Mithun Chakraborty in Disco Dancer (1982)

Disco Dancer is one of those films that I had known about for years before I saw it. People often quoted it as a truly kitsch film and I had heard the songs (by Bappi Lahiri, ‘the R. D. Burman of the B-movies’ according to the Encyclopaedia of Indian Cinema) and seen them as clips on television featuring Mithun Chakraborty, dressed in white trousers and lame, certainly a different image from that I knew from his work in ‘art’ cinema. He has subsequently become king of the B-movies, taking only the occasional small role in mainstream films. The songs were catchy enough but already dated when I heard them, the disco era being well and truly over in London by the 1980s. Aware of the film’s cult status as a B-movie, I initially viewed it to consider it as one of the few items for inclusion that are not from the A-list.

The film’s story is by the respected Dr Rahi Masoom Reza, whose credits include B. R. Chopra’s television serialisation of the great epic, the Mahabharata, as well as several other films. Following the revenge theme of many post-1970s’ movies, the child Anil, a budding musician, and his mother are framed for stealing by a wealthy neighbour, Mr Oberoi (Om Shivpuri). Anil vows to exact his revenge through his music and as an adult (Mithun Chakraborty) soon displaces Oberoi’s son, Sam, as the King of Disco. He meanwhile falls in love with Oberoi’s daughter, Rita (Kim), with whom he played as a child. His manager David (Om Puri) changes Anil’s name to Jimmy and he becomes a national phenomenon. Oberoi keeps trying to have Jimmy killed but Jimmy is also a kung fu (if his moves can be called that) expert. When Jimmy’s mother dies, electrocuted by a guitar intended for him, he gives up his music (he is said to be suffering from ‘guitar phobia’), but his uncle (a guest appearance by 1970s’ superstar, Rajesh Khanna) persuades him to take it up again and he and Rita dance into the future.

After the titles play out on a glitter ball, the songs include Kishore Kumar’s ‘Ae oh aa zara mudke’ and the memorable ‘Auva auva koi yahaan nache’ (sung by Usha Uthup and Bappi Lahiri), with Kalpana lyer shimmering in shorts, ankle boots and what only can be described as Christmas-tree tinsel. The picturisations are nearly all set in discos with underlit floors and feature ungainly backing singers, while the lead dancers also make some odd moves. The title track, ‘I am a Disco Dancer’, is better seen than heard, with Mithun dressed in a very strange outfit (part-Donny Osmond, part-Elvis) performing fancy footwork. In ‘Krishna dharti pe aa jaa tu’, the male and female dancers appear to be dressed as angels for a school Christmas pantomime.

There are some strange touches, such as the depiction of the romance between Rita and Jimmy as a series of photomontages and the scene showing how, when Jimmy’s mother dies, his photograph cracks and dissolves to the burning of her pyre.

So is this film more than just a piece of 1970s’ (even though made in the 1980s) nostalgic kitsch? I think it typifies a move into the low-budget B-movie that finds its own audience during the 1980s, as the middle classes leave the cinema halls for the VHS and color television. It is also worth watching for Mithun. Initially a serious actor, and one who could have pursued a successful career in A-grade Hindi movies (he landed major, though supporting, roles in films such as Agneepath [1989]), he chose instead to live in Ooty (Ootacamund, a hill station in south India) and appear in low-budget movies that produce good returns from the B-circuit. He turns in a good performance in the film and possesses a physique that makes him a convincing dancer and fighter.

Cast and Production Credits

Year – 1982, Genre – Drama/Musical, Country – India, Language – Hindi, Producer – B. Subhash, Director – B. Subhash, Music Director – Bappi Lahiri, Cast - Geeta Siddharth, Om Shivpuri, Mithun Chakraborty, Kim, Om Puri, Kalpana Iyer, Rajesh Khanna

Rajesh Khanna and Nana in Ittefaq (1969)

Cast: Nanda, Rajesh Khanna

Director: Yash Chopra

Music: (background score) Salil Chowdhury

Capsule Review: The ever-experimental B.R.Chopra produced this songless thriller, his second film after the courtroom drama Kanoon. The raw and riveting Rajesh Khanna played a man accused of murdering his wife who takes asylum in a single woman’s (Nanda) home and finds himself a part of a much bigger more damning conspiracy than he could have ever imagined. The taut whodunit moves at a frenetic speed. Director Yash Chopra never allows the narrative to stray. Most of the stagey film is shot on one set depicting Nanda’s home. The dramatic tension is created mainly through the editing pattern and the principal performances. Rajesh Khanna is outstanding in his outbursts of defensive anger and uncontrollable rage. But the real shocker is Nanda. Turning away from her goody-goody image she delivers a sledgehammer performance as a scheming, screaming evil woman of devious devices. There is not a hint of romance in the plot. Ittefaq is a genre-defining work.

Aakhri Khat (1966)

Cast: Master Bunty, Rajesh Khanna, Indrani Mukherjee

Director: Chetan Anand

Music: Khayyam

Lyrics: Kaifi Azmi

Capsule Review: A minor masterpiece from Rajesh Khanna’s pre-superstardom phase, Aakhri Khat stars an infant Master Bunty who is left on the streets to fend for himself after his mother (Indrani Mukherjee) dies, leaving the little boy to his own devices. Jal Mistry’s skillful camera careens through the little boy’s scary adventures in the concrete jungle as he moves from place to place in search of comfort and grace. This is an unbelievably natural performance by the little boy, buoyed by a haunting music score by Khayyam. Two melodies Baharon mera jeevan bhi sawaron and Mere chanda (the latter poignantly expressing the helplessness of the dead mother to comfort her wandering child) by Lata Mangeshkar have stood the test of time. So has this unusual film from a versatile director.