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Mithun Chakraborty
(Filmography)
(Reviews)
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Born Jul 16
The Bengali Babu, after what seemed like a sabbatical from his inimitable jhatka numbers and dhishoom-dhishoom flicks, is all poised to grace the silver screen once more in the forthcoming movie Titli- opposite Bong beauties- Aparna Sen & daughter Konkana Sen Sharma! In the movie, he plays a middle-aged superstar of Bollywood and the object of Sen Junior's affection too!
The formula to making a Mithun film is easy. You don't really need a script. An honest cop is transferred from a small village to a city where 'mafia raaj' is the way of life. He tries to fix things only to see his mother choked to death and his wife raped. This cruel twist of kismet also explains why every Mithun lead actress looks like a dancer from a ladies' bar at Saki Naka. They wear the type of frocks that Jaya Prada wore in 1983. They wear cheap gaudy lipstick. They die. Mithun freaks out and decides to take the law in his own hand. He kills the goonda and ends the mafia raaj. In the midst of this simple plot, the usual suspects are thrown in. The town hooker and her mujra bit, the Muslim uncle to provide comic relief, the loud-mouthed widow who screams at the mafia don only to get burnt alive, the song near the same goddamn lake. All these are constants. The wonderful trick about a Mithun plot lies in the fact that it isn't what will happen next; but how it will happen next.
So how did Mithun manage to become the betaaj baadshah of B-grade cinema and manage to retain his self-respect. What separates Mithunda's aged face from Dharmendra's sunken cheeks? The difference is that audiences know that Dharmendra is obviously making a quick buck with a loser producer who is trying to make an entry through the sewers of Bollywood. With a Mithun flick there is no such awkwardness. It's a celebration of muck all the way.
When Mithun retired to the crisp chilly mornings of Ooty, he shipped with him an entire lifestyle. A hotel chain called Monarch based in South India is owned by Mithun. There are no discotheques in Hotel Monarch. Mithun is the discotheque. Producers line up every morning outside his hotel begging him to do another film. The returns from a Mithun flick are guaranteed. One doesn't even have to bother with releasing them in the bigger theatres of Indian metros. Most of Mithun's films are released in small theatres in obscure suburbs, rural theatres and mobile theatres in the even more remote areas of the country. It is as though an entire generation of cine-going audiences is unaware of the Hritik Roshans and the Sanjay Dutts of this world. Mithun is the world of cinema that they know.
And let's not forget a very basic fact. Mithun Chavravorty started his career with a National Award (Mrigaya). Mithun studied acting at the prestigious Film and Television Institute in Poona. I genuinely believe that hits such as Dance Dance or Disco Dancer don't quite match up to the campiness of his later films. It is rumoured that Mithun doesn't even want to act in any of these pictures. It is the producers who can't stop begging (unless you are TLV Prasad who happens to be a personal favourite)
The Bengali Badshaah's appeal also lies in the fact that he isn't quite the outsider to audiences. Mithun is the audience on either side of the cinema screen. In other words, every frontbencher can see himself in Mithun. And Mithun sees himself in every frontbencher. So the equation is really simple and self-satisfying. Ajay Devgan could have done better if he had recognized this core aspect of Mithun's appeal. Because in many ways Ajay Devgan and Mithun share the same appeal. Both symbolize the democratic nature of Bollywood. When one sees an Akshay Kumar fight for the rights of bonded labourers with a zamindaar, it's just not believable. But put Mithun or Ajay in the same spot and chances are it'll hit a chord.
And there in lies the tragedy of a Dharmendra or an Amitabh. Because with age, their image withered in the minds of audiences. One treats them shabbily. And they lose their own self-respect as well. The audience has grown old with Mithun. As Mithun ages and his skin becomes more leathery, they almost tend to respect him more. The contempt that Bollywood audiences have for filmstars ageing doesn't apply to Mithun. His appeal was never based on his looks. Mithun was a notion. An idea that every ordinary guy can make it to the big screen. Mithun is a celebration of ordinariness. And that is why he is my hero.
In many ways, Mithun represents a counterpoint to the glamourous snobbery of Bollywood. He shunned its rules and danced away to glory. He remained aloof from its egotistical traps. An Amitabh in sheer desperation to regain his lost popularity (and money) will host a hokey television game show. A Dharmendra will stumble drunk through the sets of a C-grade film because Subhash Ghai wont touch him with a barge pole. But Mithun wont. Mithun never went to the big guys. The big guys never came to him.
Mithun like a good middle-class gentlemen got married. Had the casual affair incidentally with the then reigning czarina of Bollywood. After reconciling with his wife, Mithun went away to Ooty. And when the Vinod Khannas and the Rishi Kapoors of this planet started running out of 30-Plus tablets, the producers lined up outside Mithunda's house. During his second bout, Mithun has almost embraced the sleaze of Bollywood with a Bengali intellectualism. He danced harder, he acted better, he put kaajal in his eyes, and he fought like a stud. All on the might of his wrinkled face. Mithun Chakravorty in that regard is more avant garde than a Satyajit Ray. Working within the confines of the Hindi film industry, Mithunda has managed to tweak Bollywood's cultural ineptitude so well, that one often wonders whether Mithun writes the scripts himself. The 1986 B Subhash superhit Dance Dance featured a young boy and girl who reach financial destitution because their sexy mother (who sings a plagiarized version of the Modern Talking single, Brother Louis titled Zubi Zubi Zubi) is held prisoner in Amrish Puri's haveli. Amrish Puri blows up the father, naturally. In the midst of this crisis, the sister reprimands her famished brother when he almost dies of dehydration on Madh island. She tells him that "agar tujhe zindagi mein halwa khana hain to tujhe dance karna padega. Dance dance." If you want halwa in life, you've gotta dance. That boy grew up to become Mithun. He didn't have a choice.
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