Merchant Ivory

Helen, Queen of the Nautch Girls, a 30-minute documentary film that looks at an aspect of Indian culture from a rather whimsical angle, has always been a popular Merchant Ivory film. The idea for the documentary came from Anthony Korner, an associate of Merchant Ivory's in the period, and now the publisher of Art Forum. It was directed and narrated by him, but the scenario was devised by Ivory. The subject of the film, which cost a modest $17,000 to make, is the most popular dancer in Bombay musical films -- so much so that since 1957 she had appeared in five hundred of them. In part the movie is a montage of scenes from her pictures and of the opening sequence in Bombay Talkie in which Helen dances with Shashi Kapoor on the keys of a giant red typewriter. Indian musical films that provided the background ofBombay Talkie now come to life before the bemused viewer. Stepping neatly around the puritanic codes governing Indian films that forbid direct sexual contact (even kissing), the musicals project sexuality fervently through innuendo -- in teasing situations and the sensuality of Helen's dancing. Extravagantly romantic fantasies are the stuff of this popular art form, of which Helen is clearly "queen."

Lucia Lane (Jennifer Kendal), an English novelist, comes to Bombay to research the Bollywood film scene for a book she is planning to write. She is introduced by a producer (none other than Ismail Merchant) to the dashing movie star Vikram (Shashi Kapoor) and the screenwriter Hari (Zia Mohyeddin). Vikram, who is married to the beautiful but barren young Mala (Aparna Sen), falls in love with Lucia and they begin an affair, evoking a fierce rivalry between Vikram and Hari, and a painful envy on the part of Vikram's wife. Lucia, seeking escape and enlightenment, flees to a guru (Pincho Kapoor) but cannot bring herself to abandon her worldly desires for a subservient life in the ashram. She returns to Vikram and the various love triangles collapse, bringing the characters to desperation and the entanglement to a startling resolution.

Shot entirely on location in and around the city of its title, Bombay Talkie is one of Merchant Ivory's most distinctive films, at once a psychological drama and a parodic hommage to the Indian film scene of the late 1960s and early 1970s.

The eclectic dramatis personae include Uptal Dutt as Bose, a corrupt producer, Nadira as Anjana Devi, Vikram's confidante, and a full complement of women who enact a musical number on a giant typewriter (one of Ivory's favorite film sets to date), as the dancers' movements type out Fate ("It's very symbolic," Lucia compliments). Subatra Mitra, the master cameraman of Satyajit Ray, provides the photography, and it is to great effect that his unassuming lens is set upon the director's shrewdly observed scenes. At one moment in the film, an elderly Indian fan of Lucia's novel Consenting Adults arrives at her hotel to ask her for an autograph: as Lucia flees and the absurd exchange is played out, the camera pulls back and patiently watches the two descend the grand staircase of the Taj Mahal Hotel. It is one of the film's many moments in which the comedy of a situation is made more acute by the lyricism of the visuals.

Jennifer Kendal is magnificent as Lucia: her offhand candor and genuine sweetness make her all the more believable as a homewrecker who doesn't seem to grasp the consequences of her actions. She moves effortlessly from quiet despair, a middle-aged woman alone in a foreign hotel, to fish-out-of-water scenes at an ashram which put one in mind of Maria von Trapp in the convent, dreaming of the hills and the Captain. Shashi Kapoor brings to Vikram that star quality which attracts the legions of adoring women who seem always to surround him; and Aparna Sen paints a quietly affecting Mala. Like the goddess Devi, whose image appears on screen, Sen's Mala is part long-suffering wife, part Fury.

From the opening credits sequence (probably the most original of any Merchant Ivory film) to the films within the film (the musical, the Indian western), Bombay Talkie claims a unique place in Ivory's work for its elements of meta-film -- a film about film, in which the viewer is at once involved in what is on-screen and aware of the medium. Yet there are also those familiar elements of uprooted persons and cultural difference that characterize both the earliest and the most recent films of Merchant Ivory. Lucia, late in Bombay Talkie, tries on one of Mala's saris and Vikram explains to the uninformed Englishwoman that it is his wife's wedding sari. Just then, Mala enters to see her husband's lover dressed in her own wedding clothes: as in many of Merchant and Ivory's films, cultural misunderstanding leads to human drama of the most visceral and affecting kind.

In 1976 Jhabvala made the important decision to leave India to live in New York for most of the year, a result of which was a new documentary, Sweet Sounds, conceived and directed by Richard Robbins, and sponsored by Merchant Ivory Productions. Jhabvala entered her youngest daughter Firoza, an aspiring pianist, in the Mannes College of Music, then on Manhattan's Upper East Side, and there met Robbins, Firoza's piano teacher and the acting director of the college's preparatory school. Before long Jhabvala introduced him to Merchant and Ivory, a meeting that proved fateful, since, beginning with The Europeans in 1978, Robbins has provided the musical scores for nearly all of Merchant Ivory's films. Robbins had an idea for a short film showing some of the small children at the school being initiated into the practice of music, a conception that Merchant and Ivory found engaging. In July 1976, at a cost of $25,000, the 29-minute film was shot at the school; and in the autumn it was shown at the New York and London film festivals, as well as on PBS television.

Make the Wiseguys Weep will be Merchant Ivory’s first feature since 2009’s The City of Your Final Destination.  Based on a novel by David Evanier, and adapted for the screen by Ric Menello (The Immigrant, Two Lovers), the film traces the life and career of singer Jimmy Roselli, who is blacklisted from the music industry in the 1960’s following an altercation with Frank Sinatra.

There were two great singers from Hoboken, New Jersey: Frank Sinatra and Jimmy Roselli, whose staggering vocal range, passion and authority outstripped his world famous rival.  Despite being a beloved entertainer among Italian mobsters, and particularly their wives and mothers, Jimmy refused nonetheless to be beholden to the Mafia.  Accordingly, Jimmy was left unprotected when, ostensibly under Sinatra’s order, the music industry blackballed Roselli for three decades.   Largely guided by his own erratic integrity, the mercurial Roselli never received the worldwide fame his talent deserved, and whatever success he did achieve was owed in part to the selfless actions of those who cared for him most.  Jimmy’s aggressively supportive wife, Donna, convinces him to start his own record label, and Mafia soldier and Jimmy’s childhood friend, Matty, makes the ultimate sacrifice, all in the best interest of an unsung entertainer who by his own admission, was most happy when in the company of his hometown pals.

Make the Wiseguys Weep is a sincere tale about the influence of the Mafia in showbiz, of Italian-American culture and music heritage, and of a thrilling, unsung entertainer.