It is doubtful if any other film has had such an impact on Indian cinema, psyche and pop culture as Ramesh Sippy’s Sholay. An absolute masala film with a perfect blend of various genres, it set the benchmark for entertainers. Its action sequences garnered significant acclaim for their impressive staging, choreography and filming. Nevertheless, Sholay wasn’t solely about violence; rather, the fight scenes only enhanced the narrative, the moments and/or the characters’ emotions and their nature. It was just one element among many in the film’s rich tapestry, unlike contemporary films, especially those directly marketed as “pan-Indian”. Here, this term does not refer to films depicting India’s diverse culture or getting wider releases. Rather, it denotes movies with superficial narratives, made in such a manner claiming that people from any part of the country can “watch and understand” because of the absolute absence of nuances and rootedness.
Sippy later disclosed that he had to alter Sholay’s original ending as the Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC) found it too “violent”. In the original climax, Thakur Baldev Singh (Sanjeev Kumar) kills Gabbar Singh (Amjad Khan) and then breaks down into the hands of Veeru (Dharmendra), in a moment that appears to raise the question, “He won, but at what cost?” And think about the irony here, the CBFC, which has been turning a blind eye to the sheer amount of violence in contemporary movies, feeling that Sholay was violent. The same film that masterfully portrayed that Thakur’s hands have been chopped off by first showing Gabbar raising his swords towards Thakur, followed by a shot, from years later, of the latter’s shawl slipping off his shoulders.
It is this kind of cinematic brilliance that drives filmmakers to hone their craft, utilise their skills and offer audiences unique experiences often lacking in contemporary films, where directors seem more focused on the race to become the “most-head-slaughtering filmmaker of all time”. No offence, but it has almost become that the only time “pan-Indian” filmmakers use their heads is in thinking of unique and novel ways to chop off various parts of the human body, which is actually supposed to be an action choreographer’s job. But sure, at least that, because creativity and artistic senses left the chat long ago.
‘Unique’ violent scenes
Fight sequences have long been a staple of Indian cinema, particularly given the multi-genre nature of our movies, with even romance films slipping in action scenes whenever possible. However, the shift towards pure bloodbath in mainstream movies is a recent phenomenon. As a justification for this, directors blatantly claim that “this is what audiences want”. But the bigger question is: do these filmmakers genuinely care about the audiences? Or are they solely focused on maximising box office earnings by luring viewers into cinema halls, promising a “hella theatre experience,” only to deliver “unique” violent scenes, then labelling it as “cinematic brilliance”? Just a quick look at many recent big-budget films will show that they offer nothing more than rehashed versions of already existing hypermasculine tales, placed in humungous sets, where the only thing the men are capable of is fighting.
Though these movies do provide a chunk of audiences a momentary high while watching in theatres, their appeal usually does not stem from any aesthetic quality. For example, Prashanth Neel’s Prabhas-starrer Salaar: Part 1 – Ceasefire arrived with significant hype and actor Prithviraj Sukumaran, who plays a key role in the film, likened it to the highly acclaimed TV series Game of Thrones, during promotions. However, upon viewing the film, it becomes evident that Salaar only shares similarities with GoT in terms of its production design and graphic violence. Unlike GoT, Salaar lacks depth in its storyline, which Neel tries to compensate for by inundating viewers with the names of a fictional city, its various clans and their notoriety. While such artistic choices are conceivable, it’s essential to ensure a cohesive narrative foundation, which Salaar notably lacks. To mask this deficiency, the film relies on graphic violence to evoke shock and adrenaline among viewers.
Who is the hero?
A straightforward examination of “pan-Indian” films, ranging from SS Rajamouli’s Baahubali franchise and RRR to Lokesh Kanagaraj’s Leo, reveals that they are all actioners, with no other genre films typically being given the label. Another common thread among these “pan-Indian” actioners is the portrayal of their heroes. Exhibiting a lone-wolf persona, characterised by a demeanour that suggests they have enchained themselves for various reasons and a dark past, these heroes often exhibit even more brutality than the assigned antagonists when unleashed.
While these characters may seem multidimensional, they are quite one-dimensional due to their inherently monstrous nature, and the narratives rarely delve beneath the surface to examine their intricacies. “I try to make my characters look as negative as possible, even the positive ones. The hero has to be the biggest villain of my movie,” Neel told PTI earlier. While this too is an artistic choice that any director can make, the problematic aspect arises when the films glorify violence in the hero’s actions, despite condemning similar actions through the villains, raising questions about the makers’ sub/conscious choices.
Around 30 minutes into Sandeep Reddy Vanga’s Animal, we witness Ranvijay Singh (Ranbir Kapoor) entering a classroom with a machine gun, accompanied by intense BGM, at a time when school shootings are becoming terrifyingly rampant across the world. At the 45-minute mark, he fatally strangulates a man in a crowded room. An hour into the film, Ranvijay is depicted standing before a swastika portrait, which, while potentially having a Hinduism interpretation, is clearly used here to evoke Nazism. This becomes apparent as Vijay extends his arm in a manner reminiscent of the Nazi salute, conveying a promise to his employees. 45 minutes later, the movie showcases a sequence of violence in a hotel, where Vijay employs guns, axes and a modified weapon to massacre hundreds. Once he begins using the axe, the first shot of the attack shows him amputating a rival, with the latter’s hand flying into the air, accompanied by the song Arjan Vailly, describing him as “fearless”, suggesting that his act is glorious.
In the hotel sequence alone, Vijay splashes blood using axes at least 36 times, apart from the many bullets he fires. Here, the film dedicates almost 15 minutes to this brutal display of bloodshed, each moment of gunfire and blood splatter presented in a “captivating” manner. Further, he is shown inflicting pain on his wife Geetanjali (Rashmika Mandanna), cheating on her and killing many others, including the main antagonist by brutally slashing his throat.
Decapitation is the new black
In Salaar as well, the hero, Deva (Prabhas), is portrayed glamorously engaging in acts of blood-splattering and amputation, including in the presence of children, shooting down many and even beheading one person. In fact, decapitation has become a trend in hero portrayal, particularly after Rajamouli made it appear stylish in Baahubali 2: The Conclusion. Since then, most heroes in “pan-Indian” films decapitate at least one person. Lokesh Kanagaraj’s Kamal Haasan-starrer Vikram and Nelson Dilipkumar’s Rajinikanth-starrer Jailer also present beheading in a chillingly aestheticised manner. In Jailer, the hero, “Tiger” Muthuvel Pandian (Rajinikanth), also resorts to the method of submerging one into a container of sulphuric acid, without showing any remorse, against Varman (Vinayakan), which the latter had been using against his rivals, blurring the line between protagonist and antagonist.
Furthermore, a deeper examination of films like Animal and Salaar reveals a disregard for the law and order system in storytelling. While this choice emphasises the brutality of the villains, it also grants the heroes complete autonomy to use any means necessary to eliminate the “bad guys”. This portrayal indirectly implies that the presence of a governing system obstructs harmony and by promoting an eye-for-an-eye approach, these movies advocate for people to establish their own rules and in/directly suggest that a monarchy, under rulers like Salaar, Baahubali etc, is ideal, which is undeniably concerning.
Impact of on-screen violence/crimes
An oversimplified argument often made by those who claim that on-screen violence has no impact on people and that they know how to watch “cinema as just cinema” is that “crimes existed even before the invention of movies”. True indeed! Yet, they conveniently overlook the numerous cases where the police have identified connections between crimes and movies. A quick Google search would reveal many reports of people committing crimes that were inspired by cinema, including instances related to films such as Darr, Drishyam, KGF movies, Dhoom, Pushpa: The Rise and one of the most infamous examples is the case of Aaftaab Poonawala, the accused in the Mehrauli murder case, who confessed to the police that he was inspired by the American crime series Dexter to hack and dispose of his partner’s body.
The argument that “cinema is just cinema” is often promoted by filmmakers too to absolve themselves of any responsibility, both directly or emotionally, for the real-life consequences of the violence depicted in their movies.
In 2019, following a shocking incident where a TikToker allegedly murdered three people, including a woman who rejected his proposal, and then took his own life, Vanga’s controversial film Kabir Singh came under scrutiny as the accused was a big fan of the movie and, in one of his TikTok videos, was heard quoting a line from it, which raised questions about the impact of the film. In response, Vanga stated in an interview with Mid-Day, “As filmmakers, we are responsible for our craft and need to consider the repercussions, but my films have never endorsed killing anyone. Neither Kabir Singh nor Arjun Reddy have ever supported murder.”
Four years later, Vanga returned with the Animal, which not only glorifies extreme violence but also romanticises murder. Here, Vanga conveniently forgot about the “responsibility” and instead focused on catering to the monstrous instincts in people to maximise profits. A closer examination of the movie also reveals the lack of depth and creativity in its writing. By roping in some good technicians and incorporating murder sprees and misogynistic themes at every juncture, Vanga skillfully distracts from the numerous flaws in his wafer-thin script.
Where are the women?
Another tactic frequently employed by these movies to mask their lack of depth is catering to hypermasculine and misogynistic narratives, which appeal to audiences who adhere to patriarchal norms regardless of gender, while also provoking others who critique the problematic aspects of such narratives, thereby keeping its name alive. Animal, again, serves as an example where this strategy proved successful. As critics and audiences inundated websites and social media platforms with articles and posts, both positive and negative, about the film, Vanga and his team capitalised on the adage “there is no such thing as bad publicity”. This formula is not exclusive to Animal but can also be observed in films like Neel’s Salaar, KGF 1 and 2, and Sukumar’s Pushpa, particularly in their portrayal of women. Aadhya Krishnakanth (Shruti Haasan) in Salaar serves as a clear example of a poorly developed character, existing solely to fall in love with Deva after witnessing his superhuman action abilities. By incorporating explicit romantic scenes or item songs, these movies further cater to the pleasure of audiences who may overlook other aspects of the film.
Although Devasena (Anushka Shetty) in the Baahubali movies is initially presented as a formidable warrior, the films seldom utilises her in that capacity, aside from her intro action scene and the fight in her palace, which actually serves as a romantic moment when Baahubali realises his deep affection for her. Although Ramika Sen (Raveena Tandon) appears to be powerful in KGF 2, she ends up being overshadowed by Rocky (Yash). The same holds true for Avantika (Tamannaah Bhatia). In Lokesh’s Vikram and Leo, the central female characters, Gayathri (Gayathrie Shankar) and Sathya (Trisha), respectively, exist only to ask questions and express bewilderment at their partners’ dual lives. Although RRR features one of the biggest female stars in the country, Alia Bhatt, she simply has a presence and does not evolve beyond a background character. The situation is mirrored for Vijaya Pandian (Ramya Krishnan) and Swetha Pandian (Mirnaa Menon) in Jailer and Reena Desai (Srinidhi Shetty) in KGF, highlighting a world where women seem to hold little significance.
