His prized paper cuttings and old film magazines are all that are left to remind Alan Teh Leam Seng of his cinema idol, the late Tan Sri Jins Shamsuddin
THERE it was. “Screen legend Jins Shamsuddin passes away”, the news headline jumped out that fateful Thursday morning.
I rubbed my sleepy eyes in disbelief. Then it sunk in and I felt an incredible sense of emptiness in my heart. I’d always idolised Tan Sri Jins Shamsuddin. To me, he stood shoulder to shoulder with the country’s other movie heavyweights such as P. Ramlee, Ed Osmera and Ahmad Mahmud.
It was just recently that I was speaking to one of the dealers at the Kampung Berjaya flea market. I have to admit that I don’t actually know his real name. When we first became acquainted four years ago, he introduced himself as Haji and the name has stuck to this day. Haji and I share a common passion. We’re both very much into Malay films, especially those produced between the 1960s and the 1970s, a period we both regard as the golden age of the Malay film industry.
I enjoy having coffee with Haji during his morning break. He enjoys regaling me with tales of his younger days in Singapore. His father worked for Shaw Brothers and his family lived in the Jalan Ampas staff quarters. As a young boy, he often snuck into the production area where his father worked as a camera man. P. Ramlee, Saloma, Saadiah, Latifah Omar. The list goes on. Oh, and of course Jins Shamsuddin. Haji has seen them all in the thick of action.
Haji’s father was a far-sighted man. In addition to making films, Shaw Brothers also had their own camera crew who took photographs of the scenes during filming. Those photographs were for promotional purposes and they were discarded once the film was released. Haji’s father collected and stored them carefully in boxes.
“Son, one day these photographs will be of great importance and value. Keep them now and sell them at a high price next time,” Haji recalled his father saying to him one evening when he came home with another bag full of photographs.
Several years ago, Haji moved from Singapore to Malaysia. Fortunately, he brought those precious photographs along. He settled down in Sungai Petani, Kedah and began participating in the nearby flea market.
Several weeks back, during one of his “better mood days”, Haji let me in on a secret. His father not only collected discarded photographs, but the shrewd man also picked up film dialogue scripts that were thrown away. But these were much fewer in numbers compared to the photographs. “I remember seeing scripts with the names of the stars printed on the cover. I have P. Ramlee, Jins Shamsuddin, Ed Osmera and a few others,” he confided over a cup of kopi panas.
I can still remember his crestfallen face when I asked to see the books. “Aiya... I didn’t take care of them and they were damaged by white ants. Nothing left,” he lamented. Those dialogue books would be priceless today if he’d had the foresight to take good care of them.
CINEMA MAGIC
Over the years, I’ve managed to accumulate many photographs, most of which are images from Jins’ films. Among these, Gerak Kilat, Bayangan Ajal and Jurang Bahaya, have had the greatest impact on me. This trilogy, with Jins in the starring role as the suave and immaculately dressed spy Jefri Zain, was Asia’s answer to the rising James Bond craze that was sweeping the world at that time.
The premier of Gerak Kilat back in 1966 saw people turning up in droves at cinemas throughout the country. Like me, the audience thoroughly enjoyed the suspense, state-of-the-art gadgets and best of all, the clever mix of comedy. All in all, it had the very essence of what a good movie should have.
I remember clearly the first time I watched Gerak Kilat. Although many of
its scenes resembled those from Dr No,
the first film in the hugely popular James Bond franchise, I didn’t care. It was the laughs that mattered. The villains in Gerak Kilat, numbering by the hundreds, were most of the time defeated in a hilarious manner with Jefri Zain’s unending arsenal of gadgets, which included exploding cigarettes, pen guns and acid-spewing bracelets.
Gerak Kilat was so successful that Shaw Brothers decided to produce and release the other two movies in quick succession two years later in 1968. By that time, the Jefri Zain craze had taken Asia by storm. The youthful and handsome Jins was sweeping the ladies off their feet while many Malaysian and Singaporean men coaxed their barbers to give them his trademark hairstyle.
Jins was at the pinnacle of his career. Together with his stunning female co-stars, he dominated the front cover of nearly every film magazine that year and the next.
THE RISE OF JINS SHAMSUDIN
Jins Shamsuddin was born in Taiping on Nov 5, 1935. His movie career began in earnest in the early 1950s under the tutelage of film giant Tan Sri P. Ramlee. Throughout his lifetime, Jins acted in 46 movies; 31 of these were produced in black and white while the rest were in colour.
Jins began acting under P. Ramlee in Pancha Delima, the storyline of which was quite similar to that of Beauty And The Beast. In that 1958 film, Jins played a bewitched snake that could only assume human form at night. He rescues a poor woodcutter and, in return, asks for one of his daughters. It’s this beautiful damsel who helped Pancha Delima break his spell.
Beginning his career with supporting roles, Jins worked hard and picked up many pointers from P. Ramlee. In time, he managed to convince major movie players of his acting prowess. His career progressed rapidly from then on, catapulting him to a series of leading roles in blockbuster movies like Sarjan Hassan (1958), Megat Terawis (1960), Si Tanggang (1961) and Neracha (1962).
Jins progressed a step further in 1969 when he gained enough confidence to start directing his own movies. At the tailend of the black and white movie era, he started assuming dual roles, a rare ability that few film stars possessed. He directed as well as acted in two hugely popular films, Bukan Salah Ibu Mangandong (1969) and Di Belakang Tabir (1970).
To me, these films are especially significant because both featured P. Ramlee playing supporting roles. It was said back then that it was next to impossible to get P. Ramlee to act in a film that he did not direct himself. So the movie industry was pleasantly taken aback when Malaysia’s greatest film star humbled himself and agreed to act in both his protege’s films. Perhaps P. Ramlee thought that it was time he returned a favour as Jins had acted in his films for nearly 20 years.
Jins took a break after completing Di Belakang Tabir, which incidentally was his last film in black and white. He wanted to further his education. He saw this as a means to help him progress in a rapidly evolving film industry. Jins must have felt that things would never be the same again as the industry started to embrace the technology to produce films in colour. He took a Diploma in Motion Picture Technology at the London Film School in 1970 and graduated two years later with First Class Honours.
Two years ago, the father of three scored another first in the film industry when KRU Productions Prodigital Lab restored his highly successful Bukit Kepong from its film reel and re-released it in cinemas in digital HD format.
Originally screened in 1981, Bukit Kepong, which told the story of the sacrifices made by a team of policemen and villagers in a small Johor town, won Jins the Best Film, Best Director and Best
Actor awards 1982 Malaysia Film Festival. Bukit Kepong received seven awards that year.
It is films like these that have kept my passion for movies burning strong. Over the years, I’ve been following Jins’ silver screen career closely by collecting related materials such as photographs, newspaper cuttings, film magazines as well as other memorabilia. Most of these I source at flea markets or through the Internet social media group postings.
Out of all these, it’s the Shaw Brothers Majallah Filem that I like best. Compared to the other publications, it is far superior both in terms of quality as well as content. Sadly, prices for these highly desirable magazines have been rising rapidly over the years. These days, I can only afford to look but not buy.
As I sift through my prized collection of film magazines and clap eyes on the dashing image of the late Jins Shamsuddin, born Mohamed Zain Shamsuddin, the sense of heaviness returns. Just like the nation, I too mourn the passing of one of the country’s cinema greats.
Rest in peace sir. You may be gone but you’ll never be forgotten.