It begins with the title card. (Borrowing Gen Z argot; iykyk)

Jailer uses the original ‘Super Star Rajni’ title card. As the animated credits roll in, fans everywhere break into a frenzy; it’s almost Pavlovian. It transports us back to our youth, to the days of Rajni’s blockbuster hits like Padayappa, or Muthu. It reminds us of simpler times. Of the times when we watched movies for entertainment alone. It’s a reminder of the times when people didn’t overthink, dissect, and analyze each frame through the lens of faux liberal and identity politics. When ‘woke’ simply meant you had gotten up from your bed. And thank God for that. Otherwise, the faux snobbery disguised as intellectualism and critique would have tarred many a legendary Rajni scene as regressive and crude. And the internet vigilantes, the Twitterati (the X-rati, now?) and hashtag activists would have sacrificed the scenes at the altar of the Gods of cancel culture.

For folks not aware, the iconic title card was first used in Suresh Krissna’s 1992 blockbuster – Annamalai. (You can watch it here) The cheering, hooting, whistling, and dancing reaches a crescendo as the blue dots form ‘Super Star’, the letters R-A-J-N-I in gold letters swoosh out, accompanied by Star Wars-like music with people cheering “Hey! Hey!” in the background. (Music director Deva’s contribution to Rajni-verse and eternity.)

We live in a world that’s changing bewilderingly fast, probably more than what we can cope with as humans. The sounds, smells and sights of the streets we grew up in have changed. Everything around us seems unpredictable and increasingly inhospitable. All these changes have made us more anxious because nothing seems familiar anymore. In an increasingly unfamiliar world, Jailer celebrates the familiar. It features vintage Rajni’s style, his hand gestures, cigarette smoking, his knowing sneer, his walk, his unmistakable silhouette, and a familiar story arc. Jailer is as comforting as finding curd rice on a restaurant menu card with exotic dishes you don’t recognize.

With the internet and video platforms most of our viewing is on personal screens and we have no idea what the other person is watching. Hence even the most watched Tiktokers haven’t attained fame or “mainstream stardom” like stars born from the collective viewing experience of cinema. Rajnikant is one of the few last mega stars with cult-like status. He’s probably the only one who doesn’t need to reconcile to realities of the present times and reinvent himself. While watching a Rajni padam, you suspend disbelief and immerse yourself into a collective cinema watching ritual and escape into another world for a few hours. It’s a reminder of the times when we enjoyed a movie without the compulsion to share our feelings, be pressured to write that perfect Instagram caption for validation in the form of likes and shares. 

We are global citizens, so we are told. Steel and glass skyscrapers across the world look the same, office goers dress similarly, almost everywhere.Netflix and Spotify are globalising tastes in films and music. KFCs and McDonalds are doing the same for food. A Rajni padam FDFS (First Day First Show) is when Tamilians unabashedly flaunt their Tamil identities, we don’t flinch to wear a veshti for the screening anywhere in the world. It’s when a normally reticent Tamil cinema goer finds a boisterous ‘Punjabi’ inside him. Rajnikant and Jailer gives us the license to celebrate, erect giant-sized cut-outs, do paal abhishegam, burst crackers at 6 am or dance in front of the cinema screen.

So if you found yourself cheering out loud during Jailer, you are not cheering for Rajnikant, you are probably cheering for yourself.