On Vijay Sethupathi’s birthday, a look at the Merry Christmas actor’s quiet emergence as a pan-India star

Across his three recent Hindi projects, Vijay Sethupathi (right) has already played a mainstream villain (Jawan), a fascinatingly grumpy cop (Farzi) and a love-afflicted romantic (Merry Christmas). All three have been veritable successes. (Photo via X)

It’s now 40 years since Rajinikanth made his Hindi film debut with the audacious, and somewhat counter-intuitive, Andhaa Kanoon (1983). Tamil cinema’s – probably Southern cinema’s – biggest cultural export at the time, Thalaivar was cast in the film as one part of a larger narrative led by Hindi cinema’s reigning king, Amitabh Bachchan. As far as debuts in a new language (and new market) go, Andhaa Kanoon can be classified as an unverified success. If nothing else, it hinted at upcoming experiments, consolidation and maybe an expansion of the Tamil superstar’s oeuvre into the Hindi space.

(Tamil film star Kamal Haasan, too, made inroads into Hindi cinema with films like Ek Duuje ke Liye and Sadma in the 1980s, but these were few and far between. Sridevi's transition to Bollywood was more successful than of her two Tamil film co-stars, so much so that she began to be seen as a Hindi film actor rather than a successful crossover super star.)

Things, however, didn’t pan out for Rajinikanth quite as expected (except the odd film like Chaalbaaz [1989] or Hum [1991] and nearly a decade later). That bridge of multi-lingual storytelling never quite erected in the manner that the raw material suggested. Some 40 years later, Vijay Sethupathi, a different kind of Tamil star looks likelier than anyone else to cross and maybe even fashion that bridge in his own image.

Sethupathi, easily one of the most experimental actors working in Tamil cinema, is a bit of a superstar in his own right. He has, however, done it through cautiously earned pedigree as opposed to simplistic fandom. Sethupathi doesn’t just play suave, cocky heroes – which he absolutely could in his sleep – but instead willingly embraces shades, conflicts, horrors and even other genders (Super Deluxe).

Across his three recent Hindi projects he has already played a routine mainstream villain (Jawan), a fascinatingly grumpy cop (Farzi) and a love-afflicted romantic (Merry Christmas). All three have been veritable successes, and though the actor might have played second fiddle to someone else’s tune in some, he certainly hasn’t looked or seemed out of place.

There is obviously economics attached to casting across language barriers. In a post ‘pan-India’ environment, everyone sitting on a film script nurtures the idea of having a Kantara-like breakthrough moment of linguistic ecstasy. Casting from across regions only helps the odds and maybe even re-embellish authenticity in some respect. Languages might be stifled by borders and paper, but stories and performances find their way to travel.

Unlike Thailavar’s flirtations with the somewhat grounding dynamics of Hindi cinema, Sethupathi’s entry feels far more calculated and precise. Something that echoes a certain cosmic comfort compared to the forced re-positioning a recognisable asset. Where Thalaivar’s stardom and to an extent Kamal Hassan’s precocious talent after him perhaps got in their way, the soil for this new seedling from Tamil cinema feels ripe, on the cusp of a fold that may well be shaped by a Sethupathi.

The penetration of streaming might not generate its own class of stars any time soon, but what it has done is curate a wealth of southern cinema for the uninitiated. It practically means more Hindi-speaking audiences can now familiarise themselves with actors from Tamil, Telugu, Kannada and Malayalm cinema in a manner that was never possible outside of a theatrical window – provided it even played near you – in the past.

In fact, streaming has allowed actors like Sethupathi and Fahadh Faasil to become representative of the cinematic culture Hindi-speaking audiences have only known through messianic figures. To the younger generation, these multi-culturalism specimens are maybe a more accurate reflection of the inbreeding that urban life has come to stand for. We work with people from all walks of life, cultures and regions, so why can’t we see them in our stories?

Sethupathi’s humble countenance also feels like the breath of unentitled air that Hindi cinema could use a dosage of. There is a humility, a secretive quality to the actor’s existence where he merges and meets with his audience only in his films. His bulky exterior, his modesty and unassuming demeanour also offer Hindi filmmakers a welcome barrier to easy supposition. Which means there is deftness to the process of absorption, where Sethupathi can’t simply be offered as the exotic object floating along the corners of a familiar broth. He will instead dissolve, find his depth and swim to whatever awestriking length of make-believe he was born to. There is nothing to suggest he can’t do anything he is tasked with. Except of course perform silly airport pageants and curate needless ‘thirst trap’ visual entrees.

In Sriram Raghavan’s Merry Christmas, Sethupathi plays Albert, a catholic living in the Bombay (now Mumbai) of the '90s. His raw hold of Hindi and detached delivery meld right in with the milieu he is expected to embody. In other categories, that ruse might become trickier. In Jawan, for example, he looks underserved by dialogue and characterisation. He still sells you a bad guy but for roles that demand a dive into his psychology, writers and directors will have to consistently better themselves to eke more out of the master actor. There is obviously unparalleled talent to tap into here, an earthiness that Hindi audiences have been deprived of for ages and the humility of someone who would rather stick to the stories than turn to the cosmopolitan glee of making them. It’s not the Rajinikanth way of 40 years ago, but it doesn’t have to be. There is maybe more than one way to build this bridge and Sethupathi looks the likeliest to ultimately do it.