Naya Daur Hindi Movie
If I had to choose one out of the vast vibrant and progressive repertoire of B.R. Chopra's films for colour, it would be "Sadhana", a film about a prostitute's rehabilitation that asked so many questions from our essentially unequal social system.
"Naya Daur" does the same... though its questionings, interpolated by zesty songs and dances where O.P. Nayyar pulls out all stops, now appear redundant.
"Naya Daur" is a film that 50 years ago questioned the process of rural industrialisation. A utopian village with the 'correct' values - imperviousness to change and a stubborn refusal to accept progress as the key to upliftment are seen as awesome virtues - is superbly put across in the language and style of reformative drama.
The camera sweeps imperiously across the unspoilt hinterland as the rugged mood of the theme gets accentuated by the vigour in the storytelling.
Chopra was always a master storyteller. His touch is evident in the criss-cross of characters as they move from being individuals into the inter-personal zone of social relevance.
Somewhere you suspect, Chopra's main thematic thrust isn't social reform, but the romantic triangle that grows out of the tale of thankless urnbanisation.
The Dilip Kumar-Vyajayanthimala-Ajit triangle is tinged in caustic conventions. Every purse of the Vyajanthi's lips, every rise of the awesome Dilip Kumar's eyebrow is answered by that subtle but unmistakable smirk on Ajit's face.
Yes, the lovers have met their match.
The chemistry between the lead pair still stands. It's hard to even dream of replicating that selfless compatibility in today's times when love means never having to say you are suffering.
The fiery exchanges between the lead pair keep us gawking at the charismatic couple.
Nobody could wear a dhoti and ride a tonga like Dilip Kumar. The race with a bus at the climax would look ridiculous in anyone else's hands.
Not Dilip Kumar. He infuses his rustic role with a rhythm of ruggedness that makes your heart sing and your head swim. This qualifies as one of the thundering thespian's 'light' performances. The lightness of touch is matched by Vyjayanthimala's sprightly movements, not just in the dances but also in the dramatic and comic moments where her face flashes furious messages of love, hate and related emotions.
As for the splashes of colour, you may have your own take on the redundancy of the colour scheme. But you won't be able to take your eyes off the lead pair as they banter and backslap one another through the craggy path of love.
The plot appears cluttered and claustrophobic in spite of the wide-open spaces that have been used so tellingly. But the heart is constantly in the right space.
The daur (race) isn't so naya (new) after all. But the feelings underlining the outdated plot are never dishonest.
