For an antsy kid like yours truly, Amitabh Bachchan was a wish come all-too-true. Circa, the 1970s, he was a slap in the face for Bollywood’s Adonis-like heroes. He was devoid of cutie-pie mannerisms and man, did he roll up his sleeves and allow his bonfire eyes to do the talking, whenever anyone – particularly the formidable Ajit, the ‘Loin’ – messed with his unshakeable principles, his on-screen family and of course, the mandatory heroine.
So what if he had only curled up in bed with his amour for a one-night stand?
There was no moonlit love lost between Parveen Babi and him in Deewaar (1975). The bedroom scene wasn’t explicit. Yet, even under the conservative direction of Yash Chopra, the moment struck me as a strong sign of permissiveness that Bollywood cinema sorely needed if it was to keep up with a generation aware of the changing morality.
Why am I returning to the Deewaar era today? Primarily because that film’s vendetta-searching Vijay Varma was as believable as anyone who has longed for justice in a world not of his making. Substantial credit has been accorded to script-writers Salim-Javed but without Amitabh Bachchan the endeavour would have been akin to Hamlet without the Prince of Denmark. At the age of 33, the actor had tightened his steel-like grip on the audience.
Today, as he turns 73, birthday boy Amitabh Bachchan’s most iconic act continues to be the one in Deewaar, at least to me. Think Bachchan Sr, think Deewaar, be it on street wall paintings, in academic studies of the persona of the ‘angry young man’, or on heftily-priced vintage posters.
Hyperbolically perhaps, I could advance the theory that, like Picasso’s Blue period, Amitabh Bachchan’s era of suffering a chronic case of the blues saw him at his peak of form, arguably never to be equalled in a career which has crossed over to the new millennium and more.
In fact, the brooding protagonist-cum-antagonist of Deewaar is a one-of-a-kind amalgamation: the restless son whose mother was humiliated to the core in Mother India, melded with elements of Marlon Brando in On the Waterfront, with a twist of Haji Mastan from his stint as a dock worker. That’s quite a combination, a role which was once scheduled for Rajesh Khanna. Would that have worked? Maybe, but I suspect Rajesh Khanna would have softened the edges; intensity wasn’t his best suit.
The climax, located in a temple with Amitabh Bachchan hyperventilating against the deity, was lacerating, sending viewers reeling out of the auditorium. Lore has it that Bachchan had to attempt countless retakes for the ‘temple scene’, it just wasn’t coming out right. After a break, way after midnight, the actor whipped himself into a lather, and executed the scene in a single take. Oddly enough though, Salim Khan believes (off-the-record albeit) that the performance was over-the-top. It called for restraint, an opinion which perhaps belongs to a minority of one.
The Vijay Varma of Deewaar was a soul brother to the repressed bull of a cop, Vijay Khanna of Zanjeer (1973). Often named Vijay, Amitabh Bachchan was rewriting the rules of acting, around the time of the draconian Emergency imposed by Mrs Indira Gandhi. The actor’s screen image was anti-establishment, a strange contradiction since he was close to Rajiv Gandhi, and would go on to enter politics for a brief while at his friend’s say-so.
The off-and on-screen Amitabh Bachchan formed a dual personality. It swirled in the back of my mind: what’s going on here? But, as an actor, he was rocking. I’d be asked by the New Wave worthies, “how come you’re going gaga over a commercial actor in your reviews?” To that I’d retort, “because he’s convincing and implosive, even if the rest of the film isn’t.”
Would I forward the same notion today? Yes, but with subtracted enthusiasm. With age, he has been impressive in Black, Paa, Piku and the early seasons of Kaun Banega Crorepati.
For the early Amitabh Bachchan, though, I would still break into cartwheels, the Bachchan of...
Anand (Hrishikesh Mukherjee, 1971): A perfect counterfoil of sobriety to the amiable Rajesh Khanna, the baritone voice and pursed lips had arrived. The tears of the audience for the terminally-ill Rajesh Khanna were shed through Bachchan’s eyes.
Parwana (Jyoti Swaroop, 1971): Here, he went totally diabolical, manic in love the way Shah Rukh Khan was to be in Darr. Navin Nischol, the conventional, serenading hero to the object of desire, Yogita Bali, was shredded to mincemeat. Another remarkable, grey-shaded Bachchan performance is in evidence in Gehri Chaal.
Zanjeer (Prakash Mehra, 1973): Dev Anand and Raaj Kumar nixed the part of the simmering cop with an agenda. Bachchan lucked out, his body language before the camera’s gaze ranged from the ramrod straight to the flexibly playful in his interaction with Pran as an empathetic Pathan buddy. Muqaddar ka Sikandar was the other Prakash Mehra-Bachchan collaboration which walloped.
Saudagar (Sudhendhu Roy,1973): The actor opted for the realistic mode as a village trader who deceives his wife for a second marriage for personal advantage. Nutan was outstanding, Padma Khanna oomphed, Bachchan drew hate vibes. The film’s commercial failure, however, kept him from such risk-taking in the future.
Kabhi Kabhie (Yash Chopra, 1976): Nope, he wasn’t limited. He was capable of romancing and breaking into poesy. He sang in his own voice (not the best of decisions), but when it came to swooning over his beloved under the trees of Kashmir, crackling chemistry was in the air. This performance was to be repeated shortly with Rekha in Silsila.
Amar Akbar Anthony (Manmohan Desai,1977): Bachchan’s flair for comic timing transmitted a wow effect. He was beaten up in a combat by Vinod Khanna, a no-no for hero types. But so what? His soon-to-be-patented, boozed out monologue had viewers chortling in the aisles. The magic between Bachchan and Manmohan Desai was to sparkle again in Naseeb and Coolie.
Trishul (Yash Chopra,1978): Walking casually through dynamite explosions, standing up to the wiles of tycoon Sanjeev Kumar, attaining his goal of shaming his illegitimate father via a clever business strategy, Bachchan reaffirmed that when it comes to redressing a woman’s grievances, no son could do it with his brand of cool.
Shakti (Ramesh Sippy, 1982): In Ramesh Sippy’s Sholay, he was a part of a marvellous ensemble cast. In the director’s staging of a war of nerves between Dilip Kumar and Bachchan, the actors sparred in every frame. Sparks flew. It is conjectured that Dilip Kumar had one of Bachchan’s punchlines during a dining table scene edited out.
Agneepath (Mukul S Anand,1990): With kohl-smeared eyes and a raspy voice that had to be re-dubbed since it offended those accustomed to the baritone, gangster Vijay Deenanath Chauhan wreaked vengeance for his father’s slaying. Let’s not even think of Hrithik Roshan in the Agneepath remake.
Note: My selection of the 10 Bachchan unforgettables is strictly subjective. Every Bachchanite will have his or her favourite.
Unequivocally, Deewaar and the nine others are my pick - viewed when movies meant striking an emotional bond with heroes who dared to be human.
(At The Quint, we are answerable only to our audience. Play an active role in shaping our journalism by becoming a member. Because the truth is worth it.)