EXCL: From Michael Jackson to Reels, Prabhu Dheva keeps learning, never settling

There is a version of this story that begins with the obvious—the gravity-defying hips, the liquid spine, the feet that seemed to operate on a different frequency from the rest of the known world. The version where a boy from Chennai rewrote the grammar of Indian film dance so completely that his shadow still falls across every choreographer working today. That story is true. But it is also, in Prabhu Dheva’s own telling, the smaller part of the picture.

Prabhu Dheva balances films, concerts, and humility in a relentless career

For 30 years, he has been the answer to a question Indian cinema kept asking: what does joy look like when it lives in a body?

And here he is now, on International Dance Day, a celebration he admits he only discovered recently. “I’ve known about International Dance Day only for the past three or four years,” with the easy candour that characterises everything he says. “I didn’t even know it existed.” He pauses, and then adds the line that reframes everything: “But honestly, for me, everyday is a dance day.”

Which makes the next thing he tells you all the more interesting. At home, there is no music system. He doesn’t dance casually, in the kitchen, in the corridor. “No, no,” he says, cutting that image off cleanly. “Only for films I dance. At home, I don’t even have a music system. For me, dance is work—it’s something else.” The man who made a billion people move does so only when the camera rolls.

When asked, across decades of work, where his inspiration comes from, he traces a direct line back to the boy who first watched Michael Jackson perform Beat It, and understood, somewhere beyond language, what the human body could do on screen. “Definitely Beat It, that inspired me a lot,” he says.  And then, with the sweep of someone for whom inspiration has no hierarchy: “Also, Singin’ in the Rain, there’s a sequence where Gene Kelly dances. That’s one. And everything in this new era, I keep watching and learning.”

Here is the Prabhu Dheva paradox, stated plainly: He is one of the most influential movement artistes of his generation. He is also genuinely in awe of 22-two-year-olds making 30-second videos for Instagram. “They inspire me,” he says.

And then this: “They also make me feel it’s not enough, if I have to compete with them, it’s tough.” This is the man whose silhouette is the most imitated in the history of Tamil and Telugu cinema. And he is sitting here telling you that the kids on Instagram make him feel like he needs to do more.

When asked if he has any advice for the dancers of this generation, he puts it plainly, “Young dancers are doing superbly. They are far better than what we can advise them. Their standards are on another level. They just need to keep the same interest from the beginning, analyse it, and achieve their aims. The only thing they need is consistency.”

He points out that while today’s dancers are constantly practising for short-form content and posting on social media platforms, their abilities go far beyond that. Having performed with many of them on stage, he insists they are fully capable of sustaining entire shows. “They’re not limited by short form,” he says. “Because of technology, that’s what they’re doing now, but they can do everything.” 

Speaking about his upcoming movie Moonwalk, he is quick to credit director Manoj Nirmala Sreedharan, who also served as producer. “I thank him first,” he says, describing him as deeply passionate and relentlessly hardworking—“more than all of us.” That commitment, he believes, is what made the songs land so well. “He gave his full, blood and soul,” he adds. For his role as Babooty in Moonwalk, the preparation was intense, especially across the film’s songs, which took days to perfect. Working with AR Rahman, he admits, comes with a certain weight. “There’s an expectation,” he says. “We have to fulfil that. So I tried my best.”

There’s the word. Expectation. Three decades in, and he still is very careful about it, which speaks to his dedication to the craft more than anything else.

Moonwalk is not the only thing cooking. The icon is simultaneously juggling a lineup that would give most people scheduling anxiety—Kathanar - The Wild Sorcerer, Maharagni-Queen of Queens, Michael Musasi—projects spanning registers, genres, and moods. When asked how he switches between such different characters and worlds, he plays it down. “Like any actor,” he says simply. After years in the industry, the switching becomes second nature. “You just go for it and do it, that’s it.” With experience, he adds, the process gets easier, something most actors today manage with ease.

Then there is Bang Bang, a reunion that Tamil cinema has been waiting for: Prabhu Dheva and Vadivelu, together again. He can barely contain himself when the subject comes up, “After a long time, I’m working with Vadivelu again, I’m a big fan of his,” he says, clearly excited about the collaboration. The upcoming zombie-comedy film leans into their much-loved on-screen chemistry, promising a familiar yet fresh dynamic. While he keeps details close to the chest, he hints that the director’s vision brings something new to the table. “If you want to see our combination, you’ll enjoy it,” he says. “It’s a new idea for us.” 

When the conversation turns to how film choreography has changed, he shrugs off the premise of surprise. Evolution, he suggests, is inevitable. But when pressed on what that looks like today, he points to a shift in Tamil cinema, where full-fledged dance sequences are no longer as central as they once were. “In Tamil films, no one dances like that anymore,” he says. One song, maybe two, where there were once five. He acknowledges it without moralising about it. 

When asked, after all this time, if he can predict what audiences will love, he answers with disarming candour. “No, no,” he says. “If you think you know everything, that’s it—it’s God’s will. There’s no such certainty. If you truly knew what people like and don’t like, you would only do what you like. Why would you do what you don’t?” Uncertainty, then, is not the enemy of the work. It is the work.

And criticism? The bad reviews, the takes, the nights something didn’t land? “That’s okay. We have to accept everything. If people say it’s good, we take it. If it’s not, we still take it and correct it. We have to do more, inspire more, and work harder.”

The body that does all of this runs on almost nothing. He has cut sugar entirely. Not reduced. Eliminated. No cake. No ice cream. No payasam, no honey, no dates. No mango, no banana. Not even coconut water.  “It’s tough,” he says, “but very good for you.” The results are measurable and specific. “My energy levels are high now. The first month is tough, but after that, the results are different.”

This is the machinery behind his upcoming show, ChalMaar - The Ultimate Dance Concert, hitting every song the audience has memorised over the decades, at a stamina level that requires intense preparation. And even then, he is clear about who works harder. “I may dance for two hours, but the dancers have to perform for three. They need more stamina, more memory, more energy, they have to be better than me.”

“All my hits will be there,” he says of ChalMaar. “I’m still thinking about how to mesmerise the audience and hold their attention. I’ll do my best.” Furthermore, he adds that him and his team are planning to take the concert to America in August. “Might be in a different name or same name, we are yet to decide.”

There is a distinction Prabhu Dheva makes that most people in his position would never admit out loud. On stage, he says, mistakes are survivable. The crowd absorbs them, reframes them, and sometimes makes them the best moment of the night. “Even if there’s a mistake on stage, they’ll have fun,” he says. Cinema is the opposite. “When it comes to cinema, there shouldn’t be any mistakes.” Not because he is a perfectionist, but because film is permanent in a way that a live show simply is not. A stage error evaporates. A film error lives on the internet forever. “If I do it once, that’s it. You can watch it on YouTube for decades.” He says this like a craftsman describing the properties of his material. The concert is alive and therefore forgiving. The film is fixed and therefore final. Both demand everything. One just demands it differently.

Off the clock, which is everywhere except in front of a camera, he watches movies a lot. He loves badminton. He likes chess, cricket, and The Avengers. He gets inspiration from every short-form choreographer he sees, refuses to name a favourite because, as he concludes, “We are all learning. We see one, then another—everybody is just so good.”

Email: shivani@newindianexpress.com
X: @ShivaniIllakiya

For more updates, join/follow our WhatsApp, Telegram and YouTube channels