It’s a tad disheartening when even in a story that has an educated, independent woman at its heart, you need to have her be rescued from a fabricated situation, and later, have a song, in which you get her gaze helplessly at the alpha male.
Rajamouli is a masala filmmaker of the highest calibre. Time and again, he makes you wait for the moments of heroism—for the crests—and even though you know they are coming at you, you can’t help but be blown away when they do.
Today, when I walk on the sets of my films, I sometimes hear assistant directors talking about me with the same reverence I had for other directors. It’s a great joy.