Saamri (1998)

Bollywood horror fans will recall that Saamri was the monstrous demon who terrorised audiences in the Ramsays’ hugely successful Purana Mandir. Thanks to that film’s popularity, the creature would return in several follow-ups and spin-offs. This particular Saamri, however, has absolutely nothing to do with the Ramsays and bears no relation whatsoever to the original monster beyond sharing the same name.

The film opens with a familiar horror staple: a group of college students and their hopelessly ditzy teacher travelling through some remote corner of the country. Their journey is interrupted when a bridge collapses, forcing them to seek temporary refuge nearby.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, they are taken in by a kindly Maha Tantrik who appears to supplement his occult activities by running a guest house. Assisting him is a shapely young companion who spends much of the film wondering why the old mystic insists upon serving two plates of food every evening despite apparently dining alone.

Eventually the mystery is revealed.

Many years earlier the Tantrik discovered a young boy under the influence of the dreaded spirit of Saamri. After a titanic supernatural battle that is unintentionally one of the funniest sequences in the entire film, the Tantrik successfully imprisoned the evil spirit inside a tiny cube and brought the child home.

Unfortunately the child did not emerge entirely unscathed.

Twenty years later he has transformed into a grotesque creature with a partially melted face, one eye seemingly wandering off into an entirely different postal district, an alarming quantity of body hair and what appears to be a complete disregard for personal grooming.

The Tantrik has spent two decades keeping the unfortunate creature imprisoned, while elsewhere the boy’s wealthy parents continue searching for their missing son. Their dedication is touching, though the reward they offer for his return seems suspiciously modest considering they have spent twenty years mourning him. The father frequently laments the damage done to his business empire, while his wife has apparently remained mute with grief throughout the entire period.

Back at the guest house disaster strikes when one of the students — conveniently blind — wanders into Saamri’s dungeon. Displaying remarkable ingenuity, the imprisoned monster disguises his voice as a frail old woman and persuades her to release both him and the imprisoned spirit.

Once unleashed, Saamri wastes no time getting down to business.

The increasingly bewildered students are dispatched one by one, usually by being squashed, crushed, battered or generally manhandled to death by the rampaging creature. Predictably, all attempts to stop him fail. Exploding powders are hurled around with enthusiasm, lengthy exorcism rituals are performed and tantriks wave their arms dramatically, but nothing seems capable of slowing the beast.

Eventually, as is often the case in these matters, divine intervention becomes necessary.

With most of the cast already reduced to pulp, fervent prayers are directed heavenward and Bhagwan finally decides enough is enough. The climax culminates in an extraordinary barrage of bargain-basement visual effects as divine weaponry descends from the heavens to settle matters once and for all.

At least until the next sequel.

Saamri proudly continues the grand tradition of ultra-cheap Bollywood horror. The special effects are dreadful, the acting often worse, and the budget appears to have been measured in loose change. Yet somehow the film never becomes boring.

The sheer enthusiasm with which everyone attacks the material keeps things moving along at a surprisingly brisk pace. There is always another ridiculous plot twist, another supernatural confrontation or another gloriously absurd effect lurking just around the corner.

Perhaps the film’s greatest achievement is its refusal to modernise. By the dawn of the twenty-first century one might reasonably have expected horror films to abandon rubber masks and primitive make-up effects. Thankfully Saamri remains firmly committed to the old ways. The rubber-mask aesthetic is preserved with admirable determination, giving the entire production the feel of a long-lost relic from a much earlier era.

It is terrible by almost every conventional standard, but terrible in an oddly endearing way. For devotees of vintage Bollywood horror, that may be recommendation enough.