Is the hero of Hindi
cinema a Ram? Or is he a Raavan? Has he metamorphosed
into a figure of fantasy, an incredible superman
who connotes violence, mayhem and blood on screen?
The male protagonist in most mainstream films
is a man whose end may be noble, but whose means
to achieve this end is ignoble. The means de-rationalizes
the end. It renders the 'noble' end null and void,
where the intentions of the filmmaker are rooted
in financial gain. The means go against every
principle propounded in all philosophy rooted
in tolerance, patience, harmony, fellow feeling
and peace.
In Dasharupa, a classical treatise on
Indian dramaturgy, the hero of the play is defined
as "well-bred, charming, liberal, clever,
affable, popular, upright, eloquent, of exalted
lineage, resolute, young, endowed with intelligence,
energy, memory, wisdom, skill in the arts, pride,
heroic, mighty, vigorous, familiar with the codes,
and a just observer of laws." His opponent
is "avaricious, stubborn, criminal and
vicious." Similar attributes define
the hero and villain in folk theatre too. This
is how the hero has evolved from Dadasaheb
Phalke’s Raja Harishchandra (1913)
The impact of Phalke’s subsequent film Lanka
Dahan (1917) was so overwhelming that the
audience literally prostrated themselves when
Rama appeared on screen. This, though the soundtrack
at the time was silent.
"Whether we like his screen version
or not, we must credit Sanjay Leela Bhansali for
keeping interest alive in Sarat Chandra Chatterjee’s
Devdas, one of the most sought-after subjects
of Indian cinema over the years," writes
PK Nair, ex-Director of the National Film Archives
of India (NFAI), Pune.. The novel has lent itself
to nearly twelve official adaptations over the
years (ten complete and two abandoned), beginning
with the 1928 Naresh Mitter silent version of
Eastern Film Syndicate to various versions in
Hindi, Bengali, Tamil and Telugu..
 The
Devdas icon reflected itself in hundreds of permutations
and combinations in films like Anand
(1970) and Safar (1970) starring
Rajesh Khanna
or in modern love triangles where one of the two
heroes in love with the same woman opts to sacrifice
his love. The box office success of these films
is due to the fact that, barring popular notions,
tragedy transforms itself into box office formula.
The two best examples of star-actors whose box
office success was epitomized through portraying
the tragic and love-lorn hero are Dilip
Kumar and Guru
Dutt. Nair claims Guru Dutt’s Pyaasa
(1957) is definitely a take-off on Devdas
and also mentions Dilip Kumar’s characters
in SU Sunny’s Mela (1948) and Amiya
Chakraborty’s Daag (1952) as reflecting
the Devdas syndrome, apart from Raj
Kapoor as a victim of tuberculosis in Aah
(1953). Of course Dilip Kumar played Devdas
in Bimal Roy's
verison of the story in 1955. The latest hero
to step into the Devdas variation is Shah
Rukh Khan in Karan Johar’s Kal
Ho Naa Ho (2003). Panned by critics as a sophisticated,
cross-border blend of Anand and Safar,
the film shows Shah Rukh playing a doomed but
ever-smiling angel. As he waits to die, he fills
other people’s lives with happiness. The
girl in a constant state of depression learns
to smile, her mother resolves her conflict with
her mother-in-law and the other man learns to
come out to articulate his love for the girl.
The dramatic change in the Devdas hero came with
Kismet (1943). Ashok
Kumar played Shekhar, the protagonist. It
ran for two years in Mumbai and for over three
years in Calcutta. Produced by Bombay Talkies
and directed by Gyan Mukherjee, despite its tremendous
popularity, Kismet drew considerable
flak in certain quarters for 'glamourizing crime'.
For the first time, one discovered that the hero
of the film did not conform to the conventions
of Indian melodrama because he was a thief, a
small tme criminal, perhaps Indian Cinema's first
'anti-hero.'.
Raj Kapoor’s Awaara
(1951) pointed out that the hero was more
a product of his environment than heredity. It
reflected a shift in attitudes towards crime in
real life, and man’s growing faith in the
importance of environment in the shaping of his
character. Awaara was a socially relevant
film. Post World War II, the city had become synonymous
with jobs, wealth and excitement. But this was
one edge of the sword. The other edge was exploitation,
crime, sleaze and slums. Awaara was one
of the films, which looked at the latter. The
protagonist, a man of the streets, whose basic
quality defined the title of the film (awaara
meaning vagabond), was cast against the grain
of the popular hero as defined by Indian dramaturgy,
idealized in the mythological characters of Ram
in Ramayana and Yudhisthara in Mahabharata.
The 1950s saw a boom in urban crime thrillers
inspired by the film noir films from Hollywood.
Films like Sangram (1950), Baazi
(1951), Aar
Paar (1954), House No. 44 (1955),
CID (1956) and
Kaala Paani (1958). From an umemployed
youth taking to crime for his sister's treatment
in Baazi to the heartless smugglar of
Jaal (1952), both directed by Guru Dutt,
Dev Anand
proved to be Hindi Cinema's perfect noir hero.
In between his playful lover boy roles like Munimjee
(1955) and Paying Guest (1957),
he repeatedly played shaded roles such as the
pickpocket in Pocketmaar (1956), the
absconding gang member in Dushman (1957),
the black-marketeer in Kala Bazaar (1960)
and the murderer in Bombay ka Babu (1960)
though by now his starry mannerisms - his sing-song
dialogue delivery, his puff in his hair, his total
nonchalance were part of every character he played.
 The
1970s saw the rise of a phenomenal figure in the
history of Indian mainstream cinema, Amitabh
Bachchan. He defined, shaped and dictated
the terms of the character he portrayed. With
his convoluted anti-hero and angry-young-man attitude,
he changed the image of the hero. He fought against
evil to restore peace in a restive world. Does
this confirm the male mythical characteristics
of Rama? Not really because Vijay in Deewar
(1975) or in other similar films does not
bear the remotest resemblance either to Rama or
to Raavan. His shifting principles – from
honesty to dishonesty (Deewaar), from
innocence and naiveté to negative wisdom
(Adaalat (1976)), from forthrightness
to brutality (Muqaddar ka Sikandar (1978)
to Lawaaris (1981)) are in keeping with
the decaying morals and eroding values of a corrupt
society. He is the unique symbol of kitsch, an
Indianised Rambo or Eraser or Terminator in a
world where industrialization and modernization
has reduced man either to a consumer, or to a
destroyer of fellow men. In The Moving Image,
Dr. Kishore Valicha writes: "He (Amitabh
Bachchan) has created the semblance of the industrial
man – a person whose commitment is to himself,
and whose passions and urges are calculated and
fierce. He gives the impression of a sophisticated,
fully charged machine that mobilizes its resources
only when necessary. His cremation of his mother
in Trishul (1978) is an instance of highly measured
and direct emotion, which becomes a focal point
of purpose."
Ram Gopal Verma’s films, beginning with
Satya (1998) culminate in Sarkar
(2005) with the Amitabh Bachchan, now
30 years older, as a mafia don. It consolidates
the mafia in films as an icon of the new millennium.
"Sarkar is a concept, not a person,"
says a character in the film. This marks an elevation
of the mafia figure as some kind of God on earth,
reaching beyond the 'parallel government' theory
the title suggests, to hand over the 'reins' of
his 'heaven' to his 'rightful' heir – his
son. The 'Bhai' of yesterday is the 'Sarkar' of
today. He justifies every law he breaks, every
man he orders killed as his way of ‘taking
care of the masses,’ never mind that he
flattens his own women against the wall and throws
the son who fails to toe his line out of the house.
Verma’s conceptualization is complete thanks
to brilliant performances and characterizations
in Sarkar, complemented with cinematography,
jump cut editing and excellent sound design to
match. Lack of verbosity is the film’s strongest
point. Sarkar’s two sons are named Vishnu
and Shankar, while he is himself christened 'Subhash'
by unsuspecting, patriotic parents who did not
know that this 'Netaji' would need a dozen bodyguards
with AK-47s to guard him. Sarkar offers
a scary picture of another India in miniature,
an India we know a bit about, but not as well
as we should.
This blurring of lines between the hero-as-savior
and the hero-as-mafia lord began with Kismet.
But Ashok Kumar in Kismet had a rationale
for turning the way he did, and was repentant
about his deeds. He was a part of the mainstream
gone astray. Films like Satya, Company
(2002), D (2005), etc. define the
private and social worlds of the mafia and the
people who create, sustain and perpetuate it.
They do not take the mainstream into account because
for them and for these films, the mafia is mainstream.
Mahesh Bhatt’s Ghulam is no different.
The scripts do not offer value judgments for this
world or for the people who inhabit it. Occupationally,
the screen hero veers within the entire range
of criminal and negative professions - smuggler,
pimp, blackmailer, racketeer, kidnapper, rapist,
killer, serial killer, and mafia don. Unlike the
rootless Bachchan of Muqaddar ka Sikandar
and Laawaris, Sarkar has
a rooted cultural, regional and linguistic identity,
representing a culture defined by violence and
dictatorship.
This new genre depicts the mafia as a concrete
icon so real that you look over your shoulder
on a lonely street. Does it throw up a rather
perverse re-reading of Karl Marx’s famous
saying - it is not sufficient to interpret the
world; it is now a question of transforming it?
In the midst of this dangerous metamorphosis,
love takes a bad beating. But if Dhoom
2 (2006) and Krrish
(2006) are pointers to the fantasized super-hero
of today, love will bloom again. The heroes of
Krrish and Dhoom 2 do not interpret
the world. But they create dreams that make us
hope for a better, transformed one where we do
not need a Ram, Raavan, Devdas or D. We need a
good human being with a good heart.
The random use, abuse and misuse of violence
by the hero of mainstream cinema have reduced
him to a marketable commodity devoid of human
values. He mirrors the terrorist in Punjab and
Kashmir, the fascist in Gujarat, the regional
fascist of Assam, the legitimized army killer
and rapist in Manipur much more than he is in
any way close to our mythological heroes Ram,
Raavan or Yudhisthara. He is closer to the extremists
who form the LTTE, the kidnappers who abduct industrialists
and small children, the terrorists of the Al Quaida.
Does that sustain him as hero? Or does the term
hero need redefining within the framework of a
changing, violent and corrupt society, in a new
language with a new vocabulary written in a new
script?
Shoma A Chatterji is a freelance journalist
who specialises in cinema and gender. She has
won the National Award for Best Writing on Cinema
twice.
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