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So what's changed? Everything. Rai's unchallenged position in the industry is partly due to her determined pursuit of "different, against the grain" roles, such as her 1997 part in Tamil director Mani Rathnam's little-seen but acclaimed art-house movie Iruvar. But Rai is not some solitary crusader, rather the most successful disciple of a new mantra of innovation that has swept Indian film in the past year. Because in 2002 Bollywood truly bombed. All but 12 of the year's 132 mainstream Hindi releases flopped, and the $1.3 billion-a-year industry, used to comfortable annual growth of 15%, groaned under unaccustomed losses of some $60 million. The formulas suddenly weren't commercial anymore. And although some moviemakers groped around for new blueprints—horror, skin flicks, anything—a band of urban and Westernized writers, directors, producers and actors, loosely grouped under the banner "New Bollywood," overran the industry. "Overnight, those of us who didn't think the audience was dumb and who were sick of movies being talked about as 'products' were in charge," says producer-of-the-moment Pritish Nandy. "The old generation lost control, and the new generation just walked in."
Today, fresh ground is broken with every release. Out are fluffy romances. In are films such as Jism (Body), Mumbai Matinee and Khwahish (Desire) that have shattered Bollywood's tradition of prudish sex scenes, by making previously taboo kisses routine and by finally ditching the rustling bushes that used to denote what came next. Out are badly dubbed punchups and in are dark stories like the true tale of Bombay's rival crime lords (Company) or India's Hindu-Muslim divide (Mr. and Mrs. Iyer), weird stories like that of a hairdresser who reads minds (Everybody Says I'm Fine) or a retired judge who literally runs off with a young model (Jogger's Park) or dark and weird tales like the one of a failed rock singer who leads his bandmates to murder (Paanch). Urban, middle-class films like Dil Chahta Hai (Do Your Thing) are proving there is money in ignoring India's rural audiences, whose preferences run to the spectacular, the musical and, invariably, the alpine. Some films are even leaving out the songs. Director Ram Gopal Varma dropped the music from both Company and his smash horror-thriller Bhoot (Ghost). "It doesn't make sense to a Western audience," Varma explains over drinks at Bombay's Hyatt Hotel. "I live in this country, and I've still not got used to it. And, frankly, I couldn't give a f--- for the villages." (During the conversation, Varma took a revealing call from a film distributor in Dubai. He cheerfully informed the caller, "There is no music in the film, only background music. You won't really hear it." He then turned to a TIME reporter, grinning, with his hand over his phone, and laughed, "'No songs! No songs!' He's having a heart attack." After hanging up, he added: "I'm in that position now, you know? 'F--- you! Take it or get out!'")
If music is used today, it's for a reason. Bride and Prejudice choreographer Saroj Khan, 55, says that for 600 films she did nothing but "item numbers," dance sequences inserted with little regard for narrative. "Now suddenly I have a story to work with," she says. "You won't believe me, but that's very different. And very nice." Concludes Kaizad Gustad, director of Boom (about three supermodels who must somehow find the money to pay for 30 Mob-owned diamonds they've lost): "Suddenly, the newer and riskier the project, the greater the chance of it getting made."
Propelled by this whirlwind of raw creativity, star after star is breaking type and embracing new roles, recharging some long-languishing talents. Like Rai, Bombay legend Amitabh Bachchan is trying something different, raising eyebrows with his portrayal of the stylishly amoral, Bo Derek-obsessed crime kingpin in Boom. "It's a crazy film by a crazy guy," offers the 61-year-old with evident delight while on the set of his new war movie Lakshya (Target). And producer Nandy cheerfully expects a torrent of outrage upon release of the gritty Chameli, as megastar Kareena Kapoor dumps her customary chaste refinement to play the streetwalker of the film's title opposite Rahul Bose's banker. The head of 20th Century Fox's Indian arm, Aditya Shastri, describes the industry as suddenly, and fundamentally, transformed. "It takes a very brave or very foolish person to do a traditional song-and-dance movie today," he says. Bose, who as the star of Chameli, Mr. and Mrs. Iyer, Mumbai Matinee and Everybody Says I'm Fine is the ubiquitous face of New Bollywood, goes further: "Put us all together, and you have a movement. Put us together with the audience, and you have something sweeping the world."
On the set of Bride and Prejudice, Rai is already coping with some of the pitfalls of the revolution. After every scene, she quietly slips past the longing stares of 100 Indian extras and retreats to her cordoned-off trailer. This past year she has already endured her own "Bennifer" style press attention when she split from fellow movie star Salman Khan only to link up with the star of Company, Vivek Oberoi. The size of her celebrity is measured by the 17,000 unofficial websites in her name and the immediate overloading and crash of her own official site the moment it was launched this spring. Ensconced in her trailer, she admits to having "so little time to myself and for my sanity. Last summer, I had meetings with Robert De Niro and Roland Joffè and Mike Leigh," she says. "They'd say, 'When are you available?' And I'm like, 'Maybe at the end of next year.' And they're like, 'Wow, you can't be serious.' But that's my life right now." Indeed, Rai seems to have little time even to sleep: she scheduled both her photo shoots with TIME for the middle of the night, saying it was her only free time, before crying off exhausted on the second shoot and finding a spare two hours the following day. But you won't hear Rai complain. "I can always choose to do something else," she shrugs. And she seems to accept that as a model turned actress with no training, she's on a steep, and tiring, learning curve. "I'm a student," she says, hands folded neatly in front of her. "I want to do better, and I want directors who can find the actress in me and be my teachers." But like many of Bombay's bigger stars, one of her first lessons was to turn herself into something of a recluse, never discussing her private life and rarely being photographed in public. "I like my work, and I'm true to it; and apart from that, I'm just being," she says.
Overwhelmed by the demands on their time or simply by their own importance, lead actors in Bollywood would in the past jeopardize entire productions by double-booking themselves, turning up hours late on set (sometimes not appearing at all) or raising fees midway through a shoot. But bigger names, such as Rai and Bose, are now signing with Western talent agencies (both are with the gilt-edged William Morris Agency) that ensure commitments are honored. Amitabh Bachchan, who for years set a lonely example of professionalism in Bollywood, couldn't be happier. "It's a joy to be working like this," he says. "To end the disorganization that has ruled for so long, it's an absolute delight."