Dhamal Salle Allah

postergorilay2

International Gorillay (International Guerrillas) is a Punjabi movie released in 1990. One of Pakistani cinema’s  great cult pictures it was a huge hit with local audiences but got the kibosh from British authorities who temporarily banned it. Without a doubt, the movie ranks as one of the most bizarre entertainments in world cinema. Ever.

The film takes its inspiration from the rage that greeted the release of Salman Rushdie‘s novel The Satanic Verses across the Muslim world. In Islamabad (where I lived at the time) a public demonstration was fired upon by the police resulting in a number of deaths and the anger of the people reaching boiling point.

An international cabal of Hindus and Jews led by Salman Rushdie (Afzal Ahmad) is determined to wipe Islam off the face of the planet. Every Muslim must be murdered according to Rushdie’s right hand man Commander Batu Batu (Humayun Qureshi) who along with siblings Commander Jason aka JC (Jahanzeb) and Dolly (Babra Sharif) form the evil novelist’s inner security council.

Ex-cops Mustafa (Mustafa Qureishi) and Shagutta (Neeli) join up with Mustafa’s unemployed goonda brothers Javed (Javed Shiekh) and Ghulam (Ghulam Mohiudeen) after the Islamabad shooting and jet off to Rushdie’s private island (that looks suspiciously like Manila) to sever the writer’s head from his body. For the next two hours and 45 minutes the international guerrillas do battle with Rushdie’s forces and engage in a frenetic series of gun battles, bomb explosions, disguises (at one point the three pot bellied heroes fool Batu Batu and his henchmen by crashing a dance party dressed up as a trio of Batmen), heroic escapes, fist fights, rocket launchers, severed heads, spurting blood, hangings, multiple narrow escapes and high speed chases in cars, motorbikes and speed boats.

The Pakistani homeys never speak except to scream down the wrath of Allah on Rushdie and other kafirs. But eventually the resourceful Salman,  who personally beheads several assassins and forces one of his prisoners to listen to an audio book of The Satanic Verses appears to completely out manoeuvre them. But a desperate prayer leads to the conversion of Dolly and Jason who turn their guns on Rushdie.  The heavens open, lightning breaks the chains of the guerrillas and after slaughtering every one of Rushdie’s soldiers they have the little Satan in their grasp.  But before they can behead him three drones in the form of the Holy Quran float down from heaven and attack Rushdie with lasers until he explodes in a ball of fire.

The End!

As can be imagined music takes  a distant second place to the action this time.  The songs, such as they are, are nothing more than opportunities to demonstrate the moral depravity of Rushdie and enemies of Islam. Not surprisingly, M Ashraf  the most raucous of Pakistani music directors, gets the gig to compose the music. Assisted by his son Arshad  he comes up with one of the worst set of songs ever put to film. In all but one song Neeli or Babra jerk, swivel and moan to trashy unmelodic disco beats while heavily moustachioed men, horny and drunk, oggle them lecherously.

It is only in the final musical interlude in which the guerrillas appear to be conclusively trapped by Rushdie and Batu Batu that the mood switches.  Chained to crosses the defenders of Islam begin singing a naat in praise of Allah, the Prophet (PBUH) and the truth of Islam.

 

For the first time the music speaks. The singing is in tune, the instrumentation is majestic and appropriate to the occasion (which sees the sky filled with Arabic injunctions to praise God and Mohammad PBUH). In what to this point has been a ridiculous, bloody farce of a film, the song manages to introduce a modicum of respect for its purported subject, Islam.

But not for long.

Dolly is overcome by the power of the singing and converts to Islam. She can’t help but jiggle and prance with joy as Ashraf injects that most famous dhamal beat of all, Dam a Dam Mast Qalandar into the proceedings. The solemnity and dignity of the moment is shattered as Dolly sings and the four  mujahideen bang and shake their heads in the weirdest sort of cross dance since Monty Python‘s Life of Brian crucifixion scene.

International Gorillay rocks!

 

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Allah Allah Allah Haq Allah Hoo

Aadam

Yeh Aadam (This Adam) is a Punjabi movie released on April 11,1986.

I’ve not been able to locate any data about its success at the box office which is probably evidence of its being a flop.

 

The film starred the giant of Pakistani Punjabi cinema Sultan Rahi along with his erstwhile female co-star Asiya, who shared the honors with him in the 1979 super-duper-wooper hit Maula Jat.

 

Punjabi cinema was dominant in Lahore in the mid-80s. The golden era of Urdu language family social dramas that targeted the urban middle classes was waning fast. President General Zia ul Haq was nearly a decade into his political/social/moral crusade to clean up the Land of the Pure. After the advent of the VCR and rise of the small screen the film industry was struggling to justify its existence. Public life became constricted as families, and women especially, retreated (or felt compelled to stay) indoors. And if, as a filmmaker, you could not depict physical affection between men and women, and any sort of partying or dancing or general merriment was frowned on by censors, what remained to attract people to the movies?

 

In keeping with the times—a war in Afghanistan, politically sponsored violence in major cities, rise of small arms and narcotics—Lollywood turned to other audiences and violence. Punjabi films such as Yeh Aadam extolled ‘traditional and rural’ values—clan loyalty, blood feuds, manliness—and drew upon the urban poor or migrant laborer markets. Sultan Rahi, Mustafa Qureshi, Chakori and Asiya were the top-billed names and would remain so until the Punjabi film market itself nearly died out in the mid-90s.

 

The music for Yeh Aadam was composed by Nazir Ali and M Javed and called upon the singing talents of the best in the industry: Noor Jehan, Shaukat Ali, Mehnaz and Masood Rana. Sometimes its the music that rescues a film from complete oblivion but not in this case. Nazir Ali was an accomplished veteran composer with a long string of hits to his credits, but M Javed, who is credited by EMI on the album label as the main composer, remains a mystery.

 

So if the film stunk (apparently) and no hits came out of the soundtrack (it seems) and the music director is a non-entity (based on quick searches on the internet) why are we highlighting the film?

 

The answer is simple: Alam Lohar. Without a doubt one of Pakistan’s–no, South Asia’s–most important folk artists, Alam Lohar presence in any film soundtrack is worthy of attention. Though he had passed on to the next world several years before Yeh Aadam was released there was no one who could sing this kind of song better.

 

Lohar was a natural singer who came up through the folk theatre (nautanki). His voice is raw and full of vigor if not exactly polished. But it was his charisma as a performer as much as for his voice that Pakistanis loved and continue to appreciate him.

 

Allah Allah Allah Haq Allah Hoo is a simple ‘Sufi’ song of the sort you’d hear around the mazar (tomb) of any Saint in rural Pakistan (or northern India for that matter). Though this version has been gussied up in the studio the basic folk elements are clearable audible: strong percussion, morchang (a local version of the jaw or jews harp) and simple lyrics.

 

The title of the song is a traditional Sufi chant (zikr); it is credited to one of Mohammad’s four companions, Abu Bakr and is associated with the Naqshbandi silsila (order) of Muslim mystics. It simply means Allah is Truth, Allah Is. In between this refrain Lohar inserts other short verses that refer to the Almighty’s other attributes and qualities such as his ‘glorious aura’ (shaan) and powerful throne (takht).

 

All in all this song is a wonderful little gem rescued from an otherwise barren and arid landscape.

AAAHAH

Dama Dam Allah Hoo

mohabbat-aur-majboori

Mohabbat Aur Majboori (Love and Compulsion) is an Urdu film released in September 1981.

The film appears not to have made many waves or at least not for very long.  Clearly a story of conflicted and unrequited love, the headline star is the beautiful Babra Sharif who plays a sophisticated Pakistani-British expat who returns home and family.  She is met by relatives and driven to the mazar of Sain Baba in the mountains of Kashmir, where the first song of the film, Dama Dam Allah Hoo is heard.

The song is performed by Mehdi Hassan who needs no introduction to most readers. Arguably the best male ‘light classical’ singer of his generation and popular not just in Pakistan, but in India as well as the South Asian diaspora, Hassan is best remembered for his non-film repertoire of ghazals.  His voice is instantly recognisable for its smooth timbre and understated delivery.  He infused each song with a natural unhurried dignity, which is calming and luscious at the same time.

Sufi shrines (mazar) are an important part of the cultural and geographic landscape in Pakistan.  They are visited regularly by seekers of all faiths who come to pray, rest, socialise and seek boons from the charged energy of the Saint that encompasses the surrounding area.  Women come to seek the birth of children.  Men seek the Saint’s help for business success. And in the film, Babra Sharif has come with an unspoken desire for love.

The concept of ishq (Love) is central to the Sufi message.  The Almighty is approached in the form of the Beloved.  The individual seeker is the Lover who wants to drown and lose his sense of self (diwana) in the Love of God.  The line between divine love (Ishq) and romantic love (Mohabbat) is a thin one, especially in the popular imagination.  And shrines are considered to be places where earthly relationships can be sourced or repaired.

This version of the sort of song Sufi sains (wandering minstrels/mystics) would perform at a mazar is lovely, if not exactly inspiring.  The rougher ecstatic edges of the real deal have been polished for the middle-class audiences the filmmakers are targeting. Mehdi Hassan’s voice was never designed to sing jubilant spiritual chants and seems slightly out of place in the context of religious and ritual intensity.

The title of the song, as well as its repeated refrain Dama Dam Allah Hoo, references the Sindhi saint Lal Shahbaz Qalandar’s mazar in Sehwan. The chant/hymn Dama Dam Mast Qalandar, is the single most famous line in South Asian mystical music and instantly associates the listener with  Qalandar and the Sehwan shrine.

I selected this song mainly because of the awful events that have transpired in Sehwan in the past few days.  In a time like this  Mehdi Hassan’s  subdued rendition is just the sort of balm we all require.

Dama Dam