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All hail Amitabh Bachchan. Bollywood’s demigod turns 81 today. More than five decades of that life has been spent entertaining the celluloid-mad crowd. Over 200 films and innumerable commercials and a TV show to beat all TV shows (the era-defining Kaun Banega Crorepati that turned around his, as well as Indian small screen’s fortune, for good). Amitabh Bachchan is numero uno, at least if numbers could talk. But numbers sing, like they always do. And Bachchan is the Last Man Standing, the one for whom the adjective ‘prolific’ needs to be redefined just as the term ‘stardom’ was reframed as ‘superstardom’ to fit Big B’s big shoes.
Everything in Bachchan‘s life is epic. His personality is epic. So is his filmography in every way, even though not all of it has been consistently top-notch. In more than 200 films starting with his first big screen appearance in Saat Hindustani in 1969 and a voiceover in Bhuvan Shome the same year, he has played the raging-bull angry young man (duh) and an old crank, a cop and a coolie, underworld don and racketeer, singer and poet, lawyer and dean, tanga-wallah and petty criminal, Shakespearean thespian (The Last Lear) and fun-loving centenarian (102 Not Out), bade miyan and bade, bade miyan (Gulabo Sitabo), quintessential elder bro (from Deewaar to Hum) and even a progeria-stricken pre-teen to his own real-life son (Abhishek Bachchan in Paa). How do you pick a favourite Bachchan act, given his remarkable versatility (he retains the restless energy of a hungry artist even today) and an abundant output that refuses to run out of steam? You can arguably play safe and summon up Zanjeer, Don, Deewaar, Trishul, Kabhi Kabhie and Amar Akbar Anthony — all unsurpassable 1970s’ classics and peak Bachchan, as some would say. Or one can be a bit experimental and dig out the slightly offbeat gold from the Bachchan catalogue — Alaap, Chupke Chupke, Mili, Saudagar, Aks, Boom, Bunty Aur Babli, Cheeni Kum, Gulabo Sitabo and Jhund. Of course, in between, you have plenty of forgettable Bachchans (from the schlocky cheesiness of Toofan and Ajooba to the cringe-fest of Hindustan Ki Kasam and Aag). Not dropping Sooryavansham here. Well, because Sooryavansham and its protagonist Heera Thakur’s ‘daddy issues’ has its own double whammy cult-like appeal. We rooted for Heera and we got a gem.
Without further ado, in honour of Big B’s 81st birthday, here’s reminding viewers about some of his most authentically underrated roles, the often-overlooked narrators and less popular characters that are not up there with the Vijays, Iqbals, Amits, Sikandars, Bhashkor Banerjees and Badal Guptas of the world.
Alaap, 1977
In Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s Alaap, we see a post-Deewaar/Sholay era Bachchan, portraying a character that contains some of the familiar ingredients that have fuelled his success. While the father-son conflict remains at the heart of the narrative — Mukherjee regular Om Prakash plays Bachchan’s stern father who disapproves of his son’s pursuit of a singing career (incidentally, the film is dedicated to musical greats K.L Saigal and Mukesh) — the theme of classical music has echoes of Hrishi-da’s earlier hit Abhimaan. By 1977, Bachchan was hot property, undoubtedly the country’s biggest superstar. But here is, attired simply in a kurta-jhola, seemingly at home in Hrishi-da’s middle-of-the-road landscape.
Mili, 1975
By creating the character Vijay, with his anti-establishment angst and personal dysfunctional relationships (with his own mother and father, with the women in his life) the writer duo Salim-Javed gave us a symbolic portrait of a man very much of his time. In the years following the Emergency, Vijay found himself becoming the voice of the nation. Decades later, Javed Akhtar quipped that Bachchan’s first role as an ‘angry young man’ should be credited to Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s Mili. Indeed, there’s some truth to it, except that the saturnine Shekhar (Bachchan) of Mili is more of a melancholic romantic than an enraged beast. His poetic and brooding intensity and soulful eyes belie a madhushala of love and longing. Enter the titular Mili (Jaya Bachchan) in whose bubbly company Shekhar finds rare flights of joy and bliss.
Saudagar, 1973
Grossly under-seen, Saudagar may not be Bachchan’s best film but it stands out as a unique gift in his unbelievably extensive filmography. The story revolves around the humble Moti, a jaggery seller in a small Bengali village who takes up the responsibility of marrying a widow Majubee (Nutan). Turns out, he’s harbouring an ulterior motive. Although not exactly anti-heroic, the eponymous Saudagar of the title is not particularly lovable either as he acts selfishly and ends up hurting the unsuspecting Majubee.
Jhund, 2022
Amitabh Bachchan, one of the most diplomatic and politically correct celebrities of our day, and Nagraj Manjule, the enfant terrible of Marathi cinema, make for an unusual pair. Yet in Jhund, another of Manjule’s explosive caste indictments, their two unlikely worlds finally intersect — this time, under the guise of a sports movie. As the retired teacher who ends up mentoring a talented bunch of street urchins, Bachchan surely delivers but the film, as a whole, is a gut punch.
Bachchan as Narrator/Sutradhar
With a voice like that (rich, robust, virile, nuanced, by turns vernacular and suave) it’s no wonder that Big B’s deep baritone has spawned an entire industry of its own. No surprise either that way back in 1969, when Bachchan was barely one film old the legendary Mrinal Sen hired him as a voiceover artiste. Since then, the distinctive ‘Bol Bachchan’ has reverberated across generations and eras. Whenever a filmmaker seeks an epic storyteller (Lagaan, Parineeta), Bachchan is inevitably the first choice. One can only imagine the Big Man responding in a confident Olympian tone, ‘Sahib ne bulwa ya haazir hun main aaya.’ Some of our favourite Bachchan voiceover moments can be found in his more unconventional outings. In Satyajit Ray’s Shatranj Ke Khilari, Bachchan displays a solid command of Urdu and Hindustani while Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s Bawarchi almost presents him as a nautanki performer or a stage hand. He literally name-checks all the cast members and technicians in Bawarchi’s opening credit including jokingly introducing himself as ‘parde ke peeche se awaaz yaani commentary meri… ‘ Wait a second, you must be familiar with that name, right?
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