1920

It is 1920. Why? Because, first, it lets Vikram Bhatt dress his brand new heroine in flowing dresses, place her in a horse-drawn carriage, and plonk her in the middle of a Victorian mansion with several splendid rooms, curving staircases, a grand piano, and a murderous bhoot.

It also lets him bring in a segment of the then recent past: the ghaghra-clad daughter of an 1857 revolutionary snares, with her pretty wiles, a gaddaar. He is strung up and, voila, we have a vengeful ghost!

Sixty years later, the lady in the flowing dresses, Lisa Adah and her devoted architect husband Arjun Rajneesh fetch up innbsp;a quiet hill station. His brief is to break down the mansion, and build a hotel. Her intention is to stall him. Something in the huge house is reaching out to her, and telling her to stop.

The first half builds up slowly. Too slowly, despite the creaking doors, flickering lamps, and one bloody killing. The second half is better, because here the aatma comes into its own. Or, rather, enters the body ofnbsp; the lady in flowing dresses, who henceforth is to be seen only in a white nightgown. She also acquires a chalky white face, discoloured teeth, gruff voice, and inhuman strength.

Debutant Adah may not have been much when she is all prettied up under her parasol. But as a possessed creature, she is very effective: full marks to the make-up artists. Co-debutant Rajneesh chants the 8216;Hanuman chalisa8217; with volume enough to send the evil spirit away to the deep.

1920 is not just about possession; it8217;s also got punarjanam, good priests, and bad doctors. And lavish production values.

Post-Raaz, Vikram Bhatt comes into his own, again. 1920 has a very scary ghost; the only thing scarier is Rakhi Sawant in a bad item number. If only Bhatt hadn8217;t wasted so much time on non-essentials, this one could have been the first really spooky movie of the year.

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