The principal photography of Mr. India began on 6 July 1985, and the film finally released on 25 May 1987 ie 37 years ago today!!
A rare find (left), and major throwback, the early reviews of the experimental, high-concept film that became an all-time favourite of a generation, Mr.India.
I believe this was published in Filmfare magazine back in 1987. Excerpt;
Desi Superman
Mr India heralds a new hero who does the disappearing act to turn the tables on the enemies of the nation. And has a lot of fun in the process.
Too much pre-release hype can boomerang. So much was promised by Mr India--the last Salim-Javed script to be directed by Shekhar Kapur who had Masoom to live up to. The story is a judicious mix of many imported and indigenous elements not taking itself too earnestly thought all those elevating sentiments of patriotism, of the common man fighting the internal and external enemies are present. These cliched props of sentiment, suitably updated to keep nice with the times are as inevitable as that deadly foreign hand insidiously working to destabilise our country. In fact, Mr India repeats the destabilising mantra with such repetitive run that you wonder if Salim-Javed and Kapur are not having you on. Besides, there is this uncanny anticipation of the current scenario--the villain Mogambo who wants to destroy India prior to conquering it and struts about like a megalomaniac in a blond wig and an outlandish uniform embroidered with zari dragons and stomping along on cowboy boots. He also demands the Nazi salute. This composite bad man is modeled on those extravagantly mad villains who make the Bond films such fun. Mr India could have been high camp but the production company of Kapoor and Kapur (Boney Kapoor and Shekhar Kapur) believes in marathons of stretching a gag till it snaps with a rebounding effect. They don't believe brevity is the soul of wit.
Mogambo only provides the outlandish extravagance demanded by the scale of the film. They couldn't have Krypton and Gene Hackman. So they settle for a mad Mogambo (Amrish Puri) doing a parody of a latter day Chengiz Khan who has read Indian history very assiduously. To counter his diabolical plans for India is another avatar of Brahmachari. Arun Verma (Anil Kapoor) doesn't have Shammi Kapoor's breezy vitality but he tries hard. And comes up with an over-grown boy scout charm. He runs an orphanage on lots of love and very little money made form giving music lessons. The gaggle of youngsters are not individualised except for the cherubic Tina--finally made into a sacrificial lamb to feed Arun's righteous anger and pull our heartstrings. There is also the bespectacled Jugal, a sly conspirator who knows that the mysterious hero Mr India is none other than the harmless Arun bhaiyya. Kapur is marvelous with children even en masse. They are endearingly believable not the revolting moralists wished on us in film after film prattling high sermons in childish lisps.
The film is undoubtedly Sridevi's. As Seema, the intrepid reporter of the 'Crimes of India', with an editor who is being driven mad by the vagaries of Bombay telephones, she is equal to any occasion. Initially, she's prickly with the children till they melt her heart which should've turned into stone if she were a rime reporter worth her typewriter. She sizzles as Miss Hawa Hawaii, cabaret dancer extraordinaire doing a combination of belly dancing and other gyrations born of the choreographer's fevered imagination, with élan. Even if it is an overweight élan. The director gives her the privilege of a Chaplin homage. The set piece in a tough gambling joint where Seema goes on rampage a la Charlie is not strictly necessary for the plot but is a loving homage to slapstick. Can a Hindi heroine escape drenching, even if she is number one? The I love you number is a blue one--literally as well as in its orgasmic writing by the lovelorn heroine. To balance this is the sprightly parodic medley of past hits, quite amusing. More amusing than Roshanlal of Buniyaad trying to date the events through his offkey rendering of popular film songs. Here, it is an occasion for self-congratulatory nostalgia for Laxmikant-Pyarelal.
Mr India announces that India has come of age as far as special effects go. The tricks of an unseen man entering a room sitting on a chair, draining a bottle of Thrill and smoking a cigar will do Hollywood proud. Where the firm of Kapoor and Kapur has slipped is in wrapping up Mr India much too neatly with no room for surprises or a sequel. When they domesticated Superman into a softie and transplanted H.G.Wells' Invisible Man to a beachside Bombay bungalow, they should have kept Mr India's identity secret from Seema-Lois Lane. But leaving a love story dangling midway, however tantalisingly is anathema to our box-office formula. Here was a chance to create a comic stirp hero with a series of adventures keeping the heroine mooning about Mr Mysterious while the modest half of the hero looks on with amused knowingness. This demands a sophistication which the film makers are not willing to concede to the audience or to themselves.
-- Maithili Rao
Bombay June 22-July 6, 1987
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