RRR and Loving What You Don’t "Know" (Patreon)

So I adored RRR. But I am kind of scared to write about it. Here’s why.

PART I - LISTENING, WATCHING, EATING

I have infinite reasons to be embarrassed and ashamed, but a small one among them - critically speaking, at least - is that thing that happens when you walk into a beloved genre or area of art that’s been deeply established, toss around some general reactions to things you have no context for, judge them, and then act like this is a valid way to engage with the world at large. Unfortunately, I’ve done it before.

Also more unfortunately, this happens a lot in pop culture coverage.

For instance, Landon recently reminded me of the time The Hollywood Reporter wrote a profile of BTS in the year of our lord 2019.  This is when they had already been the biggest band in the world for years by that point (seriously, I wasn’t even listening to K-Pop at the time, but I was already hearing about them in 2014), but the whole profile was dripping with that casual xenophobia that defines so much American journalism. Not just the broad swiping of K-Pop as a fad, but it was littered with assumptions, inaccuracies, and even used one artist’s tragic suicide to casually criticize the entire enterprise (and look, there’s ways to talk about the systemic problems of the K-Pop system, but this ain’t it, bub). Naturally people got upset about the very basic lack of understanding in the coverage, but  the reporter got defensive and basically trotted out the ugly defense of the following: “BTS is a virtual MYSTERY to 99.99% of the population. Introducing them to a general population is not XENOPHOBIA. Jesus CHRIST.” First off, “introducing them” to new people isn’t a Xenophobic act, it’s that the way he wrote about it was xenophobic. Second, it’s absurd that he’s not even NOT considering that they’re arguably the most famous band to the MAJORITY of the population, even in America. Third off, it means that the writer inherently assumes that anyone like them and their little ignorant bubble is automatically the 99.99%. The centerpoint of culture… This is the very definition of myopia.

And it has plagued the media for decades, but perhaps now more than ever. Hell, The New York Times has basically opted for “myopia as coverage” and comes at everything they cover from their vaguely unconnected viewpoint on purpose. Nowhere more evident in their coverage of the Los Angeles food scene, which has been uninformed, assumptive, and often racist. I know people rightfully roll their eyes about NY/LA arguments but stick with me here, because it got so bad that it finally prompted Lucas Kwan Petersen to write this satirical column that covers New York food the way they cover Los Angeles. Here’s a perfect quote:

“My first culinary encounter was with pizza, a mysterious kind of baked tlayuda, covered in macerated tomatoes and milk coagulation, and occasionally smothered with a type of thinly sliced lap cheong called pepperoni. The odd dish, sometimes referred to as a pie, washed ashore from Naples some years ago. While the taste takes some getting used to, pizza can be enchanting when done properly.”

It’s funny, but the reverse is 100% the way they cover ethinic cuisines in Los Angeles. Everything is “Mexican” when it should be covered as Oaxacan, Sonoran, Yucateco, etc. And tlayudas aren’t some new hot take on Mexican pizza, they are a dish that’s been around for centuries. The point of Kwan’s column was to highlight the crushing myopia. But The Times' response was basically “haha ya got us, this is all good fun, isn’t it?” And instead of actually changing their tact, they kept hiring the same fresh-faced New York transplants for the coverage to come in with the same assumptions. They are STILL like “ugh, there’s no good Chinese food in this city!” and not realize the best (if not some of the best) in the world is probably 15 miles east in the San Gabriel Vallly. Even when you tell transplants this now they assume this CAN’T be true. They will be like, “better than even in China?” Not realizing it’s a combination of the fact these communities have been here since the 1800’s (pre-dating much Chinese immigration to New York) and it combines with the fact that California has some of the best produce in the world. And look, I could go down this rabbit hole forever, but the point is that the NYT will never, ever have good coverage if they keep hiring new transplants like this.

But this gets to the crux. They DON’T WANT knowledgeable, insider coverage. They don’t want someone born and raised in Los Angeles to tell them what’s true about their home. They want someone with their exact same ignorance to walk into the situation and give the same kind of uninformed opinion that they would in the same situation. It’s a purposefully defensive act. A way of cementing their own myopic status quo and perpetually keeping other cities as “emerging” scenes while their own place is “the best.” And you realize: this is the brand.

And I can’t stop thinking about it.

Because it gets to the heart of so many existential questions of criticism. Not just in terms of why people want their myopia confirmed, but how this perpetual outsider framework even colors the dialogue of good-faith efforts. After all, how do you write about a subject when you are just getting to understand something yourself? Or how do you write for the person who knows everything AND the person who knows nothing? There’s this grand spectrum of communication that you have to navigate. I mean, if you walked into a conversation between two experts in the field of physics and they were just gabbing with each other a mile a minute, it would be hard to keep up, right? There’s no entryway into it. So you need something simpler and more conversant. But that doesn’t mean you want someone to explain it to you ignorantly. You don’t want someone making basic mischaracterizations about gravity and shit. Ideally, you find someone who can bridge the gap. Thai should be obvious. But some don’t (look at the anti-science crowd). And bringing it all back to this conversation, the trouble with writing about movies is that you’re not talking about “hard science.” You’re talking about an art that offers impressionist, emotional experiences. Everyone can play in this space. Everyone is going to have their impressions. But that doesn’t mean some respective spaces don’t have matters of expertise, fandoms, and important cultural considerations that need to be accounted for.

To say it right up front, there is a dark side to any “fandom” of a genre that we know all too, well. There are gatekeepers, protective fanboys, and a whole lot of ugliness. But this is not the part of the cultural conversation I’m talking about. In fact, I’m talking about the opposite and how American pop culture-driven minds engage with both international and outsider arts. Again, when I look back at a lot of things, I realize the times I’ve been so guilty of leading with that kind of myopic ignorance are in this arena. Nowhere more than a decade ago with my first forays into modern Indian Cinema and Anime. It doesn’t matter even if I liked what I was seeing, I was doing exactly what the NYT reporters did above. It’s all that kind of, “Huh, this is weird and wild! Mind if I make really broad reactions without understanding it?” Like I said, embarrassing. Or worse. But thankfully, people were immediately like “bruh,” which prompted me to do the important thing of actually reading people who knew what the hell they were talking about. And in the years since, when it came to modern Indian Cinema, I mostly saw films that broke through with some distribution over here (including the first Baahubali). Likewise, I finally started the “Ani-Me “ column series to dive into Japanese animation with open arms. And I don’t write about it from the place of “I get it now,” but as an open attempt to gain context and approach it from a place of learning, reflecting, and not telling. And the thing I’ve learned is that as nerve-racking as it is, it’s okay to write from that place if you’re being open about it. It is a reminder that engaging with the world around you is not a singular evaluation, but a process. One that actually reminds me of one of my favorite new expressions…

Now, you may remember that last week on twitter there was one of those viral prompts going around that was like “tell me you cancel-able food takes!” which is always the kind of thing that makes me want to shut off the internet forever. Mostly because it always leads to these whole cloth dismissals of things that are like “Italian food is bad, actually,” and only makes people argue. But it reminded me of this expression that i learned about from this tweet from Pim Techamuanvivit, who wrote:

“In Thai, when we eat something that’s not to our taste, we don’t really say “I don’t like this” or “this is bad.” We say “I don’t know how to eat this” (กินไม่เป็น) Just a big tiny difference. “I don’t know how to eat this” implies that no food, no cuisine is inherently bad. It leaves open a possibility that maybe, just maybe, if we learn how to appreciate it properly, we might even end up liking it. Might not be such a bad idea to start saying this in English too?”

Again, I’ve thought about this expression ever since.

Because I want it to inform everything about how I write these days. I’ve wanted to approach so much new exciting art as “a perpetual guest” who is diving into these spaces and trying to navigate them from a place of learning. And I thought about specifically as I was watching S.S. Rajamouli’s new film RRR. To be clear, there is no actual pause in my reaction to this film. I completely adored it. It’s a triumph. One of my favorite films of the year. And I desperately want you to see it. But because I want to write about why I felt so moved, I want to acknowledge that I’m still “learning how to eat this,” so to speak. And therefore I know I am still learning how to write about it in turn. Because I don’t want to turn into the “getting real boss baby vibes from this” guy. 

I just want to share the sense of discovery and elation.

PART II - THE LESSONS OF RRR

The first thing to understand is that, in one way, you don’t need to understand anything. Because at its heart, RRR is just a classic, straight-forward epic that’s wonderfully-written with clarity, stakes, and a ton of emotion. Meaning it is accessible, undeniable, and enthralling. Even all of the inventive action at its center feels like more of a glorious bonus for the story being told (which is what all good action should do, really). But beyond those core functional elements, I realize there are also five other elements that help make the film all the more wonderful. But since I’m still in the middle of all this, I’lI will write about them in terms of five “lessons” that I’m actively engaging with as we speak.

Starting with…

The Formal Lessons - Looking back, I’m kind of upset how little Indian Cinema I was exposed to, particularly in film school. They loved to trot out the exceptional work of international arthouse masters like Satyajit Ray, but I feel like the most “traditional” or commercial things we got offered were classic options like Mother India (1957) or Pyaasa (also 1957). So even us students who are supposed to be versed in world cinema had this glaring hole in our understanding. So it’s perhaps no accident that *EDIT* I'll get even BASIC STUFF wrong til this day. Seriously, I just wrote this entire column and STILL parroted that incorrect idea that "Bollywood" is a term that, while often specifically designating Hindi Cinema that comes out of Mumbai, I still assumed that, like the term "Hollywood," it could broadly apply to modern Indian commercial filmmaking. Nope! Many of you, including twitter user @joshharding77 rightly corrected me and said: "RRR was produced in Telugu (sometimes affectionately known as Tollywood). India is such a multi-faceted and multilingual country, and those facets surely extend to its cinematic output as well." I even KNEW the film was in Telegu, but my inability to write about that is the exact kind of ignorant embarrassing thing I'm talking about. I showcased the same lack of understanding that is probably why there is a prevailing attitude in the west that modern Bollywood movies are “crazy” and “over the top.” This really reductive and assumptive Quora question speaks volumes on the topic, but even the answers kind of have a lot of insightful cultural responses that aren’t quite getting at the crux. Because there’s just a glaring film language thing that’s not being properly contextualized.

Because the most important thing that happened to me a decade ago is that people sat me down and explained, to paraphrase, that modern Indian Cinema never really had that strong movement toward “naturalism” that happened with a lot of western cinema. To put in comical Batman terms, there was never really a “Nolan-ification” of things. I don’t mean literally (bringing up his name probably just confuses things), I just mean that there was never a strong move toward realism and all this cemented long before the present. But there’s many, many reasons why. Some of it is perhaps that it’s an extension of the inherent “hyper-reality” that comes naturally with musicals and dance numbers. So the same logic just gets applied to other film elements. Like in the way that there is such extensive use of adoring hero shots and / or the reality-pushing action. But the thing to understand is the intended audience doesn’t bounce off this because it’s “over the top,” but fully embraces it within the cinematic language of these films. And everyone should, too. Not just because they use a lot of the texture that’s already familiar in modern action filmmakers like Michael Bay or the grand emotional poetic action of Zhang Yimou, but because the events on screen are just a mild extension of the same kind of logic we already apply to a lot of animated works. Think about it. No one would bat an eye if a lot of these “over the top” moments were in a Chuck Jones short.

Yeah, but those are cartoons!

What’s the difference? This is the thing I argue for constantly. Why can we believe the broad application of “unreality” in one scenario, but not another? Why do we believe Iron Man can fly around in that suit without puking? Why do we believe Pierce Brosnan’s James Bond can fire guns and no one ever bleeds? They’re all just specific conventions of cinematic genre. Everything in RRR is meant to be absorbed in the same way. If anything, the language of Modern Indian Cinema shows the exact kind of maturity that I wish prevailed in American film audiences. Precisely because that audience can still “believe” the scene even if it jumps between tones and plays with “unreality”. Even then, I’m so hesitant to even generalize with statements like this because the main thing I keep learning is that all of this is broad strokes characterization.

Because Indian Cinema isn’t a monolith. I mean it’s freaking obvious, but not every film you see is a giant two part epic. There are films that are more action-driven, more comedic, there are films that eschew musical numbers. As I stated above, even the term “Bollywood,” is hopelessly outdated when considering the breadth of Hindi cinema, which is even limited with the scope of Indian cinema, which is even limited within the scope of South Asian cinema. I mean, when we in the west reduce the cinema of Pakistan to being part of “Bollywood,” especially understanding the cultural divide of the two countries? Other people write so eloquently about this. And look at the spectrum of what trying to call it “South Asian Cinema” as a way of trying to define what modern Indian Cinema “is.” There is so much more I need to learn. But to best contextualize to a new viewer, perhaps the simplest way to characterize it is to simply accept that a lot of Indian cinema, specifically when compared to Hollywood efforts, are far more willing to blend genre, use grand expressionist techniques, and to follow the emotional range of their characters no matter where the story may go.

But the most important thing to remember is that there’s nothing all that “different” about any of this. The story approach RRR fits right with the tradition of old action epics of Hollywood golden age. In a way where it’s not hard to imagine what would have happened here if things took a slightly different path. Which is why it’s important to not bounce off it. To not be like the Quora person and assume this is “over-acting” or “over the top.” Instead, know this is part of the language, follow where it goes, what characters are feeling, and especially be open to what they are touching on within their respective culture, especially when it comes to our complete lack of understanding of the history itself. Speaking of which…

The History Lessons - I can’t speak for anyone else, but growing up in America I was presented with a completely sanitized view of the Indian Independence Movement. So much of which centered around the false notion that it was purely through Gandhi’s peaceful actions that the British simply laid down their arms and that was that! It’s really not unlike what American has done post-assassination with MLK and the civil rights movement. We’ll straight up murder figures and then quickly deify them saintly / non-violent and ignore their harsher messages, all to keep the status quo and demand non-violence in the current era. We teach the “I have a dream” speech, but ignore the fact that it was the week of violence that followed MLK’s assignation that actually led to the passage of the 1968 Civil Rights Act (which also became an excuse to sneak in the Anti-Riot act). Similarly, what Gandhi actually had to say about both war violence was a lot more varied and changed with time (and he sure as hell didn’t look like Ben Kingsley). But the other thing we ignore about the Indian Independence Movement are all the heroes that led violent revolutions both prior, during, and after Gandhi's movement. To wit, I knew absolutely nothing about the two figures at the center of this particular movie.

To be clear, RRR is not a history lesson by any stretch. It is simply using real life heroes Komaram Bheem and Alluri Sitarama Raju to create a fictional, fantastical epic set within that specific revolutionary period. And it is an incredibly grounded story about their relationship. But! By telling a story about these two characters (who never really met it seems) they are able to use the fun elements of broad storytelling to get at a series of moving, thematic ideas. It’s telling a story about the differences of who these revolutionaries are, what they valued, and how their personalities come together to fuel a more complete, holistic understanding of passionate revolution. Even knowing little about the actual history, you can understand this. Just as it uses the action epic genre to make a glaring, necessary demonization of the British Empire. Granted, it’s easy for Americans to not take such a portrayal personally. Hell, we demonize the British all the time! I’ve seen The Patriot! But this is a real pot kettle situation. America’s imperialist crimes are endless and movies like this could and should just as easily be directed our way. So, for the, uh, “nationalistically sensitive,” it’s easy to imagine some pearl-clutching at the way the film treats white characters the way our movies have treated other cultures for a century (I’ve been looking for bad British takes, post em below if you find them). Even for some of the more well-meaning white audiences, it would be easy to imagine people being defensive as they rub up against the film’s “lack of subtlety” or get tripped up on its “have your cake and eat it too” approach to both guns and nationalism. I get it. But maybe it will even help them realize that ALL movies are powerful agents of propaganda. Because we know this.

And the crucial difference is that there’s a radically different context here. Where the hagiography of the American Military in Hollywood action does nothing but fuel our own modern global “policing” (read: protection of economic interests), this film is dead set on criticizing that exact form of colonialism. It’s a revolutionary epic that’s coming out in a time where the western world JUST NOW seems ready to even entertain the conversation about this. They’re like “Our decades of colonialism was a bad thing, you say? Huh! Weird! Well, anyway, here at the British museum exhibit…” Which is not even to touch on the film’s far more complex use of the caste system, which is yet another thing Americans were mis-taught about. Because the caste system was largely a gross misinterpretation by British colonizers and was used to foster further discord within Indian society. But I’m just scratching the surface with so much of this, mostly because I’m still learning about these same things. And there are folks who can write about the caste angle in this film with so much more clarity. But some subjects are closer to what I know…

The Structural Lessons - The thing I’m perhaps best able to talk about is the film’s incredible use of story structure. Now, it should be said that I’m the guy who says that any “top down” structure you layer over a story is nonsense, so please know that’s not what I’m arguing for here. I’m just noting that there are some generalizations with these approaches that can help you understand what a story is trying to do. Because a lot of modern Indian epics use what we think of as the “2 Act Musical Structure” that exists all over Broadway. Now, this largely exists as a way of telling a giant three-hour story with an intermission to pee and grab another drink. But story-wise, the use of this structure often creates a two-part dynamic. The first act is often an entire “happy movie” that leads to a climax where things still seem on top of the world, or suddenly go very, very wrong. That is then followed by a second act which is often a sadder movie that is full of consequence, but still leads to a kind of deep catharsis. If you’ve seen, like, ANY musical this arc will be familiar. But perhaps a show like Into The Woods best characterizes that in the way it playfully breaks down fairy tales all before getting dark and real with the characters in the second half. For classic films, there’s Lawrence of Arabia, which has the two-part build up and break down.

But the thing I find really telling about Hollywood is how much they just do “the first act” of this musical structure as their entire movies. It’s like, forget all that sadness and consequence stuff! Just get to the catharsis now! I could talk for hours about the negative impact of this. Not just because of how important those elements are to themes and meaningful character growth, but because it shows how much our modern blockbusters are filled with delaying bloat. To make a “long’ movie we’ll take 90 minute premises and stretch stretch stretch into near-three hour sputter wank-fests, all before finally getting to the conflict that’s been set up since page 1. I mean, I liked The Batman. I like that it took its time without a lot of scenes. But the three hour length (vs. say two and a half hours) is purely a result of delay, repetition, and constant withholding within the overall plot structuring.

But RRR uses its three hours so beautifully. It’s not that it is simply “editing fast” or something. It’s that it does the damn work on the page. Each scene is its own little story, with arcs, transference, and changes in status. But each of those stories build on top of the other and add complex layers of conflict and meaning and emotion. It’s constantly building foundations that help the overall story evolve outward. Even the mysterious thing that is delayed until the second act is critically important for how it shapes rooting interests at different times. As a result, it all feels like the film moves at a clip just because you are so damn invested at hand. In some ways, it reminds me of how Drive My Car uses its running time so elegantly because it fully pulls you into the meaning of each scene. And like that film, the thing that sustains RRR is not how it gets trapped in Riddler-esque plot games, but because it’s so vested in the central relationships. There’s so much that western movies could be reminded of from this approach. So many ways to see how to tell a story with purpose. Particularly when it comes to…

The Emotional Lessons - So the thing I’ve come to adore about modern Indian films I’ve seen is the way they subvert the American version of the masculine hero. Make no mistake, these films are often dripping with macho energy. They have heroes punching and dominating and posing as it gorgeously shows off their bulging muscles. And they almost always feature heteronormative love stories. But there’s so many things that feel different. Not just in the way they seem thankfully cool with actual body hair. But there’s also the loving way the camera films these moments with a kind of adoration. These heroes are ogled in a way that the western camera only often reserves for women on screen. But really, it’s about the emotional characterization that sticks out. Because the thing I’ve come to really resent about the marvel-ification of American leads is how often our cinematic hunks are disaffected, sardonic joke machines. Vulnerability only exists in hyper specific situations, often in a way that shows them quietly suffering. But the two leads of RRR could not be more stark in comparison.

Seriously, I can’t remember the last time two lead actors gobsmacked me like this. Both N.T. Rama Rao Jr. and Ram Charan are incredible. Yes, they’re masculine and badass and all that jazz. But they’re also wide-eyed and loving and hopeful. They portray their friendships with a kind of youthful innocence that could not be more endearing. They cry. They emote. They dance. They’re willing to be scared. They’re willing to be hurt by another’s words. They’re willing to look silly and be naive. But most of all, they play every moment of all of this with 100% earnestness. There’s no way western leads would do anything this vulnerable. Naturally, western audiences already seem to be smitten with the “homoerotic” subtext of the two leads - and believe me, I’m often quick to do so similar - but I can’t help but feel like that’s just a reaction to the very dynamic I’m talking about. Because the two leads are just loving and open and comfortable with each other, as if so unafraid of all the homophobic trappings that seem to have corrupted western masculine media for generations. Honestly, I think looking at it from both angles is part of tearing down the same conventions at the heart of more toxic masculine portraits of a western culture. The kinds of stories that ONLY want the masculine and badass parts without any of the human roundness that goes along with deeper characterization (I mean compare them to Bruce Wayne).

So if there’s anything I want Hollywood to be taking away from this movie, it’s that even hyper-masculine leads could be doing something so much more affecting, emotional, and enthralling en route to all the action you could want. To put it in crass commercial terms, if N.T. Rama Rao Jr. was doing all this in a Marvel film, the audience would lose their damn mind… oh god, even saying this I feel like I’ve unlocked some horrible pandoric possibility. I’m just making a point about vulnerable acting! I don’t want that specifically! And moreover, I want to get to…

The Real Lesson - Because even saying all this, I’m deeply aware I’m probably just scratching the surface or getting a lot wrong. But I know that. And in wanting to talk about the joy of discovery, the real lesson is that I just wanted to use this space as a spoiler-free springboard to 1) get you to watch the film with an open heart and then 2) read people who actually know what they’re talking about. Siddhant Adlakha’s piece covers all of this and goes into further details on the events of the film  and also wrote about the film’s big dance sequence. Or come to understand why, when the movie was playing fast and loose with history, there was still concern about the Bheem character wearing a skull cap. Or take it as an opportunity to go deeper on the film’s mythological themes. Whatever it is, I feel like I’m still just getting started. Not just with this movie, but so many other films that modern Indian Cinema is putting out and my list is growing by the second. But that’s perhaps the best thing about loving a film like RRR. When you come to love a thing, they’re not just movies, they’re invitations to enjoy more.

Even if you’re still learning how to eat them.

<3HULK