Angry Young Men review: Salim-Javed documentary coasts on full-blown nostalgia and a dizzying array of stars

Then came ‘Deewaar’ and ‘Sholay’ (1975), and that was it. It cemented the era of the Angry Young Man, personified by Amitabh Bachchan. And alongside, the era of Salim Khan and Javed Akhtar, whose stories and screenplays and dialogues laid out a palimpsest for meaningful mainstream Hindi cinema, where everything flowed from the writing.

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Produced by Salman Khan Films, Excel Media and Tiger Baby, and directed by Namrata Rao, the three-part documentary ‘Angry Young Men’ coasts on full-blown nostalgia and interesting trivia, as it takes us back to that time when these two writers demanded, and got their due, from traditionally mean-fisted producers.

It was huge win, both financial and creative: writers were considered so low on the totem pole that they weren’t credited at all, or if they were, it was almost like an after-thought. When, for ‘Dostana’, Salim-Javed got more than the male lead played by Bachchan, it came industry lore that people still recount with the right degree of awe.

The three 45-50 minutes parts has a dizzying array of stars, the film unit’s enviable access clearly the result of having most of the principals as producers. There are Salman, Arbaaz, Helen; Farhan, Zoya, Shabana. There are Amitabh Bachchan and Jaya Bachchan nee Bhaduri, who was, when she agreed to do ‘Zanjeer’, a bigger star than her then boy-friend. While you are trying to track who spoke what, which is, expectedly, pretty much a litany of praise, the few who stand out do so because they spill some spiky truths about the duo.

No one actually uses the phrase ‘too big for their boots’, but Honey Irani, Javed’s ex-wife and still very much part of the extended family from all accounts, comes closest. As does Jaya Bachchan, who smilingly labels them ‘brats’, but stops there. Honey, who met Javed on the sets of the rollicking ‘Seeta Aur Geeta’, has the right mix of residual affection and bracing honesty, as she speaks about their relationship.

This is the highpoint of the series for me. It instantly takes the subjects and humanises them, with all their affectations and vulnerabilities, while most of the others — including the lens’ of trade analysts and film critics — fall into fulsome appreciation. I also enjoyed the segment where screenwriter Anjum Rajabali gets in a contrarian point about how the women written by Salim-Javed weren’t exactly the epitome of agency and independence.

And this is really what I missed more of, even though you can hear Rao getting in some plucky questions: both a clear-eyed assessment divested of reverence, as well as more of what the series does in passing, an account of the before — the candyfloss 60s which Karan Johar comments on — and the after. The issue of plagiarism is brought up (good for Rao), only to be dismissed airily and summarily. Yes, they may have borrowed some stuff, but in those days, who knew, and yes, if it was today, he would be much more careful, says Akhtar.

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These two are very much at the centre of the series, but they occupy the space very differently, and come across as very different individuals, even if Farhan Akhtar says that they made ‘perfect partners’, very much in sync when working in top gear. Salim is clearly older (88), his family fusses around him much more; early in the series, we see son Arbaaz wipe his cheek tenderly. Salim is clearly also the more reticent, and speaks only when required, seeing him as we do surrounded by his family, at the dining table, in the living room.

In contrast, the 79-year-old Javed is much more voluble, and comes across as a charmer who wants you to immediately fall in his thrall. At one point, we catch him trying to impress the crew with his erudition, amidst his collection of books. He has no difficulty in harking back to his past except where he falters, admitting to guilt in the way his first marriage fell apart. And one of the most felt parts of the docu is him recalling, moist-eyed, memories of the days when he had nothing to eat, and slept where he could, the quintessential life of a ‘struggler’.

In the absence of any concrete explanation of their writing process (22 out of their 24 films turned into smash-hits) except the very bare bones, you wonder just how they pulled it off. Perhaps their unbeatable script sense — the texture, the sense of place, the perfectly-timed dialogues — came not from similarity but disparity, one person picking up, smoothly and intuitively, from where the other left off, filling in the required gaps. Like lovers finishing each other’s lines.

It comes as no surprise that neither of them were as successful when they parted ways in their individual writing pursuits, though Javed Akhtar went to pen some of the most striking lyrics in later years. But what did their absence come to mean, and how did that impact the 80s, a decade in which Hindi cinema rolled over into B-grade territory, succumbing to the lure of home entertainment via the advent of VHS and colour TV?

Much of what is in the series is already in public domain, though there are some never-seen before stills, and their own moving accounts of their early struggle, before they came together to become the most formidable writing partners in Hindi cinema. The series also gives us a few of their unforgettable movie moments: phenke huye paise, mere pass maa hai, aaj khush toh bahut hogey.. yes, yes, gimme more.

But the question that has plagued film lovers all these decades is still left unanswered: what made them go their separate ways? And also, the attempt to connect the creation of the Angry Young Man to the anger of the duo feels like a retrofit, and coming in so late, leaves you dangling: this contention definitely needed more unpacking.

The ascent of Salim-Javed was marked by the years that led up to an India on the boil, and the imposition of the Emergency. The writers picked on the roiling public discontent and channelled it all in their hero, who went up single-handedly against the goons in and out of the system. For the Hindi film audience, drowned in chocolate-box handsomeness of the Rajendra Kumars and Rajesh Khannas ( even though S-J wrote the child-friendly ‘Haathi Mere Saathi’ for the latter), the scowling-snarling Amitabh Bachchan was a shocker : the way he was embraced made the older heroes feel redundant. It was time for the first Indian hero who was, in the truest sense, an Anti-hero, a rebel with many causes, whom we fell in love with.

I promise that you will get a lot of warm fuzzies watching the series, and there’s enough and more in here for a generation unaware of these goings-on, but for those who lived through those movies, or grew up watching them, it will remain a nostalgic ride.

Salim Khan and Javed Akhtar gave Hindi cinema some of its most iconic films under their partnership Salim-Javed. (Photo: Express Archives)

Currently, Bollywood is going through one of its worst phases, as it casts about for a way out of empty halls and diminishing returns. The only way to get it back is to go back to the fount: you only get good movies, if you have put in good writing. What goes in, comes out. If they do make a comeback, in true Bollywood style, will Salim-Javed bring back the era when writers were truly kings?