Bob christo
date of birth 1938
Australian born Bob Christo, who essayed villain roles in several films, died at a hospital here on Sunday.
Mr. Christo, 72, was undergoing treatment at Sri Jayadeva Institute of Cardiovascular Sciences and Research here after suffering a heart attack on Friday. He leaves behind his wife Nargis and two sons.
“He died a little after 4 p.m. due to left ventricle free valve rupture or cardiac rupture,” said hospital director C.N. Manjunath.
Hospital sources said doctors performed an angioplasty and stent procedure on the actor on Saturday after a cardiogram showed he had a 90 per cent block in one of the arteries.
His condition became critical when he suffered another cardiac arrest after the angioplasty. According to sources, Mr. Christo's wife, who stays in Mumbai, has arrived in Bangalore. The body will, however, be preserved till the arrival of his son, who is abroad, they said.
After his stint in Bollywood, where he acted in several hits such as Kaalia, Mardand Mr India, Mr. Christo bid adieu to the film world in 2000. He worked as director of a health and fitness centre at the Golden Palms Hotel and Spa on the outskirts of Bangalore till 2006. Mr. Christo, who shuttled between Mumbai and Bangalore, was working on an autobiography tentatively titled Bob Christo: That's My Life.
Mr. Christo has acted in more than 200 films in many languages, including Tamil, Telugu and Kannada.
Bob was a must-have element of Bollywood's action potboilers in the 90s, the eternal punchbag, not necessarily the 'ultimate villain' but almost always the last line of defence, as the villain scrambled for cover in that last 20 minutes of fiery vengeance unleashed by the hero.
He had his mandatory 'rapes,' and he has been shot on camera, his sweaty baldy head shaking in mock lust, at the pathetically pitiful heroine or her side-kick who screams 'bachao, bachao..' in Bollywood's most celebrated cliché.
The moment one saw Bob Christo on screen, you could mark him as dead, sooner or later. How he would die, a fall from the cliff or an iron rod piercing into his heart or bullets being showered was immaterial. But in the run-up to that 'gory end' there was always, invariably, heavy pummeling to be endured from the hero.
There was a pattern to Bob Christo's appearance on screen. The hero beats to pulp the minion baddies, you know, the long-haired ones, the stout ones, and just as we believe, the hero has made his escape, emerges from the shadow, with backlight for full effect, the menacing silhouette of Bob.
The hero then takes a few blows, and is almost left for dead, when through some providential interference (mostly, the mother calling out from the underground den of the villain, a faithful dog licking on the face, a sister crying out, 'bhaiyaaa, bhaiyaaa...) he rises up. The hero staggers first, and then, as his eyes go red, and sweat and blood trickle down like rain shower, he takes that 'big plunge' straight for the gut of poor ol' Bob. Now, Bob has no choice. He must die.
And when Bob 'dies', we, as a nation, get a bit of old style revenge.
The 'gora,' the evil who ruled us for ages, is getting the beating our forefathers couldn't really deliver. After all, didn't we opt for Ahimsa?
Bob took on himself all our pent-up racial fury against the whites, perhaps.
And then Bollywood crossed over. Extra artists from Europe danced to the tunes of Pritam. We didn't need Bob, because now our battles are not against our past, but our present, the corrupt new face of India, embodied in the rich oligarchs and acquiescing underworld baddies of our big cities.
Menacing as he was on screen as ‘Bob,’ ‘The White Man’ or similar nameless characters, there was an endearing streak to Bob Christo, Bollywood’s perennial villain, who died in Bangalore on Sunday.
Bob, you gave us the catharsis that Gandhi denied us. Thank you. Rest in Peace.
He had his mandatory 'rapes,' and he has been shot on camera, his sweaty baldy head shaking in mock lust, at the pathetically pitiful heroine or her side-kick who screams 'bachao, bachao..' in Bollywood's most celebrated cliché.
The moment one saw Bob Christo on screen, you could mark him as dead, sooner or later. How he would die, a fall from the cliff or an iron rod piercing into his heart or bullets being showered was immaterial. But in the run-up to that 'gory end' there was always, invariably, heavy pummeling to be endured from the hero.
There was a pattern to Bob Christo's appearance on screen. The hero beats to pulp the minion baddies, you know, the long-haired ones, the stout ones, and just as we believe, the hero has made his escape, emerges from the shadow, with backlight for full effect, the menacing silhouette of Bob.
The hero then takes a few blows, and is almost left for dead, when through some providential interference (mostly, the mother calling out from the underground den of the villain, a faithful dog licking on the face, a sister crying out, 'bhaiyaaa, bhaiyaaa...) he rises up. The hero staggers first, and then, as his eyes go red, and sweat and blood trickle down like rain shower, he takes that 'big plunge' straight for the gut of poor ol' Bob. Now, Bob has no choice. He must die.
And when Bob 'dies', we, as a nation, get a bit of old style revenge.
The 'gora,' the evil who ruled us for ages, is getting the beating our forefathers couldn't really deliver. After all, didn't we opt for Ahimsa?
Bob took on himself all our pent-up racial fury against the whites, perhaps.
And then Bollywood crossed over. Extra artists from Europe danced to the tunes of Pritam. We didn't need Bob, because now our battles are not against our past, but our present, the corrupt new face of India, embodied in the rich oligarchs and acquiescing underworld baddies of our big cities.
Menacing as he was on screen as ‘Bob,’ ‘The White Man’ or similar nameless characters, there was an endearing streak to Bob Christo, Bollywood’s perennial villain, who died in Bangalore on Sunday.
Bob, you gave us the catharsis that Gandhi denied us. Thank you. Rest in Peace.
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