Celluloid Empires and Subaltern Silence: A Postcolonial Critique of Global and Mainstream Cinema

 

From Reel Heroes to Real Resistance: Reimagining Tribal Struggles in RRR

When cinema remembers the hero but forgets the struggle

Introduction: When History Enters the Cinema

Popular cinema is rarely “just entertainment.” Films do not merely reproduce history; they select particular events, characters and emotions and transform them into stories that audiences can easily understand and remember. In this process, cinema can influence how we think about colonialism, nationalism, resistance and even marginalised communities. S. S. Rajamouli’s RRR (2022) is a striking example. With its spectacular action sequences, emotional friendship and larger-than-life heroes, the film transforms two historical figures, Alluri Sitarama Raju and Komaram Bheem, into symbols of resistance against British colonialism.

At first glance, RRR appears to offer a powerful anti-colonial narrative. The British are presented as oppressive rulers, while the Indian protagonists represent courage, sacrifice and freedom. Yet, when we look at the film through a postcolonial lens, a more complicated picture emerges. The question is not simply whether RRR celebrates resistance. The more important question is: what happens when the resistance of tribal communities is transformed into a mainstream nationalist story?

This question becomes especially significant in relation to Dilip Barad’s article, “Reimagining Resistance: The Appropriation of Tribal Heroes in Rajamouli’s RRR.” The article examines how RRR reimagines the historical identities of Raju and Bheem and incorporates their stories into a larger narrative of Indian nationalism. This approach allows us to understand both the possibilities and limitations of representing subaltern resistance through popular cinema.

The Tribal Hero on the Mainstream Screen

One of the most powerful aspects of RRR is the way it brings Komaram Bheem and Alluri Sitarama Raju into mainstream popular culture. Bheem is not presented as a passive victim of colonialism. Instead, he is physically powerful, emotionally determined and deeply connected to his community. His journey to rescue Malli becomes a symbolic struggle against colonial authority.

Similarly, Raju is initially shown as an officer working within the colonial police system, but his character eventually reveals his revolutionary identity. The film brings the two characters together through an invented friendship, transforming their individual histories into a shared narrative of resistance.

This cinematic decision is highly effective. It gives audiences a simple emotional structure: two Indian heroes unite against British oppression. The historical complexity of tribal resistance is therefore converted into an easily understandable story of national unity.

However, this is precisely where the issue of appropriation begins.

When Tribal Resistance Becomes Nationalist Resistance

Barad’s argument becomes important because the historical struggles associated with Bheem and Raju were not simply struggles against “the British” in an abstract sense. They were connected to concrete questions concerning land, forests, community rights and the control of natural resources.

By placing these figures primarily within a larger anti-colonial nationalist narrative, RRR gives their struggles a new meaning. Their tribal identities remain visible, but their specific political histories become less central.

This does not necessarily mean that the film is disrespectful to tribal communities. In fact, the opposite can be argued. RRR gives tribal heroes an enormous cultural platform and introduces their names to audiences who may never have encountered them in history textbooks. Nevertheless, representation always involves selection. When a marginalised figure is represented by mainstream cinema, we need to ask which aspects of that figure's history are being remembered and which are being left behind.

This is where the postcolonial concept of appropriation becomes useful. The film takes a history of resistance rooted in particular tribal experiences and reshapes it according to the requirements of commercial cinema and nationalism. The tribal hero becomes a national hero.

The transformation is powerful, but it is also politically significant.

From Colonial Exploitation to Contemporary Environmental Struggles

The most interesting way to extend Barad’s argument is to connect RRR with contemporary struggles over land, forests and natural resources. If Bheem's historical identity is connected with resistance to the control and exploitation of tribal territories, then his story should make us think about communities who continue to face similar questions today.

The Ken-Betwa River Linking Project provides an important example. The project has been presented by the Indian government as a major development initiative intended to improve irrigation and water availability. At the same time, concerns have been raised regarding displacement, rehabilitation and environmental consequences for communities living in the affected areas.

This creates an interesting contrast with RRR. In the film, Bheem becomes a hero because he refuses to surrender when his community is threatened. In contemporary India, however, communities continue to negotiate and protest over questions of land, water, forests and displacement.

The comparison should not be understood as saying that every contemporary development project is equivalent to British colonialism. That would be an oversimplification. Instead, the postcolonial perspective encourages us to ask a deeper question: who has the power to decide how land and natural resources should be used, and whose voices are heard in that decision-making process?

The same question makes RRR relevant beyond the colonial period.

Ladakh, Manipur and the Continuing Question of Representation

Contemporary movements in Ladakh also demonstrate the continuing importance of political representation, identity and control over local resources. The demands for greater political safeguards and constitutional protection reflect concerns about how local communities can protect their distinctive social, cultural and environmental interests.

Similarly, the situation in Manipur demonstrates how questions of identity, territory, political power and community security can become deeply contested. The violence and displacement experienced by communities there remind us that real-world resistance cannot be reduced to the clear hero-versus-villain structure that popular cinema often prefers.

This is perhaps the biggest difference between cinematic resistance and actual resistance. In RRR, resistance is spectacular. It has dramatic speeches, extraordinary physical strength and heroic victories. Real resistance, however, is often much quieter and more difficult. It can involve protests, negotiations, legal battles, displacement, uncertainty and years of struggle.

Cinema gives resistance a face. Postcolonial criticism asks us to look beyond that face.

Can RRR Speak for the Subaltern?

This question can also be connected to Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak’s idea of the subaltern. Spivak's famous question, “Can the Subaltern Speak?”, asks us to consider what happens when marginalised people are represented through dominant structures rather than speaking for themselves.

In RRR, Bheem is certainly given a powerful presence. He is not invisible. But his story is still being constructed by a mainstream filmmaker for a mass audience. Therefore, we need to distinguish between giving someone representation and allowing someone control over their representation.

This distinction is crucial.

A film may celebrate a tribal hero while simultaneously simplifying the political history of the community that produced that hero. Consequently, watching RRR critically does not require us to reject the film. Instead, it encourages us to watch it with greater awareness.

We can enjoy the spectacular storytelling while asking what lies beneath the spectacle.

Why the Film Still Matters

Despite these limitations, RRR performs an important cultural function. It makes audiences interested in historical figures who have not always occupied the centre of mainstream popular culture. It also challenges the colonial image of Indians as passive subjects by portraying resistance as powerful, courageous and emotionally compelling.

The problem is not that RRR tells a fictionalised story. Historical cinema has always transformed reality. The problem begins when audiences mistake cinematic representation for complete historical truth.

Therefore, RRR should be read as a reinterpretation of history rather than a replacement for history.

Its greatest value may actually lie in the questions it creates. After watching the film, we can move beyond the fictional friendship of Raju and Bheem and investigate the actual histories of tribal resistance. We can ask what happened to the communities they represented and whether struggles over land, forests and resources have really disappeared.

Conclusion: Beyond the Hero

RRR gives us spectacular heroes, but postcolonial criticism asks us to look beyond the hero. The film's representation of Komaram Bheem and Alluri Sitarama Raju demonstrates the enormous power of cinema to bring forgotten histories into popular consciousness. At the same time, Barad's critique reminds us that this process can also transform specific tribal struggles into broader nationalist mythology.

Connecting RRR with contemporary struggles in Ken-Betwa, Ladakh and Manipur makes the discussion even more relevant. These struggles remind us that postcolonialism is not simply about remembering the end of British rule. It is about examining who possesses power, who controls resources, who gets represented and who gets heard.

Perhaps, therefore, the most important lesson of RRR is not simply that tribal heroes fought against colonialism. It is that resistance has a history, but it also has a present.

The real challenge for us as viewers is to move beyond celebrating the cinematic hero and listen to the communities whose struggles continue after the credits roll. If cinema can make us remember the hero, postcolonial criticism should make us remember the people behind the hero.