Chamunda (1999)

Saamri opens two hundred years ago with Raja Pratap Singh ruling grandly as Maharaja over his domain, though unfortunately his subjects are living in mortal terror as death stalks the land in the form of an evil spirit known as Saamri.

Fear has spread among the population like an epidemic, rather spoiling the luxurious atmosphere one would normally expect under royal management.

One fine day, Raja Pratap Singh heads out on an excursion with his daughter Ragini when their royal carriage suddenly breaks down in the middle of nowhere. While his servants struggle with repairs, Raja Sahib realises with growing alarm that his daughter has mysteriously wandered off into the wilderness.

As darkness begins falling, one of his terrified men informs the Maharaja that this particular area happens to be Saamri’s favourite hunting ground.

Needless to say, panic ensues.

Soon enough, a tubby fellow sporting a black Primark overcoat and some particularly crude white eye make-up emerges dramatically through billowing clouds of mist, cackling ominously in the approved fashion of all cinematic evil men.

Saamri then proceeds to strangle the Maharaja’s entourage one by one, displaying astonishing supernatural strength as he hoists each unfortunate victim into the air Michael Myers-style while throttling them to death.

Meanwhile, Ragini has wandered into an abandoned old haveli and begins innocently exploring, blissfully unaware that Saamri is busy annihilating her father’s men outside and rapidly homing in on the property.

The moment she catches sight of the chubby marauder she promptly faints.

Fortunately, Raja Sahib and his remaining posse arrive just in time as Saamri prepares to do something deeply unpleasant to the poor girl.

A major confrontation follows, with Saamri initially revelling in the chaos — until suddenly his demeanour changes completely once a holy Trishul borrowed from a nearby Mandir is brandished before him.

Now the tables turn dramatically.

The previously unstoppable Saamri instantly transforms into a snivelling coward, whimpering helplessly before the sacred trident poised to end his reign of terror.

Soon afterwards, the Mandir priest arrives and gravely informs everyone that Saamri has been an exceptionally naughty boy indeed and must be punished accordingly.

Apparently Saamri has spent his spare time raping women, murdering children, and guzzling blood for recreational purposes.

It is therefore decided that decapitation near the Mandir represents the most suitable course of action. Saamri’s severed head is placed inside a sacred box and locked away within the temple storage room.

Before losing his head, however, Saamri curses Raja Pratap Singh’s bloodline, declaring that no woman within the family shall ever safely bear children and that the Maharaja’s lineage is therefore doomed.

The Mandir wala Baba further advises that the holy Trishul must remain beside the box containing Saamri’s severed head in order to prevent the fiend from rising again and resuming his favourite hobbies.

Years pass.

Most branches of Raja Pratap Singh’s descendants relocate to the city, though one proud line remains behind to continue enjoying the grand ancestral lifestyle alongside his sister Shakuntala.

He also has a beautiful young daughter whom he fondly believes is attending college for educational purposes, whereas in reality she is far more occupied dancing around parks singing disco songs with the local Romeo at every available opportunity.

Naturally, her outraged father eventually discovers the romance and reacts with the usual Bollywood subtlety by having the poor fellow beaten senseless.

Every attempt to separate the young lovers fails spectacularly.

Eventually, the father pleads emotionally with the lad:

“If you truly love my daughter, you will leave her alone for her own good!”

He then solemnly explains the dreadful Saamri curse placed upon the family two centuries earlier.

This still fails to deter his stubbornly romantic daughter, who insists that they visit the infamous haveli themselves in order to prove that such ancient superstitions hold no power in this modern scientific age where silly curses should not interfere with her plans to produce many babies alongside the love of her life.

And so, accompanied by another conveniently expendable couple, they head off toward the cursed haveli where — shockingly enough — things soon begin going bump in the night.

The remainder of the film unfolds exactly as anyone familiar with Z-grade Bollywood horror would expect:

• endless disco numbers in gardens,
• stale horror clichés,
• awkward romance,
• assorted supernatural nonsense,
• and increasingly ludicrous confrontations.

The film jogs along mechanically until eventually collapsing into its thoroughly risible conclusion.

Anil Nagrath emerges as the best performer among a particularly turgid cast, while Satnam Kaur provides considerable entertainment through a magnificently ghastly performance.

Raj Premi, meanwhile, clearly harboured dreams of stardom that sadly never materialised.

One of the actresses also appears in Kanti Shah’s legendary Dracula, and although given precious little to work with here, she nevertheless delivers her dialogue with admirably misdirected enthusiasm.

Oddly enough, the atrocious acting, catastrophic continuity problems, and almost complete absence of artistry somehow work entirely in the movie’s favour.

Saamri himself — lumbering about in his overcoat with white eyeliner blotches — remains an unforgettable sight for sore eyes.

Remarkably, the film manages to avoid rubber masks and thankfully spares audiences the usual endless comedy torture tracks, both of which count heavily in its favour.

Still, this remains a spectacularly cut-price piece of nonsense that only the most hardened devotees of cinematic excrement are likely to truly appreciate.

Though perhaps not quite worthy of repeated revisits in the manner of Khooni Dracula, Dracula, or practically anything directed by Harinam Singh, Saamri nevertheless possesses a bizarrely compelling quality.

It is confounding garbage, yet somehow still manages to stir the soul with its utterly asinine and formulaic rubbish.

Mercifully, both the YouTube version and the old Moserbaer VCD release clock in at around 78 minutes — approximately the maximum duration human endurance can reasonably tolerate.

Diabolical.
Dreadful.
And yet, in some deeply perverse way… almost enjoyable.