Cinema history shows that actors are remembered less for effort or scale and more for characters that endure. Audiences may admire box office numbers and opening weekends, but what lasts are stories and roles that stay alive in memory. From that perspective, the post-Baahubali career of Prabhas invites an honest question – beyond one landmark role, what do audiences truly remember?
Nearly a decade after their release, Baahubali: The Beginning and Baahubali: The Conclusion remain the defining reference point of Prabhas’s career. Their success cannot be explained by scale alone. What made those films resonate was a clear narrative arc and a hero whose emotional journey was easy to follow. Duty, sacrifice, betrayal, and redemption were not buried under spectacle. They were the spectacle.
A crucial factor was direction. Under S. S. Rajamouli, Prabhas was part of a tightly controlled narrative machine where character came before star image. He did not need to compensate for weak writing or unclear motivations. The story carried him forward. Ironically, that success created the conditions for what followed.
After Baahubali, Prabhas was elevated into a ‘pan-India star’ almost overnight. Budgets expanded. Marketing grew louder. Each new film was positioned as an event meant to rival or replicate the Baahubali phenomenon. But this expectation ignored a basic truth – scale can attract attention, but it cannot manufacture memory.
Several post-Baahubali films attempted to capitalize on Prabhas’s expanded reach, yet few left a lasting cultural impression. While some performed well initially or generated short-term buzz, they struggled with recall. Audiences might remember action sequences or visual moments, but often not the character or the story itself. This points to a consistent issue: a lack of arresting narrative.
In many of these films, Prabhas’s screen presence feels designed around stillness, physicality, and grandeur. The roles demand posture more than personality. Over time, this sameness dulls impact. When every character is constructed to look powerful, power itself loses meaning.
This concern becomes sharper with the upcoming The Raja Saab. Based on its trailer, the film leans heavily into exaggerated humour, visual effects, and genre chaos. In theory, this should have been an opportunity. A horror-comedy format could have allowed Prabhas to loosen his image, embrace irony, and reconnect with a more playful screen persona.
Instead, the promotional material raises doubts. The trailer offers spectacle without clarity. It does not establish a strong narrative hook or a compelling emotional journey. Who is this character beyond surface eccentricity? What is at stake? What drives the story forward? These are basic narrative questions that remain unanswered.
The problem here is not absurdity or fantasy. Indian cinema has always embraced exaggeration when it is anchored in story. The issue is intent. Without a clear narrative spine, visual excess becomes disposable. Audiences may be momentarily entertained, but the experience fades quickly.
This matters more for Prabhas than for most actors. At his current stature, each film does more than stand on its own. It adds to a pattern. When multiple projects rely on scale to compensate for thin storytelling, the actor risks being associated with noise rather than meaning.
Frankly speaking, this is not a verdict on Prabhas’s ability. His earlier career showed a performer capable of ease, vulnerability, and charm. What appears missing now is not talent, but characters written with enough depth to demand those qualities.
It is possible that The Raja Saab offers more narrative substance than its trailer suggests. Films can surprise, and marketing often misrepresents tone. But skepticism is not cynicism. It is a response to repetition.
Until Prabhas is given another role that places story above spectacle, Baahubali will continue to define his legacy. Not because audiences refuse to move on, but because they have not yet been given a reason to.
