Matinee to OTT: Big B, star for all ages, turns 80
Amitabh Bachchan turned 80 on Tuesday. Exactly half a century ago to the day, he woke up on his 30th birthday, stretched languidly, and decided that his life had turned a corner.
Amitabh Bachchan turned 80 on Tuesday. Exactly half a century ago to the day, he woke up on his 30th birthday, stretched languidly, and decided that his life had turned a corner. Striding out onto the sets of director Prakash Mehra’s Zanjeer, he let his inner fury fire up an otherwise gloomy October day. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lips as he looked the romantic hero archetype in the eye. The lighter was flicked open, the cigarette lit, and the oldest trope of the industry burnt to ashes. Enough of the lovey-dovey stuff, it was time for Vijay to be born.
None of this might be true, but if the actor’s life was a Bachchan movie from the 1970s, that’s how it would have played out.
It’s no secret that Big B was a no-no for producers back then, having delivered 12 flops at the onset of his career. The decision to sign Mehra’s Zanjeer was a bold one, but one that has also been called the act of a desperate man.
The Salim-Javed script had, after all, been turned down by most of the industry’s leading men as being too risky. Zanjeer didn’t just change his fortune, it launched the persona that would make him his era’s biggest superstar.
Bachchan’s Angry Young Man had countless versions that ranged from dying and hopeless desperado to fierce gangster, as grey replaced black-and-white in films such as Majboor (1974), Deewaar (1975), Sholay (1975), Don (1978), Trishul (1978), Kaala Patthar (1979), Kaalia (1981), and Shakti (1982).
This was an era in Indian history best described by mass discontent, and the corruption of those in power at various levels of daily administration. Rohinton Mistry captured this in his celebrated novel, A Fine Balance, with the words: “Money can buy the necessary police order. Justice is sold to the highest bidder.” And that describes the back story of every second character Bachchan played then.
The trials of his on-screen avatars reflected the issues faced by India’s working-class, and this is where the bond grew between Bachchan and his fans. His over-the-ears haircut began to pop up on young men across the country. His superstardom was unlike anything seen before in India.
Rajesh Khanna might have inspired frenzy among female fans, but Bachchan found demigod status. He represented hope.
And as the years passed — with some downs and several ups — he would go on to not just reflect but also define the story of a nation by assuming multiple avatars and defying all stereotypes.
Changing gears
Bachchan’s transformation into a star for all ages was almost a film script in its own right.
Riding high in the early 1980s, over the next few years Bachchan suffered a near-death experience, and a short-lived stint in politics off the screen. On-screen, he rumbled on, in blockbusters such as Coolie (1983), Sharaabi (1984), Aakhree Rasta (1986), and Shahenshah (1988).
Then came the uncertain years. While films such as Agneepath (1990), Hum (1992) and Khuda Gawah (1992) met with box-office success, there were duds such as Toofan (1989), Jaadugar (1989), and the critically acclaimed Main Azad Hoon (1989).
Bachchan was now 50. India was liberalising. Millions saw the hopes and dreams of the past fast becoming a reality as foreign investment surged, and the economy began to boom. Anger at the system was replaced by belief that anything was possible. This was a new India.
Bachchan saw opportunity, but not always success. His Amitabh Bachchan Corporation Ltd (ABCL) was set up in 1996 with the futuristic vision of having all the pillars of entertainment under one roof. The company produced and distributed film and TV content in multiple formats, were also the first to try grooming its own talent since the studio era of the 1930s. But by the turn of the century, the company was ready to declare bankruptcy. The actor found himself in a hole so deep, most wouldn’t have found their way out.
According to industry lore, the superstar swallowed his pride and agreed to play an age-appropriate role in director Yash Chopra’s Mohabbatein (2000). He also did what no film star had done until then — he signed on to host a daily TV show. On the game show Kaun Banega Crorepati, an all-new goateed Big B went from national heartthrob to beloved elder. Fans tuned in for his voice, his gentlemanly demeanour, the trickiness of the game show itself, and its promise of instant riches.
The show bucked every trend. As with Zanjeer, Bachchan had once again changed the rules of the game. He was suddenly everywhere again. Writers and directors were suddenly scrambling to come up with stories where they could feature the legend. He was offering advice in advertisements and hoardings about why parents should sign up for the Pulse Polio programme, how Indians could avoid contracting tuberculosis and Hepatitis B; he also featured in public service announcements about the climate crisis and natural conservation. And in commercials for products that ranged from Cadbury’s to Pepsi, Tanishq to Maggi noodles.
Over the past two decades, Bachchan has done more films than he did in the first 30 years of his career. He’s played a father discarded by his children in Baghban (2003), a 12-year-old with a rare genetic disorder in Paa (2009), and a cantankerous bowel-movement-obsessed old man in Piku (2015).
And while the history books may remember him best as the Angry Young Man, his true contribution, his true legacy, amounts to so much more. The India story would be incomplete without him.