Dulquer Salmaan: The money should be seen on screen, not in the actor's pockets
In the world of Indian cinema, Dulquer Salmaan can be compared to a chameleon, effortlessly traversing multiple languages and diverse genres. While he carries the legacy of being Mammootty’s son, Dulquer's journey so far has been unique, with a blend of humility and a keen eye for scripts that resonate deeply with audiences. Although Dulquer has his foot in four Indian film worlds, he confidently says, "I hate the word pan-Indian. I feel films should be rooted in a specific culture or place. The idea of a pan-Indian film often leads to compromises in storytelling."
Speaking on the sidelines of his latest release, Lucky Baskhar, Dulquer opens up about his role, the evolving landscape of cinema, and the personal philosophies that keep him grounded.
What drew you to the character of Lucky Baskhar?
It’s a very relatable story of a common man. Baskhar is the sole breadwinner of a big family, constantly juggling debts. The pun in the title is intended, and when the characters called me 'lucky Baskhar' with slight passive-aggressiveness, I wondered if they really meant it (laughs). The protagonist's struggles felt very real to me.
Is the story fictional, or did it draw inspiration from real events?
While the character is fictional, there were some real-life inspirations, especially from the late '80s and early '90s. Venky Atluri, our director, did a lot of research about that period, especially on financial scams and banking procedures. I constantly asked him questions to understand the story better because it felt so close to reality.
In Bhaskar the Rascal (2015), Mammootty sir played a character who was fundamentally good. But Lucky Baskhar doesn't seem to be such a good man...
Baskhar is fundamentally good, yes, but he operates in the grey. He genuinely wants to do the right thing, but sometimes circumstances push him to bend the rules. When someone’s self-worth is questioned, they react in unpredictable ways. That’s where the grey shade comes in, and I love exploring such complex characters.
You’ve played quite a few morally ambiguous characters lately. What attracts you to these roles?
Grey characters challenge you as an actor, that's why they are fun. People are conditioned to follow rules, to always do the "right thing." But these characters break those rules. It’s a fascinating space to explore because it’s not something we do in real life. I think that’s why audiences are also drawn to true crime stories—it's the curiosity of understanding how someone can cross that line.
You’ve been doing a lot of period films recently. Are you consciously drawn to them?
Honestly, it’s not a conscious decision. It’s more about finding the right script that excites me. I’ve done so many retro films that sometimes I feel like I'm done with them. But if a story is truly authentic and has something beautiful to offer, why should I say no? Saying no to such scripts goes against my love for cinema. I’m now open to anything, whether it’s a love story or an action film, as long as it feels genuine.
You’ve become quite a household name in the Telugu states after only a few films. How does that feel?
It's definitely a blessing. Initially, I never imagined doing Telugu films because I didn’t know the language. Even when I was selected for Mahanati, I didn't think it was a good idea. I told the makers that I wouldn't fit the bill as I neither looked like Gemini sir nor did I know Telugu. But Nagi (Nag Ashwin), Swapna Dutt, and Aswani Dutt believed in me. They invested time to help me learn the language, and that’s why I’ve been able to connect with the Telugu audience. I’m very grateful for that acceptance.
You mentioned that you have a few personal rules, like not doing remakes. Why is that?
I’ve done almost 40 films, and I want to focus on original stories. Remakes don’t excite me as much. I want to fight for original content and great roles that push me as an actor.
How do you balance your personal beliefs with the commercial demands of the industry?
Traditionally, the Malayalam industry used to be smaller, with film production costs being the major expense. Back then, artists didn't focus on high remuneration. Even now, taking a significant portion of a film's budget is frowned upon. Of course, some stars can command that, or they may choose to produce the film themselves. In that case, if you invest your time, money, and passion into a project you believe in, you’re naturally entitled to a share of the profits. But I find it difficult to demand an exorbitant fee from a producer—it almost feels like you're adding an extra burden on the film, especially given the limited market size.
The economics differ greatly across industries; Tamil and Telugu markets are substantial, while Hindi is even larger. So, when people talk about astronomical figures, it's often in the context of these bigger markets. As an actor, I'm very grateful for what I earn, and I don’t get into the race of who’s getting paid more. As a producer, I believe that the money should be seen on the screen—it should enhance the film’s quality. For me, it's always about investing in content rather than focusing solely on financial gains.
What’s next for you?
I have Kaantha, a Tamil film celebrating the language and culture, it is almost done. I’m also working on projects in Telugu and Malayalam. Ideally, I want to do 3-4 films a year, balancing different languages. It’s challenging, but I’m trying to speed things up, especially after some health issues last year. But ultimately, it’s about finding stories that excite me.