Wednesday, 17 September 2025

Lokah: A Myth, A Memory, and A Modern Vampire


Cinema often thrives when it marries folklore with fantasy, and Lokah does exactly that. At its heart lies the story of a grandmother’s tale woven into the life of a vampire superhero—a layered myth that feels both rooted in tradition and exhilaratingly modern. The film balances humor, nostalgia, and supernatural spectacle in a way that makes it stand apart from conventional genre movies.


The Weight of Immortality

The protagonist is no ordinary hero. She has lived for millions of years, carrying the burdens of time, memory, and endless wars. Her insecurities form the spine of the narrative; instead of being glorified as a god-like figure, she comes across as deeply human. The loneliness of immortality, the fear of irrelevance in ever-changing worlds, and the pain of outliving everyone he loves—these give the superhero dimension and melancholy.


Ilaiyaraaja, Mamooka, and Music That Haunts

Ilaiyaraaja’s score rises like a soul echo through the film. His composition for Mammootty’s song Kiliye feels like an eternal lullaby, linking the protagonist’s immortal pain with a grandmother’s eternal love. It’s not just background music—it becomes memory itself, a thread stitching together time, history, and unspoken emotion. Few films allow music to act as both emotional glue and narrative force, and Lokah does so beautifully.


Kalyani Priyadarshan at the Center

While the story pivots around ancient power and cosmic burdens, Lokah is anchored by Kalyani Priyadarshan’s performance. She embodies the paradox of innocence and strength—her presence lights up the screen with gentleness, while her role as a superhero challenges every assumption of fragility. She blends vulnerability with grit in a way that makes her the true heart of the film.


Kalyani doesn’t just “play” a superhero, she feels like one—graceful yet firm, naïve yet decisive. Her performance ensures that the audience roots for her more than anyone else; she doesn’t steal the spotlight, she naturally becomes the spotlight.


The Humor and Simplicity

Adding balance to the film’s weighty themes, the three friends’ comedy is refreshing. It never feels forced, but instead mirrors everyday banter, grounding the supernatural plot in lived reality. Meanwhile, the male lead’s performance feels deliberately understated. He resists the temptation of grandeur, lending the role a natural simplicity that allows the screenplay to breathe.


The screenplay itself deserves praise for how it interlaces humor, myth, romance, and existential dread without losing clarity. Each layer unfolds with purpose, like chapters of a fable handed down through generations.


Dulquer Salmaan and Choosing The Right Cinema

Of course, it is impossible to talk about Lokah without reflecting on Dulquer Salmaan’s uncanny sense of script-selection. Though not the central figure in this film, his choices consistently signal his refusal to take the easy or commercial path. Instead, he takes chances with stories that experiment with form, myth, and philosophy. In Lokah, his contribution enriches the film’s universe even though he does not dominate it.


Dulquer’s career so far feels like a road filled with carefully chosen detours—each project building a mosaic of experimentation rather than a safe filmography of predictable hits.

In this he is Producer and  Lokah fits seamlessly into that vision, another testament to his cinema-first approach.


In Essence

Lokah is not just another superhero film. It’s a tapestry of myth and modernity—about grandmothers, music, eternal loneliness, and unexpected laughter. But more than anything, it is a film that places Kalyani Priyadarshan at its glowing center, while acknowledging the quiet brilliance of her peers.


It’s rare for a film to feel like both a bedtime story and a cosmic epic. Lokah somehow is both.

Saturday, 26 July 2025

From Satyajit Ray to Mahavatar Narasimha: The Golden Pulse of Indian Mythic Storytelling


On a serene Sunday morning in Bangalore, filter coffee in hand and the mist wrapping the city in soft silence, I was reminded of Kuvempu’s timeless words:

“Nature’s lap is the lap of God”

(“Prakritiyello Sarvam Shivanobba Murthy”).


It was one of those mornings where the weather feels like poetry—ripe for reflection, inviting you to sink into stories larger than life. That’s exactly what Mahavatar Narasimha offered: not just a film, but a spiritual and cinematic experience.


A Leap in Mythic Visuals


From the very first frame, Mahavatar Narasimha announces its intention: this is no ordinary animation. The visuals are reverent—majestic, yet full of heart. There’s a rare sincerity in the rendering, in the composition of emotion, detail, and grandeur. It transported me back to childhood memories of watching Dr. Rajkumar’s Bhakta Prahlada, or the old Telugu classics that pulsed with divine drama. Those weren’t just films; they were sacred storytelling—darshans delivered in celluloid.


But this is the next evolution. What Hombale Films has done isn’t just upgrade the animation—it has dignified it. Using good  animation (Can be better in next releases ) without losing the soul of the tale, they’ve created something that speaks equally to nostalgia and to the future.


From Satyajit Ray’s Realism to Mani Ratnam’s Nature


The storytelling journey of Indian cinema is nothing short of mythic itself.


Satyajit Ray taught us that cinema could be meditative, human, and socially rooted—his realism made the mundane divine.


Subhash Ghai, in contrast, amplified drama and emotion into operatic scale—cinema as celebration, as spectacle.


Then came Mani Ratnam, weaving nature, silence, and storm into narrative—his forests and rains weren’t just backdrops, they were characters.



In the South, we’re now seeing another evolution—what one could call the LKU Universe (Lokesh, Kanagaraj, and others)—a universe driven by mythic undertones, modern genre-bending, and an unapologetic embrace of heroism.


And now, Mahavatar Narasimha finds its place in that lineage—not just continuing our mythological cinema but elevating it.


A Theatre of Bhakti and Awe


There was a moment in the theatre—when Narasimha makes his divine appearance—where the crowd stood up. Not for social media, but in spontaneous reverence. That’s the difference. The film taps into something deeper—something sacred.


At a time when our digital entertainment is flooded with irreverence and superficiality, films like this are a counter-cultural act. They remind us that stories can still carry bhakti, depth, and dharma. They can still unite generations.


A New Golden Age of Sacred Cinema


If this is the future of mythological storytelling—powered by technology, shaped by vision, and anchored in truth—then we are stepping into a golden age.


All credit to Hombale Films for not taking the easy path. For choosing sincerity over irony. For reminding us that the divine, when told right, can still leave a theatre in awe.