Gunga Din And The Temple Of Gold!

I'd never seen the classic RKO flick Gunga Din until yesterday. Loaded with a few Borders coupons I headed off to the store to get some specific REH tomes, but alas there were none to be had. The coupon was time sensitive, so I wanted to get some value out of it, and eventually I found a copy of this Cary Grant heroic vehicle directed by George Stevens. I love great commentaries on old flicks and this one seemed to offer a good one by Rudy Belhmer, a critic I've come to trust on over things. So I tumbled and I'm glad I did.


I probably knew that Gunga Din inspired Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, or at least I'm sure I read it somewhere. But gosh almighty there's a lot of parallels to the later flick. You have the Thug cult of Kali, a hidden temple, a dangerous rope bridge, and lots of heady action. Cary Grant is outstanding, a true action star in this one, he dominates the screen even when up against a powerful personality like Victor McLaglen. These two along with Doug Fairbanks Jr. offer up a trio of British hero types who are at once engaging, manly, and funny.


I won't belabor the obvious cultural points, but always movies of this type and period show the limits of understanding. But villains are villains though they are given some depth and even nobility despite being murderers all. Eduardo Chianelli as the Guru head of the cult is profoundly threatening like a spider, but also a true believer. Sam Jaffe as Gunga Din the waterboy is a real stretch, but it works by and large. I'm not as convinced as others that only Jaffe could've done it, but he does a fine job all around.

There's a real sense of threat in this movie, at least early on. Death and the threat of death though more suggested than shown really amp up the intrigue. Despite the clowning of the heroic trio, you are never allowed to forget that doom is just around the corner.

Great flick!

Rip Off


GUNGA DIN
by Rudyard Kipling

You may talk o' gin an' beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But if it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them black-faced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.

It was "Din! Din! Din!
You limping lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippy hitherao!
Water, get it! Panee lao!
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din!"

The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a twisty piece o' rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day,
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted "Harry By!"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.

It was "Din! Din! Din!
You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
You put some juldee in it,
Or I'll marrow you this minute,
If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"

'E would dot an' carry one
Till the longest day was done,
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.
With 'is mussick on 'is back,
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire."
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide,
'E was white, clear white, inside
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!

It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could 'ear the front-files shout:
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

I sha'n't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.

'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' 'e plugged me where I bled,
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water—green;
It was crawlin' an' it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.

It was "Din! Din! Din!
'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen;
'E's chawin' up the ground an' 'e's kickin' all around:
For Gawd's sake, git the water, Gunga Din!"

'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.
'E put me safe inside,
An' just before 'e died:
"I 'ope you liked your drink," sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
In the place where 'e is gone—
Where it's always double drill and no canteen;
'E'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to pore damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in Hell from Gunga Din!

Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Tho' I've belted you an' flayed you,
By the livin' Gawd that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!