Heroic roles Rajesh Khanna

In many of his heroic roles Rajesh Khanna projected an assuredness and self confidant attitude worthy of his given screen name that means, 'king of kings'. But Rajesh was not packaged in a royal exterior, although he was quite handsome he had ruddy skin, pimples, was of slightly below average height, and was prone to pudginess. What magic he did have was a radiating disarming charm and sensitive sexiness. He was aloof, self interested, with graceful mannerisms that melted woman's hearts. Rajesh Khanna was Bollywoods ultimate romantic superstar.

At the peak of his fame 1969-1972 Rajesh Khanna was the cats pajamas in Bollywood. He experienced an adulation from the public that bordered on hysteria. When he married Dimple Kapadia legend has it that in reaction woman committed suicide. For a giddy moment in history he bridged the gap and hovered as the favored star between the 'classic' heroes of the 50s and 60s and the 'Angry Young Men' of the 70s.

Rajesh Khanna and Sharmila Tagore from "Amar Prem"(1971)

Khanna had a prolific and successful collaboration with the singer Kishore Kumar and composer R.D. Burman. A large number of the songs they put to film are truly Bollywood Classics. In the film "Amar Prem" this collaboration produced two evergreen hits, "Chingari Koi Bhadke To Saawan" and "Kuch To Log Kahenge".

Avtaar - 1983

Synopsis :

Avtaar Kishen starts his second span of life after being thrown out of his home by his sons. He learns a lesson never to emotionally lavish all his belongings on his sons ever again. Avtaar Kishen starts work from a small car repair garage and luck favours him to become a successful businessman with the help of his wife Radha and his faithful servant Sevak.

Star Cast : Rajesh Khanna, Shabana Azmi, AK Hangal, Yunus Perwaiz, Gulshan Grover, Sachin.

Director : Mohan Kumar

Producer : Mohan Kumar

Music Director : Laxmikant Pyarelal

Lyricist : Anand Bakshi

Year : 1983

Rajesh Khanna is a mechanic with a healer's touch at fixing cars. A parallel universe in which flashbacks-within-flashbacks are a sensible way to tell a story. A parallel universe in which Shabana Azmi dances around trees.

Unfortunately, that last aspect - the most straight-up-dashing-hero-swooning-heroine romantic song picturized on Shabana that I had encountered the time I first saw Avtaar - was close to the most interesting thing about this movie, and even it was not exactly good, not compared to some of Shabana ji's full-on masala performances of the 70s.

Avtaar Kishen (Rajesh Khanna) is a hardworking, pious, salt-of-the-earth type of guy. He's an auto mechanic with a master touch. He is happy and satisfied with his life - he has a beautiful, adoring wife of twenty-five years, Radha (Shabana), and two grown sons for whose success he has toiled and of whom he is very proud. The domestic joy is fleeting, however - Radha and Avtaar's children selfishly betray them, leaving them destitute. With the help of their loyal servant Sewak (the name actually means "servant"), Avtaar gets back on his feet and builds himself a wildly successful business, which he then manipulates to exact revenge from his sons. On the more charitable side, he founds a home for elderly folks who have been abandoned by their children, and employs its residents in his company. His sons eventually relent and seek forgiveness - and Radha tires of estrangement from them - but Avtaar is a very proud man, there may be too much water under the bridge for this family to repair itself.

The message of this peculiarly bitter film seems to be: Old folks, don't trust your adult children, because they will screw you. I'm all in favor of moralizing about the lack of respect that each generation shows for the one that came before it, and I can understand the need for social dramas that address the problem of erosion of the family, but it seems like there are more productive ways to send the message than in an angry cautionary tale. The sense that the film's message is displaced is only enhanced by the fact that Avtaar and Radha, supposedly the elderly victims of youthful indifference, are played by a 40-year-old actor and a 32-year-old actress, made up - not very convincingly - to look some 25 years older. Why not give the roles to some neglected older actors? This, and similar details, lend the film an amateurish air, as it simply isn't a good enough movie for such details not to be distracting.

The music, which can sometimes be the sole redeeming feature of an otherwise unforgettable film, did little here to ease the squirming sense I had of suffering through a very bad movie in the name of fangirlish completism. The picturization of the aforementioned romantic song, " Din mahine saal", was clunky and inelegant. Another song, picturized on the members of the younger generation celebrating their freedom the annoying burden of their parents, was among the worst choreography and most embarrassing dancing I've seen in a Hindi film. The one picturization I very much enjoyed featured Avtaar and Radha (in their younger, flashback form) carrying their seriously ill baby up a steep mountain trail in pilgrimage. The song was pretty, and Shabana nailed perfectly a sense of exhaustion and despair. But apart from a very few such effective moments, unless you are a raving fan of one of its principals, this film has little to recommend it. I certainly am, and it pushed even my limits of tolerance.

Anand - 1970

Dr. Bhaskar Banerjee (Amitabh Bachchan) is a young physician with a gloomy outlook. A workaholic, he takes his work to heart and doesn't see much to enjoy in life. Then his mentor introduces him to Anand (Rajesh Khanna), a cheerful soul who brightens the spirits of everyone he meets, including the dour doctor. But Dr. Banerjee is dismayed to learn that Anand has an inoperable, terminal cancer, and a prognosis of only a few months to live. Anand is determined to spread as much joy as he can in the short time he has left, and from him Dr. Banerjee learns to appreciate all aspects of life.

I wanted to like Anand; I love so many of the films of its director, Hrishikesh Mukherjee, and I adore the performances of young, pre-stardom Ambitabh Bachchan. And The film is so widely loved, and had been recommended to me by so many different people, that I feel like an insensitive philistine for failing to appreciate it.

Yet just about everything about it grated, starting with the hyperactive cheerfulness of Anand himself. I've not found a single appealing quality to Rajesh Khanna, between his froggy smile and his mumbly, droopy-eyed diction; here, he combines these traits with a ferret-like energy that is by multiples more annoying than charming. But it's not merely that Anand's idea of cheerfulness is too shouty and bouncy to appeal to me; it's that everyone in the film is as delighted by it as I am irritated. Even the somber doctor, a man who looks like he should be getting migraines from Anand's very presence, is instead moved to the depths of his soul. I understand how I am supposed to feel, but I can't get on the train; instead of being charmed by Anand's joy, I just want him to shut the hell up. Anand is not merely terminally ill; he's terminally annoying.

Beneath the surface - of course - Anand harbors some melancholy, which shows itself only in quiet moments when he thinks he's not being watched. This feature of Anand's character is such an obvious cliche that it adds no depth to him at all, and I found myself only rolling my eyes when it was revealed. It's just one more predictable step in the very predictable arc of this entirely by-the-book story. Anand's inevitable end - the conclusion is painfully apparent from the moment Anand is introduced - brought me no tears, just relief that it was finally over.

I suppose the saccharine sentiments would have been forgivable if the characters had worked, but between Anand's hysterical babble and the doctor's sour-lemon demeanor there wasn't much to sink my teeth into. The entire experience was like biting into a puff of cotton candy and finding it artificially sweetened, bitter with aspartame aftertaste. Though one of the best-loved emotional tear-jerkers of Hindi cinema.