Vrusshabha Review: The Burden of Being a Pan-Indian Epic
There are films that fail despite ambition, and then there are films that fail because ambition was mistaken for a story. Vrusshabha firmly belongs to the latter category, a lumbering fantasy epic that seems convinced of its own importance while offering very little reason for the audience to care.
Directed by Nanda Kishore (who also penned the story), Vrusshabha positions itself as a grand exploration of karma, rebirth, and legacy. The film instead plays out like a museum of pan-Indian cliches, each dustier than the last. What begins as a promise of myth and mystery quickly turns into an endurance test.
The narrative toggles between two timelines: a present-day business tycoon, Aadideva Varma, grappling with unsettling visions, and a mythic past ruled by Raja Vijayendra Vrusshabha, a king bound by curse and consequence. On paper, this duality offers scope for psychological depth and moral conflict. On screen, it collapses into a mechanical retelling of ideas we have seen executed far better and far earlier elsewhere.
Mohanlal shoulders a dual role, switching between a restrained modern patriarch and a grandiose ruler from another era. As expected, he approaches both parts with professionalism and control. His performance is never the problem. The problem is everything surrounding it. When a film gives its lead nothing substantial to play beyond posturing, solemn speeches, and recycled emotional beats, even a master performer is reduced to damage control.
The father–son relationship between Aadideva and Tej (played by Samarjit Lankesh), supposedly the emotional spine of the film, is sketched in broad strokes and reinforced through dialogue rather than lived moments. We are told they share an extraordinary bond, but the writing never earns that sentiment. Romance, involving Damini (played by Nayan Sarika), arrives abruptly and develops conveniently, following the logic of trust the screenplay rather than organic progression.
Technically, Vrusshabha struggles to justify its scale. Antony Samson’s cinematography and the film’s VFX and CGI lack polish, while the action choreography rarely carries weight. Instead of immersing the viewer in a mythical world, the film constantly reminds us of its constructed nature. Sam CS’s background score, rather than elevating scenes, often overwhelms them, loud where it should be subtle, insistent where silence might have worked better.
What truly sinks the film is its writing. The screenplay is crowded with characters who exist solely to move the plot forward, only to vanish without consequence. Conflicts are introduced, resolved, and forgotten with alarming ease. Themes like reincarnation and karmic cycles are invoked repeatedly but never examined with any curiosity or insight. The film assumes that invoking mythology automatically grants depth, a dangerous and lazy assumption.
At times, Vrusshabha comes dangerously close to unintentional comedy. Scenes meant to inspire awe instead invite disbelief, not because fantasy is unbelievable, but because conviction is missing. The seriousness with which the film treats its weakest moments only amplifies their absurdity.
The movie tries hard to feel grand and meaningful, but the story never comes together. While Mohanlal does what he can, the film is let down by weak writing, flat emotions, and tired ideas. What could have been a powerful fantasy ends up feeling long, loud, and oddly empty.
