How Mithun Chakraborty danced, fought, and hustled his way into our hearts in the 1990s

The 1990s were a fascinating time to be a Bollywood fan. Cable TV had begun weaving its magic, bringing us reruns of the best (and sometimes worst) of Hindi cinema, and there was no YouTube algorithm to recommend content. Instead, we took what we got, and often, what we got was Mithun. There was something comforting in his omnipresence. Whether it was a high-voltage action flick, a tear-jerking melodrama, or a campy B-grade movie airing late at night, Mithun was there — fighting off villains, rescuing damsels in distress, or breaking into an impromptu dance number.

As a teen, what struck me the most about Mithun, who made his acting debut with Mrinal Sen’s arthouse drama Mrigayaa (1976) — he received his first National Film Award for Best Actor for the film — was his versatility. One week, he would be dancing his heart out in Disco Dancer, and the next, he would be duking it out with goons in some B-grade action movie where the bad guys had the most ludicrous names you’d ever heard. His filmography was a buffet of genres, and yet he never seemed out of place. There was no arrogance in his stardom. He wasn’t polished and refined in the way that many of the 90s heroes were — he felt more like one of his subaltern audiences, rough around the edges but always sincere. And perhaps that’s why, even as the Khans were rising to the top of the Bollywood hierarchy, Mithun remained a constant presence on our screens.

The appeal of an everyman

Mithun’s magic lay in his relatability. He didn’t have the sculpted body of Salman Khan or the aristocratic good looks of Hrithik Roshan, who would later dominate Bollywood. But he had something much more powerful: the aura of an everyman who somehow made it big. Watching him fight off thugs with a clenched fist or dance to catchy, somewhat cheesy disco beats, you felt like he was one of us. There was grit in his performances, a sincerity that never seemed manufactured. Take Disco Dancer (1982), for instance, with which he shot to limelight; the film was a major box office hit, not just in India but also in the then Soviet Union: eight years later, he’d get th Filmfare Award for Best Supporting Actor for his performance in Agneepath.

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While I was too young to have witnessed the original release of Disco Dancer, the film had an almost mythical status by the 1990s. By the time I got around to watching it, the film had already become a classic. And yet, there was something timeless about it. Mithun’s portrayal of Jimmy, a street performer who rises to international fame as a disco dancer, echoed the era’s unbridled optimism. Jimmy wasn’t a superhero or a demigod; he was an underdog who made it to the top against all odds. For a generation of kids growing up in the post-liberalisation era, when India was still figuring out its place in the world, Jimmy’s story was aspirational. He was a hero who wasn’t born into wealth or privilege but who danced his way out of poverty. It was a victory for every Indian who dreamt of breaking free from the shackles of their circumstances.

Of course, Disco Dancer was also kitschy and over-the-top in the most delightful way. The neon lights, the funky dance moves, the electric guitar that doubled as a weapon — everything about the film screamed excess. But Mithun grounded it all. His sincerity as Jimmy, his unpolished charm, made you believe in this ridiculous, larger-than-life world. And that was his real superpower — his ability to make the unbelievable believable.

The action hero who could dance

For most 90s kids, action movies were a staple diet, and in this arena, Mithun reigned supreme. Yes, there were more glamorous heroes like Sunny Deol, with his famous dhai kilo ka haath (Damini), or Sanjay Dutt with his rugged machismo, but Mithun had a different appeal. He was scrappy, resourceful, and never afraid to get his hands dirty. Films like Commando (1988) and Waqt Ki Awaz (1988) were essential viewing if you were into those classic ‘hero vs. the world’ narratives that Bollywood did so well. There was so much on offer, you could never have enough of Mithun fares: from Kovelamudi Bapayya’s Pyar Hua Chori Chori (1991) — with the story by Priyadarshan — and Pyar Ka Karz (1990), and Jagdish A Sharma’s Devta (1998).

Mithun was the kind of action hero who didn’t rely on bulging muscles or high-tech gadgets. He fought with whatever he could find — a broken bottle, a metal rod, even his bare hands. In many ways, his action scenes reflected the gritty, survivalist ethos of his own life. Here was a man who had started from nothing, and now he was smashing his way through the bad guys with the same relentless drive that had propelled him through Bollywood. Watching him take down a group of thugs with a single punch, you could almost hear the collective cheer of the Indian masses, many of whom saw themselves reflected in his struggles and triumphs.

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And then there was the dancing. Mithun was, without a doubt, Bollywood’s original dancing star. Long before Hrithik Roshan was wowing audiences with his slick moves, Mithun was burning up the dance floor. What made Mithun’s dancing special wasn’t just the choreography but the energy he brought to it. He danced like a man possessed, with every fibre of his being. His style wasn’t polished or refined, but it was raw and full of passion. In Disco Dancer, written by Rahi Masoom Raza and directed by Babbar Subhash, the song I Am a Disco Dancer had an infectious rhythm. It was no wonder that it became a catchphrase of an entire generation.

What was fascinating about Mithun in the 90s was how he managed to stay relevant even as Bollywood was undergoing a massive change. The rise of the Khans was well underway, with Shah Rukh, Salman, and Aamir having captured the imagination of audiences across the country. Yet, Mithun had his own place. He wasn’t competing with them; he had carved out his own niche. While the Khans were busy romancing heroines and starring in big-budget blockbusters, Mithun was quietly ruling over the world of B-grade cinema.

And this is where the story gets even more interesting. Most actors, once they achieve a certain level of success, shy away from less glamorous roles. But Mithun happily took them all on. By the late 90s and early 2000s, he had become the undisputed king of low-budget, mass-market films. Films like Loha (1997) and Gunda (1998) became popular primarily because they were so unabashedly outlandish. The dialogue in Gunda was so over-the-top that it became the stuff of legend. Lines like “Tujhe banakar maut ke munh ka niwala…tere seenein mein gaad doonga maut ka bhala” (I will turn you into the morsel for death’s mouth...and bury death’s spear deep into your chest) are hilarious reminders of that era.