Before Baahubali: The Beginning (2015), the term ‘Pan India film’ did not exist in film media or audience language. By 2024, every big film across languages is being touted as one. Only a few will actually work outside their home market. The answer to why lies in studying the filmmaker who invented the model.
What makes a pan-India film work better than another? Starcast, scale, spectacle, and franchise are the obvious answers. But not every pan-India attempt with these elements has worked. The films of S S Rajamouli — from whose franchise the idea originated — offer a more precise answer.
Before Baahubali, several Rajamouli films had already travelled across languages — Eega as a dubbed version, Vikramarkudu and Maryada Ramanna as remakes. Magadheera and Yamadonga have rated well across Hindi satellite airings for years. Rajamouli is, by any measure, the most successful pan-India filmmaker India has produced.
None of the five techniques below may seem ‘pan-India’ in concept on first glance. But for a film to appeal across languages and cultures, these methods bring universality to storytelling — driving audience engagement at the most fundamental level.
Five Elements That Create Universal Appeal
In Rajamouli’s films, character traits — especially for lead characters — are established well before they become relevant to the story. The audience is never asked to take a leap of faith.
Nani’s character is established as intelligent and street-smart early in the film — we see him solve seemingly impossible problems. Because we’ve already seen this, we never question how a housefly could do what he does after reincarnation. Similarly, the lead actress is a specialist in micro design, a profession that naturally enables her to see and communicate with the housefly.
Shiva has already climbed the waterfall and lifted the massive Shivling alone before we need to believe he can fight an army single-handedly. The credibility is pre-loaded — not assumed.
A new audience — unfamiliar with the star — accepts the character because the film has already proved what this person can do. No star recognition required.
Every director has a signature shot — a visual shorthand that recurs across their work. For Rajamouli, it is a specific action: a foot placed forward. Characters literally take a step when crossing the point of no return.
Sivaji (Prabhas) must cross the ‘Laxman Rekha’ to save an injured child. This crossing means he is openly revolting against the gang he has been avoiding. One step forward. Everything changes.
The same visual grammar — characters stepping into commitment, into sacrifice, into irreversible consequence — appears throughout the film’s major turning points.
A physical action communicates across language barriers in a way that dialogue cannot. The audience understands the weight of the moment through the body, not the subtitle.
Most films have a three-act structure overall. Rajamouli applies a beginning, middle, and end to every major plot point — creating a rollercoaster that generates applause moments every 10–15 minutes regardless of who is watching.
Ranadev plots to marry Princess Indu → he challenges Bhairava to a chariot race → Bhairava defeats him. Each beat has its own setup, conflict, and resolution.
Shiva fails to climb the waterfall → he lifts the Shivling → he manages to climb the waterfall. Three acts within what is functionally a single scene.
Sivagami must ensure the procession continues → an elephant creates chaos → Mahendra Baahubali pacifies the elephant and saves Sivagami. Setup, complication, resolution.
Audiences don’t need to recognise the actors to feel the rhythm. The structural satisfaction is universal — it works on first-time viewers and familiar fans equally.
The interval is a unique challenge in Indian cinema — the filmmaker must divide the story into two parts while keeping the audience eager to return. Rajamouli’s solution is consistent: plant a flashback mystery before the interval that can only be resolved in the second half.
Just before interval, Simhadri is fighting to protect a girl who has lost her memory. When she regains it — she stabs him. The why and how of this act is the entire second half.
Sathi Babu is saved by his look-alike — a cop named Vikram Rathore. The introduction of the look-alike creates an immediate question that a flashback in the second half will answer.
An unanswered question is a universal hook. No cultural context required — the audience simply wants to know what happens next.
Instead of using action purely for adrenaline, Rajamouli uses action to deliver emotion. The fight is not the point — what is at stake emotionally is the point.
Simhadri arrives to face Bala Nair’s men. Before the fight begins, he pauses to quench a child’s thirst. The action audience waits — and in that wait, the character’s values are communicated without a single line of dialogue.
Bhairava has sworn off marriage to protect his country. He defeats Sher Khan’s 100 warriors — but both he and Princess Indu lose their lives in the process. The victory is hollow. The emotion is grief. The action scene ends in loss, not triumph.
Emotion is language-neutral. An audience that cannot follow the dialogue can still feel what is at stake — because the action itself communicates the stakes.
These techniques are clever and formulaic in equal measure. They form the levers that give a film universal appeal — and have made S S Rajamouli the most successful pan-India filmmaker India has produced.
The lesson for anyone building content for broad audiences is not to copy Rajamouli’s stories. It is to understand why his films work at a structural level — and to apply those principles in their own language, with their own characters, in their own context.