How much money does a superstar need?

New Indian Express

2 days ago

Remember Leo Tolstoy's famous short story where a greedy peasant could claim all the land he could walk in a day? Spoiler alert: his ambition wrote checks his body couldn't cash, and he collapsed at sunset—leaving him with just enough earth for his grave.
If Tolstoy were alive today and writing about Indian cinema, his fable might ask: how much money does a superstar need? And it might go something like this:
Once upon a time in Bollywood, a talented, struggling actor finally hits the jackpot. After years of eating instant noodles and taking the bus to auditions, he becomes box office gold. Suddenly, producers are throwing money at him, and as if to make up for all the struggles, he starts demanding more and more, sometimes accounting for even 80% of the film budget.
"But I'm worth it!" he insists. "People come to see ME!"
The desperate producer, seeing visions of houseful boards across theatres in the country, reluctantly agrees. What choice does he have, he thinks: in a star-obsessed industry, you need them to guarantee screen numbers and opening weekend earnings.
But what happens next would make even Tolstoy rub his pearly white beard in thought.
When Stars Eat The Sky: The remaining 20% of the budget now has to become elastic and stretch to cover everything else: the supporting cast (told to think of the "exposure"), the crew (promised future projects), action sequences (downgraded now), and visual effects meant to transport audiences to another world now looking worse than an audition reel. And I almost forgot: this 20% also has to budget for a star's vanity… I mean, vanity van, or vans, and the entourage that comes with the man, which can be a dozen or more people.
The film releases. The audience, who apparently didn't get the WhatsApp forward that they should be amazed by star power alone regardless of film quality, collectively shrugs. "Meh," says social media. The producer loses his shirt, his pants, and possibly his beach house in Alibaug.
Meanwhile, our star has already moved on to his next victim—I mean, project—leaving behind a path of cinematic destruction Godzilla could take notes from.
The Steering Wheel Syndrome: Let's get real for a minute. A star claiming sole credit for a film's success is like a steering wheel, thinking it's the entire car. "Look at me, turning left and right! I am THE vehicle!" Sorry, dude, but without the engine, tyres, chassis, and thousands of nuts and bolts holding everything together, you're just a circular ornament.
For proof, conduct this thought experiment: imagine your favourite megastar, leave them alone in a room with an iPhone and let them act their heart out for two hours. Release this 'masterpiece' in theatres nationwide. Would you pay 300 rupees to watch that? Would anyone? If your answer is "no," then perhaps we need to reconsider the notion that stars single-handedly "carry" films, that often by their stubborn insistence on more everything, they bury the films prospect.
So what does a fair system of compensation look like?
Hollywood's Money Math: Hollywood has figured out a more equitable formula. A-list Hollywood actors typically receive a base salary of 10-20% of a film's budget. For a $100 million blockbuster, that comes to $10-20 million—enough to buy a few islands, yet have change enough for a Ferrari ki sawari.
But here's where Hollywood scores an ace: they've created a concept called "gross points," which is the percentage of a film's total revenue paid to participants, such as a star, director, or producer, from the very first dollar earned. In contrast, there is the concept of 'net points,' which is prevalent in Bollywood, where one waits for the film to reach profitability before doling out cash. Stars typically negotiate between 5-15% of the gross points on top of their fee, which can be substantial earnings if the film performs well.
This creates what business types call "alignment of interests", which mere mortals like us call win-win. When a film succeeds, the producers pop champagne, the studio executives buy another flat, and the star buys another farmhouse in Beverly Hills.
The Bigger Pie Philosophy: Think about it this way: should a star rather have 80% of a small, sad, underfunded pie or 20% of a spectacular, crowd-pleasing, critics-adoring, award-winning pie that keeps growing bigger with every box office record it smashes? Some stars have done the math and, guess what, have chosen Door Number Two.
Take Aamir Khan, for instance—Bollywood's very own Professor of Economics. He says he doesn't charge upfront fees for his films. Instead, he takes a percentage of the gross revenue. When "Dangal" conquered China faster than the Brits could, Khan's bank account experienced escape velocity. He made significantly more than any fixed fee he'd have taken–by some estimates close to ₹300 crores–while ensuring the production itself had enough resources to tell its story properly.
Marvel initially doubted casting Robert Downey Jr. Naturally, they were unwilling to pay him a substantial upfront fee. Instead, they spent time creating quality films in which stories became the main draw. Yet, by the time "Avengers: Endgame" finally rolled around, Downey Jr.–who dies in the film–reportedly made up to $600 million for his roles in the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) movies.
His 'gross points' compensation didn't prevent the movie from having spectacular effects, an ensemble cast, and enough marketing to make sure even a Rohtak grandmother knew who Thanos was.
Beyond Megastars–The Forgotten Film Family: There's a cinematic family tree that gets overshadowed when just one branch takes all the sunlight.
There's the screenwriter fighting monsters in her head to craft the story that'll become the blockbuster; a salt and pepper, bearded director who keeps the vision together; a sunburnt director of photography turning ordinary locations into visual poetry; a costume designer with the magic to turn dull cloth into fairy tales; music composers blessed by the muse to create tunes that'll stay stuck in peoples whistles for decades; the stuntmen and stuntwomen who literally break their back so the stars don't have to; and let's not forget the humble spot boys running around in the scorching heat to make sure everyone stays hydrated.
These aren't just "film crew"—they're artists, craftspeople, who've spent years and decades honing their craft and how to keep the beating heart of cinema alive.
When a star's paycheck devours a film's budget, these essential contributors get the financial equivalent of table scraps. Over my 15 years of active work in the industry, I've seen many talented professionals leave the industry altogether, frustrated, because, you know, they have this weird desire to pay rent and feed their families.
The irony in all this? When stars insist on astronomical fees that handicap the production quality of their own films, they're ultimately shooting themselves right in their foot under the expensive sneaker. A string of mediocre films damages their brand. Audiences naturally wise up, eventually, and the very stardom they're cashing in on begins to fade.
Finding the Sweet Spot: No one's suggesting stars should work for peanuts, even if their acting chops remind us of monkeys. If you can command audiences, create cultural moments, and make people forget their troubles even for a few hours in a dark theatre, you deserve substantial rewards.
But perhaps there's a sweeter spot: a system where the star shines brightly without eclipsing everyone else. Where the grip, the gaffer, the costume designer, and the composer can all earn dignified livings. Where there is enough budget to actually realise the filmmaker's vision.
In Tolstoy's tale, the greedy peasant ends up with just six feet of earth—exactly what we all ultimately need, regardless of our Instagram follower count or how many times our face has appeared on a movie poster.
However, the question of "How much money does a superstar need?" is one each performer must answer personally. But perhaps the wisest stars understand that their legacy will be measured by the quality of stories they help tell, not by what they leave behind for their children.
And if they want to leave something for their children, they must remember that every paisa wrongfully earned will be squandered by their children or grandchildren. There is no other way. It is the Circe of life. Yes, Circe, not circle, the sorceress from Greek mythology who turns men into swine.
Six feet; that's how much land a man needs. How much money does a superstar need? Perhaps this nursery rhyme can answer.
Twinkle Twinkle Greedy Star,
Bleeding budgets near and far,
Up above Tinsel Town, so bright,
Dimming others' creative light.