In the late 1980s and ‘90s and into the ‘00s, the protagonist‘s anguish was the most remarkable feature of Hindi cinema, be it directed towards the system or tradition. In the ‘90s and the ‘00s specifically, many masala films featured a protagonist who felt powerless, restrained by a labyrinthine system, and thus oscillating between dilemmas of duty and morality. Such a character usually had a cynical world view towards the system and is seen in films like Tiranga (1993), Ab tak Chappan 2 (2015), Chandaal (1998), Ansh (2002), Vinashak (1998), Muqabla (1993) etc.

Further, in the context of the ‘80s and the ‘90s, Hindi cinema reproduces the Ram Janmabhoomi mo(ve)ment in its films even as films are critiquing it, mostly by putting a sense of ambiguity in the films (Mishra 533). In practice, the erstwhile Bombay Cinema was not complicit in promoting fundamentalist practices, but rather the films conformed to a set of ‘spectatorial identifications’ with a specific need for a ‘redemptive history’ (ibid). In particular, that history stands against everything deemed demonic (including the Muslims) and against representing other repressed traumas, including Partition. Although this approach went against the secular ideals of Bombay cinema, nevertheless Hindi cinema not only chose to conceal caste relations, oppression and discrimination but also denied acknowledging oppressed-caste consciousness. Therefore, when we see the prevailing oppressor-caste consciousness in Hindi cinema, it cannot be entirely blamed on the Hindutva and Ram Mandir movement. These events in the ‘90s, such as the implication of the Mandal Commission report only pushed the ongoing distrust further.[2] [open endnotes in new window]

With the rise of Hindutva politics in the 1990s, Hindi cinema focused more on the issues and the anguish of an oppressor-caste male cop figure, as a substitute for their collective anguish against rising Other Backward Classes’ (O.B.C.) politics. Thereafter, the oppressor-caste cop protagonist of Hindi cinema can never trust the legal apparatus of the state because it provides him too little and too late support. The character is filled with ultimate moral and professional dilemmas as he serves a state run by diverse (read unruly and corrupt) politicians upon whom he and his co-workers cannot rely. This tension is apparent in films like Shool (1999) and Gangaajal (2003). The cop’s dilemma also comes to a certain kind of conclusion in these films. That is, the cop finally decides to ditch legal procedures, constitutional morality and his professional duties, and to embrace vigilantism, extralegal violence and his social (caste) identity. This might explain why the cops of later films are clear and assertive about their violent means. 

After the 2008 Mumbai attacks, the cop figure received a certain public sympathy against the organized criminals because of resurfacing stories about Mumbai’s underworld’s involvement in terror attacks and the role of specially equipped and trained squads like Mumbai Anti-Terrorism Squad in curbing this nexus. In the news, Vijay Salaskar, a revered encounter specialist in such a squad, and his colleagues Hemant Karkare and Ashok Kamte were killed in action in the 2008 Mumbai attacks and were all awarded Ashok Chakra posthumously. This event not only inspired the figure of the policeman hero in the Hindi cinema to be trigger happy but also set a precedent for the narrative itself to be approving of police violence. In addition, socially and in films, such approval seems to come from a divine authority, producing the myth of the supercop figure.

The supercop genre and myth

As noted by genre theorists like Thomas Schatz, Rick Altman et al, genres are essentially fluid/dynamic constructs which remain in a perpetual state of becoming and develop over time according to audience expectations and wider socio-political implications. Likewise, the masala cop genre in Hindi cinema can also be observed to be in a state of becoming. In this section we will observe how in addition to drawing from popular Hollywood genre cinema, the Indian Masala cop films are influenced by Brahmanical myths alongside narrative tropes from earlier iterations of Hindi commercial cinema like the angry young man of the 70s. 

Such films do not confine themselves to any one myth. Similar to the way the narrative incorporates various genre elements, the cinematic myth of the supercop is also constructed by mixing together various apparently disparate elements. Scripts amalgamate myths from Brahmanical texts alongside narrative tropes such as the angry young man. Furthermore, the myths get superimposed visually, with an overtly stylized action choreography borrowed liberally from U.S action films like The Matrix (1999) trilogy, the Mission Impossible (1996) franchise, and Marvel superhero films. For instance, the cop Singham from the eponymous 2011 film is portrayed as a re-imagination of the myth of Narsimha, an Avatar of Vishnu, while the chants heard in the background during the action sequences are Shaivite. Further, the villain in Singham, as in most other films of the genre, is a local criminal/political figure who has an influence over the area’s jurisdiction like a king, here evoking the myth of Ravana from the Indian epic Ramayana. 

To argue that the supercop is another take on the figure of the angry young man might be valid, but the two tropes also differ from each other. While the angry young man figure from films like Deewar (1975), Zanjeer (1973) etc is a disillusioned male, fueled primarily by childhood trauma, and is overtly secular, the supercop on the other hand does not have a traumatic youth and believes in Brahmanical gods and rituals. In fact, according to the narrative logic of Hindi commercial cinema, that’s why the supercop is not punished in the end. He comes with a divine authority to inflict violence. Or in other words, such violence is justified cinematically through a film’s evoking Brahmanical myths, rituals, chants and icons. 

As noted by scholars like Vijay Mishra, Madhava Prasad, Ashish Rajadakshya et al, the heterogeneous form of Hindi masala cinema is derived from an amalgamation of diverse elements: 

1. Parsi Theatre (from which the narrative structure, the exaggerated form of performance, along with song and  dance sequences were borrowed), 
2. Muslim culture (which provided the usage of poetry, courtly language and figure of the dancer/courtesan among other things), 
3. English melodrama (which provided tropes of love’s longing and loss) and 
4. Brahmanical cultural practices. 

Since the 2010’s, Brahmanical cultural practices such as Puja, Ramlila and other rituals have become a predominant mode of address within commercially successful masala action films.[3] Explicitly presenting these rituals is symptomatic of the predominant subjectivity of the Hindu oppressor castes in the films' content. Since 2014, with the rise of Hindutva politics and evocative claims of Hindu Rashtra by the right-leaning Bharatiya Janata Party, the conflicts between the Oppressor-Caste‘s personal interests and the law have been revoked.[4] In a way, Hindutva ideology now allows the cop to carry out unruly and corrupt actions in cinema with a divine validation. Eamples include the police violence in Singham and the police casually shooting criminals in Policegiri, as discussed in the beginning of the paper. This ideological inflection of police power, visible in society, gets reflected in the portrayal of Oppressor-Caste Cops in masala films, especially through their infliction of police brutality.

With such popular and relevant narrative resources such as the cinematic myths of the angry young man, etc., it is crucial to understand the reason behind also the films’ citing Brahminical myths. For example, in the first extrajudicial killing scene of Policegiri (2013), the protagonist puts a vermilion tilak on his forehead and breaks a coconut and then kills a criminal before a sculpture of a Hindu deity. Here, the dead body drops at the feet of this huge overshadowing figure of the deity to establish its divine acknowledgement and approval. In addition, on the soundtrack throughout the film, any act of ‘purification’ by the police force—be it closing of illegal liquor shops or killing genocidal goons—is accompanied by chants from Geeta in voice off, attributing a divine authorization to characters’ actions. 

Similarly, in Singham, chants from Shiv Tandav Stotram are used as a background score when the protagonist cop, after long having suffered abuse from a local politician, Jayakant Shikre, finally breaks loose and ‘punishes’ the politician’s goons. The act of violence by the police unfolds in broad daylight in a spectacle using slow motion shots and chants in the background. The spectacle depicts his heroic valor, validated through public witness, and gives the character almost divine glory. This violence cannot be legally justified. The narrative offers no psychological pathos behind the violence, it is righteous, normative and ritualistic. It seems god-sent. 

Earlier use of such motifs of divinity to sanction violence occurred in a custodial violence scene in Gangajaal (2003), where a group of policemen pour acid in the criminals’ eyes and refer to it as “holy Gangajaal” (holy water from the Ganges river). Such is the working logic of Brahmanical myths, now found in popular narratives and cinema. The most gruesome and nerve-wracking violence done by an Oppressor Caste protagonist gets morally justified by claiming it as a brand of divine justice. In the battle of good vs evil, the oppressor’s self is authorized to commit horrendous violence and the Oppressed Other is dehumanized and demonized—to the extent that violent oppression is revered as cathartic justice and triumph of virtue. Likewise, the Oppressor Caste supercop is hailed and portrayed as a godsend who eradicates evil. Categories of legal and illegal are suspended to make way for Brahmanical categories of purity vs. pollution or good vs. evil as apparent in repetitive motifs of purification in Gangaajal and in Policegiri.

The supercop’s body

The figure of Hanuman, a monkey god who commands an army, is an interesting anchor here for the sub-genre because the de facto supercop film director Rohit Shetty shares an image for his upcoming Singham Again (2024) on Instagram wherein red muscular Hanuman is shown behind ‘the notorious Simmba’. Evocation of this mythical figure is thus not subtle at all; it is bold and deliberate to signify religiously sanctioned violence, as the myth of Lanka Dahan proves him to be the ultimate Brahmanical agent of first hand chaos and destruction. Such is the case of the infamous right wing organisation Bajrang Dal, named after this deity. This outfit has been marked as a terrorist organisation by Human Rights Watch before the B.J.P. came into power. Notably, the right wing outfits and the masala cop films both use the motif of a Hanuman figure to signify the same tenacity for religious violence. Hindutva’s new iconic images of Hanuman are seen as an intimidating face pasted onto the rear windshield of ‘Hindu’ cars on Indian roads and as an ape with chiseled physique circulating on the Internet like a superhero body. The exaggerated steroid physique is another feature of the supercop figure, something he shares with the superheroes and with the latest versions of Hanuman as well.

Neo Muscular Hanuman, with Jay Shree Ram (Hail Lord Ram) written at the bottom. This image is popularised as a sticker on backs of vehicles around India, more since 2014.	A first look poster of Simmba shared by Rohith Shetty on his instagram account in October 2023. Simmba from Singham again flexes his muscles through his uniform. A muscular Hanuman and police vehicle lights peek  through the background signifying the juxtaposition of Hindu symbols and aggressive masculinity.

Such a physique is mythical even from a human anatomical perspective. On one hand, this sculpted hairless body is argued to produce a kind of democratisation that this metrosexual body can belong to anyone.On the other hand, this grotesque display of unreal musculature produces a mythical and violent Oppressor Caste supercop. In action sequences, it is this mythical body that the camera focuses on for the spectator to identify with and to be in awe of, dehumanising the antagonist ‘Other’.

Further, the body of the supercop and by extension that of the Bollywood star figures becomes crucial. In a recent essay in Jump Cut, Paromita Vohra has shown how the working class male body— sculpted, chiseled and hairless—became a staple in Hindi mainstream cinema from the ‘90s through actors like Salman Khan, Sanjay Dutt etc.. It hascontinued in the new millennium with actors like Varun Dhawan, Hrithik Roshan etc. to the point where such a body became a norm in the industry to signify one’s tenacity towards the job (Vohra). 

Valiant celebration of Hindu iconographies juxtaposed with muscular Hanuman in Singham Again (2024). The second image in the sequence shows Hanuman from a lower angle, flaunting his muscles. This should be read in parallel with the first image sequence of Singham (2011) used in the paper, where a similar lower angle shot of the masala cop. By repeating the similar angle, this image denotes a masala-fication of the Hanuman figure complete with a chiselled physique.

Vohra’s ‘automatic body’ signifies an impression of uniformity, fluidity and mobility which  is not possible for a lower caste cop to attain, however valorous he might be. The uniformity also brings into focus the hierarchy of the upper caste since they can only afford a casteless existence in the country. This automatic, casteless body is featured in all its glory in the masala cop films to further signify the mythic stature of the cop and make him the ‘hero’ that a spectator can identify with, and it also adds to the divine attribute of the figure.

As is seen in Singham (2011), the hero's introduction shot, which is a staple of every masala film, begins with a shot of a temple coupled with chants in the background and is intercut with a mid-shot depicting a bare-chested, chiseled upper body of the star, Ajay Devgn, taking bath in holy water. The following shot shows his hairless body in full display and his passage to a mainstream Hindi film hero is complete. This shot is followed by a song which glorifies his valour and proffers mythic connotations with the Hindu deity Narasimha. The introductory shot coupled with the song further solidify Vohra’s argument regarding the erasure of caste/class from the body of the hero as well as from Hindi commercial cinema as a whole. However, this erasure as well as his professional status brings into foreground his upper caste belonging, although it is never pronounced in the film. As the film progresses, Singham is shown to be the messiah of his village Sivgarh with an inherent power of mobilising the masses to support him, but the power comes from a caste and class hierarchy coupled with the power of the symbolic order instilled in him. As noted by retired police officer S.R. Darapuri in a 2020 article reminiscing his times in U.P. Police as a Dalit police officer in the 1970’s and by multiple news articles found even today, especially in the village and small towns of the country, caste is a governing principle of segregation (Frayer & Kumar).