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Music, Masti, Modernity: The Cinema of Nasir Husain
Debuting as a film-maker in 1957 with Tumsa Nahin Dekha, Nasir Husain became one of the most successful film-makers in Hindi cinema over the next twenty-five years with musical blockbusters like Phir Wohi Dil Laya Hoon, Teesri Manzil, Caravan, Yaadon Ki Baaraat and Hum Kisise Kum Naheen.This book analyses the work of Husain and how his films played an important role in shaping commercial Hindi cinema as it exists today. Through interviews with a number of prominent film personalities such as Aamir Khan, Mansoor Khan, Asha Parekh, Javed Akhtar, Karan Johar and Aditya Chopra, the book contextualizes Husain's legacy and places him as one of the important auteurs of Hindi cinema.
533 pages, Kindle Edition
Published October 10, 2016
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
May 27, 2019
2.5/5 Nasir Husain's last notable film as a director was "Zamane ko Dikhana hai", released in 1981 before I was born. And I have never seen a film directed by him. So, who is Nasir Husain to me and why did I read this book ?
One of the most fun movies of the 90s, the movie I can repeat dialogue for dialogue is "Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar". And guess who wrote its dialogues at the young age of 65 ? Nasir Husain ! The man who wrote the successful "Anarkali" in 1953 and was considered the king of the rom-coms for 20+ years. Kaha hain generation gap ? Or the superb QSQT that came earlier. It is said that one of my alltime fav directors, Mansoor Khan continued in his father's tradition.
Secondly, his mindblowing music especially his chemistry with R.D. Burman. I have seen Teesri Manzil and while it was directed by Vijay Anand, you can see it is equally a Nasir Husain movie. What fun to see Shammi Kapoor romancing Asha Parekh with songs composed by RD and written by Majrooh. Or those Nasir Husain comedy scenes :)
Nasir Husain's cinema was modern, fun without any of the rona-dhona and preachiness of its times. And as is very evident in QSQT, his cinema had a certain grace without being pompous. I think he was in the league of Manmohan Desai and Subhash Ghai in consistently entertaining audiences. Something that the book unfortunately failed to do.
As the author declares beforehand, the book is not strictly chronological but tries to explore aspects of his cinema. Unfortunately, it gets extremely repetitive and entire paragraphs seem to have been copy-pasted from earlier chapters. Also, chapters themselves are messy and do not make for interesting reading. On top of it, the book is quite long and should have been edited well. Maybe, the author should have taken a leaf from Nasir saab's book.
One of the most fun movies of the 90s, the movie I can repeat dialogue for dialogue is "Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar". And guess who wrote its dialogues at the young age of 65 ? Nasir Husain ! The man who wrote the successful "Anarkali" in 1953 and was considered the king of the rom-coms for 20+ years. Kaha hain generation gap ? Or the superb QSQT that came earlier. It is said that one of my alltime fav directors, Mansoor Khan continued in his father's tradition.
Secondly, his mindblowing music especially his chemistry with R.D. Burman. I have seen Teesri Manzil and while it was directed by Vijay Anand, you can see it is equally a Nasir Husain movie. What fun to see Shammi Kapoor romancing Asha Parekh with songs composed by RD and written by Majrooh. Or those Nasir Husain comedy scenes :)
Nasir Husain's cinema was modern, fun without any of the rona-dhona and preachiness of its times. And as is very evident in QSQT, his cinema had a certain grace without being pompous. I think he was in the league of Manmohan Desai and Subhash Ghai in consistently entertaining audiences. Something that the book unfortunately failed to do.
As the author declares beforehand, the book is not strictly chronological but tries to explore aspects of his cinema. Unfortunately, it gets extremely repetitive and entire paragraphs seem to have been copy-pasted from earlier chapters. Also, chapters themselves are messy and do not make for interesting reading. On top of it, the book is quite long and should have been edited well. Maybe, the author should have taken a leaf from Nasir saab's book.
July 25, 2018
Family-endorsed biographies start with a basic handicap. They tend to lack objectivity, becoming an exercise in hero worship. Fortunately, Akshay Manwani’s biography of Nasir Husain, Music Masti Modernity: The Cinema of Nasir Husain, steers away from the predictable. It uses to its advantage a lovely foreword by Aamir Khan, some rare photographs and interviews shared by the family members, but, at the same time, avoids getting trapped in painting Husain a superhero. The book does not carry the tag of an official biography. But, given the extremely hard-to-get interviews (for instance, one of Asha Parekh, which is as comprehensive as it could be) featured here, one is tempted to label it as such.
From the outset, however, Manwani clarifies that the book is not a biography. This is true to some extent; the book has enough material to be labelled a traditional biography, but it actually goes far beyond that. It talks about the various facets of Husain’s life in a delightful, non-chronological narrative.
Broadly classified, Music Masti Modernity is a collection of essays — stand-alone, yet closely knit, highlighting Husain’s career, leitmotifs, musical sensibilities, lost-and-found formulae, efforts at neo-realism, failure, heartbreak, and resurgence. A chapter each is dedicated to Shammi Kapoor and RD Burman, two of the most important personalities who shaped the Husain insignia. The book is extensively researched. Manwani has made an effort to watch (multiple times) not only the films which Husain directed, wrote or produced, but also films related to his subjects and genre, assemble the imports, interview — extensively — a major chunk of people, including technicians and musicians, associated with Husain, augment the research with inputs from fellow writers, teachers, bloggers, and compile the same into chapters, both comprehensible and enjoyable.
Manwani makes a very important observation. Nobody considered Husain’s work serious or socially relevant in the context of Indian cinema. On deeper analysis, Husain actually emerges as a harbinger of change. His heroes were not people who languished in love. They were not nation builders, but they contributed to society in their own, exultant way. They did not feel shy romancing girls and breaking into a rhythmic, fast-paced song, when most men of the era felt obliged to strive by the tenets of Nehruvian socialism. The ‘renegade’ tag was not reserved for the hyper-active romantic who ended up at the wrong end of the firing squad. He could be a happy-go-lucky kid, amiable and altruistic, without the baggage of Gandhian principles. Husain actually outlined the average young working Indian male, who, like the character Leon in Ninotchka (1939), would rather have an alert mind, a fit body, an appeased landlord, and a more-than-happy girlfriend. In hindsight, it was probably more realistic than the make-believe seriousness of Raj Kapoor and Guru Dutt.
Likewise, Manwani has also discussed how Husain helped the leading lady morph from the roti- dhoti- sanskari- bharatiya- nari with a two-feet pallu into a chic, westernised, rebellious woman who has no problem entertaining friends with liquor (however, she would stop short of consuming spirits herself). Modern-day Kangana Ranaut characters in films like Queen (2015) and Tanu Weds Manu (2011) can consider Husain’s characters their spiritual ancestors.
The book mentions that while the leading characters were different from the industry stereotype, the act of rebellion had a Lakshman- rekha. The heroes were not anti-heroes. They were not Machiavellian. They did not go against the law (with exceptions like Shankar in Yaadon ki Baaraat [1973]). The heroines were not nymphomaniacs. They did not romance multiple men. They had a point of view, which, given the circumstances, could be different from what their parents had in mind.
There’s quite a bit of discussion on how music plays a stellar role in Husain’s films. From Aamir to Mansoor Khan, a lot of the interviewees discuss Husain’s role in shaping the music in his films, and how he had the magical ability to earmark the tune he wanted after sifting through a whole bunch played to him by the composer. The best part is the manner in which Manwani has assembled the chapters. The synthesis is logical and organic. He avoids clichés. Academic discussions are kept to a minimum. This is a serious work, but the book is actually a light read.
Minor nitpicking: I wish Manwani had exorcised flab. The book should have been at least 30 pages thinner. The reliance on bloggers and teachers to repeatedly supplement something already proven is tantamount to padding.
Given that the book has more than 400 pages, Manwani does not go into the details of the films which were called off (except Zabardast). Though he tries to get interviews corroborated, he does not use his own counsel to establish facts. Barring such minor quibbles, this remains a superlative book. Music Masti Modernity is sincere, and the finest book about an Indian filmmaker I have read in a long, long time.
Link to the review
https://www.thehindubusinessline.com/...
From the outset, however, Manwani clarifies that the book is not a biography. This is true to some extent; the book has enough material to be labelled a traditional biography, but it actually goes far beyond that. It talks about the various facets of Husain’s life in a delightful, non-chronological narrative.
Broadly classified, Music Masti Modernity is a collection of essays — stand-alone, yet closely knit, highlighting Husain’s career, leitmotifs, musical sensibilities, lost-and-found formulae, efforts at neo-realism, failure, heartbreak, and resurgence. A chapter each is dedicated to Shammi Kapoor and RD Burman, two of the most important personalities who shaped the Husain insignia. The book is extensively researched. Manwani has made an effort to watch (multiple times) not only the films which Husain directed, wrote or produced, but also films related to his subjects and genre, assemble the imports, interview — extensively — a major chunk of people, including technicians and musicians, associated with Husain, augment the research with inputs from fellow writers, teachers, bloggers, and compile the same into chapters, both comprehensible and enjoyable.
Manwani makes a very important observation. Nobody considered Husain’s work serious or socially relevant in the context of Indian cinema. On deeper analysis, Husain actually emerges as a harbinger of change. His heroes were not people who languished in love. They were not nation builders, but they contributed to society in their own, exultant way. They did not feel shy romancing girls and breaking into a rhythmic, fast-paced song, when most men of the era felt obliged to strive by the tenets of Nehruvian socialism. The ‘renegade’ tag was not reserved for the hyper-active romantic who ended up at the wrong end of the firing squad. He could be a happy-go-lucky kid, amiable and altruistic, without the baggage of Gandhian principles. Husain actually outlined the average young working Indian male, who, like the character Leon in Ninotchka (1939), would rather have an alert mind, a fit body, an appeased landlord, and a more-than-happy girlfriend. In hindsight, it was probably more realistic than the make-believe seriousness of Raj Kapoor and Guru Dutt.
Likewise, Manwani has also discussed how Husain helped the leading lady morph from the roti- dhoti- sanskari- bharatiya- nari with a two-feet pallu into a chic, westernised, rebellious woman who has no problem entertaining friends with liquor (however, she would stop short of consuming spirits herself). Modern-day Kangana Ranaut characters in films like Queen (2015) and Tanu Weds Manu (2011) can consider Husain’s characters their spiritual ancestors.
The book mentions that while the leading characters were different from the industry stereotype, the act of rebellion had a Lakshman- rekha. The heroes were not anti-heroes. They were not Machiavellian. They did not go against the law (with exceptions like Shankar in Yaadon ki Baaraat [1973]). The heroines were not nymphomaniacs. They did not romance multiple men. They had a point of view, which, given the circumstances, could be different from what their parents had in mind.
There’s quite a bit of discussion on how music plays a stellar role in Husain’s films. From Aamir to Mansoor Khan, a lot of the interviewees discuss Husain’s role in shaping the music in his films, and how he had the magical ability to earmark the tune he wanted after sifting through a whole bunch played to him by the composer. The best part is the manner in which Manwani has assembled the chapters. The synthesis is logical and organic. He avoids clichés. Academic discussions are kept to a minimum. This is a serious work, but the book is actually a light read.
Minor nitpicking: I wish Manwani had exorcised flab. The book should have been at least 30 pages thinner. The reliance on bloggers and teachers to repeatedly supplement something already proven is tantamount to padding.
Given that the book has more than 400 pages, Manwani does not go into the details of the films which were called off (except Zabardast). Though he tries to get interviews corroborated, he does not use his own counsel to establish facts. Barring such minor quibbles, this remains a superlative book. Music Masti Modernity is sincere, and the finest book about an Indian filmmaker I have read in a long, long time.
Link to the review
https://www.thehindubusinessline.com/...
February 10, 2017
Music Masti Modernity: The Cinema of Nasir Husain is aptly named. This is emphatically (and Akshay makes a special point of mentioning it at the beginning of the book) not about Nasir Husain’s private life, even though—to introduce Husain and to provide the background to his work—Akshay does explain briefly the family Husain grew up in and how he came to Bombay. There is a delightfully romantic little anecdote about how Husain met his wife, Margaret Francina Lewis (who changed her name to Ayesha after she married him), an assistant choreographer at Filmistan with whom S Mukherji used to get Husain to help compose shots before the stars arrived on the sets. There are a few reminiscences from people like Mansoor Khan, Asha Parekh, Aamir Khan, Rishi Kapoor and others, which shed light on what sort of person—fanatically fond of music, with a great sense of humour, always youthful—Nasir Husain was.
Other than that, though, this book is about Nasir Husain’s cinema. Like Jai Arjun Singh in his book on Hrishikesh Mukherjee (which, in some ways, this book reminded me of), Akshay Manwani focuses not so much on individual films, but on the tropes, the broad themes, the motifs that bind his subject's films together. The romances, the lost-and-found trope, the comic side plot, the gorgeous countryside, the prolonged courtships: everything.
Each of these is examined, with examples, references, and possible sources of inspiration (was Husain, as I have often wondered, inspired by PG Wodehouse? It seems likely, since he liked Wodehouse’s stories so much). Reasons for recurring motifs and themes are suggested—for instance, why does Husain set most of his films outside cities, in the countryside, even though, unlike contemporaries like Bimal Roy, he does not really include the ‘locals’ in the scene? Why do his characters, even when they’re in the country, still remain steadfastly urban?
What struck me the most about this book, even when Akshay was still in the research stage of it, was that he was noticing so many things I hadn’t even paid attention to before. I have been watching Nasir Husain’s films since the early 80s—his were perhaps among the very first films I watched on TV, back in the good old days of Doordarshan. Some films, like Tumsa Nahin Dekha , Dil Deke Dekho , Phir Wohi Dil Laaya Hoon and Teesri Manzil, I have watched so many times on so many formats, that I know every scene, can sing every song, and pretty much know what’s going to happen next.
Despite that, I had never really noticed that some themes (besides the more obvious lost-and-found, the crook-posing-as-heir, etc), are repeated so often. The fact that there are so many journeys, and that the journeys are accompanied by songs that help further the romance. That letters play an important part in the stories. Or that most heroes and heroines have only one parent present. Or that Nasir Husain gave the hero (in Dil Deke Dekho to start with, and later in Teesri Manzil, plus his 70s films) a profession hitherto overlooked in Hindi cinema for leads: that of a Western-style musician, the man with the guitar, the drums, the sax (as opposed to the man with the sitar, already well-loved).
And Akshay doesn’t leave it at that. For each element, for each theme, he goes deep into its history in cinema (on occasion, even non-Indian cinema); why and how Husain may have adopted this element, how he worked and reworked it in different ways, how he constantly modernized a theme to make it relevant to the era (and, considering Husain had a career—if not as a director, at least as a writer—of 45 years, that is saying a lot). For everything from the music in Husain’s films to the language he uses in dialogues; from the camera angles to the lighting, to the names of characters (I hadn’t realized just how frequently Nasir Husain saddled a character with the name ‘Subodh Mukerji’): Akshay covers them all.
There are some little-known anecdotes and behind-the-scenes glimpses from Husain’s films, and there are plenty of photos, including one from an ambitious multi-starrer named Zabardast that Husain shelved after falling out with Dilip Kumar, who was to have starred in it. There’s a comprehensive filmography at the end. There is an analysis, too, of the decline of Nasir Husain: the films, starting with Zamaane ko Dikhaana Hai, which flopped miserably and were instrumental in making Husain perhaps lose faith in himself, too. And there are the films that exemplified ‘clean’ cinema at the fag end of the 80s (a decade whose cinema was marked by crudity and violence): Qayamat se Qayamat Tak and Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar.
I had appreciated Akshay’s earlier book, the biography of Sahir Ludhianvi, for the obvious enthusiasm and the equally obvious depth of research that had gone into it. This book, I personally think, raises Akshay’s own standard. It is as enthusiastic, as well-researched, but even better written than the Sahir book. Highly recommended if you have ever watched and liked Husain’s films. Or even if you haven’t—this just might tempt you into giving his cinema a try. And if (like me) you will rewatch, for the umpteenth time, a Nasir Husain film you’ve seen before, you might just see it with a completely fresh perspective and pay attention to details you may never have noticed before.
(From my review on my blog: https://madhulikaliddle.com/2017/02/1...)
Other than that, though, this book is about Nasir Husain’s cinema. Like Jai Arjun Singh in his book on Hrishikesh Mukherjee (which, in some ways, this book reminded me of), Akshay Manwani focuses not so much on individual films, but on the tropes, the broad themes, the motifs that bind his subject's films together. The romances, the lost-and-found trope, the comic side plot, the gorgeous countryside, the prolonged courtships: everything.
Each of these is examined, with examples, references, and possible sources of inspiration (was Husain, as I have often wondered, inspired by PG Wodehouse? It seems likely, since he liked Wodehouse’s stories so much). Reasons for recurring motifs and themes are suggested—for instance, why does Husain set most of his films outside cities, in the countryside, even though, unlike contemporaries like Bimal Roy, he does not really include the ‘locals’ in the scene? Why do his characters, even when they’re in the country, still remain steadfastly urban?
What struck me the most about this book, even when Akshay was still in the research stage of it, was that he was noticing so many things I hadn’t even paid attention to before. I have been watching Nasir Husain’s films since the early 80s—his were perhaps among the very first films I watched on TV, back in the good old days of Doordarshan. Some films, like Tumsa Nahin Dekha , Dil Deke Dekho , Phir Wohi Dil Laaya Hoon and Teesri Manzil, I have watched so many times on so many formats, that I know every scene, can sing every song, and pretty much know what’s going to happen next.
Despite that, I had never really noticed that some themes (besides the more obvious lost-and-found, the crook-posing-as-heir, etc), are repeated so often. The fact that there are so many journeys, and that the journeys are accompanied by songs that help further the romance. That letters play an important part in the stories. Or that most heroes and heroines have only one parent present. Or that Nasir Husain gave the hero (in Dil Deke Dekho to start with, and later in Teesri Manzil, plus his 70s films) a profession hitherto overlooked in Hindi cinema for leads: that of a Western-style musician, the man with the guitar, the drums, the sax (as opposed to the man with the sitar, already well-loved).
And Akshay doesn’t leave it at that. For each element, for each theme, he goes deep into its history in cinema (on occasion, even non-Indian cinema); why and how Husain may have adopted this element, how he worked and reworked it in different ways, how he constantly modernized a theme to make it relevant to the era (and, considering Husain had a career—if not as a director, at least as a writer—of 45 years, that is saying a lot). For everything from the music in Husain’s films to the language he uses in dialogues; from the camera angles to the lighting, to the names of characters (I hadn’t realized just how frequently Nasir Husain saddled a character with the name ‘Subodh Mukerji’): Akshay covers them all.
There are some little-known anecdotes and behind-the-scenes glimpses from Husain’s films, and there are plenty of photos, including one from an ambitious multi-starrer named Zabardast that Husain shelved after falling out with Dilip Kumar, who was to have starred in it. There’s a comprehensive filmography at the end. There is an analysis, too, of the decline of Nasir Husain: the films, starting with Zamaane ko Dikhaana Hai, which flopped miserably and were instrumental in making Husain perhaps lose faith in himself, too. And there are the films that exemplified ‘clean’ cinema at the fag end of the 80s (a decade whose cinema was marked by crudity and violence): Qayamat se Qayamat Tak and Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar.
I had appreciated Akshay’s earlier book, the biography of Sahir Ludhianvi, for the obvious enthusiasm and the equally obvious depth of research that had gone into it. This book, I personally think, raises Akshay’s own standard. It is as enthusiastic, as well-researched, but even better written than the Sahir book. Highly recommended if you have ever watched and liked Husain’s films. Or even if you haven’t—this just might tempt you into giving his cinema a try. And if (like me) you will rewatch, for the umpteenth time, a Nasir Husain film you’ve seen before, you might just see it with a completely fresh perspective and pay attention to details you may never have noticed before.
(From my review on my blog: https://madhulikaliddle.com/2017/02/1...)
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