MASS WEAPONS USED IN TELUGU CINEMA

 

In Telugu cinema, weapons tell their own tale, defining the cause for which the hero battles and for whom he stands up.

In Baahubali: The Conclusion, Amarendra Baahubali and Kattappa, arguably one of the greatest tag-team partners in cinematic battlefields (before Kattappa stabbed Baahubali), have a fondness for swords.On several occasions, Baahubali asks his mother (uncle) to get his aayudham (weapon), which they share. The sword is a sign of their shared confidence and belief, and it binds them together. Director SS Rajamouli emphasises the single line, "Mama, Aayudham (Uncle, weapon!)" on at least three occasions, which explains why the betrayal near the end of the film feels so overwhelming.

The sword in Baahubali symbolises both trust and deception, and it takes on a life of its own. This, however, is not a random example in Telugu cinema. In an effort to elevate the hero to a mythical figure, Telugu filmmakers have often stocked the hero's arsenal with a variety of weapons, depending on whether he is a working class hero or a man of the people.

This is seen in RGV's Shiva, where Shiva (Nagarjuna) takes out a cycle chain (and makes it look like child's play) to blast Bhavani's goons. This starts in the cycle stand at their college. Since most of these students are not wealthy enough to own a bike or a car, the revolution starts in their own backyard, if one can call it that. In today's culture, the cycle chain has become a symbol of student opposition to crime and anti-social elements

It's easy to see why the sickle is one of the most common weapons in Telugu films. The tool has a long history of agriculture, and when a storey focuses on an agrarian crisis or a village uprising, it almost becomes a de facto option. Then there's the axe, which is used to chop wood. In the possession of a faction leader who doesn't mind being drenched in blood, it becomes a potent weapon for chopping off the heads of his opponents. The working class was portrayed by arms such as sickles and axes, while Telugu cinema centred on rural issues, especially the exploitation of peasants by feudal lords and upper castes. It is seen as a necessary evil for them to be smeared in blood in order to restore society's harmony. After all, there aren't enough gods who have abstained from using weapons for the greater good of mankind. So, why should a hero in a Masala film do that? What's up with that? Is that correct?

This pattern becomes interesting and, if I may say so, complicated when filmmakers concentrate on urban-centric tales. Sickles and axes are inappropriate in such a situation. As a result, heroes are armed with firearms. As Neo would say, there are a lot of weapons in 'The Matrix.' Guns with an endless supply of ammunition. You share guns the size of a vehicle. With a Contessa, you can have weapons the size of a car. Some also went a step further and used a Gatling gun as well as a variety of machine guns, including the AK47. The smoke coming from the nozzle after shooting a round of bullets adds the extra zing to the hero's slo-mo walk. And if you're Rocky from KGF 2, the machine gun can get hot enough to light up.

Guns, on the other hand, are tedious. They don't have any feelings attached to them. They don't reflect something that might irritate a sensitive nerve. As a result, we have a unique pattern of heroes using designer-wear weapons: weapons with a lot of carvings, crafted for impact. It's now something they stand for. These weapons turn into weapons of mass destruction in the right hands, at the right time, because the hero's rage and anger, along with hot lava and iron, have been funnelled into them. Take, for example, this scene from Simhadri, in which the hero wants to put an end to the crimes of a Kerala gang. At the end of his killing spree, he takes up an iron-axe smith's and drowns in the blood of those henchmen, and it is only then that he calms down. As a result, he becomes Lord Narasimha's incarnation.

Or consider this scene from Balakrishna's Starry Legend, in which the weapon of his choice is seen as a sign of anger and masculinity.

In Rajamouli's Magadheera, the hero discovers his sword, which has defied the ravages of time for over 400 years, and destroys the reincarnated version of his ancient nemesis. Like a hero whose clan is known for killing at least 100 people, the sword has tasted blood once more and completed its mission.

Another fascinating theme in Telugu cinema that has become a recurrent trope is the hero from a city going to a village in search of his roots. As a result, he discovers his calling and develops superpowers when he touches an agrarian weapon such as a sickle or an axe before going on a killing spree and weeding out the unwanted and invasive organisms in the fertile land. Finally, he feels as though he 'belongs' there. As a result, he can be at ease because he has finally restored peace.

Filmmakers eventually borrowed elements from stylized action choreographed by Asian martial artists, such as action choreographers based in Thailand, Vietnam, and Hong Kong, where anything can be transformed into a weapon in the vicinity. You'll recognise this if anyone substitutes a wet towel for the nunchaku or a paperweight in a boulder-sized weapon.

In either case, in the absence of a weapon of any kind, the hero becomes a weapon himself, always ready to avenge something. If you still don't get it, the writers will smuggle in a few lines praising the razor-sharp paws, the ferocious energy exuded while huffing, or even the cheetah-like raw running strength that will undoubtedly turn his prey into gazelles. If you've noticed, the hero is sometimes referred to as 'katthi-lanti kurrodu,' which translates to 'a sword like a man.' When he lands a punch, the villains have no choice but to puke blood, and when he breaks the bones, the punch sounds like metal colliding with the fragile bones. Anything we do to make a hero seem larger than life...