Anil Kapoor interacts with Saurabh Dwivedi, Editor, Indian Express Hindi, during an Expresso session at Taj Colaba in Mumbai. (Express photo by Sankhadeep Banerjee)
Saurabh Dwivedi: Do you remember your first audition?
Anil Kapoor: Yes. I don’t recall the exact year but I must have been in seventh standard. I passed the audition and even worked in the film but it got shelved.
So did it break your heart?
What does heartbreak even mean? I’ve always believed whatever happens, happens for the best. That’s been my approach from the beginning.
When we talk about your journey, we often hear stories of you doing spot work and all kinds of odd jobs. Were you doing all that thinking one day it would help you as an actor?
I always wanted to work. Since I wasn’t getting work as an actor, I thought I would do whatever I could. I believe an idle mind should be a craftsman’s workshop. I’ve never felt ashamed of doing any kind of work, especially if it was connected to films or show business.
I used to think, ‘Even if I’m just picking up actors or talking to them, I’ll learn something. If I’m buying snacks or running errands, it will still help me. Ultimately, I wanted to be in front of the camera, so I felt all this experience would help me become a better actor.
I have spoken to people who have worked with you recently, and everyone says the same thing — this man is full of energy. What’s the secret?
Honestly, I think it’s my insecurity. I want to work. I want to be relevant, noticed and useful. So I keep that energy going. It’s not fake. My motivation is to do good work.
If I’m coming for an interview or to a set, I want to give my best. Maybe people see that as energy. But for me, it’s just passion and insecurity. I often feel there are better people out there. I have a lot to learn. So I need to stay fit and energetic to keep improving — as an actor, as a person, as a father, as a friend. I just want to put my heart into what I do.
Tell us about how (forthcoming film) Subedaar came to you.
I first met Suresh (Triveni) while doing an advertisement with him. Sometimes you just feel a vibe with someone. After a few shots and conversations, I felt this filmmaker would do something special. I told my manager, this guy is incredible. I have to work with him. Later, I offered him some films my daughter was producing — big films, good scripts — but he refused.
Which are those films?
Crew was one of them. It had big actors. My daughter Rhea worked very hard on that script. She wanted Suresh to direct it, but he said ‘no’.
So how did Subedaar happen?
One day he called and said he wanted to make a film with me. I said, ‘Done.’ I didn’t even hear the story.
Why didn’t you ask for the story?
I work with people. I work with talent. Sometimes a good story doesn’t become a good film. For example, Benaam Badsha. I wasn’t mature enough for that role. The story was bigger than what we delivered. I don’t blame the director. I wasn’t ready.
Watch – Anil Kapoor is a man pushed to his limits; what happens when he decides to respond
Do you ever watch your old films and feel something could have been better?
I don’t really watch my old films. What’s the point? What will I gain from it? I’m more interested in what’s new.
If a director comes with a good story —even if his last four films didn’t work—I’ll still do it if I like the vibe. Even if the film flops, at least the process should be enjoyable.
I saw something during the shooting of Subedaar (Dwivedi has written some of the dialogues for the film). For the last shot, in the heat of Chambal, the director said, ‘Got it’, but you weren’t satisfied. You kept asking for another take. Why?
Sometimes you don’t emotionally connect with a scene. I wasn’t feeling it truthfully. The director played an old song and that helped me imagine and connect.
It was a small scene but very intense. If it felt fake, I wouldn’t forgive myself. I could’ve used glycerin and no one would notice. But I would know. I wanted the emotion to come from within. I realised I hadn’t done enough research for the character. So I needed help — music, direction — to get inside the emotion. I wanted the scene to be pure.
Your father (producer Surinder Kapoor) worked in films too. What did you learn from him?
My father started as an assistant on Mughal-e-Azam for 10 years. Because he was honest and humble, they put him in charge of production. He handled everything — money, logistics, even the kitchen during the war sequence shoot in Rajasthan. Later, he became Shammi Kapoor’s manager. Then Geeta Bali encouraged him to become a producer. I saw him struggle a lot as a producer. Getting stars, managing films — it was tough. I thought, ‘Why not become a hero myself? Why should my family depend on others?’ That was the emotional hook I needed to work.
When did you realise you had become successful?
Honestly, I never realised it. I just kept working. I never thought I was a big star. Sometimes people remind me. My teacher used to say fame should be like water on a duck’s back. It should be visible to others but not stick to you.
I come from a small town. When we saw Mr. India, we wondered, ‘Who is this man who is so kind to children?’ We wanted an uncle like that at home. Your characters became part of our lives. You’re not just a star, you’re a superstar. Who are the people you respect deeply in your journey?
My wife. We met in school and have been together for over 50 years now. She’s always been there as a friend.
What advice did she give when you had nine back-to-back hits?
She never cared about that. I have to force her to watch my films. But her favourite film of mine is Lamhe (1991). And sometimes, if she likes a film too much, I get scared.
Let’s talk about some of your films, starting with Meri Jung (1985).
When I started out, people said I was too understated — too natural. Subhash Ghai told me, ‘This is a commercial film, you have to throw your voice.’
That film taught me to be more mainstream and expressive. Many of the long court monologues were given to me at the last minute. I would get the scene half an hour before the shot and perform it immediately. It was challenging but I learned a lot.
Mr. India showed a different kind of masculinity — soft and affectionate.
The script by Javed sahab was beautiful and Shekhar Kapur was directing. We had no idea the film would become such a huge success. We were just working sincerely. When we saw the first cut, just Shekhar and I in the theatre, we both had tears in our eyes. We hugged each other and felt we had made something special.
The famous bomb scene wasn’t even in the original script. We realised we needed a moment where the villain personally hurts Mr. India. So we added that later and it worked beautifully.
When did you realise the film had become a cult hit?
Right from the first week, theatres were full across India. For four weeks straight, 100 per cent occupancy.
Two years later came Eeshwar (1989). One of your most moving performances. Tell us about that.
I chased K Vishwanath ji for that role. Raj Kapoor originally wanted to make the film with Kamal Haasan. But the project didn’t work out and I got the opportunity. I did a lot of research — visited a school for children with special needs in Juhu, observed them closely. I even became vegetarian for a while to bring a certain purity in my face and eyes. But ultimately, everything you see in that film is because of Vishwanath ji. I became like clay in his hands.
At that time, I was doing many commercial films. Shekhar Kapur even asked me why I was doing that kind of role. I told him it was an opportunity to work with Vishwanath ji. I was also inspired by Dustin Hoffman’s performance in Rain Man. That innocence and depth stayed with me, along with other influences like Charlie Chaplin and Raj Kapoor. I tried to bring all those elements into the role.
Back then, you were doing multiple films at once. How did you maintain consistency?
It was tough. Sometimes I would shoot in Bombay, then Panchgani, then Chennai. Today, actors usually do one film at a time. But back then, schedules overlapped. If the director wasn’t strong, it would be hard to maintain consistency. It required a lot of discipline and focus.