Review: CAMERAMAN GANGA THO RAMBABU is a Unique Theatrical Experience

The fans turned the film's first local screening into a unique theatrical event, the likes of which I haven't seen since the opening night showing of Rajnikanth's Enthiran. 

I showed up to the theatre about 40 minutes early, having already purchased my outrageously priced opening night ticket, in order to secure myself a decent seat in the auditorium. I figured this would be early enough. The cinema seats 425, and Indian films typically fill in from the back row to the front, so surely I'd have no problem finding a seat. I was a little bit off in my calculations. I ended up in the first row of the mezzanine on the extreme right of the screen, still manageable, but far from ideal. In any case, this was merely the beginning of the mania, as the cinema quickly filled with rabid Pawan Kalyan fans who were ready to rip the seats out to show their devotion if necessary.

About 30 minutes before the promised show time, the audience was buzzing, I could tell it wouldn't be long before they'd begin demanding that the film start regardless of what the clock said. Instead, however, a few excited fans began a chant not unlike what you'd hear at a football match: "ZINDABAD ZINDABAD/POWER STAR ZINDABAD!" Translated roughly, it means "Long Live Power Star!", which is the name given to Pawan Kalyan by his fans (or his PR team, but at this point which came first is a moot point). The chants spread quickly until the entire audience, including yours truly, was shouting at the top of their lungs. The audience wasn't growing restless, they were simply ramping up for what they knew was coming. Complete mania.

About ten minutes before the lights went down, a somewhat clueless Caucasian woman entered the auditorium with a black garbage bag and announced that anyone caught with newspaper would have their ticket revoked. You see, not only is the audience vocal, they also enjoy throwing shredded newspaper, like confetti, at every opportunity, which I imagine is a bit of a pain for the cleaning staff. Poor theatre staff lady was jeered and eventually laughed nearly out of the room, however, before that happened she and her lackey managed to fill two 30-gallon trash bags with contraband newspaper, much to the chagrin of the revelers.

Shortly after making her announcement and trying to make her way out, she was met by the theatre's general manager and scolded for trying to put a damper on the fun. She left, but was followed by a couple of fans who quickly, and hopefully peacefully, recovered their confetti bags to distribute to the faithful. Their return to the auditorium was met with huge cheers, including my own.

When the lights went down, the confetti shower began, and it didn't end until the closing credits rolled across the screen. Any time Pawan Kalyan appeared on screen, confetti. Anytime he delivered a particularly powerful dialogue, confetti. When Pawan Kalyan's older brother Mega Star Chiranjeevi appeared ever so briefly in an archival news clip montage during the opening credits, confetti. The film got quiet for too long, confetti. You name it, the result was confetti, and it was awesome. The confetti was often joined by the above-mentioned chanting, cat-calling, whistling, cheering, and altogether enthusiastic elation of the crowd. In any other theater, this would be cause to call the manager, but south Indian films are often interactive experiences, and you've never really lived until you've been a part of that culture, even for a few hours. The pure joy emanating from the people in the theatre was palpable, and it was an energy I was happy to absorb and contribute to in any way possible.