's entire family ruthlessly. This scene of carnage and relentless massacre went down in the annals of history as the goriest bloodbath in Indian cinema at the time.
The only one to escape the carnage was the youngest daughter-in-law, Radha, who was away at the temple. Coming home to this devastation, the Thakur in a violent rage, rode unarmed to the ravines where Gabbar Singh reigned. Finding him helpless and ironically vulnerable, Gabbar Singh chose to hack off the Thakur's arms which had once held him prisoner.

Gabbar Singh went on to become yet another iconic figure-head of terror. His opening exclamation "Suar ke bachchon!!! " is a classic example of his irreverance. He was the kind of man who wouldn't lose sleep over feeding golis to his namak consuming chelas. He delivers one hundred percent of the quintessential villian, one who pursues evil as an end in itself.
On the more romantic front, Veeru falls in love with the gregarious tangewali Basanti, while the more serious Jaidev feels drawn to the young and lonely Radha, who watches him silently from a distance. When Veeru goes to keep a rendezvous with Basanti, he discovers that she's been kidnapped by Gabbar's men. To add fuel to the fire, Gabbar orders Basanti to dance on splinters of glass if she wishes to see her love-interest alive. This time it is an all out war, and the men fight it out desperately. Fatally wounded, Jaidev pretends he is mildly hurt, and sends Veeru back to the village with Basanti. He manages to heroically blow up a bridge and kill most of the bandits. At this point Thakur arrives on the scene and insists on fighting Gabbar alone.

What follows is a rather dramatic display of footwork, enough to give Ronaldo a run for his money. Thakur hits out with his hobnailed shoes at a wily Gabbar, who without the protection of his gang becomes a cowering beast. With Jaidev dead, Veeru decides to leave Ramgarh, but in the empty compartment of the sleepy train he finds … Surprise!!! A coy Basanti waiting for him in heated anticipation.

The film is groundbreaking because of it's unabashed display of violence and gore as well as for it's repertoire of catch phrases, which have inspired many a free spirited rebel who wished to talk tough. Several wannabe Gabbar Singhs spouted daku-lingo merrily, much to the displeasure of all mild mannered gentry.
Interestingly enough, when the film was released it didn't open very well. This was attributed to the fact that it was way ahead of its time. But its six year uninterrupted run at the box office gave it enough time to catch up with its swashbuckling style. Thus it is safe to say that emerging as a brilliant little spark of superlative filmmaking, 'Sholay' built up enough punch to rewrite movie history. It continued to gather momentum as it went along the rugged terrain of time and transformed into a raging orb of fire, destroying all conventions that came across it's path.

The film has made use of several interesting innovations. This included, spectacular cinematography, with shots panning over rocky heights and barren landscapes, often under the menacing shadow of a threatening cloud.

It was also the first film to be shot in the large-screen, 70mm format with stereophonic sound. This gave the film most of it's pulsating tension.
Although in present times of desensitization, one would not even bat an eyelid at the most gruesome of murders, for its time, 'Sholay' was a revolutionary film, which inspired many film makers to continue its trend of imaginative cinema.

To date 'Sholay' remains a cult film by any standard. Many clones followed, but the original will always stay fresh in the minds of all movie lovers. It's doubtful whether any will ever surpass the sheer canvas and magnitude of 'Sholay'. Maybe in terms of money spent or money earned. But in completeness? In script? In cohesion of a story well told or a project well received? Doubtul.

As Gabbar would say, "Pachas kos door jab bachcha rota hai to maa kehti hai, bete soja, warna Gabbar aa jaayega.." However it goes without saying, that the fame of Gabbar and thereby 'Sholay' goes way beyond the pachas kos margin.

50.Sholay

No one could of have imagined the spectacular degree of SHOLAY's success.
The film changed lives, transformed careers, and even twenty-five years after its release it remains the box office gold standard, a reference point for both the Indian film-going audience and the film industry.

Over the years, 'Sholay has transcended its hit-movie status. It is not merely a film, it is the ultimate classic; it is myth. It is a part of our heritage as Indians.

The film, still as compellingly watchable as it was when first released (in 1999 BBC-India and assorted internet polls declared it the Film of the Millenium), arouses intense passions.
Its appeal cuts across barriers of geography, language, ideology and class: an advertising guru in Mumbai will speak as enthusiastically and eloquently about the film as a rickshaw driver in hyderabad.
And the devotion is often fanatical.
'Sholay' connoisseurs - to call them 'fans' would be insulting their ardour - speak casually of seeing the film fifty, sixty even seventy times. Dialogue has been memorized. Also the unique background music: the true
'Sholay' buff can pre-empt all the sound effects. He can also name Gabbar's arms dealer who is on screen for less than thirty seconds (Hira), and Gabbar's father who is mentioned only once as Gabbar's sentence is read out in court ('Gabbar Singh, vald Hari Singh...').

Bollywood buzes with 'Sholay' stories: how a Jaipur housewife obsessed vith Veeru convinced her husband to assume the name of her beloved screen hero; how Prakash bhai, a black marketeer at Delhi's Plaza Cinema, sold tickets for the film at Rs 150 for five months and eventually bought himself a small house in Seelampur, which he decorated with 'Sholay' posters; how a tough-looking immigration officer in New York waved actor Macmohan through because he had seen 'Sholay' and reconized Sambha, 'The man on the rock with a gun'. There are autorickshaws in Patna named Dhanno, and potent drinks in five-star bars called Gabbar.

'Sholay's dialogue has now become colloquial language, part of the way a nation speaks to itself.
Single lines, even phrases, taken out of context, can communicate a whole range of meaning and emotion.
In canteens across the country, collegians still echo Gabbar when they notice a budding romance:
'Bahut yaarana hai.' The lines come easily to the lips of Indians: 'Jo dar gaya, samjho mar gaya',
'Ai chhammia', 'Arre o Sambha', Kitne aadmi the?', 'Hum angrezon ke zamaane ke jailer hain'.

Nothing in Indian popular culture has matched this magic. Critics might argue that 'Mother India' or
'Mughal-e-Azam' were better films, and trade pundits might point out that in 1994 'Hum Aapke Hain Kaun' broke 'Sholay's box-office record. But none of these films can rival 'Sholay' in the scale and longevity of its success. 'Sholay' was a watershed event.
Director Shekhar Kapur puts it best: 'There has never been a more defining film on the Indian screen.
Indian Film history can be divided into 'Sholay' BC and 'Sholay AD.'

There is more to Kapur's statement than just the passion of a hopeless admirer. 'Sholay' is, in fact, the Indian Film industry's textbook. The film married a potentially B-grade genre narrative to the big budget of a mainstream extravaganza, and taught the industry how formula can beget a classic.
'It is,' says adman and scriptwriter Piyush Pandey, 'undoubtedly the best film made in this country.'
'Sholay' transformed action into high art. Stylized mayhem replaced the sissy 'dishum-dishum fist fights of the past. Violence became a Hindi-movie staple for nineteen years, until 'Hum Aapke Hain Kaun' flagged off the feel-good era.
'Sholay' also set standards for technical excellence. Other films of the seventies seem shoddy and dated, but
'Sholay' is a masterpiece of craft.To this day,directors quote 'Sholay' in their films,allude to it in their frames

What is it about 'Sholay' that works on us still? When people watch 'Sholay' today, certain aspects of the film seduce them all over again: the soaring imagination of the story and the way it is told; the vitality of the
scorching rocky landscape, charging horses and falling men; the gritty directorial conviction that allows an unhurried tale to be developed, full of texture and rhythm.The elements fall into place perfectly:a marvellous
chemistry between the actors; a fable like story detailed into a superb script; unforgettable dialogue and fine
performances. The film skillfully blends traditional and modern elements. It has, as author Nasreen Munni Kabir says, 'Differences in lifestyles which co-exist without appearing illogical.'
The steam engines, the horses, the guns and the denim give the film an ageless quality, a feeling of several
centuries existing next to each other.

Producer G.P Sippy and Ramesh Sippy dreamed big, and they had the courage to follow their instincts.
Money, market, box-office - all these commercial considerations became, in the final analysis, secondary.
The prime motive was to make a mega movie, the like of which had never been seen before on the Indian screen.

50.Sholay

Ramanagaram was a vast emptiness, a blank canvas waiting to be fashioned into fantasy.
A crew of nearly a hundred people worked round the clock to construct an entire village.

Ramanagaram, an hour's drive from Bangalore, has a varied topography. Building-sized black boulders arch toward the sky. Small knolls seque into grassy flatlands. It is austere but textured.
Ramesh loved it. He flew in the next day with his cinematographer, Dwarka Divecha, and two assistants from the production and direction departments. 'It captured my imagination,' he says. 'I was facinated.'
Divecha cast his eagle eye on the landscape, and confirmed his decision.

Pleasing Divecha wasn't easy. He was a crotchety old curmudgeon with a painter's eye and a sailer's mouth.
He could be extremely difficult, but if you wanted the best for your film, you put up with it.
He had experienced the ugliness of life, and he hadn't survived by being soft.

Divecha had started his film career in 1936 as an assistant cameraman and gradually worked his way up.
Top directors like Kardar, H,S Rawail and L.V Prasad all swore by him. His reputation was fierce.
Dressed in a white bosky bush shirt, white pants and black shoes, Divecha saab was a Hitler on the sets.
A stickler for punctuality, he would let loose on assistants even if they were late by a minute:
'Aadmi ho yah janwar,' he would scream, 'tumko timing samajh nahin aati kya? If he happened to arrive at the set early, he would wait in the car and walk into the set only at the exact minute the shift was scheduled to start. But the temper wasn't reserved for underlings alone. Even top stars rarely escaped Divecha's wrath.
He made the stars stand in place while he lit shots - subsitutes weren't allowed - and shouted if they fidgeted
'Hema, itna kyun hilti hai? (Why do you move so much Hema?).

But off the set, Hitler thawed into a colourful, affectionate man. He was a shaukeen aadmi, with a taste for the good things in life. When he wasn't shooting, Divecha would be at home, ensconced in his favourite chair, holding a glass (always whisky) and a cigarette (Chesterfield or Camel) either listening to music (ghazals) or reading a book.
When he spoke, he might have been a scholar, except that he swore incessantly. Divecha had no children but kept a large Alsation dog, whom he called his son. Like Ramesh, Divecha was a rigorous perfectionist.

'Sholay' grew from paper into plans, and it gained weight and size and ambition.
The Sippy's wanted to make 'Sholay' the biggest and the best adventure film ever, and they would make no compromises.
The traditional 35mm format, they felt, wouldn't do justice to their vision. They were aiming for epic grandeur. So a decision was made: 'Sholay' would be India's first 70mm film with stereophonic sound.
The 70mm film format offered double the size. The major Hollywood action movies at the time, such as 'Mckenna's Gold', were shot in this format because it gave the viewer, quite literally, a big movie experience.
But the decision to do 'Sholay' in this format added another layer of compliations. Shooting in 70mm wasn't easy. It required huge camera's which could take 70mm film. Importing the camera's was an expensive proposition. The most practical solution was to shoot on 35mm and then blow it up for 70mm.
The format was screen-tested. Divecha suggested putting aground glass in front of the camera lens, on which
Kamlakar Rao, a young but technically skilled cameraman, made markings so the margins of the 70mm frame could be identified. Ramesh's brother Ajit, who lived in London, forwarded the test to Paris, where a 70mm print was made.
The print came back with further instructions on how to perfect the technique.
A 70mm film also required bigger screens, and most theatres in India weren't equipped for it.
The Sippy's decided to have two sets of negatives, one in 70mm and the other one in 35mm.
In practical terms, this meant that every shot would have to be done twice. Each decision added to the cost.

50.Sholay

Amjad Khan filled the doorway. He was not a particularly large man, but his lumbering gait, thickset face and curly hair gave him the appearance of one. Director Ramesh Sippy was lying on the diwan with his back to the door. From the low angle, Amjad loomed larger. Something clicked. 'He had an interesting face,' says Ramesh. 'I felt very positive.'
Panic had set in after Danny's departure. Shooting was less than a month away. And Gabbar Singh was no ordinary character. It was a pivotal role. The actor had to have both talent and charisma to hold his own against the galaxy of stars. Bad casting could destroy the film.
Amjad was the younger son of character artiste Jayant. His home production, Patthar ke Sanam,which was supposed to launch him, was announced but never made. He had assisted K Asif in Love and God and also done a bit role in the film. The credentials were hardly impressive. But in theatre Amjad had a strong reputation.
A few days after Danny left, Salim bumped into Amjad. Salim knew Amjad's father, and had been visiting their home since Amjad was a little boy. A polite conversation ensued in which Salim asked Amjad about work. There wasn't much, just bit roles and theatre.

Salim had heard about Amjad's skills as an actor, and physically he seemed to fit the role. 'I can't promise you anything,' he told Amjad, 'but there is a role in a big film. I'll take you to the director. Agar aap ko yeh role mil jaaye, aap ki koshish se yea aapki kismat se (If you get this role, whether by luck or effort),I tell you, it is the finest role in this film.'
Amjad seemed to fit the part, but he was unknown. Could he carry the film? He was asked to grow a beard and come back. Meanwhile, Ramesh and Salim-Javed pondered. Salim-Javed were convinced that Amjad was the right choice.

A screen test was done. They shot pictures in the office garden. Amjad had grown a beard and blackened his teeth. His diction was right, his language was perfect. He was confirmed for the role. Amjad hurried ecstatically to hospital to break the news to wife Shaila. The date was 20 September 1973. His son Shadaab was born that afternoon.

Amjad prepared for Gabbar. Normal life took a back seat; this was clearly the best role fo his career.
Amjad devoured Abhishapth Chambal, a book on the Chambal dacoits written by Jaya Bhaduri's father, Taroon Coomar. He marked out the pages on the real-life Gabbar, insisting that his wife Shaila read it too.
He rehearsed his lines and fleshed out his character. He remembered a dhobi from his childhood days who used to call out to his wife: 'Arre o Shanti.' The lilt in Gabbar's 'Arre o Sambha' came from his dhobi.

Amjad was enthusiastic but insecure, and badgered his wife constantly:
'Do you think I'll be able to do it?'
'Of course,' she would say, 'you're a good actor. I've seen all your plays.'
'But this is a different ball game'
'So what? You've been part of 'Love and God'... your father is an actor...'
'All that dosn't matter. Do you think I'll be able to do this?'

The morning Amjad was to leave for Bangalore, he put the Quran on his head and prayed.
Shaila was surprised. Amjad was a spiritual person but he rarely prayed. As abruptly as he had started, he stopped. He placed the holy book back in its place, said, 'I think I'll be able to do it,' and drove to the airport.
The flight didn't reach Bangalore. There was a hydraulic failure, and the pilot was forced to keep circling over Mumbai. After dumping fuel for hours, the plane landed back in Mumbai. Amjad sat at the airport but didn't call home. After five hours, it was announced that the technical faults had been fixed and the plane was ready to take-off. Not many passengers had the stomach to get on that plane again.
Amjad was among the four or five who finally flew on it. He had to reach Bangalore. Through the flight,
he wasn't thinking about his wife or his one month-old son. His only terror was: 'If this plane crashes,
Danny gets Gabbar' (the first choice for the role but lost out to date commitments).

Gabbar Singh was not having a good day. It was Amjad's first day of shooting. They were starting with the scene in which he is introduced. His first line was, 'Kitne aadmi the?' All his life had led to this moment. The years of theatre rehearsals, knocking on doors for acting jobs, sweating it out as an assistant -- the Gabbar role had made all that seem worthwhile.
His army fatigues, picked up from Mumbai's Chor Bazaar, had the right weathered look. His teeth were blackened. His face was appropriately grimy. He had lived the part for the last few months. But now, when it was time to deliver, he just could not get it right.
Gabbar had to mince tambaku (tobacco) as he talked. The motion of one hand grinding against another added to his menace. It was supposed to be his habit. But Amjad could not make it look casual. He would grind the tobacco, speak a few lines, look around awkwardly and then return to grinding. He was nervous and it showed; his hands were stiff, his movements seemed rehearsed, and his dialogue delivery was shaky. There was nothing natural about his performances; Gabbar was a stranger to Amjad.

Ramesh kept talking to him, trying to help him get his lines right. They struggled for two days. After forty-odd takes, both Ramesh and cameraman Dwarka Divecha decided the actor needed a break. Divecha told Amjad to keep his costume on and just sit on the sets. 'Tu apne aap ko season kar de (Season yourself).' Amjad cried that night. His father was in hospital fighting cancer. His son was only a month old. His family's hopes were pinned on this film.
For the rest of the schedule, Amjad lived in the fatigues, trying to become Gabbar. He wrote often to his wife, but never shared with her the extent of his trauma. All he wrote was: 'I'm very impatient… I don't know… I hope I can do it.' Since he didn't drink, he would spend the evenings nursing endless cups of tea. Through the entire schedule, he didn't do a single shot.

In the next schedule, Amjad was more prepared. He got it right in the first few takes. He was living his character, and would stay in costume even when he was not shooting. But some members of the unit, unable to forget his earlier awkwardness, didn't seem to think this was enough. Besides, Amjad was the only new face in a sea of superstars and slowly talk started in the unit that perhaps Ramesh had made a mistake.
The murmurs grew, till it became impossible even for Salim and Javed, who had been the most keen to have Amjad as Gabbar, to ignore them. Anxious, perhaps, to not be seen as people responsible for ruining the film, they spoke to Ramesh. 'If you aren't satisfied with Amjad, change him,' they said. For a few days the unit was rocked by rumours that Amjad was getting the boot. But Ramesh finally put his foot down. Only Amjad would play Gabbar.

Amjad found out about the rumours much later. But the incident sowed the seeds of misunderstanding between him and Salim-Javed. He could not understand why two people, who had ardently recommended him for the role, had then tried to get him thrown out. He saw it as a move to sabotage his career. The hurt stayed with him till his death. Salim-Javed gave birth to the Amjad myth, but they never worked with him again.

50.Sholay

The 'Sholay' unit had a ten - to fifteen-day schedule in Bangalore every month, from October 1973 to May 1974. Each time they managed to get some work done, but not enough. The delays were further compounded
because 70mm required that each shot had to be taken twice. After seven months work, hardly one-third of the film had been shot.
'Sholay' had been planned as a six-month project. Nobody imagined that eventually it would take so long that Macmohan, playing Sambha, one of the smallest roles in the film, would travel twenty-seven times from
Mumbai to Bangalore.

Ramesh retained his famous cool. He had a grand vision of 'Sholay' and wasn't going to let delays force him to make compromises. As the budget soared beyond the original one crore, G.P Sippy did make the occasional noise. 'What the hell is going on?' he would ask. But he never pulled the plug.
He was a gambler going for the big one. The funds kept flowing.

Yet, despite all the planning, things started to go wrong. The first schrdule was ten days long, but very little work got done. Some days they managed to get ten shots right, and on others, none at all.
In the November schedule, Ramesh completed only one scene. The No Compromise resolve was set in stone.
Ramesh and Divecha were like painters trying to perfect their canvas, with G.P. Sippy, a patron of the arts,
bankrolling their dreams, budget and timetables took a backseat.

'Sholay's centerpiece - the massacre sequence in which Gabbar obliterates the Thakur's family - was shot in twenty-three days over three schedules. It was a complicated scene with several parts: establishing the family, Gabbar's arrival, the shootings, and then the Thakur's arrival on the scene after Gabbar and his men have slaughtered his family and retreated.
Half the scene had been shot when the weather changed and the bright sun was replaced by an overcast sky.
For two days, the unit waited for the sun to reappear. Then Ramesh realized that the dark clouds were a celestial signal: the overcast look was perfect for the scene. It underlined the tragedy and heightened the sense of doom. It also logically led to the point where the wind starts to build up and dry leaves are blown over the dead bodies. He conferred with Divecha. 'It won't just look good,' Divecha said, 'it will look very good. But what will we do if the sun comes out tomorrow?' Ramesh was willing to take the chance.
'Let's shoot,' he said.

They shot furiously for the next two days. And then the sun popped out again. After a week of work, they had two versions of the same half scene, one against a bright sky and the other against an overcast one.
But Ramesh was determined. It was going to be clouds or nothing. So they waited for the gods to do the lighting. With the sun playing hide and seek, there were days when they managed to get only one shot and some when they simply stared at the skies. Filming came to a complete halt.
To speed up the process, Divecha asked Anwar to make a screen to bounce the light off. The screen had to be bigger than the house.
Anwar ended up buying all the white cloth in the vicinity to create a seventy-foot-by- hundred-foot screen.
He stitched it himself with strong canvas thread.
With the huge screen in place, shooting was resumed, but there were shots for which the effect created by the screen wasn't good enough. The gods had to intervene and bring back the clouds.

But it wasn't just the clouds. Nothing seemed to go right. As they neared the end of the sequence, the little boy playing Thakur's grandson, Master Alankar, had exams. He would lose an academic year if he didn't sit
for them. Ramesh let him go. Then the propeller, which worked up an appropriate wind to blow dry leaves onto the dead bodies, decided to do its own thing. It wouldn't start when they needed it to. And once started,
it would just keep going. Finally, an aeronautics unit near Bangalore built another propeller. It worked perfectly. The wind blew yellow-brown leaves onto the bodies and the white shroud off them, Thakur mounted his horse in a raging fury, ready to look for Gabbar.

Almost as time-consuming were the sequences of Radha extinguishing the lamps while Jai played his harmonica and watched. These sequences establish the gradual, wordless bonding between the widow and the thief - the sympathy and admiration slowly turning into love.
Capturing the right mood was critical. These were two sequences, only about a minute each in the final film, and it took twenty days to shoot them.
Ramesh and Divecha decided to do the scenes in 'magic hour', a cinema term for the time between sunset and night. The light that falls during magic hour is dreamlike in its warm golden hue.
The director and cinemtograher wanted specifically the velvety dusk which arrives at the tail end of the golden hue. A shadowy darkness precedes nightfall, but it is still light enough to show the surrounding
sillhouettes. Essentially, they had only a few minutes to capture the shot.
The preparations for the shot would begin after lunch. The lights and the camera set-up would be in place well before time. At around five in the evening they would rehearse the shot and the camera movements.
Then between six and six-thirty as the sun started to set, there was total pandemonium. Everyone ran around
shouting, trying to get the shot before darkness. sometimes they would get one shot, sometimes two and very
rarely with great difficulty, a third re-take. But there was never any time to change the set-up.
Ramesh wouldn't settle for anything less than perfection. Invariably there was always some mess-up.
The sun set earlier than expected, a lightman made a mistake, the trolly movement wasn't right, some object was lying where it shouldn't have been. There were times when Jaya lost her cool: 'Ramesh, no one can see me,' she would say. 'It's a long shot, no viewer on the planet is going to be able to see the mistakes in continuity.' The answer always was: 'No, no, one more take.' Ramesh dressed each frame.
The Lady-of-the-lamps shot became a kind of a joke. It took several schedules to get it right.

In fact, in terms of time taken, each sequence seemed to compete with the next.
Ahmed, the blind Imam's son (played by Sachin), for instance, took seventeen days to die.
It was a long and complicated sequence, and originally it also included the actual act of killing: meat is roasting in the foreground; Gabbar points a red-hot skewer at the boy and with a gleeful look tells his gang,
'Isko to bahut tadpa tadpa ke maroonga.' But this never made it to the final cut. Instead, the scene cuts from
Gabbar killing an ant to Ahmed's horse carrying his dead body into the village.

50.Sholay

The songs were as hard to execute as the scenes. They took several days over many schedules and involved hundreds of dancers, special camera devices, a tanga and even a train. As usual, Ramesh pulled out all stops.
'Yeh Dosti was a twenty-one-day endeavor. The song establishes the friendship between Veeru and Jai.
Its easy camaraderie is the foundation of the film. The cheer of the happy version perfectly offsets the dirge-like version at Jai's death. It was decided that a motorcycle with a sidecar would capture the spirit of the male-bonding anthem.
But to shoot the entire song from a moving vehicle was static and limiting. So they built a special contraption, which would enable the crew to use different kinds of camera movements.
The contraption allowed for varied camera angles. Divecha could start on a tight close-up of one character,
pull back, move around to include both and then turn almost 180 degrees to the other side.
Shots like these would make the audience feel that they were traveling with Veeru and Jai.
But they weren't easy to get. First the bike would be fitted onto the contraption, and then the whole paraphernalia would move along with the camera and tracks and a low trolley moving up and down. Coordinating the elements - reflectors, sun-guns, speakers - needed minute organization and the patience of a priest. There were frequent mechanical faults: the towing hook would come off, or the pulling vehicle would get so heated up that it woudn't start.
None of which stopped Ramesh and choreographer P.L Raj from planning even more intricate moves.
'Yeh Dosti', they decided, would end with the sidecar breaking away, doing a short solo run and then coming together with the motorcycle again. It was a neat gimmick. If only they could make it work.
The sidecar had to be pulled away from the motorcycle without making the pulling obvious. And then there was the toughest part: the two had to reunite after separating on the fork on the road.
They attached the sidecar to the camera on a trolley and rehearsed the shot with Amitabh, who was riding the motorcycle. It all depended on his sense of timing, because he was on a moving vehicle while the camera was on a fixed trolley. Amitabh would have to time it to perfection - start at the right moment, and accelerate or slow down according to the movement of the camera.
Amazingly, he brought in the motorcycle for a smooth, perfect docking on the very first take.
It was a miracle. The unit broke into a spontaneous applause and even the normally reticent Ramesh jumped off the camera stand and hugged Amitabh.

50.Sholay

In the climax sequence, Gabbar holds Basanti's arm and menacingly delivers his lines: 'Dekho chhamiya, zyada nakhre mat karo humse, nahin to ye gori chamdi hai na - saare badan se khurach khurach ke utaar doonga.' By now, Amjad had settled in. The insecurities of the early schedules were replaced by confidence and he wore Gabbar's persona like a second skin. In the heat of the performance, Amjad gripped Hema's arm a little too tightly. It hurt. But the shot was canned and the crew moved on to the next one.

By the evening, Hema's arm was sore and the bruises showed. At the dinner table, Dharmendra could barely control his anger.

Dharmendra, or paaji, as everone called him, was in love with Hema Malini.
Hema, professional to the core, gave little trouble. But Dharmendra wore his heart on his sleeve.
When he and hema shot romantic sequences, he paid the light boys to make mistakes so he could embrace her again and again. Dharmendra and the light boys had a perfectly worked-out code language: when he pulled his ear, they would make a mistake - mess up the trolly movement or make a reflector fall - but when he touched his nose, they okayed the shot. The fee was Rs 100 per retake. On a good day, the light boys returned from the day's shooting richer by Rs 2,000.

Like Sanjeev, Dharmendra rarely turned mean with alcohol. In fact, he became more affectionate and child-like. He caused a few delays and some chaos but was never difficult. Quite the opposite, in fact.
The climax shot required him to throw the counterfeit coin - which Jai used to arrive at decisions - in anger and sorrow after Jai's death. Production had made six conterfeit double-headed coins for retakes. But in that rocky terrain, once a coin was thrown it was almost impossible to retrieve it.
Dharmendra was a little tipsy, and it became apparent that he might require more than six retakes.
Khalish, growing more nervous by the minute, quickly collected as many twenty-five paise coins as he could find. He asked Dharmendra to be careful. For the long shots Khalish would hand Dharmendra the twenty-five-paise coins, and for the close ups, the special double-headed ones. Dharmendra was all co-operation, and the shot was canned with one counterfeit coin to spare.

All this passion wasn't Dharmendra's fault, really. As Hema says, 'It was such a beautifull atmosphere that everyone was in love... even the old camera man.' Pran, whom was in Bangalore for another shoot, had introduced Divecha to a local girl. She was seventeen. Divecha, in his mid-fifties, fell hopelessly in love.
But it wasn't the typical film-industry 'it-doesn't-count-on-location' fling. Despite extreme stress on the home front, Divecha remained commited to the girl till he died in 1978.

50.Sholay

The hardest part was the editing for the final cut. Ramesh spent hours sitting at the editing table with his editor, Madhav Rao Shinde, affectionately called Dada.
Shinde had a gargantuan task. Salim-Javed's script was brilliant, and so many of the cuts were suggested by the script itself, but the film was simply too long.
Ramesh had exposed over 300,000 feet of negative. It had to be whittled down to less than 20,000 feet.
Shinde had edited all of Ramesh's films and by now had an instinctive feel for what Ramesh wanted.
But he had never had so much material to work with.

Entire sequences ended up on the Film Center Floor.
Among the best that didn't make it was a comedy sequence that preceded the Soorma Bhopali section.
Maruti, a popular comedian of the day, played a dhaba owner in it.
Veeru and Jai eat at the dhaba, gargle and spit vigorously, and have a fight with Maruti when he objects to their doing quli in his premises.

Mushtaq Merchant playing an eccentric Parsi gentleman had a scene in which Veeru and Jai steal his motorcycle. He was reduced to a figure ebbing into the horizon just before the 'Yeh Dosti' song.

Saachin's death scene was also cut. Shinde kept the brutal lines of dialogue out, slicing from Gabbar killing an ant to the horse carrying Ahmed's dead body into the village.
The edit fit with the overall tone of the film, in which violance is more often suggested than seen.
The audience never sees Thakur's arms being hacked off. Like the cut from Gabbar raising the sword to an armless Thakur, Ahmed's unseen death had far greater impact.

50.Sholay

'Sholay' was finally ready in July 1975. Two and a half years labour lay spooled in tins.
Looking at the film, Ramesh thought he had turned the curve, that the hardest part was behind him.
He did not know that the battle had just begun.

Gabbar dies in 'Sholay' Or at least does in the original 'Sholay' that Ramesh had shot, Salim-Javed had written. The Thakur kills Gabbar with his feet, wearing shoes that the servant Ramlal has fashioned with nails fitted in the soles. The armless Thakur first crushes Gabbar's arms. Then they stand face to face, two armless warriors, two equals. And then the Thakur pounds Gabbar to death as if he were a venomous snake;
he does not stop till the dacoit is a bloody mess under his shoes. Then he breaks down and cries. He weeps long and hard: his life's mission is complete, but all he feels is a vast emptiness. It is a apyrrhic victory.
Revenge begets loss.

The Central Board of Film Censors hated this ending. The board objected to the suggestion that a police officer - even one who was no longer in service - would take the law into his own hands and commit a murder. They also objected to the film's balletic violence. It wasn't graphic, but it was so finely choreographed that it had far greater impact than actual gore. The audience wouldn't see Thakur's arms being chopped off, but the visual cut from Gabbar raising the sword to the Thakur standing with his empty shirt sleeves flapping in the wind was unforgettable. Ramesh had made violence aesthetic and attractive.
If passed, 'Sholay' would open the floodgates for lesser filmmakers.
There would be cuts in 'Sholay.' But first, the Sippy's would have to change the end.

Ramesh was incensed. It was almost as though he was being penalized for being talented. Every nuance in the film had been carefully considered and crafted. Not a frame was superfluous.
The board wasn't just asking for cuts, it was asking for a totally different conclusion - an ending that would have the police intervening at the crucial moment to prevent the Thakur from killing Gabbar.
It seemed like a parody of what had been done in a hundred other films. It had none of the bleakness or tragedy of the original. With a conclusion so feeble, 'Sholay' would no longer be Ramesh's vision.
It would become another film altogether.

In the resolutely repressive environment of the Emergency, fundamental rights did not exist. Neither did artistic freedom. Compromise wasn't a choice, it was the only option.
But Ramesh was adamant. He hadn't toiled for two years to cop out now. He wasn't going to change the end.
Ramesh tried to reason with the members of the Board, pointing out to them the flaws in their own argument. But the Board would not budge. Increasingly frustrated, Ramesh did something most uncharacteristic of him - he raised his voice.

The Sippy's called on every connection they had. G.P Sippy was a resourceful man with considerable clout.
He worked the phone for hours, arranging high-powered meetings. Anyone who might have influenced the Board got a call. Father and son also had bitter rows. Ramesh argued as an artist who was watching his work being mauled, and G.P as a realist who knew that compromise was inevitable.
At one point, Ramesh even considered taking his name off the film. But eventually the producer prevailed.
G.P explained ground reality to Ramesh: If they were stubborn, the film woudn't get released. Being a lawer himself, he knew better than anyone else the futility of going to court. In an Emergency they had no rights.
And at the of end three years of production, they had very little money. They couldn't afford to take the higher ground.

The release date had been fixed for 15 August 1975.
As was the practice then, Ploydor had released the music two months earlier. In a extraordinary display of comfidence, they had released 30,000 records, double the usual film launch. They had also offered the dealers a special scheme. At the end of the year, dealers could traditionally return 7.5 per cent of the goods that they had not managed to sell. Polydor told the dealers: Take as many records of 'Sholay' as you want, but return the unsold ones before the film's release. After the release, if the music ran and dealers wanted records they would have to pay more. Any delay in release would adversely affect Polydor's business. There really was no option; Ramesh would have to re-shoot the end.

It was a Herculean task. It was already July 20. Within the following week the ending would have to be re-shot and re-dubbed, the background music redone and remixed in London, and the film printed for release.
The cast was hastily summoned. Sanjeev Kumar was attending a film festival in the Soviet Union.
He flew to India immediately. For two days, the cast and crew assenbled in Ramanagaram.
It seemed like old times again. They were back amidst the giant boulders, in the harsh sunlight, all commited as before to the ambitious project that had brought them together.

With the cuts implemented and the new ending inserted, the Board of Film Censors was satisfied, and the final 70mm prints were then made in London. The negative for the 35mm was brought back to Mumbai and printed at Film Centre. And so 'Sholay' was ready for release-a weaker version of 'Sholay', with a new, lesser ending.

But apparently, somewhere in the world, rumoured to be impossible to trace now, a few prints survive of the original, untouched film, with all its final bleakness intact. Occasionally, videotapes and dvds of the original film surface, copied from copies of copies. Those who have seen these nth-generation copies say that despite the fuzziness and the bad sound, the Thakur's hopeless weeping is chilling, and it becomes clear to the viewer that all the visceral of power and violance lead inevitably to this agony, this loss.
In those long-ago days of the seventies, this was the moral vision that Ramesh Sippy and Salim-Javed tried to bring to the Indian viewer. Due to the wisdom of our censors, what we got instead was an easy pabulum about the virtues of following the law, and a film that least in part had an aesthetic clumsiness forced into it.