There was some profound psychology to the average Hindi cinema-viewer’s need for action heroes back in the late 80s. He would always be on the right side of morality; maybe on the wrong side of the law but justifiably so. He would be willing to risk his mortal self to avenge a loved one’s death, or right a wrong. This resulted in the biggest hits of the decade being action-packed and, in many cases, mindless potboilers. For instance, films like Mard , Hukumat , Watan Ke Rakhwale and Elaan-e-Jung . Most of them starred the dominant trio, Amitabh Bachchan, Dharmendra and Mithun Chakraborty. It was as if the angry young man of the 1970s had metamorphosed into an avenging Mad Max in the 80s.
Though the 80s was book-ended by romance dramas like Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak and Maine Pyar Kiya , the primary language of most movies remained action. The early 1990s produced an interesting personification of this action hero cult, one that held a certain mystique for the average male child of the period like me.
The years 1991 and 1992 saw the birth of a different avtaar of the action hero. His emphasis was more on willpower and ‘natural’ stunt choreography. His action was innate, uninhibited by the need for an action director. The hero was his own stunt-master.
The best example of this was the character of Ajay, played by Ajay Devgn in his debut film Phool aur Kaante . His countenance was uncharismatic. He was swarthy, barely expressive and looked awkward while he danced. However, action -- one domain where Devgn would have found it easy to specialise considering that his father Veeru Devgan was a legendary name in action direction -- was his prime forte.
Like many heroes, Ajay gets introduced while on a bike. However, he is not in the driver’s seat. He has his feet firmly planted on two fast-moving two-wheelers, driven by his friends. His appeal doesn’t need the support of a contraption, it is in-built. As the character would say to his antithesis in the film’s first action sequence, set in a college bathroom: Agar tere paas jaagir hai, to mere paas jigar hai . (If you possess property, I am gifted with grit.) Incidentally, Devgn’s next film, with martial arts as its theme, would be titled just that -- Jigar (Valour).
Looking back at Phool aur Kaante 25 years later, there is little else to differentiate it from the flicks of the 80s. The lead actress lacked any agency, the dialogues were crude and amateurish, the lyrics of the songs were of the assembly-line variety -- of the kind Sameer would come to specialise in. What probably struck a connect with the audiences, and still does, is the fact that the lead, while looking like the average Indian male, bashed up the goons with sheer spunk and some training.
The year after Phool aur Kaante saw the release of two more films, both runaway hits, that would create the identity of its leads as specialist action heroes. One was a black belt in martial arts who had learnt the skill while working as a waiter, the other was an achiever in kickboxing. The first made his debut five years earlier in a minor role as a martial arts teacher, and could do some comedy. The second would take a few years before being able to do anything apart from action.
Akshay Kumar and Sunil Shetty marked their arrival a year after Ajay Devgan through their first major successes, Khiladi and Balwaan . The trio would go on to dominate, sometimes in partnership, the space vacated by the trio of the 80s. Beginning with Waqt Hamaara Hai in 1993, Akshay and Sunil co-starred in at least a dozen movies.
These heroes did not have either the gifted diction of Amitabh Bachchan or the handsome looks of Dharmendra. Neither could they do a disco dancer act (a la Mithun). They were not as muscular as Sunny Deol or Sanjay Dutt. Neither did they have the rabble-rousing skills of Nana Patekar. So what could have made their early years successful?
I feel the average viewer found a reflection of his own self in them. They made us feel that not having the best of looks, not being a Shammi Kapoor or a Joy Mukherjee, was not a hindrance to being or feeling masculine. The scripts given to them were rooted in the same patriarchy and misogyny that fuelled the films of the earlier decade. However, the naturalness of their action brought it closer home, in a throwback to the era of action stars like Bhagwan Dada and Dara Singh.
Adding to this more was the milieu in which these action heroes operated. They played college students or small-time goons, sometimes from an under-privileged background. However, not overly burdened by the livelihood, family or nation-building concerns of the earlier heroes, they could indulge themselves. Their concerns, in an urban, consumer society where video games and MTV were becoming popular, were more individualistic. Unlike that of say Govind (Sunny Deol) of Damini , their action was not always directed towards noble purposes like saving a woman from getting molested or fighting a corrupt system. It was more self-centric, at times concerning just their friend circle or family environment.
This spell of ordinary-looking heroes excelling in action and impressing the audiences was ephemeral. It lasted no more than 2-3 years after which the law of averages caught up and the trio had to re-invent themselves. The audience’s tastes, aided by an easier access to Western fantasies, evolved. We did not now seek escape just in action. We wanted to explore different shades of other emotions, especially love. Our ideal was no more Dara Singh, it was Archie. We did not necessarily want to see our hero fight a villain, in contrast to the 60s when even Rajendra Kumar, Bishwajit and Joy Mukherjee were required to shoehorn action into their characters. We wanted to see him conjure his charm offensive through his eyes, smile and singing.
The whole script had to revolve around the hero’s romantic prowess. It would not matter if his female counterpart was betrothed to someone else. He was a dilwala (gutsy lover) predestined to bring his dulhaniya (ladylove) home. As Anupam Kher’s character says in the film, while asking his son Raj (Shah Rukh Khan) to intrude into Simran (Kajol)’s wedding: “We don’t just weave fantasy tales around the Moon; we act our fantasies and bring it home.”
From the mid-90s, we wanted our hero to epitomise the seven stages of love listed by Mirza Ghalib -- from getting infatuated by the lady to developing a reverence for her to worshipping her and getting possessed by her and finally destroying himself in her pursuit. The apotheosis did not necessarily lay in self-glory, it also lay in self-destruction.
