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After years of Hollywood franchise glut—of reboots and remakes, spin-off
miniseries and bloated two-part finales—watching S. S. Rajamouli’s
Telugu-language epic RRR is like taking that first breath of outside air after
being cooped up all day in an office building with no air conditioning. It’s
like taking a long, cool sip of ice water after days in the desert with nothing
to drink but lukewarm Diet Coke. It’s like being reminded for the first time
since you were a child amazed by the moving pictures on the television that
movies can truly do anything, say anything, and be anything. It’s not just the
most triumphant, crowd-pleasing blockbuster in years, it’s the best, most
exhilarating action movie from any country since George Miller’s
Mad Max Fury Road
(2015).
The film centers on two real-life Indian revolutionaries who fought against the
British Empire in the early twentieth century. The first, Alluri Sitarama Raju
(Ram Charan), led guerilla campaigns in southeast India on behalf of indigenous
tribal communities after the colonial government restricted their movement and
livelihoods. He successfully dodged British manhunts for two years before being
captured and killed. The second, Komaram Bheem (N. T. Rama Rao Jr.), helped lead
a revolution against Britain’s puppet leaders in south-central India. After
being killed by policemen in 1940, he was deified by his tribe and remains a
symbol of armed rebellion to this day.
In truth, Raju and Bheem—despite being revolutionary contemporaries—never met.
But after reading about them, Rajamouli envisioned a world where the two not
only crossed paths but became close friends and allies. RRR, then, is the
product of this fantasy. It’s about as historically accurate as a movie about
the American Civil War where George Washington and Benjamin Franklin sail to
England, shoot their way through Buckingham Palace, and defeat King George III
in hand-to-hand combat. But RRR’s rejection of historical reality is its
greatest strength. By ignoring what actually happened, Rajamouli dreams of what
could have happened. Filtered through the maximal-ist bombast of Indian cinema,
the results are nothing less than pure cinematic mythmaking.
Rajamouli recasts Raju as a quisling police officer working for the British
government. Determined to climb the ranks of the British Raj, Raju devotes his
life to the tyrannical British Governor Scott Buxton (Ray Stevenson), doing his
bidding even when it involves persecuting and terrorizing his fellow countrymen.
Raju soon finds himself on the trail of Bheem, recast by Rajamouli as the
guardian protector of the indigenous Gond people. After Governor Scott’s cruel
wife Catherine (Alison Doody) kidnaps one of their young girls to become her
personal songbird, Bheem sets out on a mission of vengeance to rescue her and
punish her British captors. However, in a twist worthy of Shakespeare, a case of
mistaken identity leads to Raju and Bheem becoming best friends after working
together to rescue a drowning boy. As Bheem gets closer and closer to locating
the kidnapped girl, so too does Raju get closer and closer to uncovering the
legendary protector of the Gond people, not realizing until too late that it’s
his new companion. What happens when best friends become worst enemies? And,
perhaps more importantly, is there more to Raju than originally meets the eye?
Like many Indian films, RRR is over three hours, but it whizzes by faster than
most hour-long episodes of television. Rajamouli breathlessly skips from one gob
smacking set piece and action scene to the next with nary a wasted breath. Key
to Rajamouli’s method is a refreshing lack of self-awareness—there isn’t a hint
of irony or sarcasm anywhere in this film. Whereas in recent years American
blockbusters have developed the cancer of self-deprecating self-awareness—how
many times have we heard Marvel superheroes making fun of each other’s names?—Rajamouli
grabs his audience by the throat and throttles them with emotion and spectacle
like an overly caffeinated child. Montages of Raju and Bheem happily riding
horses together play as a musical narrator ponders the future of their
friendship. Young boys swear oaths of vengeance over the bodies of their slain
mentors. Grown bare-chested men shout, scream, sing—and yes—dance their emotions
to the heavens. More than once the action is interrupted by musical numbers
including the show-stopping “Naatu Naatu” sequence where Raju and Bheem
challenge a group of British officers at a party to a dance off.
For many, RRR will be their first introduction to Tollywood and Telugu-language
cinema. For myself, this was definitely the case, but what’s better is that it’s
one of the best introductions one can have to a style of cinema. With its
unyielding charm and steady aim, Rajamouli delivers a spectacle that is joyous
while still packing many gut punches along the way. Its action is tremendous;
energy is infectious; and at its core is a bromance that carries RRR all the way
to its epic conclusion. On one side, the Fast and Furious movies would be
envious. On the other, Lin-Manuel Miranda might be. Again, RRR is often
chaotically ridiculous, but it's also so well-made — so audaciously as well —
that it's exhilarating.
(Available on Netflix).
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