Filmi Tabsiray
Compiled by Shaukat Ali Chinna
Maqsood Publishers
322pp.

The history of Pakistani cinema, particularly its early years, suffers from a glaring lack of comprehensive documentation. This lack has only widened over time, due to several factors, including the absence of proper archiving, the deterioration of old film prints, and the general neglect of Pakistan’s cinematic legacy in cultural discourse.

Much of what we read in books on Pakistani films, such as those by Mushtaq Gazdar and Yaseen Goreja, often reflect retrospective admiration, written long after the main filmmakers had passed away. This approach understandably avoids commenting on deceased individuals, but it also limits critical depth. Since the reviews were done later on films that were screened long ago, the element of authenticity is not there.

Amid this disheartening scenario, Shaukat Ali Chinna, a journalist from Lahore, has made a significant effort with Filmi Tabsiray. The book captures the immediacy and raw honesty of contemporaneous reviews, offering an unfiltered perspective that brings the cinematic history of Pakistan to life in a way later assessments cannot.

Instead of relying on contemporary writers, Chinna turned to original reviews from the past, compiling insightful critiques and analyses of classic Pakistani films released between 1948 and 1971. This curated collection offers a vivid glimpse into the formative years of Pakistan’s film industry, allowing readers to journey back in time and experience the golden era of Pakistani cinema through the lens of those who witnessed it firsthand.

A collection of reviews written in contemporaneous publications about Pakistani movies released between 1948 and 1971 fills a longstanding gap in the cinematic history of Pakistan

Being in the field of journalism for over two decades, I grew up hearing the names of legendary figures in journalism, such as Imtiaz Ali Taj, Masood Ashar, I.A. Rehman, Hamid Akhtar, Waris Mir, Zaheer Babar, Qamar Ajnalvi and Abdullah Malik. Once, while working on a project regarding press freedom in Pakistan, I had the honour of interviewing Masood Ashar and I.A. Rehman in Lahore.

During those conversations, they failed to detect my ‘filmi keerra’ [interest in cinema] due to old age, and I remained unaware of their contributions as film critics in their youth. Discovering their reviews in Filmi Tabsiray was thus a revelation. Reading their critiques feels like a personal conversation, as if these iconic journalists are speaking directly to me, bridging the gap between their era and mine.

The book also has reviews from the legendary Imtiaz Ali Taj, the man who wrote the drama Anarkali in 1922. Some reviews by Zaheer Babar, editor of Imroz and the husband of novelist Khadija Mastoor, are also part of the book. Professor Waris Mir, the father of renowned journalist and TV personality Hamid Mir, has always been, for me, a figure who defied the odds and spoke his mind with conviction. I was genuinely surprised to discover that people of Taj, Babar and Mir’s stature also ventured into writing about films. This revelation underscores the cultural significance cinema held at the time.

With rare reviews from Imroz, Chatan, Iqdaam, Nawa-i-Waqt, Qandeel, Jahanuma, Akhbar-i-Jahan, Mashriq and Lail-o-Nihar, one could easily travel back in time to see how the films were received at the time of their release, and what did the writers point out in their reviews. It seems that writing honest and straightforward reviews was a standard practice in the golden era of film criticism. The critiques from that time, as showcased in Filmi Tabsiray, were not only candid but also constructive and insightful. The points raised by the critics provided valuable feedback, fostering growth in the industry.

As a film enthusiast, I have long been on the hunt for several classic Pakistani films, including Teri Yaad, Beli, Aankh Ka Nasha, Jaago Hua Savera, Bara Bajay, Chiragh Jalta Raha, Rivaj, Jaan Pehchan and Eindhan. Teri Yaad was the first-ever film produced in Pakistan, Bara Bajay was the first cowboy Western in Pakistan, Rivaj a powerful film with a sensitive theme and Eindhan was made on a difficult subject. With missing prints and scant information available, my search often felt futile, leading me to set these titles aside reluctantly.

However, Filmi Tabsiray sorted out my problem and simplified my quest by providing insightful reviews from the time these films were released. It brought these lost gems to life, offering a rare glimpse into the cinematic history I had long sought to uncover.

One fascinating aspect of Filmi Tabsiray is how the writers of that era referred to films as male rather than female — a departure from the traditional feminine personification of cinema. This subtle yet significant detail highlights the cultural and linguistic nuances of the time, making the book more than just a collection of reviews.

Several films are noticeably absent from the list in Filmi Tabsiray, a fact the compiler acknowledges at the outset of the book. While the inclusion of what’s available is commendable, it is disheartening to learn about the gaps, especially because a leading publisher of a prominent film magazine in Karachi refused to contribute material from their collection. Such a refusal feels like a missed opportunity to preserve and share the cinematic heritage of Pakistan, particularly through a book that emerges only once in decades.

This lack of collaboration reflects the broader challenges faced in documenting and archiving the country’s rich but underappreciated film history. It’s a sobering reminder of the obstacles that continue to hinder efforts to keep this legacy alive for future generations.

A valuable resource for cinephiles, film historians and anyone interested in the development of Pakistani cinema, Filmi Tabsiray has reviews of over 140 films, published in different newspapers. It serves as a comprehensive collection of reviews, insights and commentary on the films released in Pakistan from its inception in 1947 up until 1971.

Each review in Filmi Tabsiray is not just an evaluation of a movie’s plot or performance, but also delves into its social impact, the political climate of the time, and how the films reflected or challenged the values of Pakistani society. Chinna’s deep understanding of the industry is evident as he contextualises the films within the evolving dynamics of post-independence Pakistan. The book does an excellent job of placing each film in its historical context, making it not just a film review collection but a socio-political commentary on Pakistan’s early years as a nation.

While the book covers a significant period, it only focuses on the films released up to 1971, leaving out a large chunk of the post-1971 era, which saw the rise of new cinematic trends and political changes affecting the industry.

Some readers might find the book lacking in visuals, which could have enhanced the experience. Photos, posters or stills from the films discussed would have added a richer dimension to the textual analysis. I hope that Chinna, who is compiling another book for the post-1971 period, keeps that in mind and the book, which has the next 20 years’ work, comes out with images.

The reviewer writes on old films and music and loves reading books. X: @suhaybalavi

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, December 1st, 2024