There are very few films that change the entire course of mainstream cinema, leaving behind such an impact that it would be appropriate to divide film history into times before their existence and after theirs. Arguably, no other Telugu film was as influential and canonical as the Baahubali franchise.
Baahubali: The Beginning, the first part of SS Rajamouli's two-part epic, was released on July 10, 2015. Unintentionally, it set the precedent for the path of mainstream cinema for the foreseeable future. Everybody is now on the bandwagon to make multi-part actioners, focusing on scale and opulence and the highs of adrenaline-laden theatrical experiences. But what was it about Baahubali that remains inimitable? Also, how well has the film stood the test of time?
The off-beat choices
On my rewatch 10 years later (yes, I never revisited Baahubali all these years, despite loving it the first time around), I was surprised by the number of unconventional choices for a project so lavish and reliant on its box office numbers. MM Keeravani’s music somehow walks the fine line between dramatic and subdued — the storytelling has appropriate musical punctuations but is also comfortable with moments that aren’t underlined with rousing violins or chorus sections. There is a 26-minute action set piece that sets up the indirect showdown between Amarendra and Bhallaldeva (Rana Daggubati) to decide who will take over the reins of the Mahishmati empire. The violence is extreme, but not graphic.
Baahubali is a high-stakes drama from the opening scene — and yet, there is a slow build-up of Shivudu’s universe and the parallel world thriving under Bhallaldeva, many clouds above. There is a thehraav in the narrative, even as it keeps the dramatic tension alive. For about 15 minutes in the first half, Shividu (Prabhas) completely disappears from the proceedings, as the film needs to establish Bhallal’s ferocity and brute ruthlessness—I would like to see any other film try that today.
The spirit of Mahabharata
Amidst all its big-scale wizardry and unconventional touches, Baahubali holds up phenomenally well because of its dramatic punch and its characters.
When I first heard the news of Rajamouli planning to make Mahabharata, I was not surprised. And yet, I felt, “What’s the need?” For, in his Baahubali series, the ambitious filmmaker paid a very reverent tribute to the very spirit of Mahabharata. Baahubali is proudly mythological in its world-building. That is a big part of the reason why the film resonated to begin with. Amarendra, Bhallal, Sivagami, Kattappa — here was a gamut of familiar archetypes we had all grown up hearing about or watching in one form or another, and yet they are what drives the film.
The parallels of Amarendra and Bhallaldeva embodying the essence of Pandavas and Kauravas are hard to miss — Bhallaladeva remains power-hungry, while Amarendra is always keener to engage with people and act with virtue. Nassar’s Bijjalaldeva, a physically disabled and bitter aging man who cannot take his son being denied the throne, carries strong reminiscences of Dhrisrashtra and Shakuni. Meanwhile, Kattappa (Sathyaraj) is the Bheeshma Pitamah as well as the Vidur of this epic saga, standing in as the loyal, aging warrior who is forced to wage a war against his beloveds. When Shivudu is found by Sanga, a tribal woman who raises him like her son, it’s hard not to be reminded of Lord Krishna’s relationship with Yashoda. The film rests on the idea of thematic reincarnation, something very integral to the traditional Indian belief system. Part two of the franchise explored many other parallels, like Devasena being insulted in a royal court (like Draupadi was).
Problems that persist
Baahubali is not without its share of issues. The scene with Avanthika’s disrobing by Shivudu has been critically discussed by many in the past few years. What remains less discussed, however, is how incidental Avanthika (Tamannaah Bhatia) becomes to the plot once Shivudu rises as the omnipotent messiah. Before she confronts Shivudu, Rajamouli specifically writes scenes to underline Avanthika’s dedication to their tribe’s mission. Where does Avanthika’s gritty perseverance go once Shivudu enters the picture? We shall never know.
Then, of course, there is the portrayal of the Kalakeya tribal community as crude and barbaric and, more importantly, as the rival enemy who must be killed and vanquished. In an otherwise suave film, this touch remains in poor taste, a glaring anomaly.
The love for the fantastical
Rajamouli sets Baahubali in an entirely fictional landscape, where nothing possibly mirrors anything real or historical. There is a gargantuan waterfall providing shelter (and a scenic backdrop) for a tribal community. On the other side of the clouds exists the Mahishmati empire. Somewhere between the two landscapes lie nestled snow-clad mountains. Baahubali is so removed from reality, so fantastical, that it rises above any questions about the idea of accuracy or logic. It’s built precisely in a way that can dazzle us at the cost of believability. (I also believe this is why RRR doesn’t hold up as well, and remain skeptically curious about Rajamouli’s upcoming film with Mahesh Babu.)
The suspension of disbelief isn’t limited to the landscape or the physics-defying stunts. Even the more tender moments are brimming with a dreamlike quality. When Shivudu finds a wooden mask that enchants him, he draws the face that could possibly be wearing it, a face so accurate that it leads him back on his 15-year-old pursuit. Later, when Avanthika is lying down near a lakeshore in a moment of quiet reflection, Shivudu draws a tattoo on her palm… underwater. Every grain of the narrative is laced with the outlandish, the larger-than-life.
Baahubali’s impact on Indian cinema
In Baahubali, Rajamouli puts his economical scriptwriting finesse to generate pure emotional resonance above everything else. When the hour-long flashback begins, we get a brief moment with young Amarendra as he sits down with Kattappa for a meal. Kattappa is stunned by the humility, but Amarendra wins him over simply by calling him ‘uncle.’ Later, Devasena has a moment of outburst during a vulnerable conversation with Kattappa as she tells him she is collecting twigs for Bhallal’s funeral pyre. It’s not the strange tics of a madwoman but a well-thought-out war plan of a resilient warrior.
The most memorable moment of my first Baahubali experience occurred within 10 minutes of me walking into the theatre. We see Sivagami (Ramya Krishnan), severely wounded, walking through a dangerous terrain, with an infant in her arms. A few moments later, she kills two enemies but also finds herself closer to death. In her final moments, Sivagami vows to God to save the little kid at any cost. It’s her last prayer to God, her final attempt to redeem herself for sins, sins we don’t know anything about yet. There is plenty of exposition here, none of which feels thrust upon. You are now intrigued about this surviving infant, his past, and his future. It’s so mythically larger than life and yet so emotionally overpowering that I teared up, and the movie had barely begun.
It’s difficult to talk about Baahubali without taking note of its impact on Indian cinema’s trajectory. Many big projects that came in the wake of its success tried to emulate the visual scale. However, what was largely missing from the successors’ attempts is the inherent sense of fantasy, penchant for suspension of disbelief, and unabandoned embrace of the larger-than-life emotionality, the latter of which most cinephiles (as well as filmmakers) look down upon now.
Baahubali: The Beginning is a pre-COVID film, and it shows. Carrying the weight of its massive ambition, the film also came at a time when a film could ride entirely on conviction, when cinematic storytelling was not so sternly measured against the herculean pillars of smaller attention spans and algorithm diktats. We need more filmmakers who can display such belief in their stories and get away with it. And yet, you almost wonder if Baahubali set the right precedent or not, for it’s the easiest film to be inspired by, but the toughest film to recreate.
