In a pivotal scene in the concluding moments of Kantara (2022), Shiva, the protagonist played by Rishab Shetty, steps over the threshold of his village’s chieftain Devendra’s (Achyuth Kumar) house for the very first time in his life. A pronounced social hierarchy exists between the two characters, but that moment in the film symbolises its sudden obliteration, and confirms that Shiva is no longer willing to be servile towards the landlord. The gesture, expectedly, bruises the ego of the upper-caste Devendra, who then wishes to destroy Shiva along with his entire indigenous Tulu Nadu community, allowing for the epic conclusion that catapulted the film, and Rishab Shetty himself, to overnight fame.
A strikingly similar moment unfolds in Kantara: Chapter 1, where Rishab’s character Berme enters the main chamber of the Bangra kingdom, without any invitation. Berme has lived his life in the far depths of Kantara, a vast, lush forest that is as mystified and demonised by King Rajashekara (Jayaram) as it is othered by him.
Berme’s tribe’s skirmishes with the kingdom, which stands opulent and proud under the Kadamba Dynasty’s watch (some time in the fourth century CE), date back a generation or two when Rajashekara watches on the deity Guliga burn alive his father and his searing greed for the forest. Since then, Rajashekara hasn’t returned to Kantara, nor has the tribe crossed into the kingdom’s domain, further expanding the rift that is caused both by mortal fear and thinly-veiled social stratification.
But Berme breaks the barriers, and the journey he takes to set foot on Bangra soil furthers the theme that writer-director-actor Rishab Shetty is trying to explore in his burgeoning franchise. While the first instalment established a complex relationship between nature, the community living in its fold, and a general higher order, Kantara: Chapter 1 attempts to trace the origins of the divine powers that are believed to have fiercely protected the story’s marginalised. Kaadubettu Shiva’s quest for truth in the modern era tracks back to a time when his tribe’s animistic and hero-stone traditions found their first compelling meaning, as his ancestor Berme faces off against a dictatorial, belligerent power.
In the same vein, Kantara: Chapter 1, at least on paper, is about how native cultures are misread and subjugated first, before they are gradually integrated into a mainstream lore under false pretences. A sense of the ethereal envelopes Kantara, the forest, which is referred to as Eshwarana Hoodota, a garden shielded by Shiva himself because of the sanctity it holds, and the rich amount of resources it houses. It is a treasure trove of spices, realises a Bangra King, whose maritime relations with foreigners like the Arabs and the Portuguese have seen to the kingdom’s growth over the years.
Yet, Kantara eludes them all, but the King and his next generations –including Rajashekara’s son Kulashekara (Gulshan Devaiah, in a slightly stunted role) – cannot stop being fascinated by its mystique. Their only solution becomes to plant an antagonist in the tribe’s midst. This antagonist, the tribal people of Kadaba dikku (the ones from Kadaba), is just as drawn to the powers of the land, but its methods of operation are categorically different from those of Kantara. Instead of divinity, Kadaba dikku prefers sinister occultism.
It is this sheer density of the material that urges Kantara: Chapter 1 to push beyond its limits, but the film feels largely bogged down by the pressure laid on it. A lot transpires in the first hour or so in which the film tries to bind so much together, while simultaneously navigating the story towards its crucial point of conflict. Berme’s origins, the folklore surrounding him, the fortress that casts a shadow on him, and the dream of being part of the ‘civilised’ world are relayed to the viewer through a host of means including a voiceover, packing in a little too much information.
Characters flutter past and their introductions are clubbed with their respective motivations, but unlike Kantara (2022), the world-building feels hasty and nervy. Be it the finer details such as the Bangra kingdom residing on the loaned land of the Kadambas, or Kulashekara’s bubbling insecurity as the boozed-up, womanising heir-incompetent, many elements in the writing (by Rishab, Shaneel Gautham, and Anirush Mahesh) go underdeveloped because of the approach.
The ego-driven battle between Shiva and Muralidhar (played by Kishore) and similar interpersonal dynamics we saw in the previous film do not find a place in Chapter 1. The hurriedness of the narrative couldn’t allow for individual scenes to breathe and stretch to comfort. Consequently, the romance between Berme and Bangra princess Kanakavathi (Rukmini Vasanth, with a meaty role to her name), a collision of ‘elegance’ and ferality, is undercooked.
Instead, Chapter 1 unfolds as a frantic visual account across set pieces, action sequences, and occasional doses of dialogue and drama. The humour, though, is grossly out of place.
Arvind Kashyap impressed with his vivid capturing of the wilderness in Kantara (2022) without ever masking it under a chroma-key setup. But here he is tasked with traversing a make-believe setting that is as diverse in its look as it is elaborate in its design. The cinematographer does a mighty fine job once again, thanks to his collaboration with the art team of Banglan and Dharani Gangeputra, whose work could still have been less slick and glossy, stunt choreographers from Kannada, Tamil and Bulgarian industries, and Pragathi Rishab Shetty as the costume designer.
The VFX work is immense and overwhelming, but it is also rendered effectively to deliver action blocks that elevate the film. It is evident that Chapter 1 barters narrative tension and composure for showmanship, and it is these sequences of great imagination and execution that become its salvaging force.
Rishab Shetty, as ordered, dials up the intensity and throws all caution to the wind in his performance. Berme has hints of the abandon and boyish naivete of Shiva, but, again, there is little room for him to find the leisure he had for himself previously. In the acts of riding horses, blocking tall chariots, and saving his community from death magic, Rishab’s portrayal has many grand flourishes that the audience seek from him. The actor delivers despite the burden of orchestrating a labyrinthine subject matter; his Bhuta Kola renditions and other performances, especially, are graceful and nimble.
The core concern in Chapter 1, however, lies not in the storytelling but in the methods it chooses to mull over the pertinent issues it represents. It takes on themes that predate us by many centuries but yet continue to plague us, and the idea of forced cultural exchange, of social, economic, or ideological oppression, is tackled without a firm mind or stance. Yes, the story is deeply embedded in spiritual belief or the supernatural as much as it is in realism, but Chapter 1 doubles down on the miracle rescue or the ‘divine intervention’ trope that worked fortuitously in favour of Kantara (2022). The result is dual: while the prequel enhances its mythic focus, it also moves farther and farther away from discussing a pragmatic, human-drawn solution.
Ultimately, Kantara: Chapter 1 is dizzying and dazzling just as expected, but the film’s cursory approach cannot be overlooked. Does it work nevertheless, given the heightened ambition behind its making? Well, that depends on how much you are willing to let go of the thematic shortcomings and focus purely on the spectacle that it is, delivered with panache.
Ajaneesh B Loknath’s blaring soundtrack does its part to divert our attention from the film’s core, and it is highly possible for one to find a silver lining in its abundance. For now, here’s hoping the upcoming parts have a clearer sense of purpose, complementing its taste for the theatrical.
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.