The Last Indian Superstar

There was a time when Amitabh was on a similar pedestal!  But the yuppification of his image and, dare I say, the discussion of every aspect of his life on his blog, has removed any mystique, and made his elite roots quite apparent to the public.  I disagree with the author on SRK's being a media made star.  I think it is somewhat correct, but the fact that he comes from very middle class roots and is self-made, still makes him appeal to a wide sweep.  There is a definite erosion in his pan-India appeal as his films take on a more NRI-favored flavor.  Salman on the other hand, was and always will be, a star that appeals to the same kind base as Rajni does.  With Dabangg he has solidified his upper middle class base, and if he plays his cards right he may well be the next Indian superstar.  However, these are shifting dynamics and as every star makes career choices to build on his current strength, he may win some and lose some!  Unfortunately for Big B, the version 3 (read on to see what I mean), will never have pan-India appeal.  His Coolie and Mard and Deewar days are done!

BY Lakshmi Chaudhry 

There’s a reason Rajinikanth drives his fans across multiple social strata delirious. A reason that bewildered north Indians are only beginning to figure out as they watch the Tamil hero’s films.

The media hullabaloo surrounding a new Rajinikanth movie inevitably follows the same pattern. Endhiran, aka Robot, is no different. Breathless paeans to his awesome star power? Check. Wide-eyed enumeration of his brand value and net worth? De rigeur bemusement at his balding, dark-skinned appeal? Snickering stories of adoring fans acting suitably deranged? Check, check, check. The media hype surrounding Rajinikanth is every bit as phenomenal as the man himself. Yet much of it dances around the obvious: what is the great secret of his inexplicable allure? And carefully ignores the inconvenient: Rajinikanth may well be our last true superstar.
On the cover of Rajinikanth’s sole biography, The Name is Rajinikanth, is a giant mugshot of the man sporting a blond wig and pair of enormous sunglasses. He looks, to my untutored eye, ridiculous. Yet when I show it to my maid, Mary, she squeals in delight: “Suparr! Akka, sooo suparr!” We stare at each other across a vast gulf of incomprehension, which in online discussions leads to the inevitable recriminations. Writers offer various theories—or debunk the same—to explain the mystery. Outraged admirers dare disrespectful journalists to visit Chennai to be torn limb to limb. Meanwhile, the Rajini juggernaut rolls along, impervious, unstoppable, and, as ever, inscrutable.
The reasons offered by fans for the magical mystery of Rajini-mania are sound, but for the most part unsatisfactory. Mary cites his ‘nallu swabhavam’ (good character), a reason also touted by my multinational exec brother in Chennai and the suave, young, New York-educated chef of a chi-chi restaurant. Okay, so he’s a good guy, perhaps legendarily so, but nice is nice, and it doth not a demigod make. The other favoured explanation belabours his indomitable style. Everything is cool about our Rajini, from his aerobic cigarettes to the bullet-spitting tip of his robotic forefinger. But style can only take a star so far. Just ask Mithun Chakraborty or Rajini-wannabe Vijayakanth, neither of whom ascended to the shtyle maanan’s stratospheric heights.
To unravel Rajinikanth’s tautological fabulousness, it’s perhaps best to begin at the beginning—that is, the 1950s—when the post-Independence Tamil film industry is the duopoly of two megastars, Shivaji Ganesan and MGR. The latter, a swashbuckling low-caste saviour, is the creation of the Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (DMK) party, which scripts, produces and finances movies as a highly effective form of propaganda. “MGR is the explicitly political hero and Shivaji the more lovable middle class hero. Each has his own appeal, and offers a useful contrast to the other,” says film critic Gopalan Ravindran. By the 1970s, however, industry insiders are scrambling for replacements.
Enter a young ex-bus conductor named Shivaji Rao Gaekwad, who makes an on-screen splash as a charismatic villain pitted against a rising Kamal Haasan in Apoorva Ragangal (1975). Kamal, with his histrionic repertoire and middle class background, is a cinch for the Shivaji spot. Rajini is left to fill the gargantuan shoes available to him, those of the god-like MGR. To replace him—no mean feat—the newcomer has to recreate the swaggering underclass machismo and mesmerising screen presence, but now repackaged to suit the needs of a disillusioned post-Emergency audience. His acting prowess or range is irrelevant to the task at hand. Rajini, much like Amitabh Bachchan up north, takes his success where he finds it: as a brooding angry young man acting out a populist revenge fantasy. And in a neat dovetailing of their parallel trajectories, Rajinikanth will cement his superstar status in 1980 with Billa, a remake of Bachchan’s megahit Don.
“Celebrity is created in the nexus between the individual’s talent and ambition, the film industry’s needs, and the fans who consume this politics of celebrity-making,” says Ravindran.

Read more HERE