LIFE ON SILVER SCREEN
The third film role came his way in maya Rambha, a folklore drama, a little later. But three roles could not guarantee him two square meals a day. He hired a small room in the Thousand Lights area. Sharing the rook with him were his brother was doing at the time of the making of Palleture Pilla and decided to stay on, and a few other young men who were trying their luck in films. Yoganand and Tatineni Prakash Rao, who later became wellknown directors, were among them.
Because he could not afford the bus fare, Rama Rao used to walk long distances to meet prospective directores in search of roles. A proud man, he never liked to borrow, even from his best friends.
A meal in a restaurant used to cost eight annas – half a rupee – in those days. It was round this time that he had to go without a meal for three consecutive days because he did not have eight annas. "Just for the sake of eight annas!" recalls Rama Rao. But there is no bitterness or anger in his voice. Only a broad smile and a certain pride that he could take it without a grudge.
His room-mates were deeply upset when they heard about the incident. Yoganand was hurt. "Could you not have mentioned it to me?" he said. Rama Rao politely brushed aside the complaint. "I need to experience things in life so that I can train myself to face any eventuality with courage." Nobody could argue with him on that score.
Yoganand had been a good friend since those days. He directed several films Rama Rao and Trivikrama Rao produced under the National Art Theatre banner, including Todu Dongalu (which won a national award), Jaya Simha and Ummadi Kutumbam (which were box office hits of their time).
It was also around this time that HM Reddy said he would give Rama Rao a hero’s role in his next film. A veteran who made well-acclaimed films like Gruhalakshmi, Tenali Ramakrishna and later Satyame Jayam, Reddy was a big name in the 1940s. Getting a break in a film of his could make all the difference to the career of anyone who hoped to make it on the screen.
Reddy would ask Rama Rao to present himself at his office or home at all sorts of odd hours, as if to check if the young man had the patience. "Come at 7.30 tomorrow morning, " he would say. Eager to please, Rama Rao would show up on the dot. Reddy would nod his head patronizingly and say, "Oh you have come. It’s just that I am tied up at the moment. What about four o’clock the day after tomorrow afternoon?"
"Most certainly, sir," Rama Rao would way and walk back to his room. After scores of trips, Reddy would say, "Well, I’ve got this hero’s role for you. You will wear a fur cap and have a huge alsatian with you. Now let’s see how you will deliver these dialogues…Good, very good. Now, how about coming to my place sharp at 10 in the morning on Friday?"
This futile exercise went on for one whole year. Rama Rao took it all stoically, never losing heart or optimism. Then came the hero’s role in Samsaram. When released in 1950, the film was a success: it ran for 100 days in 11 theatres and for 25 weeks in one. But shavukaru, the fifth film that he did, was released earlier than the fourth, Samsaram, and that turned the tables in Rama Rao’s favour.
Directed by Prasad, it starred him with Janaki – who later made a name for herself as a singing star – and was produced by Vijaya Productions. B. Nagi Reddy and Chakrapani started the company by taking the Vauhini Studios on lease. The film had a 100-day run in one theatre when released first in 1950, but it did good business and Janaki, whose first film it was, came to be known as Shavukaru Janaki, whose first film it was, came to be known as Shavukaru Janaki. Even today she is known by this name.
The film’s moderate success pleased its producers who now planned something big. They wanted to get the four top Telugu directors to make one film each. KV Reddy was to direct Patala Bhairavi; BN Reddy, Malleswari; Prasad, Pelli Chesi Choodu; and M. Kameswara Rao, chandra Haram. The idea was that each director would finish making one film in six months.
They asked Rama Rao if he would sign an exclusive contract to work in their films. Rama Rao said he would sign on the dotted line provided they made him the hero in all the four films. He argued with Nagi Reddy thus: "If I am not successful in the hands of such eminent directors, then there won’t be any chance of my succeeding in this line. Give me a chance and I will do my best. If I don’t click in these films. I will give up my film career and go back to my village."
Prasad had already directed Rama Rao in two films and all the five films in which he had acted had done well at the box office. Nagi Reddy and chakrapani thought it was a risk worth taking and agreed to give him the hero’s role in all the four films. They signed him up for a two-years exclusive contract.
They paid him Rs 500 per month and Rs 5,000 per film in the first year during which two films were completed, and Rs 750 per month and Rs 7,500 per film in the second year to make the remaining two films.
Rama Rao was now confident that he was going to make it. Armed with the Vijaya contract, he now brought his wife and son to Madras from Vijayawada.
Word soon reached HM Reddy that Vijaya’s had signed up Rama Rao. One day he met him and said, "But what about my film? I have already signed up two heroines for it and I want you as hero in my film."
"But, "said Rama Rao, "You kept me waiting for more than a year without offering me a single role. How an I do anything now? I have already signed the contract."
Reddy then offered to pay twice the amount Vijaya’s would pay him. "Sorry but I don’t do things like this. A promise is a promise and there is no going back on it," Rama Rao told the great man. Impressed by the young man’s straight forwardness, Reddy smiled and hugged Rama Rao and said, "You are a gentleman. This is the first time that I am meeting a person like you. Keep it up, son. You will go far in life."
The first of the four films to be made was Patala Bhairavi, a folklore drama involving a wily magician, a beautiful princess and a poor but brave young man. Rama Rao played the young man. Rama Rao played the young man. The wicked magician has evil designs on the princess. But the young man takes him on, destroys the magician and wins the princess’s heart. In the great KV Reddy’s hands, this simple tale acquired a peculiar dimension. The role of the magician, played by the legendary S V Ranga Rao who passed away recently, provided scope for trick photography and imaginative setting like mysterious caves and a massive fortress.
The film, released in 1951, was a runaway success: It celebrated 100-day runs in 34 cinema halls, silver jubilee (25 weeks) in 13 theatres and golden jubilee (50 weeks) in one. It broke all the previous box office records in the Telugu film industry. The film was soon made into a Tamil version by Vijaya’s and a Hindi version by Gemini’s – both with Rama Rao as hero. They too turned out to be hits.
The film established Rama Rao as a mass hero and Vijaya’s s producers of entertaining films. Incidentally, it was Patala Bhairavi’s enormous success that encouraged Nagi Reddy and Chakrapani to undertake a massive reconstruction of the most sophisticated cinematic equipment.
Patala Bhairavi was the turning point in Rama Rao’s career as weel. Says he, "With that film I became a top hero." Concedes Akkineni Nageswara Rao, his long-time professional rival and personal friend: "Patala Bhairavi made him known to the comman man" – a major factor in the making of super hero.
Malleswari and Pelli Chesi Choodu, two of the other three Vijaya Productions, followed soon. They too did well at the box office. Rama Rao now began to receive film offers on a regular basis. By the end of 1953, he had already starred in 14 films and felt encouraged to launch the National Art Theatre to Produce films along with his brother Trivikrama Rao.
The first film they produced was Todu Dongalu, in which he played the hero. A social film, meaning Fellow Thieves, it sought to expose the state of affairs in society. Film critics raved about it; the film became the first Telugu movie to receive a certificate of merit from the President of India in 1954. It was the only Telugu film screened at a film festival in China that year. But, at the box office it was flop.
Trivikrama Rao first came to Madras in 1949 just to see how his brother was doing in films. Strangely enough, his arrival in Madras coincided with Rama Rao fighting with the Australian bull during the shooting of palleturi Pilla and the fracturing of his wrist. Both the brothers, fond of each other, rarely stayed away from one another. Trivikrama Rao now stayed behind in Madras to look after his brother while he recovered from the injury; he stayed back in the city to assist his brother.
For Rama Rao’s younger brother, the failure of Todu Dongalu at the box office came as a rude shock. Even though the critical acclaim the film won pleased both the brother, it put Trivikrama Rao in the red by a couple of lakhs of rupees. There was serious talk that he should give up film production and go back to the village to take up farming. But Rama Rao encouraged him not to lose heart and give it up so easily but to try once again.
The result was the making of Jaya Simha, a folklore drama, the next year, 1955. The film was a hit. It celebrated 100-day runs a dozen cinema halls and silver jubilee in one. Trivikrama Rao stayed on in Madras for good to produce many more films in collaboration with his brother.
The first godly role that Rama Rao played was in his 30th film, Maya Bazaar. Produced by Vijaya Productions and directed by the famous KV Reddy, it was based on an episode in the Mahabharata, the Hindu epic. Rama Rao played Krishna’s role. Hitherto, Rama Rao never played a godly role and there was considerable opposition from his colleagues’ hot favourite was a man called Raghuramiah, who excelled in playing this particular role on the stage.
But Reddy’s calculated gamble paid dividends; the film was a huge success: 100-day runs in 24 theatres and silver jubilee in four. Of the 30 films in which he acted upto Maya Bazaar, as many as 20 had celebrated 100-day runs in 169 theatres, nine films ran for 25 weeks each in 30 halls and one for 50 weeks in one theatre.
It is a fallacy, therefore, to say that it was only in films in which he played godly roles that Rama Rao was primarily successful.
The other godly role he is famous for is that of Rama, the hero of Ramayana, the Hindu epic. Interestingly enough, it was Ravana, the villain in the Ramayana, whose character Rama Rao portrayed before that of Rama. It was in Bhookailas, a Telugu film, in which he featured as Ravana. Sampoorna Ramayanam, first made in Tamil and dubbed later into Telugu, was the first film in which he played Rama’s role. Both the films were released in 1958.
But the film that brought him instant fame for playing a godly role was Sri Venkateswara Mahatmyam, the story of the Lord of the Seven Hills at Tirumala-Tirupati. Directed by P. Pullaiah, a veteran, the black and white film cost Rs 11 lakh to make and was released in 1960. It celebrated silver jubilee, 100-day runs and grossed over Rs one crore on barely 20 prints – a record for that time.
The film tells the story of Lord Venkateswara, an incarnation of Vishnu, and there is a scene in which Rama Rao emerges from the idol of the Lord and walks towards the camera – the audience. This particular scene created a sensation at that time and made a deep impression on the viewers, most of them humble and unlettered. The identification between man and god was complete.
The poor Telugu villagers who could not afford to make the trip to Tirupati instead went to the nearest cinema hall to see the film. Thoughtfully enough, the film’s producers advised owners of the cinema halls to put up an idol of the Lord in front of the halls. The villagers would come, break coconuts, prostrate before the idol, put some coins or crumpled notes in specially erected cash boxes called hundis (just like the one in Tirumala) and then enter the halls to see the film. Pretty soon, news of this reached the administrators of the Tirumala Tirupati Devasthanams (TTD) – ever vigilant in matters of this kind. They promptly wrote to Pulliah, the director, and staked their claim to the sums thus collected: Rs 46,000.
Pulliah contributed another Rs 4,000 from his own pocket and presented a sum of Rs 50,000 to TTD with a request that a shed be built with the money for poor pilgrims. The idea was accepted along with the money but the shed was not built. Several sheds and other types of accommodation were built on the Tirumala Hills subsequently, but the contributions from the film’s patrons went unacknowledged for some unknown reason.
It was following the release of Sri Venkateswara Mahatmyam that the deification of Rama Rao began; 28 Bezulullah Road, Rama Rao’s residence at the time in Madras, slowly became a shrine of a kind. Busloads of pilgrims would arrive every morning from Tirupati. In the sanctum sanctorum of the Lord of the Seven Hills at Tirumala, the pilgrims were face to face with a shimmering and silent idol which only overwhelmed them during those few fleeting seconds. That did not seem enough. A good many of them would head for Madras to see the man who played Lord Venkateswara in flesh and blood.
They would arrive early in the morning, their heads clean-shaven and their hands folded in reverence. They would crowd the not-so-large compound of the modest house, while others stood in a serpentine queue along the road outside the house. Rama Rao, who’d be up before four in the morning as a matter of routine, would finish his yoga exercise, bath and breakfast (omelette, puris or upma and milk). The make-up man would finish getting him ready for the role he would play that morning.
With the make-up on and with his hands folded, Rama Rao would arrive in the veranda, gently wave at his admirers, smile at them and talk to them. He would normally ask: Where have you come from? How is life in your village? What do you do for a living? Do you get enough to eat? Is drinking water available in your village?
The pilgrims, fresh from Tirupati where they stood only in awe in the presence of the Lord’s would be often at a loss for words. Unlike the idol, this one – whom they saw in the film walking out of the idol – actually smiled and spoke to them. Suddenly they found themselves pouring their hearts out to him: There’s no drinking water in our village, one would say. Our MLA does not do anything for us, another would complain. We cannot get anything done without bribing somebody or the other, Yet another would moan. Rama Rao would nod is his head in sympathy while the rows and rows of clean-shaven pilgrims filed past him, making room for the hundreds have a glimpse of their living god.
Such complaints gradually grew in number; it began to dawn on Rama Rao that all was not well and that most people were generally unhappy with the state of affairs. It disturbed him in a strange way, but he did not really pause to think what all this meant. He was so engrossed in his work that he had no time to do so. It was time for him to leave for the studio. The last of the pilgrims had to be rushed through to see him before he drove off in his black Cadillac.
The man never seemed to have any time for anything else except his work. His habits like waking up early, doing Yoga exercises were formed at the age of 15, when he was still at school in Vijayawada. It’s a life disciplined out of necessity. Every day, before going to school in the morning and after returning from school, he would milch the cows and supply milk to customers, mostly hotels, on his old Hercules bicycle. On the way back home, he would collect fodder for the cattle.
Even though he entered the film industry with a good break, he had to rough it up in the initial stages, sometimes even going without food for days.
In the beginning, he kept himself busy watching the then veterans at work or improving his dialogue delivery by haranguing at the ferocious waves of the Bay of Bengal that lashed at the expansive Marina Beach in Madras, somewhat in the manner of Abraham Lincoln. Then there were rounds to make to the studios and homes of directors in search of a role or two. Once the roles came his way, he had to toil with his lines and the characters he was to portray.
Krishna is apparently Rama Rao’s most favourite godly role. He acted as Krishna in as many as 17 films out of the 42 mythological films in which he had starred! In a film called DaanaVeera Shooora Karna (1997), he played Karna, Duryodhana and Krishna too. He also wrote the script; he produced and edited the film as well. Every day, six in the morning he would be made up to play Duryodhana, wear a heavy crown and spend the whole day either acting or directing. This went on for three weeks with out a break; during the last three days of shooting, he worked round the clock without a wink of sleep.
The Mahabharata provide material for a majority of his mythologicals: 23 in all. In Srimadvirata Parvam , ( 1979 ) he performed the incredible feat of portraying five roles as diverse as those of Krishna, Duryodhana, Keechaka, Arjuna and Brihannala.
The other Hindu epic, the Ramayana, Yielded comparatively fewer Rama Rao films: eight. He played Rama in six of them and Ravana in three. In one film, Sri Rama Pattabhisekham (1978), he played Rama and Ravana as well! He played Vishnu in four and Shiva in one.
What is surprising is that whether he played Krishna or Duryodhana, Rama or Ravana, Karna or Yama Dharmaraja, most of the mythologicals in which he worked did well at the box office. While he is remembered most for playing the roles of Rama, Krishna and Lord Venkateshwara, his positive interpretation of the traditionally negative characters like Ravan, Duryodhana and Karna also won him critical acclaim. The audiences lapped up both kinds of films. Lava Kusha made history in the Telugu film industry by becoming the first film to celebrate diamond jubilee by only in 1982 by Akkineni Nageshwara Rao’s Premabhisekam. Two mythological of Rama Rao's celebrated golden jubilees, seven silver jubilees and 25 others had 100-day runs in 225 theatres.
It is not just in godly roles that Rama Rao captured the hearts and imagination of his audiences. He played all the important emperors and kings in India history and folklore: Chandragupta, the great Mauryan emperor; Akbar, the benevolent Moghul emperor; Krishnadeva Raya, the famous Vijayanagara monarch in the 16th century; Dushyanta, the here of Sanskrit Poet Kalidasa’s magnum opus Shakuntalam; Harishchandra, the king who never told a lie; Bhatti Vikramarka, the king with unlimited patience and wisdom who had an answer for every riddle asked of him; and Valmiki, the sage who penned the Ramayana.
In the mythologicals, he plays divine role and performs miracles. In folklores. Numbering 55, he plays the swash buckling hero who bestowed with super qualities, goes about punishing wicked villains and rescuing assorted princesses whit full breasts and large hips, and emerge the victor and walk away with the heroin in the last reel.
This in short is how Rama Rao became a cult figure for the state’s weekly two-crore cinema-going people who revere him almost as a demi-god.
Success did not come to the man easily or overnight. He worked hard for it and chose each role he played with great care. If a producer said he wished to make a film with him, Rama Rao would first ask: "Who are the technicians?" If he liked the director and his team, he would then ask: "What’s the story?" Only if the story session convinced him that he would be suitable for the role, would he then accept the role.
From the very first film of his, he evolved an acting style of his own. He would create characters from his own imagination. He would write his dialogues – sent him earlier by the director – in his won elegant hand. This helped him to remember his lines will; he rarely fumbled for his words in front of the camera. Later, he had the dialogues read out to him; eyes closed; he would listen and then remember.
He worked two shifts a day: 7 am to 1 p.m. and 2 p.m. to 9 p.m. The moment he arrived on the sets, the atmosphere would undergo a sea change and become businesslike. No small talks or gossip for him. Once the shot was over, he would sit in a chair in a corner and promptly doze off until summoned for the next shot. He would do as many retakes as the director would want him to. If any of his old-time colleagues were around, he would ask: Was that shore all right? If the man said, "not quite, you overdid the scene a bit", he would smile and say, "OK, let’s do it once again".
Rama Rao would cooperate with director, notwithstanding his age or experience. He would venture to give his advice or suggestions only when asked to. "The director is supreme", he would say. "He must be having some idea about what the film is all about. He knows best. Why should I interfere?"
Though laudable in principle, this often turned out to be disadvantageous to him. Overawed by Rama Rao’s presence, many young directors often hesitated to get the best out of him and made do with indifferent performance. This resulted in quite a few mediocre films.
Because he is pleasant and easy to work with, producers used to flock to him with roles. He used to give all sheets 12 to 18 months in advance. That is to say, he would tell the producers when exactly he would be available to act in their films. This helped them to plan their films accordingly. And, whatever happened, he would always stick to his dates. While shooting, he broke his hand four time, suffered a snake bite on one occasion and the wheel of a bullock cart went over him on yet another. But he was always ready almost soon after, for the next shot. Except twice, when he had to be hospitalised.
Rama Rao kept good health all his life. He never touched liquor; there was no question of late nights, brawls or hangovers. He smoked chutta, the native cigar, in his youth but soon gave it up. He used to eat paan in his Vijayawada days but promptly gave it up when director LV Prasad said that a man aspiring to be a film hero must possess teeth that sparkled. He did not seem to know what "star tantrums" were either. In an industry notorious for complex man-woman relationships, he was rarely linked with any of his heroines; well, almost.
He teamed up with nearly 50 of them, including Anjali Devi, Savitri, Bhanumathi, Jamuna, KR Vijaya, Waheeda Rahman, Jayalalitha, Vyjayantimala, B.Saroja Devi, S.Janki, Krishsnakumari, G.Varalakshmi, S.Varalakshmi, Vanisri, Jayapradha, Jayasudha, Rati Agnihotir and Sridevi.
Because he was a strict disciplinarian who never let down his producers, he made one film every six weeks, on an average. During 1963, 1965-67,and 1969 he made practically one film every month. In 1964 he bettered his own record by completing as many as 15 films in a calendar year!
According to a well-informed film industry source in Madras, his 292 films may have grossed a staggering total of Rs.200 crores.
Interestingly enough, Rama Rao charged his producers only in thousands for as long as 22 years. He was paid a paltry Rs.7,500 for playing Krishna for the first time in Maya Bazaar in 1956. He graduated to charging a fee of Re one lakh per film only in 1972. From then on, the fee reportedly went up by Rs. five lakh once every few years. In the late 1970s, when producers began to swamp him with role, he reportedly began to charge Rs.20 lakh per film. These figures are based on unconfirmed reports; in the Indian film industry there’s no such thing as an authentic figure when it comes to the star’s fee.
Considering that Telugu films have a limited market in the sense that they can be shown mostly in Andhra Pradesh and a few towns outside the state where there are clusters of Telugu-speaking people, Rama Rao was possibly the highest paid film star of his time in the country. Comparisons are odius: Amitabh Bachchan, whose fee reportedly took a quantum jump after his 1982 accident from Rs.20 lakh to Rs. 45 lakh per film, is a saleable commodity all over India and in several foreign countries where people of Indian origin live. Marlon Brando charged more than Rs.2.5. crore for his brief role in Superman because the whole world is his audience. On a single day, the film grossed more than Rs.5 crore in 1395 theaters in Canada and the United States!
There were stars twinkling on the Telugu film horizon before Rama Rao got there; a lot more made the rather steep climb after him. But none has become the kind of phenomenon that he did and none so unique. Why?
" He stopped eating rice after entering films," says Basavarama Taraka, 56, his wife for 42 years who cooks all his meals. Even though he can be a voracious eater, he east an omelette, a couple of idlis or pesarattus (a dosa-like Andhra delicacy, made of rice and greengram) and tea for breakfast, chapatis, chicken and vegetables for lunch and dinner. On April 14, 1983, the Telugu New Year day (Ugadi), Rama Rao took to eating vegetarian food and wearing saffron robes.
" He stopped eating rice after entering films," says Basavarama Taraka, 56, his wife for 42 years who cooks all his meals. Even though he can be a voracious eater, he east an omelette, a couple of idlis or pesarattus (a dosa-like Andhra delicacy, made of rice and greengram) and tea for breakfast, chapatis, chicken and vegetables for lunch and dinner. On April 14, 1983, the Telugu New Year day (Ugadi), Rama Rao took to eating vegetarian food and wearing saffron robes.
When playing godly roles, he would be completely off non-vegetarian food and sleep on a mattress on the floor. If playing villainous roles like Ravana, Duryodhna or Yama Dharmaraja, he would eat only non-vegetarian food in order to work himself up into the required mood.
He would be particular about the garments he wore and the crown he would don. No fake zari garments and cardboard crown for him. Metallic crowns are heavy. Most stars who have to put them on while playing mythological roles normally prefer crowns made of cardboard.
The late SV Ranga Rao, a veteran who made a name for himself by playing most of the bad characters in Indian mythology, detested metallic crowns. If any producer tried to persuade him to wear them, he would yell at him, "What nonsense! Why should I burden my head with that wretched thing? Get me a cardboard crown".
With Rama Rao it was exactly the opposite. He would chide people who suggested that he wear a cardboard crown. "How can I act like a real god or king without a proper crown?" he would ask. He was in a hurry to finish making Daana Veera Shoora Karma (released in 1977) to pre-empt a professional rival’s project on a similar subject. Apart from playing Karna, Duryodhana and Krishna he wrote its script. He was also its producer, director and was in charge of costumes.
He would arrive on the sets dressed up as Duryodhana, donning a copper crown coated with gold that weighed about three kilograms. Throughout the day, he let the crown stay on they head and went about his work. This went on for three weeks at the end of which he sustaine an injury on his forehead, caused by the base of the crown. The injury lift a permanent scar. During the last three days, he worked day and night for all the 72 hours continuously, practically without sleep.
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