Writing Masala Cinema ft. RRR
Walking out of the movie that spanned three hours and seven minutes, I was not very sure how I felt about what was visually the best film that India has ever produced. On one hand, it aspired to outdo other films in its genre and those considered to be in its league and it did that so well on a technical level, with some witty writing in certain aspects. On the other hand, the film also managed to limbo under a bar that is already quite low for its genre, in making very simplistic choices in the writing and direction departments.
More often than not, there is more than one possible answer to every question. There are more ways than one to code for a given logical problem, more ways than one to get fit, to maintain a healthy lifestyle and so on. Similarly, there is never one correct way to create art. And when it comes to writing and making films to be sold for commercial business, things change so fast that one sure-shot success route could become obsolete in a span of months (take horror-comedy in Tamil cinema, for instance). However, there are certain time-tested narrative templates when it comes to storytelling that keeps coming back irrespective of the medium. And the most common one is the three-act narrative structure.
Masala cinema can be called a genre of its own — with elements of action, comedy, romance and emotions blended into one single entity and usually served in a larger-than-life world. It could end up being that one smoothie that you find yourself going back to a little too often. But then, it could also end up forcing you to toss the smoothie into a bin, toss that bin into a bigger bin, tie that bin to the top of your neighbour’s car, drive it straight to a landfill and dump the car along with the bin. This high risk high reward model forces filmmakers to take a safe route sometimes — such as aligning the narrative with a contemporary popular opinion, often political (thank you again, Tamil cinema!), pushing a tried-and-tired subplot hoping to see the audience react to it the exact same way they did in say, 1980, to name a few. These “safe routes” have resulted in a lot of film connoisseurs and “connoisseurs” looking down on the genre as a whole.
It is simply impossible for a movie with a larger-than-life theme to succeed if the audience cannot buy into the world that the film is set in. Over the last few years, most masala films fall short in doing so because they constantly try to break the fourth wall in the first half hour (minimum) pandering to the lead actors’ fans. How would one get pulled into a fictitious world if the film keeps yelling, “THIS IS NOT THE PROTAGONIST OF A STORY, THIS IS YOUR FAVOURITE ACTOR!” And just like that, one tends to lose interest in the plot and loses any semblance of a connection to the characters in the plot. It definitely is not something I do not enjoy but is a very thin line to tread. Petta is one of those rare films that trod that line beautifully. And this is one of the strongest points of RRR. With big stars in the film, the screenplay does not waste time pandering to anyone, with every scene being very relevant to the plot.
Similarly, it is quite easy to buy into this super-human world where the protagonists can get stabbed in the chest, poisoned by a snake bite or whipped continuously with a spiked whip and would still stand back up and throw people around like beach balls — simply because the film is very unapologetic of defying science. That is the world that the writer chooses to have the film set in — take it or leave it since no film works for everyone.
Another area that masala cinema often fails is when subplots are forced into the script. In essence, if you can remove a scene from a film and it makes no difference except for runtime, then it is probably not written into the original plot. In RRR though, the action sequences are well thought out and elements brought into these sequences are once again in complete relevance to the plot and the characters, which shows that the characters are well fleshed out too. And they serve the purpose of coming up with astounding visuals in a manner that appropriates the high production value.
For a screenplay that chose to be daring in refreshing ways, it had some weirdly low-bar choices when it came to establishing an emotional connection with the audience and explaining layers. Let me paint you two pictures to better make my point.
The film has a running theme where the two protagonists represent fire and water respectively. The film allows no room for interpretation here. The film begins with two introductory scenes that are preceded with titles “Fire” and “Water” respectively. These references to fire and water, Ram and Hanuman, are too straightforward that they did not seem like hints — especially in the climax when the character representing Ram walks out with bow and arrows. It felt like I was watching a stand-up comedian say “get it?” after every joke.
In what starts as an excellent situation, one of the protagonists ends up being tied publicly for an embarrassing whipping from the tyrant government. The Governor wants him to kneel and he refuses. So the authorities use many painful techniques that would make horror movie villains proud. But halfway through this grotesque torture porn, the protagonist breaks into a boastful song. The audience in the background wait till he finishes the song to start a riot. I understand the audience’s respect for music to not interrupt him but I really wish they were not that courteous. The audience in the theatre certainly were not — I heard a couple of giggles around. But larger than life, so I understand.
There are so many moving parts to a masala film that makes it very difficult to check all the right boxes. Most people understand this too — that is why we find that, in general, they are more forgiving to films in this genre than any other. RRR had the potential to check all the boxes and at one point, it even seemed to be naturally heading there, until it didn’t. The sad part is that the makers chose to go out of their way to erase some checked boxes. Ultimately, I guess we have to make peace with the fact that there is no perfect masala film. We need to be aware of how they sell the film, understand its USP and then decide whether we want to buy into it enough to hit the screens. At least for me, the film works on two levels — entertainment and a masterclass on what can go right and wrong while writing a masala film.
P.S. To the people who trash this genre for being too outlandish while praising Western superhero movies, think about it — most superhero movies are grand budget Westernized masala movies.
