I don't want to go overboard in stating how "weird" Child of Peach is, first of all because so many of its absurdities are clearly played for laughs. Secondly, it's a children's adventure film made during the eighties, a time when a lot of children's adventure films were pretty damn weird regardless of their culture of origin. As such, I think it would sit fairly comfortably alongside movies like Labyrinth or The Neverending Story as part of a kiddie matinee of its era. Except, of course, for all of its violence. And its strangely translated swearing ("Your kung fu is nothing but a shit!"). Oh, and also? All of the face pissing.
Indeed the urine in Child of Peach flows like the great Yang Tze, into the faces and mouths of all and sundry and out of some places we would never have previously expected urine to issue from. This is a film in which the sight of a monkey pissing into an unwitting soldier's drinking cup represents the height of comedy. When an old lady's ass gets set ablaze, a giant, sentient peach uses its powerful stream to douse the flames, and then gives her a blast in the face as a coup de grace. And, in case you were trying to reassure yourself that that spray was just meant to be peach juice, the old lady then smells her fingers, makes a sour face and gives us angry verbal confirmation of the much less desirable alternative.
Child of Peach begins with a recounting of Peach Kid's origin, which is fairly archetypal and could even be characterized as a more peach-dependent telling of the Man of Steel's origin. It seems that at one time there existed, on the peak of Mount Holy Mother, high in the Himalayas, an enchanted paradise called the Peach Garden, which, despite its snowy surroundings, was always bathed in sunlight thank to the power of a magical weapon called the Sun Sword. The Peach Garden was lorded over by a budding nuclear family made up of the Master, his wife and their infant son, and guarded by a trio of kung fu capable, child-to-animal shape-shifters named Tiny Dog, Tiny Monkey and Tiny Cock -- the last of which names offers up opportunities for quips so lazy and juvenile that even I have to pass on them.
This being a fantasy martial arts film, and given that the requisite weapon of supernatural power has already been introduced, it is now time for a super-villain with designs on said weapon to make the scene, and so the Kabuki-esque King Devil and his Kajagoogoo-coiffed minions show up at the Peach Garden with the intention of stealing the Sun Sword. In the process, and despite the best efforts of the Tiny three, they murder the Master and Mistress and, with the removal of the sword, plunge the garden into endless, blizzard-swept night. Before this can happen, however, the Mistress places her young son inside of the Garden's -- Mascot? Diety? -- the Holy Peach, a giant, intelligent peach which opens up like a clamshell for the purpose. The peach then takes flight and heads for brighter territories, where it is soon found by an elderly couple who, taxing their creative capacities to their fullest, decide to name the enclosed child Peach Kid.
Because Peach Kid lived in the time before the time-lapse training montage was invented, we instead have a helpful fairy (Shadow Liu Chih-yu) on hand to transforms him from infant to strapping, super-strength endowed twelve year old in a matter of minutes. Thus he is now able to strike out on his mission of vengeance against King Devil, who has now enlisted the aid of an old witch and her army of Vince Neil-haired, zombie midget offspring in his quest for Martial World dominance. Coincidentally, it just so happens that an oafish young nobleman by the name of Knight Melon (Boon Saam) is assembling a force with the intention of mounting an invasion of the King's hideout, Devil Island, at that very moment. Unfortunately, Melon feels that having an underage superhero on his team might serve to upstage him during his glory moment, and so turns Peach Kid away. This proves to be a mistake, of course, leading -- once Peach Kid has re-teamed with the not-dead-after-all Tiny Monkey, Tiny Dog and Tiny Cock -- to Melon being permanently relegated to the role of comic relief fat guy once the high-flying preteen magical kung fu mayhem starts in earnest.
Having starred in such loopy fare as Kung Fu Wonder Child and Magic Warriors in addition to the Peach Kid films, Lam Siu-Lau is perhaps as much of a patron saint of the wild and silly side of Taiwanese martial arts cinema as Polly Shang-Kwan. In contrast to Shang-Kwan's game, in-on-the-joke approach to such shenanigans, however, Lam Siu-Lau affects an unflagging earnestness that serves to enhance the hilarity of the outlandishness around her equally well. This is especially appropriate since these films, unlike Shang-Kwan's, are less of a showcase for their stars' fighting abilities than they are for the myriad off-the-wall wonders that their simple but imaginative special effects accomplish.
Since Child of Peach exhibits a sort of constant, low-level oddness throughout the majority of its running time, it's difficult to single out any one feature as being the strangest. That is, of course, until we reach the film's final moments, during which the giant peach itself enters the climactic fray, taking the form of a giant peach marionette which the Peach Kid and his three young fellow fighters pilot Voltron-style. In fact, few moments in world cinema high or low can match the instant when that marionette opens its mouth and vomits forth a flying, sword-wielding Peach Kid, rocketing forward like a human missile to deliver the death blow to the villain. At that moment it seems like the only fitting response -- or, at least, the one most in the spirit of Child of Peach itself -- is to literally piss oneself laughing.
Teri Meherbaniyan begins with a motorcycle-riding Jackie Shroff running over a puppy. As harrowing as that may sound, this incident is actually meant to show us what a great guy Jackie's character is. Because, rather than charging bystanders a few rupees to watch the animal's death agonies or rushing it home to throw in the stew pot, he whisks it off to the vet for some puppy triage. The credits then roll as we watch a time-lapse montage of Jackie, aka Ram, tenderly nursing the pup back to health, ending with said pup having grown into a strapping, full-size Moti. And I have to admit, it's hard not to like the guy after witnessing this. Obviously Jackie's years of tending to that mustache have given him the small critter nurturing skills necessary to such ministrations.
Ram is a government officer of some kind, though exactly what his title might be is unclear. In any case, his job seems to entail him being some sort of agent of progress, sending him to backward, outlying villages with the message that feudalism is just so last century, and then driving that message home with his righteous fists. This message and mode of delivery is especially unwelcome in Lakhanpur, where Thakur Vijay Singh (Amrish Puri!) has got himself a nice little racket going exploiting and terrorizing the community of farmers under his charge. Thus Vijay Singh, who prefers to delegate his dirty work so that he may hide his viciousness behind a facade of benevolence, repeatedly dispatches his team of kung fu guys to deal with Ram, only to have those kung fu guys repeatedly sent packing by Ram's and Moti's superior martial arts skills.
Lakhanpur also boasts among its population a feisty, loudmouthed tomboy of a village belle by the name of Bijli (Poonam Dhillon), whose presence struck me as having the primary function of striking up pleasant audience associations with Hema Malini's similar role in Sholay. Be that as it may, it is not long before Ram and Bijli dutifully follow the script's directive to fall ass-over-teakettle in love with one another. No sooner have they proclaimed their affections, however, (during a song picturization in which Jackie Shroff wears an awesome tee-shirt labeling him a "SINGLE man") than Ram is called away for a brief assignment in the city. Given that Bijli is a target of Vijay Singh's unwanted and entirely unwholesome affections, Ram leaves Moti behind to guard over her in his absence.
The flaw in this plan becomes clear in a quite disturbing sequence that reveals Moti as being... well, a bit of a perv, really, and an interspecies one at that. Bijli responds to Ram's departure by immediately doing a really dirty wet sari dance and then stripping down to her, um, under-sari for a bath. Unfortunately, Moti won't stop peeking around the corner to get an eyeful, so Bijli ties him up in an adjoining room. This provides the perfect opportunity for Vijay Singh and his goons to burst in and try to make good on their rapacious designs, in a scene so liberally punctuated with lightning flashes and crashing thunder that I half expected Sultan Rahi to jump out from behind a curtain and start yelling and pointing at everybody. Bijli ultimately practices the preferred Bollywood method of rape prevention by plunging a dagger into her stomach and then using her dying breath to laugh in Vijay Singh's face as if she had somehow come out the winner in this situation.
Though he has spent the first half of the movie proclaiming his love for Bijli, Vijay Singh quickly moves on after her death, simply transferring his rapey intentions to Sharada, despite the fact that she is his adopted daughter. Of course, we soon learn that he only adopted her in order to pilfer the fortune she inherited from her deceased father, a man whom Vijay Singh had claimed to be his best friend -- a fact which further establishes the depths of Vijay Singh's villainy while making his sexual proclivities no less vomit-conjuring. In any case, Ram somehow manages to deflect the Thakur's intentions by prodding Sharada into marrying the village's resident mute simpleton, Gopi. This turns out to be the move that finally tears it for Vijay Singh where Ram is concerned.
As we've already seen, tying up Moti does not bode well for those doing the tying, and so, when Ram, Sharada and Gopi do just that while enjoying a leisurely picnic in the countryside, we know that it is just a matter of seconds before Vijay Singh and his two right-hand men, Banwari and Sadarji, will emerge from the shadows to do their dirty work. With Gopi and Sharadi incapacitated, and Moti straining helplessly at his bonds, Vijay and his men viciously beat, choke and stab Ram to death, leaving behind manufactured evidence that will link Gopi to the crime. However, Ram had set up one of those newfangled camcorders in order to record his gang's bucolic interlude, and the device recorded the dastardly deed in its entirety. Of course, the machine was in Vijay Singh's plain view the whole time, but apparently, being essentially a bumpkin at heart, he assumed that it was just some kind of picnic-enabling robot that these city folks have nowadays. Thus he is blissfully unaware that he has just been Rodney King-ed several years before that name would have any significance as a verb.
So here we are with an hour remaining of Teri Meherbaniyan's running time and our apparent hero suddenly killed off. And it is at this point that something indescribably wonderful happens to Teri Meherbaniyan. By which I mean that our Moti steps up to take his rightful place in the spotlight in the most preposterously violent manner possible. Traumatized by seeing his master brutally murdered before his eyes, this most loyal of anipals sets out to single-pawedly hand out bloody payback to all those responsible. And with this, the remainder of the film takes on something of the look and tone of an 80s slasher film, complete with menacing stalker-vision sequences shot from Moti's point-of-view as he hunts down Vijay Singh's accomplices one by one, forcing one off a cliff and another into the river to drown, as he works his way up to the Thakur himself. 
Each of these killings is immediately preceded by Moti experiencing a psychotic flashback to Ram's murder, communicated with quick cuts and repeated shock zooms to portray his fevered state of mind, and followed by a scene of him dropping flowers on Ram's grave and once again turning on the waterworks as the mournful theme reprises. Meanwhile, both Ram and Bijli manage to maintain a presence in the film by way of song and dance numbers that take place inside Moti's brain.
Nothing you might say could convince me that Teri Meherbaniyan is not the greatest Bollywood film about a revenge-obsessed, serial killing house pet ever made. I understand that the film -- along with, for obvious reasons, Brownie/Moti himself -- made something of a splash in its day, and I can see why. While its first half pretty much just trots out all of the standard Bollywood action movie tropes, it does so with the type of crude, reckless energy that I'm more accustomed to seeing in South Asia's regional pulp cinema -- complete, unfortunately, with much of the male-centric, Haseena Atom Bomb-like chauvinism that entails (for instance, the proximity of Bijli's wet sari dance to her attempted rape by Vijay Singh bears an uncomfortable suggestion of cause and effect). But it is its final act conversion into a sort of doggie Death Wish that makes Teri Meherbaniyan something all its own, something special. The very type of film, in fact, that is this humble blog's reason for being.
Ultimately, all of the humans in Teri Meherbaniyan prove to be pretty useless. Despite the presence of Ram's camcorder at the crime scene, it is only by the efforts of a solicitous snake from a neighboring shrine that the authorities are lead to the exonerating tape that it contained. And even then it is Moti who proves to be the ultimate instrument of justice, as demonstrated in a final confrontation in which Amrish Puri endures his fatal mauling with the same level of staunch professionalism he did having his head eaten by a giant crocodile at the end of Gangaa Jumanaa Saraswathi. If Teri Meherbaniyan has any message at all -- and it probably doesn't -- it is that the animals of the Earth are far from just acting as agents of an indifferent nature, and that, when they attack you, you better believe it's personal. See this movie.
Back in my earlier post on this topic, I mentioned that I was hoping to soon set my hands upon a copy of the 1971 Taiwanese fantasy film Tsu Hong Wu. Well, now I can tell you that I have set, not only my hands, but also my eyes upon Tsu Hong Wu and that, having done so, I can tell you that the information I previously conveyed to you about it was partially wrong. Of course, that also means that the information I conveyed about it was partially right, so let's have a great big, partial "hooray" for me. (As long as there's a "ray" sound in there somewhere so that I can continue in deluding myself that I mostly know what I'm talking about.)
Anyway, in that earlier post I stated that the 1982 Tawanese fantasy film The Fairy and The Devil borrowed all of its monster-intense special effects footage from Tsu Hong Wu. But now, having watched Tsu Hong Wu, I see that, while virtually all of its giant monster footage does indeed appear in The Fairy and The Devil, there is still a great deal of such footage in The Fairy and The Devil that does not appear in Tsu Hong Wu -- much of it, interestingly, featuring the same costumes and sets that were featured in those sequences in Tsu Hong Wu.
For instance, the white ape, red-haired giant and golden dragon from Tsu Hong Wu all make an appearance in Fairy, but the giant, rather than being defeated in battle by the dragon, as he is in Tsu Hong Wu, is instead defeated in Fairy by the white ape, who grows to giant size in order to fight him -- something that he isn't shown doing in the earlier film. In addition to that, Fairy also features some scenes involving monsters -- specifically a giant, kraken-like sea creature and an enormous floating demon head -- that make no appearance whatsoever in Tsu Hong Wu. And, by the way, is this not the geekiest post on this blog ever? Impressive.
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