On August 15, I watched Lokesh Kanagaraj’s Rajinikanth starrer Coolie at one of Chennai’s most celebrated theatres, Rohini Silver Screens at Koyambedu. A growing crowd relentlessly bustled around the entrance, waiting impatiently to be let in, despite a new show starting every twenty minutes. Beside the cutouts from the Superstar’s blockbusters was Narayanan, a self-proclaimed die-hard Rajini fan, who went viral in 2023 for his witty and catchy post-screening theatre responses. He was kind enough to speak to me and all the young folks who buzzed around him, even granting our selfie requests. By the second day of release, he had apparently already watched Coolie seven times, as he was preparing to watch the movie forty-nine times in the first week. His dedication to Rajinikanth epitomised M. Madhava Prasad’s description of the darsanic gaze in Indian mass cinema, akin to viewing a deity. First-day-first-show (FDFS) screenings, fan screenings, and the practice of pouring milk over huge cutouts of a star are part of the ecstatic commercial cinematic experience in India. Though an alternative non-darsanic gaze has always existed alongside, commercial Indian films featuring big names have consistently carried a religious allure. Beyond attention, they demand the viewer’s loyalty and devotion. Cinema in India, as Wim Wenders noted during his recent visit to the country, is indeed a religion.
But the excitement dwindled once the film started. Except for some sparse moments, the film largely indulged in its own complexities, failing to engage with the audience. I recalled attending the yearly re-releases of ‘Thalapathy’ Vijay’s movies in July this year, which comprised some of my greatest theatre experiences. The star-ensemble shtick could not weave into the narrative, and like many films today, Coolie too ultimately had to resuscitate the ‘old’ Rajini with anti-aging technology, AI voice filters, and a vintage grain overlay that minimally spiked the thrill, yet was ultimately underwhelming (not to forget the film negative effect from Baasha). The storyline, like most blockbuster films, has been in circulation for ages, but the execution relied excessively on an irretrievable past, indicating a poverty of originality. This corresponds to the creative block plaguing global art and culture for long, as Simon Reynolds argued in his 2011 work Retromania: Pop Culture’s Addiction to Its Own Past. From reunions of classic bands to the endless tide of film sequels and the surge in retro fashion, looking forward has automatically become, as Fred Davis described, “looking back” in time. In the context of contemporary hip-hop, renowned video essayist and hip-hop scholar FD Signifier decried how despite the increasing production of ‘original art’, there is a decline in ‘original culture’. This decline in new, dynamic imaginations has led to a regurgitative, autocannibalistic fetishisation of the past. Indian ‘mass’ cinema suffers greatly in this regard, with the additional crisis of aging stardom. Year after year, new films of the same aging male stars produce predictable narratives of nostalgic glorification. Film viewing has thus become essentially retroactive, and inevitably unengaging.
Fanboy Sambavam
Indian cinema has struggled with declining footfall in theatres and the relevance of the film material itself, given the popularity of OTT platforms, web series, and short-form content. The quality of mainstream cinema itself has long been contested, but South Indian films have often been excused in this regard. Films from Kerala and Tamil Nadu have generally been lauded for their original, nuanced, and engaging storylines. Yet the persistence of the past haunts these film industries too, especially with an aging and fading star culture. Here, the up-and-coming ‘fanboy sambavam’ genre becomes relevant.
‘Fanboy sambavam’ is a term that has gained popularity in Malayalam and Tamil film fanbases. Sambavam means ‘incident’ in both languages, but also ‘spectacle’ in colloquial usage. Preceded by fanboy, the term denotes a category of films made by directors who are fans of a particular star and intended for an entire population of fans, through a self-referential celebration of the actor. Films catering to particular fanbases have always existed, but this term has emerged as a new way to compliment or critique how films enhance an actor’s ‘star status’. Furthermore, read against the context of an aging star crisis, recent films of this category—with their superfluous references to an actor’s past characters—indicate a problematic dependency on nostalgia.
‘Fanboy sambavam’ movies employ the ‘aura’ of the star, rekindled through references to their older characters. From the introductory title card, it follows in costumes, dialogue, music, and plot. The iconic ‘Super Star Rajni’ title card from Suresh Krissna’s 1992 classic Annamalai, with its unforgettable title track, works like a charm in every show and every theatre. Other stars have developed their own epithets and title cards over the years. They spark the excitement and charisma that typify these movies, but over time, they wear off with diminishing imagination in storytelling. This is evident with the increasing use of anti-aging technology and AI to recreate the star’s past, essentially disallowing them to age. Recent Tamil ‘star’ films overtly fetishise the past by constantly regurgitating nostalgic tidbits to spike the audience’s excitement. This tendency to keep producing such ‘fan service’ films exhibits a desperate demand to eternalise male actors who are inevitably aging amid a declining star culture. The phrase Thalaivar nirantharam (Thalaivar forever), popularised by the song “Hukum” from Rajini’s Jailer (2023), depicts exactly this.
Stefano Baschiera and Elena Caoduro’s paper on nostalgia in film discusses ‘faux-vintage’ and ‘retro’ techniques as means to visualise and fetishise the past. ‘Faux-vintage’ refers to the imitation of a ‘vintage’ medium (in this case cinema), while ‘retro’ denotes the fetishisation of the past by recreating it in the profilmic. Both aspects, according to Elizabeth Guffey, can at best engage critically with the past and at worst reproduce unnuanced and problematic representations. Fanboy sambavam movies are relevant in this regard.
A relatively recent term, ideas around it depend heavily on speculations in social media film circles. Several netizens trace the genre’s genesis in older Tamil films like Vettaiyaadu Vilaiyaadu (2006) or Malayalam films like Big B (2007) and Sagar Alias Jacky: Reloaded (2009). Mohanlal’s titular character in Sagar Alias Jacky was resurrected from Irupatham Noottandu (1987). A remake of the song “Chettikkulangara” from Sindhu (1975) was remixed to introduce Mohanlal in Chotta Mumbai, dressed in vintage disco attire. Catchphrases were also intertextually referenced across decades, like Mohanlal’s iconic “Narcotics is a dirty business” from Irupatham Noottandu, appearing in Sagar Alias Jacky and Lucifer (2019), across time, storylines, and characters. Though these films may not be regarded as part of the genre, they share the key feature of superimposing the star over the character.
Tamil cinema has a more visible history of the genre. In fact, the term originated in Tamil film circles to classify movies like Petta (2019), Vikram (2022), and more recently Good Bad Ugly or GBU (2025). These films feature the industry’s biggest names, directed by filmmakers who identify as ‘fans’ of the respective actor. The film thus becomes a tribute to the star and a service to the fans. This connects to the unique stardom and fandom culture in Tamil cinema, where stars are endearingly addressed with epithets like:
| Thalaivar/Superstar | Chief | Rajinikanth |
| (Ilaya) Thalapathy | (Young) Commander | Vijay |
| Thala | Head/Leader | Ajith |
| Ulaga Nayakan/Aandavar | Universal Star/Lord | Kamal Haasan |
| Captain | – | Vijayakanth |
These epithets are deeply encoded and referenced throughout the films. They behave self-referentially, through constant allusions to the easily recognisable and culturally prized elements of the star’s filmography.
Narrative Tropes and Self-Referentiality
Movies of the genre struggle between aging and youth within the same actor. The reality of the actor’s aging is juxtaposed with a need to present them as young, while also maintaining the virile and hypermasculine image of the aging star intact. Endless permutations of the same story are produced as a result. The trope of a peaceful man hiding a violent past that he is required by circumstances to resuscitate—perhaps solidified by Baasha (1995)—is the template into which films like Karthik Subbaraj’s Petta, Nelson Dilipkumar’s Jailer, Adhik Ravichandran’s GBU, and Lokesh Kanagaraj’s Vikram, Leo (2023), and Coolie (2025) can all fit. All prominent male stars, aged over fifty, are frozen in time on screen, their virility and machismo intact. Time only moves backwards for them, through flashbacks and anti-aging effects. The deluge of references to past films, combined with narrative repetition, produces an untenable network of predictable and formulaic movies obsessed with nostalgia.
Adhik Ravichandran’s Good Bad Ugly (GBU), starring ‘Thala’ Ajith, was an unabashed and extreme example of the fanboy sambavam genre. Though subject to mixed reception, what stood out about the movie was its unbridled and logic-defying celebration of its star. GBU showcased a saturating extent of explicit references to Ajith’s earlier hits, with absolutely no separation between the star and the character. Extensive use of CGI and anti-aging technology facilitated references to multiple past characters from iconic films like Dheena (2001), Billa (2007), and Mankatha (2011). Even the term sambavam was referenced in the song “OG Sambavam,” as the film positioned itself firmly within the genre like never before.
References were not restricted to Ajith’s filmography but extended to other global action films like Kill Bill, the John Wick franchise, and more. This follows the references to the American TV series Breaking Bad in Coolie. Not to forget, films also frequently reference trending social media content, with viral phrases like irungu bhai featuring in GBU and Coolie, making them meta-referential on cinema and larger media—yet often without nuance or invention.
Anti-Aging and the Virility of the Aging Star
Sudha G. Tilak’s review of Thug Life (2025) explored how fixating on the aging male star’s virility, against a widening age gap between male and female leads, complicates the experience of on-screen intimacy, often leaving behind a bad taste. There is an incessant fixation with eternalising the male hero to produce an insurmountable dopamine rush within the audience. In this project, female co-stars remain static in their age, as they are deftly excluded from the hero’s flashback sequences or appear only in either the present or the past, and hence are not required to be anti-aged.
Additionally, most fetishised references to the past are problematic in being grossly misogynistic, homophobic, casteist, or classist. Many of these films, often restored and re-released, offer thrilling theatre experiences, along with the embarrassment of reliving horribly outdated cinematic representations. The persistent invocation of nostalgia in this way can only indicate a flawed understanding of the past and a contempt for change and creativity.
In this context, the increasing reliance on anti-aging and AI technology for flashback scenes not only creates predictable storylines but also eternalises aspects of the past that were perhaps best abandoned. What is left behind is a hollow display of manufactured virility and male violence aided by technology, which eventually wears off without emotional depth.
Apart from eternalising living older stars, attempts have also been made to resurrect dead artists. Venkat Prabhu’s The Greatest of All Time (2024), starring Vijay, was condemned by critics and fans alike for its flawed anti-aging scenes. Besides an anti-aged version of Vijay, a CGI version of the late actor Vijayakanth, nearly a year after his passing, was also featured. Similarly, recent AI vocal reconstructions of late playback singers Bamba Bakya, Shahul Hameed, and Malaysia Vasudevan by musicians like A. R. Rahman and Anirudh Ravichander have sparked controversy among Tamil audiences. These attempts to ‘preserve’ cinematic heritage reveal the increasing need to access the past.
Contrarily, the past is also being rewritten. Recently, Raanjhanaa (2013) was re-released with an altered, AI-modified “happy ending,” against the will of director Aanand L. Rai. Similarly, NeuralGarage, the Indian AI firm that produced AI-altered lip-sync versions of the song Chikitu from Coolie, announced plans for “identity switches” and “auto-tune for expressions” to help directors manipulate actors’ facial expressions in post-production. These events raise serious concerns not just about artistic authenticity but also about how we perceive time and performance within film production.
The Nostalgia Fetish and a Crisis in Modernity
The past becomes a failed protagonist in Karthik Subbaraj’s Retro (2025). Through a stylised visualisation of vintage cars and fashion, as well as a homage to Rajinikanth’s look in Johnny (1980) and a remix of the song Señorita, Retro fixates on nostalgia. This tendency of stylising and referencing ‘vintage’ aesthetics signifies a crisis in modernity, according to Katharina Niemeyer, as the past is glorified uncritically.
Keeping aside the few ‘fanboy sambavam’ movies released every year, a fair share of Tamil and Malayalam movies can boast diverse and original approaches to storytelling. Tamil filmmakers like Vetrimaaran, Pa. Ranjith, and Mari Selvaraj notably feature the past with criticality. Ranjith’s Thangalaan (2024) and Selvaraj’s Vaazhai (2024) are recent examples of critical and skilful engagements with the past without fetishising it. They subvert the darsanic gaze by amplifying subaltern voices.
The past has also been dexterously revisited in the films of Kanagaraj and Subbaraj through the use of classic Tamil songs in their films, especially in unsuspecting yet perfectly fitting action sequences. Karthik Subbaraj’s frequent reference to Malarndhum Malaratha from Pasamalar (1961) in his movies is an example of keeping the past alive creatively and stylising it too, without fetishising. But this too has quickly become a trope that increasingly fails to surprise or thrill the audience.
This genre is not exclusive to Tamil cinema. Telugu and Malayalam cinema also share a long history of fan-service movies. Films of this kind are equally and deeply tied to the contradictions of a star’s off-screen aging and on-screen youth, power, and virility. Malayalam cinema, favoured nationally and internationally for innovative representations, is nevertheless troubled by a declining star culture.
This crisis is perhaps most discernible in the way Mohanlal’s films have been received over the last decade. His famous transformation for Odiyan (2018), reportedly losing 18 kgs along with alleged facial fat-loss treatment, controversially split audiences. They have since been longing for the ‘OG Lalettan,’ usually identified with the pre-Odiyan period. Though setbacks in his recent filmography have been largely attributed to poor script choices, they also pertain to the distance between the ‘present’ Mohanlal and the ‘OG Lalettan.’
Efforts to bridge the gap are evident in his latest films, always surrounded by discussions on whether the ‘old’ Mohanlal is ‘back’ or not. Tharun Moorthy’s Thudarum (2025) is an important example, with multiple allusions not just to Mohanlal’s past, but to the past itself. The incessant references to catchphrases, AI-generated images of young Mohanlal and Shobhana, Mohanlal’s vintage Ambassador car, and a storyline reminiscent of hits like Pulimurugan (2016) and Drishyam (2022), all produce an experience that relies too much on nostalgia for its own good. Thudarum ends intriguingly with Mohanlal’s name, next to which the film’s title, meaning ‘continues,’ is placed. Once again, the self-referential need to affirm the star’s position and status is linked with a nostalgic past and a desire to eternalise him.
Conversely, his star-parallel Mammootty has gained attention by reinventing himself through challenging and experimental films with debutant directors. Mammootty becomes an interesting example of how stardom can evade the crisis of repetition, typical of the fanboy sambavam genre.
Conclusion
Nostalgia has always been relevant in cinema. Documentaries, biopics, period dramas, and mythological adaptations have long used the film medium to access the past. Film scholarship on recent Bollywood and Hollywood productions has analysed the creation of historical and mythical narratives, as well as the proliferation of sequels and remakes. These tendencies display a dearth of originality and a perpetual need to revisit the past, which may indicate a crisis in the present and the future.
Tamil and Malayalam cinema have continued to produce robust and engaging narratives, although the enigmatic engagement with nostalgia endures. Fanboy sambavam represents a recent genre of films in Tamil and Malayalam that engage with a cinematic past by fetishising the most recognisable and celebrated aspects of a star’s filmography. This is done mainly through references to past characters and their iconic lines, appearances, or theme songs, and more recently, through anti-aging technology.
These films strive desperately to preserve and reproduce the posterity of their star. Though perhaps helpful in temporarily raising footfall in theatres, they ultimately produce a problematic obsession with a masculine perception of the past without critically engaging with its dated and troubling interactions with gender, caste, and class. Films of the genre increasingly fail to be engaging, as the aura eventually wears off and viewers are left suspended between the old star and his old past, waiting for the plot to finally show up.
