Flashback: Me at 10 years. I see the poster of Purana Mandir when I am passing the local cheap-o cinema theater ( from my school bus), and of course, I am dying to see it. My parents forbid it. ( as any parent should! ) I cry, I throw tantrums. Finally, an ice-cream and three Superman comics later, I agree to postpone my viewing of Purana Mandir to when I “grow up”. My father assures me that good movies like Purana Mandir are inevitably shown again and again at theatres. I agree, and I bide my time.

Last week, I decided I had grown up enough, and went off to watch Veerana. Another of those classics that picked the wrong time to get released…I mean, couldn’t Mr Shyam Freaking ramsay wait until I grew up before releasing his masterpieces? And now he comes up with something like Dhund:The Fog….lame name, lamer pikchar! But Veerana, aaaaaaaah, Veerana reminded me of how much I would have enjoyed the golden years of Indian horror cinema had I been born a couple of years ago. Sigh!

I didn’t go there unaccompanied, of course. NOBODY goes to see a horror movie unaccompanied. There’s the faintest possibility you might get scared, and lose your marbles. So having a partner is highly important. So Vasu tagged along. And needless to say, there was no soul in the theatre ( at least the balcony) other than myself and him. Heh heh heh. Spoooooooky!

Actually, it was spooky. Until the movie started.

Veerana kicks off, as with all Ramsay Brothers movies, with a khun-khaar chudail killing some helpless gaonwaala. And all the gaonwaalas have a meeting to figure out what’s to be done. One eerie-looking fellow with a scar that looks like cheap plastic, and an expression to match, starts recounting tales of how a beautiful woman haunts the Veerana, and how she changed to a bat and sucked his blood. In other words, how the cheap-plastic-scar was born. Exeunt eerie-looking gaonwaala. Enter Thakur Something-Pratap Singh. (“Vijayendra Ghatge”, Vasu tells me. I bow to his superior B-movie sense ) The thakur decides something is to be done, he brandishes a nasty-looking Om-sign-made-of-thermocole, zoom-in, close-up, cut to the veerana jungle at night. With much wailing of violins and Bappi-da’s (yeah, yeah, yeah ) synthesiser experiments, the thakur is lured to a deserted haveli by this khun-khaar female, who makes plans to frolic with him in a hot-tub. (Vasu: “you know what, buddy? One of the fantasies in my life was to play the lead role in a Ramsay brothers movie.” I agree.)

Just when things are about to get interesting, thakur saahab decides to pull a necklace off our lady. And then, gents and ladies, we happen to witness the pride and joy of Maganlal Dresswalla’s make-up skills….the lady shapeshifts into (gasp, gasp) a deadly looking chudail….who starts doing what every self-respecting chudail does in Indian cinema. (Eeeesh, no, she doesn’t start singing, this is a Ramsay Brothers movie, forgoshsakes, not a Yash Chopra one..) Scream, shriek, scream some more, shriek some more. Double the volume when Thakur saahib brings out the Om-sign. Shriek some more when the gaaon waalahs decide to hang her to death. (Nevermind the fact that they could have burnt her to death and be done with the entire thing….) Hasta la vista, chudail babe.

Enter our old friend Guran from Lagaan. (“Rajesh Vivek”, Vasu declares. You’re god, man! ) He happens to be a tantrik working under Mahakaal, and carrying out weird ceremonies with weird villain-looking guys who hang around brandishing spears (and, no doubt, earning money as extras) . Evil-Tantrik-boss ( henceforth referred to as Baba) hypnotises the thakur’s elder daughter, and Nikita’s spirit possesses her. Baba also makes it a point to deliver her back to the Thakur household, and gets employed as Jasmine baby’s attendant. This turn of events tells us two things – (a) The director has obviously seen The Exorcist, Omen and the standard horror fare of the seventies. (b) we are in for a long story. Total paisa vasool. Vasu tells me: “dekhna, both of the thakur’s daughters will grow up to be awesome-looking babes.” They do.

And if you wanna know what happens next, go watch the movie. ;-)

Other highpoints: Hemant Birje plays the hero. And I start getting fond memories of Tarzan ( one movie that my parents fortunately didn’t postpone until my growing up) and Kimi Katkar. Mental note: Get Tarzan. Hemant Birje, by the way, has precisely seven lines of dialogue throughout the film. “waah, kya sundar ghar hai” happens to be one of them. VAsu and I tried four-five times to get the proper note of woodenness in our voice while saying that line….but no, it came out with too much emotion. I envy Hemant Birje.

Bappida‘s music. Anyone who says Bappi Lahiri is a copycat composer is obviously shortsighted, that guy gave some great tunes in his time….and even Veerana has two-three eminently hummable songs…..can’t say much about his background music though.

Gulshan Grover. Satish Shah. These guys brighten up a movie with their hamming. Am not kidding.

The cool-looking females who played the Thakur’s daughters. The very epitome of eighties chic ( pink skirts and all), hubba hubba!!!! And Jasmine beti sure could increase her eye-ball size by 40% at the drop of a ha…er…knife.

Last but not the least, Vasu!! With his indepth knowledge of B-Movies, and his devastating sense of cinematic techniques, Vasu managed to make Veerana a very educational and entertaining experience for me. Every twist in the plot was foreseen and explained beforehand. Every trick the characters tried, from Rama Vij’s hysterical screams to doctor sahaab’s goggle-eyed fright to Gulshan Grover’s impending death in the wood-mill, Vasu predicted these with deadly accuracy. One wonders if the script has been coeditted by the man. (Hmmm, come to think of it, I don’t know too much about your past life, Vasu) Thanks anyway, da!

The next day, I saw HP2: The Chamber of Secrets. At the risk of sounding mentally deficient, I say this – The movie is just an enhanced version of Veerana, maybe with much, much better Special Effects, and slightly better acting. Slightly. Grow up, Hollywood. Stop those masala movies.

A perfect weekend.