By Vivekananda Nemana
I just made up the term “masculinity porn,” but you know what I mean: all those physics-defying acts of flexing muscles, flipping cigarettes, starting explosions, twirling moustaches, kicking ass, and so on. Masculinity porn means the hero is not only an unstoppable fighter but also an infallible human being, virtuous in his manliness, constantly outsmarting foes and imparting elevated moral wisdom. And it’s porn because 1) the character makes no pretenses at realism and 2) you are still supposed to either want that guy or want to be that guy.
Sometimes, it’s awesome. Who doesn’t love all of Rajnikanth’s tamaashas? My eyes widen with joy when Jason Statham takes on an entire gang of international smugglers in a mechanic shed. And for the record, my favorite macho scene of all time, in any language, is an old Chiranjeevi clip innocuously titled ‘Horse under truck’ on YouTube. I’m a huge fan of action movies specifically for their cartoonish violence and tough-guy posturing (you’ll find some great examples here).
We all know that it’s one of the most expensive Indian films ever made. It may certainly be the most ambitious. It’s inspiring memes like none other. And its poster (the image is from one of the movie’s first few scenes) shows the hero’s wet, rippling body as he carries a gargantuan *ahem* Shiva lingam towards a waterfall.
As is customary with highly anticipated releases in the south, fanboy flex boards covered Hyderabad in the weeks before Bahubali’s release, with full-sized action shots of Prabhas, who plays the film’s hero, and encouraging messages like “Best wishes 2 our Prabhas Anna.” Without exception, the posters also carry images of the said fans, who are almost always young men, their vacuous expressions indicating a steely devotion to either fandom or, I sometimes suspect, excessive masturbation.
Hero worship is of course commonplace in the south, where the biggest stars are revered for their godlike machismo (watch this video of fans watching the Bala Krishna film Legend). But the hype around Bahubali ensured the fan frenzy reached transcendent levels, with the actors’ workout routines going viral and fights breaking out at theatre queues. And Prabhas – who has about as much acting talent as a circus pony but who is, well, tall and jacked – has built a cult following around his virile, lady-slaying roles.
But action movies, however cartoony (unless, of course, we’re talking Mad Max: Fury Road), almost always indulge in the objectification of women, from Bond girls to item dancers. And Telugu films take it a few steps further: a common trope is the unapproachable heroine, whom the hero, cool as a cat in his shades and designer outfits, must aggressively woo. And since he is often portrayed as a rebel – a status underscored by his coterie of less attractive, risk-averse friends – he cannot approach her normally by, like, asking her out. Instead he repeatedly undermines her, pranks her, shows up uninvited at her home or office, or if he’s particularly sly, re-engineers the circumstances of her life (consider this scene from the 2012 Racha, in which the hero literally bets that he’ll win over the daughter of a mining don). The heroine’s increasingly agitated rejections are of no consequence, because some twist of plot – a dramatic rescue, a stirring speech – will inevitably prompt a change of heart. “No” is really an invitation to try, try again. The director Puri Jagannadh is especially fond of this construction, but so is Baahubali’s director SS Rajamouli – his college romance Sye and his recent blockbuster Eega both present such borderline harassment as funny, cutesy courtship.
The more “unattainable” a woman is – the more independent or glamorous, the more she strays from the good girl archetype – the more bravado in the hero’s pursuit, until she finally caves. Thus, the constantly reinforced message has less to do with love and courtship than with masculine men taming unruly women. Their voices and actual desires are all but irrelevant in this structure, as is any notion that love is an equally balanced thing. The heroic alpha male wins through constant pressure, sabotage, shows of strength. (Need I even mention the implications for real life street harassment and stalking?)
It’s no surprise then that Bahubali, with all of its rippling tough guy tropes, not only replicates this idea but multiplies it. The film, the first of two cinematic parts, traces the life of Shivudu (played by Prabhas), a barrel-chested young man raised in a tribal village, who travels to the seat of a powerful kingdom ruled by the tyrannical Palvaalthevan (played by Rana Daggubati). There, he discovers that he is actually Bahubali, the rightful heir to the throne, and that Devasena (played by Anushka Shetty), an imprisoned queen he had come to rescue, is his real mother. The movie ends with an extended flashback about how Bahubali’s father (also played by Prabhas) was crowned king over Palvaalthevan, while leaving the story of his downfall – and of Bahubali’s redemption, presumably – for the next chapter.
The movie has four major female characters, all of whom are ostensibly strong (although it comes nowhere close to passing the Bechdel test. Two of them only interact once, for about five seconds, and that too about the hero). Initially, the most compelling female character seems to be the female lead Avantika, played by Tamannaah. She fits the unapproachable trope both literally and figuratively: Avantika is a tough warrior who lives atop a treacherous waterfall and hacks away at enemies with her sword. She’s a trained fighter in an overwhelmingly male cohort, and a true warrior – unlike, by the way, the stubborn Bahubali, who grew up in a tribal village with zero military training.
But the pornographic logic of Bahubali does not allow any woman to leave as much as a shadow on the hero’s glorious masculinity. In a single, jaw-dropping scene, the film methodically sabotages a strong, feminist lead – and the idea that a woman could ever compete with the hero’s machismo. One night, as Avantika sleeps, Bahubali surreptitiously (and inexplicably) paints her arm with a flowery design that sharply contrasts against her battle-worn armor. She’s been chosen to pursue her life’s mission – to bring back her clan’s queen, imprisoned in the palace – but almost loses the chance when her chief notices the tattoo and berates her for frivolous “girlish interests.”
Furious, Avantika searches for the dolt who nearly derailed her. She attacks Bahubali when she finds him, but now – despite kicking ass just a few scenes earlier – her arrows keep missing their mark, while our hero cracks sexist jokes about how feisty she is. The music selection here is also important: it’s playful, and lighthearted. Avantika demands to know just who Bahubali thinks he is, but he replies with something daft like, “The question is, who are you?” She says that she’s a warrior. Baahubali knowingly shakes his head, jabs her chest and says, “But who is the woman inside you?” The question leaves her speechless.
And then – and fucking then – as Avantika struggles with him, Bahubali proceeds to tear her clothes off, and he has this goofy my-mother-loved-me-too-much smile on his face while the flirty, lighthearted score continues in the background. Baahubali strips Avantika, kickass warrior, down to red underwear, and paints her face (in lieu of makeup) with some berries and coal. She fights back until he pushes her towards a waterfall, where she sees her reflection (plus Prabhas’s creepy leer in the background) and has an epiphany: she never knew how beautiful she was until he stripped her of agency and painted her face with makeup.
Despite the extremely rapey events of the past two minutes, Avantika turns her adoring eyes to Bahubali, now the omniscient romantic, who explains that this was all part of the plan because he climbed a waterfall for her. Somehow, this excuse is sufficient for both the heroine and the audience. They make love.
The message here is clear: Dudes, if you harass a woman long enough, she will fall in love with you, and you will probably get laid. Ladies, if you choose to deviate from traditional female roles, you’ll always be inherently unhappy, and secretly, you’ll be waiting for a hero to save you from empowerment.
After they are together, Avantika slips away from her new lover to resume her mission to save the queen. She walks, visibly distracted, when she is attacked by royal guards. She’s unable to defend herself this time; the badass warrior who existed all of twenty minutes ago seems no more. Only Bahubali can save her, as if he grew stronger as she diminished. The transformation is complete: the powerful warrior has been reduced to the damsel in distress.
This moment also spells the end of Avantika’s important mission. Bahubali grabs her face, stares into her frightened eyes, and says something like, “You’re mine now, your mission belongs to me. Chal, I’ll go.” And we are supposed to believe that she lets him walk away without a fight.
Vivekananda Nemana is a freelance journalist based in Hyderabad. He’s working on a book about how tribal youth in Andhra Pradesh are negotiating global markets. He swears he actually does enjoy watching Telugu movies.