Balaji Vittal’s earlier work, which was in collaboration with Aniruddha Bhattacharjee, gave evidence to the deep research he is capable of undertaking. Pure Evil: The Bad Men of Bollywood continues the thread. It is obvious that Vittal has spared no effort in delving through the material to unearth every bad man who has ever smirked, killed or raped in Hindi films.
The book is a valuable addition to the few that seriously chronicle various aspects of cinema history. Tracing the evolution of the bad man on screen, from pre-Independence, Balaji counts out lists of the villainous ones who with the changes in society morph from zealous British officer to wicked, lustful zamindar, to dacoits and politicians to professionals who forget their vocation and use the power it gives them to amass wealth. The wicked come in many hues, and Balaji captures them all between the pages, not forgetting the “sly urbanite and the crude village man, the outsider and the traitor, the evil father-son combo, and the twins”. He does not leave out the women either, as he adds in the scheming mother-in-law, the evil bride, rebelling bahus, and sexy molls.
Practically every villain is presented in his own setting; as the author talks about the film and the bad man’s role in it. Vittal painstakingly goes through film after film, providing a gradual unfolding of how themes in cinema changed over the decades as the bad men found their villainy acquiring new tints and schemes to be effective. Strangely, the hero mostly remains the same, the do-gooder who suffers in life and love till he wins both by bashing up the bad guy in the climax. What adds a shine to the book is the peppering of anecdotes and interviews. Like Prem Chopra telling us how he conceived his two very different get-ups for his character in Do Anjaane.
Sometimes we get a glimpse of a director at work, as in when Vittal tells us why director Shekhar Kapur asked Phoolan Devi and her paramour Kailash to smile constantly through a desperate dialogue that precedes their surrender. Other gems that sparkle include Amol Palekar telling us how he decided to play the offbeat villain by adding coldness to his menace. In Khamosh, he tells us that as Shabana Azmi tries to hide from him, he calls out in a whisper, his eyes bulging, his left eye twitching, to tell her he has no option but to kill her now. Vittal extends his research to include even lesser-known villains and sidekicks, bemoaning the fact that they never ever rise to full villain status on screen. Often he quotes from books, to add to his information or point of view. A case in point is the excerpt from Bob Cristo’s autobiography, which shares a detail on his one-on-one fight with Amjad Khan in Qurbani.
We also learn how the name Shakaal came about (it was the name of a very respectable publicity-in charge for Nasir Hussain Films), or how Ranjeet became a much-in-demand on-screen rapist, with every film fitting in a rape scene. Incidentally, the rapist managed his very true-to-life scenes without touching his on-screen victims, a fact much appreciated by them. The author’s language also sparkles with wit at times, adding to the delight. However, one misses a chapter on the real people behind, at least, the major on-screen bad boys, and the contrast of their lives to their roles. It’s a book to be read slowly. A valuable reference guide on a subject hardly touched on before. Libraries too, please take note.
Pure Evil
By: Balaji Vittal
Publisher: HarperCollins India
Pages: 307
Price: Rs 399