Early Bollywood movies were famous for their idealistic, flawless central characters. Audiences loved them. Classic examples are the simpleton Raju in Raj Kapoor’s Jis Desh Me Ganga Behti Hai, the upright Satyapriya Acharya in Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s Satyakam, the righteous Bharat in Manoj Kumar’s Upkar, and the patient jail warden Adinath in V Shantaram’s Do Aankhen Barah Haath.
The idealist protagonists, back in those days, always stuck to their principles, and the films appeared honest and real. In Ramesh Sippy’s Shakti, we see the dutybound Dilip Kumar refusing to allow the love for his flawed son Vijay to come in the way of discharging his responsibilities. And in Do Aankhen Barah Haath, the jailer doesn’t compromise on his virtues and is committed to reform the prisoners, even if it means making sacrifices. Even the pioneer film that ushered in the new age of Bollywood, Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra’s Rang De Basanti, exhibits ordinary, listless college students fighting for justice and being inspired by revered freedom fighters, but not before investing a lot of screen time in highlighting their vulnerability and insignificant college banter meant to connect to the audience.
Filmmakers of yore also frequently used a two-character format to balance traits and appeal to all sections of society — one who favoured idealism, and the other, realism. So, we have Vijay and Ravi in Yash Chopra’s Deewar, Ram and Lakhan in Subhash Ghai’s Ram Lakhan, and Ramu and Birju in Mehboob Khan’s Mother India, and in a different theme, Sunil and Rahul in Yash Chopra’s Darr. And in Deewar, the flawed Vijay gets to express his pain and his angst while the idealistic Ravi has no such luxury.
Popular culture however often tweaks itself for acceptance by a changing audience. Thus, over the years, quite a few Bollywood films have rejected the ‘all-good’ protagonist in favour of a ‘grey’ and ‘getting greyer’ protagonist, while retaining the larger construct of the ‘good vs evil’ theme.
Karan Malhotra’s remake of Agneepath saw not one but two well-fleshed-out antagonists in the form of Rishi Kapoor and Sanjay Dutt. Similarly, Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Padmaavat saw Ranveer Singh soar in popularity despite playing a villain. Shahid Kapoor as the flawed titular character in Sandeep Vanga’s Kabir Singh was greeted with repulsion by some spectators and cat-whistles by the majority. Rajkumar Hirani’s Lage Raho Munnabhai too was probably loved more for the flawed protagonist, a lovable goon.
It is improbable that writers fail to realize that idealistic characters go through their many dilemmas too, and that being virtuous does cause angst too. It is more likely that these days, writers begin their story on the presumption that it is the grey protagonist who steals the show. Perhaps the reason why writers pay more attention to the grey character is that they feel that a multiple-shade personality is less predictable, more entertaining, and connects better with audiences.
While probing the reason for cynicism of audiences would be a subject of psychology and sociology, filmmakers’ deliberate choice to flesh out the grey character in greater detail and lend them more screen-time; powerful, distinct dialogues; and multiple layers begs the important question — is this a case of absence of conviction, a sign of the time we inhabit, or compromised filmmaking?
[divider size=”1″ margin=”0″]
The artworks above are by the author himself. He has done well over 350 portraits of film stars from the early to the present eras.
The 80s and 90s witnessed actors such as Nana Patekar and Sunny Deol donning the role of the saviors of the motherland—Krantiveer, Kohraam, Border, Gadar. Aamir Khan et al roused patriotism in Lagaan: Once Upon a Time in India as a team of village cricketers playing what passes off as a mental war of sorts, a tense match, against their British rulers. In recent times, films in this genre—Rustom, Baby, Naam Shabaana, Satyamev Jayate, Parmaanu, Uri: The Surgical Strike—have ensured actors Akshay Kumar, John Abraham, and Vicky Kaushal a major soar in their popularity.
With more avenues to cover costs available and top stars willing to experiment, filmmakers have greater independence in treating the subject. Rang De Basanti used an interesting sub-plot that saw audiences relate to the flawed but eager-to-reform characters led by Aamir Khan. A tragedy triggers the activists within them and the holier-than-thou representation of central characters was avoided. Though predictable, Chak De India kept audiences engaged as Shah Rukh Khan delivered a thoroughly controlled performance of a hockey coach redeeming himself with purposeful resilience. Baby saw an understated performance from Akshay Kumar. The restraint kept the performance real.
Way back in the heydays of multi starrers and family dramas, things were quite different. A dialogue such as ‘Babumoshai, zindagi lambi nahin, badi honi chahiye’ by Rajesh Khanna, the titular character of Anand, summed up his happy-go-lucky personality, and despite dying slowly every day on screen, the actor succeeded in leaving behind a wonderful mantra for life. In Meri Jung, Anil Kapur played a self-made lawyer whose conscience was pricked with a single dialogue. He took up what appeared to be a doomed case when he heard the same words his mother used in her plea to a lawyer to save her innocent husband from the gallows—‘Jiske paas koi saboodh ya gawaah nahin hota, kya vo begunaah nahin hota?’
What is it about dialogues that endear themselves to audiences? Is it mere wordplay? Are dialogues like closed curtains, using which we can get to know a personality better? Do dialogues have to be merely instructional or can they stand out as life mantras? The popularity of dialogues reflects the power of words in creating an impact on minds and hearts. What songs and dance are for expressions, dialogues are for the story. The inherent risk in keeping cinema stark real is that it can appear to be an isolated episode and not an integrated construct. Dialogues also reflect the fact that the character has a very good understanding of their life or their situations or their principles.
Thus, in the super-hit Manmohan Desai films of the late 70s and early 80s—Amar Akbar Anthony, Suhaag, Mard, Coolie—Amitabh Bachchan as the ‘angry young man’ /all-powerful protagonist fought against the odds and always emerged the victor. In the era prior to that, the hero’s primary on-screen duty was to practise virtues and stay kind in spite of all the atrocities that he faced. Raj Kapoor therefore won the hearts of his adversaries in Jis Desh Me Ganga Behti Hai with his simplicity and forgiveness. And Rajesh Khanna played the happy-go-lucky victim of a fatal health condition.
There are complaints about the extent of poverty shown. What needs to be analysed is whether the exaggeration was a technique to make the respective stories more saleable or was simply mirroring the times. Movies such as Do Aankhen Barah Haath, Ghayal, and Meri Jung did well at the box office as the protagonist’s story was believable. Many such wholesome entertainers saw successful remakes too in later years. Sholay saw its storyline being repeated in Karma. And Ganga Jamuna saw its reflections in several movies such as Deewar, Shakti, and Ram Lakhan. My Left Foot, a book that was adapted to an Oscar- Award-winning movie, is about Christy Brown, a real person suffering from cerebral palsy but who overcomes it all and emerges as an artist in his own right. The reason why these movies worked is not only because poverty was romanticized but also because sensitivity existed in a greater degree in those times.