In a recent interview, actor Prabhas, who is hailed as “India’s biggest superstar”, said he chose The Rajasaab because he wanted a break from action-heavy roles and to try something different and entertaining. The intent is noble. The outcome, unfortunately, is neither different nor entertaining, unless one finds incoherence, lazy writing, and regressive gender politics amusing.
Much like Rajinikanth’s pivot to horror fantasy with Chandramukhi (2005) after the debacle of Baba (2002), Prabhas appears to be experimenting with genre. But where Chandramukhi had craft, conviction, and coherence, The Rajasaab, directed by Maruthi, seems unsure of what it wants to be: horror, comedy, fantasy, or an unsolicited tribute to zamindari “greatness”.
The film, starring Prabhas, Malavika Mohanan, Nidhhi Agerwal, Riddhi Kumar, Zarina Wahab, Sanjay Dutt, and others, is ostensibly a horror-comedy fantasy. In reality, it is a patchwork of poorly stitched scenes, wafer-thin characters, and ideas that collapse the moment one begins to think.
At its core is Ganga Devi (Zarina Wahab), a former zamindar now impoverished and suffering from advanced amnesia, driven by the singular mission of finding her missing husband. Her grandson Raju (Prabhas) accompanies her, and along the way, the film introduces Bessy and Bhairavi, women who exist largely to decorate the frame and orbit the male protagonist.
Bessy is in her postulancy and about to become a nun. Raju sees her once, falls in love instantly, and she reciprocates without hesitation. Years of spiritual calling are apparently no match for a single heroic entry.
Character development is clearly an inconvenience when the plot is in such a hurry to go nowhere. The filmmaker barely pauses to establish emotions, motivations, or logic before rushing headlong into the next muddled sequence.
Though Bessy disappears from the story, she makes an unexpected return with a conveniently absurd backstory: Raju’s grandfather cheated her of Rs 3 lakh. This revelation raises more questions than the film is willing, or able, to answer. Why a zamindar with enough wealth to last more than three generations would resort to petty fraud is never explained. If greediness is the answer, wouldn’t he be stealing from banks and other institutions?
The writing is as superficial as Prabhas’ wig and just as distracting.
Women in The Rajasaab are not characters so much as cinematic accessories, introduced to provide romantic distraction, visual appeal, or momentary titillation in an otherwise lifeless narrative. Expecting agency or depth would be naïve. Applying the Bechdel Test would be an act of self-sabotage. The female characters are denied interiority, purpose, or dignity, serving only to prop up a collapsing story.
The backstory involving Kanakaraju (Sanjay Dutt) and Ganga Devi is meant to add emotional weight, but the director offers so little material that it fails to register. There are no real twists and no narrative momentum, just revelations that arrive late and leave no impact.
The first half exhausts itself quickly. Prabhas’ much-anticipated entry is staged with such startling dullness that one wonders if the makers were actively attempting to trigger fans. He appears out of nowhere, face covered, dispenses moral lectures about respecting women while beating up goons, and then promptly breaks into a song. This rhythm of random action, sermon, and song repeats itself with numbing regularity, generating neither emotion nor narrative progression.
The second half finally attempts to tell a story. Satya, VTV Ganesh, and Sapthagiri manage to extract a few laughs in a possessed bungalow, briefly recalling the charm of Prema Katha Chitram (2013). But by then, the audience is trapped too, less by horror and more by the promise of entertainment that never arrives.
Thaman’s music fails to leave any lasting impression. The songs are largely forgettable, and while the background score in the climax is loud and thunderous, it adds little value beyond sheer noise.
Prabhas tries valiantly to shoulder the comedy, but most of it falls flat. His screen presence feels drained and his expressions are lifeless. Post Baahubali, the actor seems to have misplaced his spark. The performances by Nidhhi Agerwal, Malavika Mohanan, and Riddhi Kumar do little to help, with Malavika’s wooden expressions particularly standing out.
The Rajasaab borrows visual cues from Arundhati but lacks even a fraction of its narrative conviction. While some of the visual effects are striking, they do not frighten the viewer, as the horror is always diluted by ill-timed comedy.
The real horror, however, arrives with the announcement of a sequel.
Disclaimer: This review was not paid for or commissioned by anyone associated with the film. Neither TNM nor any of its reviewers have any sort of business relationship with the film’s producers or any other members of its cast and crew.