Raj Kapoor: 100 Years Of The Original Showman

Raj Kapoor: 100 Years Of The Original Showman

Raj Kapoor's films, especially in his centenary year, offer a compelling lens through which to understand the evolution of Indian cinema and storytelling

Vikram Phukan

SCOURING THROUGH OTTplay for the cinema of the original showman, Raj Kapoor, particularly in the week that flags off his birth centenary, hits a little different. In true nostalgic fashion, it somehow calls to mind long-forgotten VHS rental stores or even the musty back-shelves of spice shops (so beloved by the diaspora), where discovery came with its own quirks. Those excursions into the hidden alcoves of mainstream cinema were interrupted only by intrepid shop attendants with film titles memorised like the menus of Udupi diners — “nahi hai” being the constant refrain. Like many in my generation, my first brush with Kapoor’s legacy came in the wake of his passing in 1988, as India rushed to posthumously honour its original Chaplinesque dreamer. The (erstwhile) HMV flooded the market with compilations of soundtracks from his movies in every permutation possible, which arguably reintroduced the distinctive Mukesh baritone and the 60-piece orchestra of Shankar Jaikishan to the Indian household. Meanwhile, Doordarshan slotted Dracula hour screenings of his classics, including films like Satyam Shivam Sundaram and Ram Teri Ganga Maili, hitherto deemed too risqué for middle-class viewing.

Back then, flipping through stacks of VHS tapes (or DVDs, for that matter) was as much about what you didn’t find as what you did. An aggregated digital catalogue, by contrast, instantly thrown up by a few mix-and-match search queries, lays out a somewhat finite repertoire much less mysteriously. Yet, these fragments of a bygone era, replete with AI enhanced poster art and ubiquitous channel branding, indicate not just what we remember of the director’s work but also how we choose to engage with it today. Much like the uneven cataloguing of the libraries of yore, where a film might reappear under slightly different covers, here too, certain titles — Awara, Barsaat, Jis Desh Mein Ganga Behti Hai — show up more than once across different channels, signifying their lasting importance in Kapoor’s oeuvre. Interestingly though, long after the dust of historical box-office verdicts has settled, and public recall dimmed for even the most iconic titles, what emerges is a strangely unified bouquet where any film might jostle for attention equally. Kapoor’s signature works do endure, but in revisiting his oeuvre, one might find themselves gravitating toward the non-starters of their time — films like Diwana or Around the World, for which he had famously said, “like Orson Wells, I (act) in bad films to make good ones myself.”

LOOKING AT the 20-odd titles available on OTTPplay, one can’t help but marvel at the endlessly convoluted storylines, where coincidence reigns supreme and emotional stakes are raised to near-operatic heights. The narratives stretch credulity yet demand complete emotional investment — lovers separated by misunderstandings (Aah), rites of passage shenanigans (the It Happened One Night spin-off Chori Chori), or the valourising of fragile masculinity (Sangam). Themes of moral conflict and redemption underpin films like Aag, where youthful passion leads to self-destruction, and Dharam Karam, a nature versus nurture parable. Kapoor’s breakout success as director, Barsaat, captures the archetype of love’s eternal struggle against external forces, while family drama Sharada (in a rare pairing with tragedienne Meena Kumari, both as lover and stepson) leans heavily into a tale of sacrifice and betrayal that ripples across generations. Meanwhile, Shree 420 and Anari weave morality tales that blend biting social critique with deeply personal struggles, embodying Kapoor’s vision of the ‘Everyman.’ Even the aforementioned Around the World, or the overtly moralistic Jis Desh Mein Ganga Behti Hai, add to a collective legacy of spectacle, sentiment, and social idealism.

IT IS A LEGACY that has been globally significant, and in their time and perhaps long after, his films resonated with audiences worldwide, particularly in regions like Russia, the Middle East, and parts of Africa. By all accounts, the endearing tramp of Awara (1951) and Shree 420 (1955) became a pop-cultural phenomenon in the Soviet Union, with his anthems ‘Awara Hoon’ and ‘Mera Joota Hai Japani’, contributing not just to Bollywood’s international identity long before the term itself emerged but also acting as a cultural bridge during the heights of the Cold War. This universality owes much to Kapoor’s humanistic storytelling, as his films seamlessly blended melodrama, romance, and social critique against a backdrop of resilience and optimism — qualities that were both reflective of and vital to the fledgling nation that India was in the 1950s. These works remain timeless, transcending borders and offering insights into human empathy and connection.

However, it is a cinema that can feel dated when revisited through a contemporary lens. His films often feature simplistic moral dichotomies, such as the stark contrast between good and evil seen in Awara and Shree 420, which can seem reductive in today’s more complex discussions of power, privilege, and class. Kapoor’s overt sentimentality and melodrama, designed to evoke strong emotions, may come across as manipulative to modern audiences who prefer subtler expressions. His portrayal of women as selfless, sacrificial figures, like the paragons played by Nargis in her many films with the RK banner, aligns with outdated gender roles, while his treatment of social issues, such as poverty, remains overly simplistic and fails to address systemic problems. Later in his career, Kapoor's portrayal of women shifted toward a more voyeuristic lens. In Mera Naam Joker, the leading ladies functioned primarily as unattainable ideals or lessons in the protagonist’s journey, and in Satyam Shivam Sundaram and Ram Teri Ganga Maili, the camera’s focus on the heroines’ physicality often overshadowed the films’ thematic preoccupations. In foregrounding the male gaze, Kapoor invited critique for objectifying these characters rather than empowering them, even if these films could also be seen as instances of subversive sex-positivity in an otherwise sanitised film ethos. None of these titles are available on OTTPlay, almost as a nod to their enduring notoriety.

DESPITE THESE CRITIQUES, Kapoor’s works remain valuable cultural artefacts that reflect the aspirations and contradictions of post-independence India. They offer a compelling lens through which to understand the evolution of Indian cinema and storytelling. His opulent style and melodramatic flair continue to shape Bollywood aesthetics, as seen in the cinema of generations of filmmakers, from self-styled showmen like Subhash Ghai to contemporary directors like Farah Khan and Sanjay Leela Bhansali. Even his iconic tramp persona has been lovingly reimagined by his grandson Ranbir Kapoor in films such as Barfi and Jagga Jasoos. Given the slew of remastered titles that are now available, it’s likely a legacy that is set for another long innings under the arclights of posterity.

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Vikram Phukan is a theatre practitioner, stage commentator, and the artistic director of Theatre Jil Jil Ramamani. Follow him on Instagram.

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