The motivation behind Vijay’s bitterness is established even before his birth and, quite unusually, through a song. The song continues as Shanti is shown bringing up Vijay and Sahir’s lyrics underline her own anger—‘Main tujhe rehem ke saaye mein na palne doongi . . . Taaki tap tap ke tu faulaad bane, maa ki aulaad bane . . . Main doodh na bakshungi tujhe yeh yaad rahe.’xxviii Yash Chopra was great friends with Sahir and he personally briefed the poet on the plot and song situations, which is why there is a perfect sync between the songs and dialogues.
It is to Yash Chopra and Salim–Javed’s credit that a bitter character like Vijay, with unscrupulous dealings in most things, manages to remain heroic till the very end. His noble motivation—honour and respect for his mother—balances his ignoble methods very well, never allowing the audience to withdraw their sympathy.
Generating sympathy for a man out to destroy his own father was clearly a triumph of the script that could never have come out in any narration. S. Mukherjee told the writers, ‘I have seen this picture three times to try to see why it’s successful, but I can tell you that if you had come to me with this script, I would not have taken it.’
After two of Salim–Javed’s films got a lukewarm reception from critics, Trishul got some great reviews, and was praised for the direction, acting and the overall finesse of production. Screen called the film a ‘High voltage emotional drama’ and praised it without reservation. The Sunday Statesman compared the film to Harold Robbins’ bestselling novel from the previous decade and said Trishul is ‘Bombay’s answer to The Carpet Baggers . . . made with the same style and opulence. A powerful plot, tautly woven and executed by Salim–Javed. It is indeed one of the assets of the film that transferred to the world of Indian high finance; it still seems credible and convincing.’
Trishul—while a brilliant film—tends to be overshadowed by the intensity of Deewaar on one side and by the entertainment of Don on the other. Nevertheless, the impact of the film has carried far beyond, as was seen in Anurag Kashyap’s Gangs of Wasseypur, where Nawazuddin Siddiqui’s character was shown modelling himself on Amitabh Bachchan’s role in Trishul.
In fact, Deewaar and Trishul have a lot in common, as pointed out by film writer Jai Arjun Singh. He writes, ‘In a commercial movie culture founded on the star system, actors can sometimes be the real auteurs—their personalities shaping not just a film but in some cases an entire filmic movement. A classic example is Amitabh Bachchan as Vijay, the outsider-vigilante of the 1970s. In Deewaar and Trishul, Bachchan played a Vijay constantly haunted by an injustice-ridden past. Both narratives are built on the theme of a son trying to erase his mother’s sufferings by rising in the world, even literally (to the extent that he can sign deed papers for new skyscrapers, the sort of constructions she might have once worked on as a labourer). Both were directed by Yash Chopra, but few people I know would think of Chopra as their chief creative force. Their mood—which also became the dominant mood of mainstream Hindi cinema in that decade—was created by the writing of Salim Khan and Javed Akhtar in conjunction with the many tangible and intangible aspects of Bachchan’s personality; the two things came together in a way that became a fine expression for the societal and political frustrations of the time, proving cathartic for lakhs of viewers.’
The iconic role of the film was, of course, played by Amitabh Bachchan. This was a solid platform from which to showcase his performance with his trademark smouldering intensity. And perform he did. In 1978, he was at the peak of his stardom and had starred in the three top grossers of the year. Each of the films won him a Filmfare Award nomination for best actor. Trishul was probably his best performance, where he gave credibility to a character with such strong negative vibes. His role in Muqaddar Ka Sikandar was loaded with emotion and the film was the most popular of the year. But Amitabh Bachchan won the award for best actor for the third film, where he played two contrasting roles—an international crime boss and a village bumpkin—with equal ease. Also written by Salim–Javed, that film was Don.
Don
‘Don has become a cult figure, a franchise. Today, Shah Rukh is playing him. Tomorrow, somebody else will take over’—Chandra Barot, director of Don
On 6 December 1974, the day Majboor released in Bombay, a full-page ad appeared in Screen. Issued by the producer of a forthcoming film, it announced: ‘Box-office Conquerors Salim–Javed now present Nariman Films’ DON’. The ad did name the three leading stars (Amitabh Bachchan, Zeenat Aman and Pran) and the main crew, but the names of Salim–Javed were bigger than all of them, and appeared above the title of the film.
In 1974, Bachchan was still not the star he eventually became but with Zanjeer under his belt, he was no pushover. Everyone else—Zeenat, Pran, Kalyanji–Anandji—was already a big star. And yet, Don was Salim–Javed’s film right from the word go. Actually, even before the word go.
The story of Don began with Manoj Kumar’s crew, particularly with his assistant director Chandra Barot and his cinematographer Nariman Irani. And like most stories in 1970s Bollywood, there was also Amitabh Bachchan.
In 1968, when Manoj Kumar’s Upkar won two prizes at the National Awards, his assistant director Chandra Barot (and singer Mahendra Kapoor) went to Delhi to collect the prizes. Teji Bachchan—one of the jury members—told Barot about her son who was going to join films. The son duly visited the assistant director in Filmistan Studio and was introduced to Manoj Kumar who decided to cast him in Roti Kapada Aur Makaan.
While working in the film, Amitabh Bachchan became friendly with both Barot (who was the chief assistant director on the film) and Nariman Irani, the director of photography. At the time of filming Roti Kapada Aur Makaan, Nariman Irani—affectionately called Bawa by all—was under severe stress because his recent production, Zindagi Zindagi starring Sunil Dutt, had flopped and he was heavily in debt. The Hindi film industry usually solves these problems with good-natured enthusiasm. Two stars of the film—Amitabh Bachchan and Zeenat Aman—offered to act in Irani’s next film, the potential success of which would help pay off his debts. Pran, who knew Irani well, and Chandra Barot, a Manoj Kumar regular, also agreed to be a part of the film.
Simple, yes. But there was a minor glitch. They did not have a script.
While Roti Kapada Aur Makaan was still being shot (in 1974), they wanted to approach Salim–Javed for a script because they were fast becoming the hottest writers in the industry and that would make it easier to finance the film. (Upfront cash to pay off old debts, remember?) Nariman Irani’s wife, Salma, was Waheeda Rehman’s hairdresser and through her, they got the actress to put in a word for them to her neighbour—one Salim Khan.
Irani and Barot went to meet Salim–Javed at Salim’s Bandra residence. The writers did have a script, but they warned the team of newcomers that it had been rejected by pretty much the entire industry, including stars like Dev Anand and Jeetendra. Salim Khan asked them honestly, ‘We have a script that has been rejected by everybody in the industry . . . Chalega?’ And the team—Irani and Barot—said, ‘Chalega.’
Salim then looked at Javed and said, ‘So let’s give the Don script to them . . .’
The Godfather had released some time back and the word ‘don’ stuck in Irani’s mind. He went ahead and registered the title as Don.
Don (Amitabh Bachchan) is an international crime boss, wanted in eleven countries. He kills one of his associates and the man’s sister, Roma (Zeenat Aman), joins his gang to avenge her brother’s death. Indian DSP D’Silva (Iftekhar) is on Don’s trail and finally manages to kill him in a chase. But he doesn’t make the news public. Instead, he gets hold of a roadside singer Vijay (also Amitabh Bachchan), who looks exactly like Don, to impersonate him and infiltrate the crime syndicate.
Vijay agrees to do this because he needs money to take care of two children he took in off the streets. The children’s father Jasjit (Pran) was arrested by DSP D’Silva for a crime and had sworn revenge.
Vijay and Roma orchestrate a raid on th
e gang, in which DSP D’Silva is killed. Without him, Vijay can’t convince the police that he’s not the real Don, and meanwhile, the gang realizes he is an impostor. To save himself from both, he escapes from police custody. He then runs into Jasjit and they join hands to destroy the crime syndicate and its moles in the police force.
In hindsight, it is easy to see why so many heroes refused to play Don. Here was an international criminal who takes sadistic pleasure in killing police informers, is brutal with gang members who don’t do his bidding and uses women for casual sex while being absolutely blasé about it. In the image-conscious industry of the 1970s, these were huge negatives for a hero to take on.
However, the villainous Don is on screen for less than a third of the film before the do-gooder Vijay takes over. After Don’s chilling menace, it is the street singer’s rustic charm which dominates most of the film. This—and the powerhouse possibilities of a dual role—should have been enough reason for any hero to sign on. In addition, the film had breathtaking pace, superb dialogues and a very modern feel to it. Unfortunately, none of that probably came through in the narration done to convince a star.
Don’s biggest strength was the ‘coolness’ about the film. Amitabh Bachchan as Don exuded the suave charm that Ajit had made famous (in films like Zanjeer and Yaadon Ki Baaraat), but also made it smarter. Don’s lingo had a smattering of English and he spoke with a drawl that sounded very convincing on a gangster wanted across the globe. Amitabh Bachchan clearly relished this role of a megalomaniac villain and delivered the lines with aplomb.
In fact, Don was somewhat like James Bond in his delivery of pithy one-liners. When a business associate tries to steal his gold, Don says: ‘Yeh dus lakh ka sona toh main bhul jaoonga, Raj Singh. Magar tumhe yaad rakhunga.’xxix He kills off a police informer and reveals his identity with a cryptic line: ‘Mujhe iske joote achhe nahin lage.’xxx When he is in bed with a woman, he drawls over a post-coital drink: ‘Mujhe do tarah ki ladkiyan pasand nahin aati. Ek woh jo mere paas aane mein bahut der lagaye aur ek woh jo bahut jaldi aa jaye.’xxxi He welcomed beautiful women to his gang by comparing them to wild cats: ‘aur mujhe junglee billiyaan pasand hain’.
And there is the killer line he quips when he is informed that the police has him surrounded: ‘Don ka intezar toh gyarah mulkon ki police kar rahi hai, lekin Sonia . . . ek baat samajh lo: Don ko pakadna mushkil hi nahin, namumkin hai.’xxxii
With simple tricks like showing his associates to be mortally scared of him even when he isn’t around and by getting everyone to say Don’s name with a sense of announcement, Salim–Javed created a massive mystique around the character.
As far as the screenplay was concerned, a few changes were made from the first draft. In the original screenplay, Jasjit was a perfectly fit person. But Pran, who played the role, had been in an accident, which required him to use a walking stick for quite some time. This necessitated changes in the plot to give Jasjit a defective leg so that Pran could shoot with his handicap.
Before the shooting of the song ‘Main hoon Don’, Zeenat Aman had to leave for a shooting schedule in Shimla for the Dev Anand-starrer Kalabaaz, which she could not postpone. When Salim–Javed were told about this, they smoothly inserted a dialogue in the conversation between the DSP and Vijay/Don just before the song. The DSP instructs that Roma be kept away from the villains’ den when he conducts the raid.
These two and some other minor changes—necessitated by logistics—were accommodated ungrudgingly by Salim–Javed. But they drew the line when it came to changes based on whims and fancies, however big the stars in question were.
When Chandra Barot showed the rushes of the film to his mentor, Manoj Kumar, his initial impression was that the second half was extremely tight—not even giving time for the audience to take a loo break. He recommended the inclusion of two songs in the second half to give some relief to the series of thrills. Salim–Javed were not very happy but they did see the merit of the suggestion and wrote in one song situation. (It was agreed that two songs would be too much for the thriller to retain its pull.) This song was ‘Khaike paan Banaraswala’19 and though it was shot and inserted after the main filming was complete, the finesse with which the situation was presented gives no indication of that.
One change was requested by Amitabh Bachchan himself. Since Don was on the run from the police and the smugglers, the entire second half had him wearing the same clothes. As a star, he felt he needed to show off some other threads and suggested that a scene be written in which he requests Zeenat to get him a change of clothes. Salim–Javed put their feet down and insisted that such an ‘unnecessary’ scene would spoil the mood of the film. The urgency and terror Vijay experiences while being chased would be seriously compromised with a costume change, the writers felt, and held their ground.
The duo’s willingness to accept several changes while refusing to make one that would compromise the script is a great indicator of their commitment to the film-making process.
Don was announced in late 1974 (immediately after Roti Kapada Aur Makaan was released) and it was three years and six months in the making. Producer Nariman Irani—already handicapped with his earlier debacle—was not flush with funds and that shows in some of the scenes. This financial crunch was further compounded when Irani was killed in a freak accident on a studio set in December 1977, a few months before Don was scheduled for release, but the film was wrapped up somehow.
The crisis of the producer’s death was again handled pragmatically, with the writers taking the lead. In a meeting convened at Salim’s residence, a clutch of people interested in helping out Nariman Irani’s family came together. The most momentous decision taken at this meeting was to hike the price of distribution rights from Rs 12 lakh per territory to Rs 21 lakh, and pass on the incremental amount to the Irani family. Salim–Javed’s own box-office clout (along with Amitabh Bachchan’s) was the reason why they could renegotiate with the distributors, who had already agreed to the lower price.
Don released exactly a week after Trishul. Coming from one of India’s top producers, Trishul ’s advertising campaigns had run for nearly two months before its release while Don’s campaign—due to the producer’s sudden demise and a shoestring budget—was low-key and started just a couple of weeks before the film opened.
Released along with major big-budget films, Don was written off within a week and there was hardly any money to promote it. Luckily, the song ‘Khaike paan Banaraswala’ took off like a rocket and that word-of-mouth started bringing in audiences. Collections began improving from the second week onwards and Don went on to become the third-highest-grossing film of the year. It was a phenomenal achievement, even for Amitabh Bachchan because Don was his only solo-hero hit that year. (Trishul and Muqaddar Ka Sikandar were multi-starrers.) The icing on the cake was the Filmfare Award Amitabh won for Don, becoming the best actor of 1978.
What was interesting in the sparse promotion of Don was Salim–Javed’s position. Given that the director was a debutant, they, understandably, overtook even him in the publicity material. A double-spread ad in Screen on the day of the release had ‘Written by Salim–Javed’ in bold font just below the film’s title. All the other stars’ photographs appeared down the left side while Amitabh Bachchan’s figure occupied the right. Don’s Delhi release ad followed the same pattern with Salim–Javed’s name right on top, even before the director’s.
Farhan Akhtar’s announcement in 2006 about producing a remake of the 1978 original guaranteed Don’s cult status in Hindi cinema history. Akhtar said, ‘I think Don is the one film from that time that in my mind lends itself to being remade today. For me, it is a film that, back then, was a little ahead of its time. The way the story was told, the language the characters spoke, the writing style there was, it was very modern even for its time. So today, when you adapt it, it fits very easily into a contemporary space . . . and I think it fits into the modern sensibility of movie viewing quite well.’ By saying this, he doffed a h
at to the writers and gave them almost the entire credit for conceptualizing Don. Javed Akhtar, on his part, said that the original Don suffered a little from budget constraints and a lavish remake could make the film look really good.
Farhan Akhtar added a very cool sheen to the story by shooting the film overseas, giving Don (2006) a distinctive and contemporary look and packing the film with gadgets and gizmos. He also tried to avoid comparison with the original by changing the ending but that didn’t work beyond a point. Fans of the original jumped up to defend their favourite film and flayed Farhan’s film, somewhat unfairly.
The remake and the associated buzz elevated the original Don to an even higher level than where it initially was. From being merely one of Salim–Javed’s many successes, Don suddenly became their most modern—and, dare I say, coolest—script.20
The last word on Don’s enduring impact comes through an anecdote recounted by the director, Chandra Barot. After the remake was released in 2006, Barot met Shah Rukh Khan and Priyanka Chopra at Dilip Kumar’s birthday party and complimented SRK on the film’s success. SRK replied, ‘Sir, original toh original hai.’
From the fantasy world of international crime, Salim–Javed turned to the gritty and dirty reality of contemporary India in their next film. When Don kills his enemies, the writers made it look like a sport, but when dark coal mines close around hapless miners, Salim–Javed’s script was like a helpless cry for survival. That script was Kaala Patthar.
Kaala Patthar
On 27 December 1975, hundreds of miners were working at Indian Iron and Steel Company’s (IISCO) Chasnala colliery when an explosion shook the large mine, causing millions of gallons of water from a nearby reservoir to flood the mine. The ensuing destruction left no survivors; only a few of the dead bodies could be recovered. The company claimed an official figure of 372 dead while the workers’ union claimed that 700 miners had perished in the accident. The record of the number of mine workers was kept so poorly that neither claim could be verified. While the exact cause of the explosion remains a mystery, four officials of IISCO were charged with negligence based on the findings of the probe done by a former Patna chief justice. The verdict was finally delivered in March 2012, thirty-seven years after the tragedy. Two of the accused had died during the course of the trial.
Written by Salim-Javed: The Story of Hindi Cinema’s Greatest Screenwriters Page 11
