Cinema purists would consider it a crime for the connection that I am making through this post.
Robert Bresson, the visionary French filmmaker, revolutionized cinema with his unique approach to performance. If you watch “A Man Escaped” or “Pickpocket,” you’ll be struck by their stark beauty, deliberate pacing, and most importantly, the raw authenticity of their performances. There’s something profoundly different about how people exist in Bresson’s frames — they don’t seem to be acting at all.
This wasn’t accidental. Bresson had a radical philosophy about performance that challenged everything we think we know about acting. “Actors don’t lack naturalness,” he famously declared. “It is a skill they learn at theater. What they lack is nature.” Think about this statement for a moment. He’s suggesting that the very training actors receive to appear natural actually distances them from their true nature.
Bresson didn’t want actors; he wanted what he called “models” — people who could simply be, rather than perform. “My raw material is not the actor,” he insisted, “it is the person.” He sought individuals who could reveal their true essence rather than hide behind theatrical technique, no matter how refined that technique might be.
So here’s an intriguing question: If Bresson were making films in India today, which actor would he choose?
The immediate answers might seem obvious. Naseeruddin Shah, with his masterful naturalism? Irrfan Khan, who could disappear into characters? Mohanlal, who could convey volumes through minimal expression? Kamal Hassan, who’s renowned for his technical perfection?
But Bresson would likely reject them all. Why? Because these brilliant performers have mastered the art of appearing natural — exactly what Bresson wasn’t looking for. He wanted the actor’s true nature itself, not its artistic representation.
You might be wondering, then who?
Let me suggest a name that might shock you at first. An actor who seems to represent everything Bresson opposed — stylized gestures, histrionics, larger-than-life presence.
Rajinikanth.
Before you dismiss this as provocative contrarianism, let me explain.
Watch any public appearance of Rajinikanth. He’s probably the only major Indian star who appears without makeup, without a wig, completely comfortable in his aging skin. While his contemporaries — Amitabh Bachchan, Kamal Hassan, Shah Rukh Khan — maintain their screen persona even off-screen, Rajinikanth reveals himself exactly as he is.
His true nature shines through in everything he does. Remember that explosive press conference where he took on the then CM J. Jayalalitha? Or that Darbar audio launch where he openly shared how he took a vow after a powerful producer once humiliated him and how he went on fulfill that vow.
Even in his early work, like Mullum Malarum, you see this authenticity at play. He portrayed a funicular driver with dark shades to his personality — drinking, smoking, showing moral ambiguity. This was revolutionary for its time, when Tamil cinema heroes were squeaky clean. What made it work wasn’t just the character’s edginess; it was Rajinikanth’s minimalistic performance style, free from the melodramatic excesses of that era.
Look closely at his most powerful scenes. That explosive interval block in Annamalai? It’s not acted intensity; it’s channeled from his real-life experiences of standing up to powers such as Jayalalitha. The iconic “Kabalida” moment in Kabali? It’s not just dialogue delivery; it’s that young actor who wanted to take revenge on the film producer who insulted him.
His famous line “En Vazhi, thani vazhi” (My path is a unique path) isn’t just dialogue; it’s a testament to his authentic presence in an industry built on artifice. The theater erupts every time he appears on screen not just because of his star power, but because audiences recognize truth when they see it.
Yes, there are valid counterarguments. His later films often veer into exaggerated territory. The styles and mannerisms can seem repetitive. But beneath all that lies an actor who’s fundamentally true to his nature. His performances work not because of technical perfection, but because of authentic presence.
If Bresson were making a film in India about an underdog challenging power structures (a theme both artists explored), wouldn’t he be intrigued by this man who brings his real-life boldness, humility, and charisma to every role? A man who, despite his larger-than-life screen presence, remains unafraid to show his true self to the world?
The comparison might seem paradoxical, but cinema often reveals its deepest truths through such unexpected connections. In an industry where most actors perfect the art of seeming natural, Rajinikanth simply is. And that, perhaps, would have been enough for Bresson.
The comparison might seem far-fetched, but cinema often reveals its deepest truths through such unexpected connections. Bresson’s pursuit of authentic presence and Rajinikanth’s natural charisma are two different paths leading to the same destination — truth on screen.
After all, he wasn’t looking for the perfect actor. He was looking for the authentic person. And in Indian cinema, there’s no one more authentically themselves than Rajinikanth.
In an industry where most actors perfect the art of seeming natural, Rajinikanth simply is.
And isn’t that what Bresson was looking for all along?
