If you haven’t heard of Amitabh Bachchan, I feel sorry for you. He is, after all, the greatest actor Indian cinema has produced and his films are some of the greatest you are ever likely to see.
Bachchan has been a phenomenon for more than four decades and at 72 is still making films that excite and surprise audiences around the world. His latest, Shamitabh, is about a young actor who achieves top billing by “borrowing” the overdubbed voice of a down-and-out, played by Bachchan (hence the “sham”), and, of course, it gives full range to his rich, commanding baritone, which has transfixed audiences for more than 40 years.
But it’s also a meditation on identity and the nature of fame and fortune – asking audiences to examine their role in the relationship between idol and fan – and, arguably, a sign of the growing sophistication of the Indian film industry. And it is a sophistication that has been in part affected by Bachchan, who is such a huge name that the industry has had to mature with him, changing its focus to fit in with his journey through life. And you can’t be a bigger star than that.
How can one give an idea of his stature to the uninitiated? By explaining that the actor possesses the combined star wattage and potent aggression of Brando, De Niro and Eastwood? Or that he has more than 13 million followers on Twitter, and a Wikipedia page devoted only to the awards he has won? There’s the story of the leading Indian film director who suggested to me that the Indian film industry should be called “Bachchan” instead of Bollywood. But none of those facts can fully convey the adoration accorded to the man whom his fans call “The Big B”.
Rather, it might be best to pose a question: is there any other actor who, were he to sustain a serious injury while filming, could prompt his fans to offer the sacrifice of their own limbs to save his, or lead one man to walk 500km backwards in divine supplication?
Bachchan is in a league of his own; just don’t tell him that. He is relentlessly and almost pathologically humble. He will tell you it was all a happy accident; all down to the writers and the directors and nothing to do with him. But this humility obscures the truth that he is now working with directors who actually grew up worshipping him.
Bachchan occupies this hallowed place in the Indian film business – and in Indian culture – because of the decade of seminal films that he starred in starting with 1975’s Sholay (often voted the greatest Indian film of all time). His films – which were intended for, and hit home with, working-class audiences who were desperate for escapism – were also reflective of their time.
During the 1970s, India had fallen into a State of Emergency, introduced by then prime minister Indira Ghandi, and in these films Bachchan’s characters stood up for the ordinary man against the injustices of the establishment. During this period, he would be filming up to 12 movies simultaneously, in some he played double roles, and in one film he portrayed a father and both of his sons. He was a mesmerising presence: he made you believe that one man was genuinely capable of changing the world.
If he was a phenomenon in the 1970s and early 1980s, in the past decade he has become a brand and the head of a dynasty: his actor son is married to former Miss World, Aishwarya Rai, and his name endorses countless products.
There was a time, though, when Bachchan’s star was on the wane. In the mid-1980s he was persuaded to enter politics by his friend Rajiv Gandhi, a decision generally accepted to have been disastrous. He took a break from acting and during that time forayed into business ventures, all of which bombed. He returned to movies, but trying to play an angry young man when he was in his 50s didn’t end well. He needed a reinvention – which came in 2000, when he became the host for the Indian version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire? The quiz show turned out to be a hit and Bachchan became the highest-paid TV star in Indian history. It returned him to national prominence, revived his film career and provided the inspiration for the book that Danny Boyle adapted into Slumdog Millionaire.
Given that he is now in his 70s, with a back catalogue of more than 180 films and more money than he can spend, one has to wonder why he still works so hard. As he said in an interview: “I am insecure about tomorrow. Will I get another job, what will I do and will it be appreciated?” But this insecurity seems so unjustified that one has to ask if it is genuine or a role he has taken to playing.
Just as Bob Dylan, who knows a thing or two about being idolised, took to claiming that he was just a song-and-dance man, Bachchan likes to pretend he is just a jobbing actor who got lucky and worries about his next gig. It is clearly, ridiculously, not true, but it is perhaps a necessary delusion: the only way a man can withstand four decades of sustained mass adoration and remain anything close to sane. – The Independent