I walked into Vrushabha with a cautious sense of curiosity rather than excitement. The premise suggested a large scale mythological fantasy action drama, the kind that aims to blend destiny, rebirth, power, and emotional reckoning into a sweeping cinematic experience. What I encountered instead was a film that begins with ambition, struggles with coherence, and slowly drains the viewer through repetition, confusion, and creative excess. My reaction did not come from hostility or a desire to reject the film outright. It came from the widening gap between what the film clearly wants to be and what it ultimately becomes.
From its very first moments, Vrushabha signals that it is aiming for epic territory. The director positions the story in a distant royal past, where Mohanlal appears as a commanding king, a leader whose authority is meant to feel absolute and unquestioned. His presence is introduced with reverence, as though the audience is expected to instinctively submit to his stature. This ancient segment establishes the core moral fracture that drives the entire narrative. A mission to eliminate a perceived threat turns disastrous when an innocent child is killed in the chaos. The boy’s mother, devastated and enraged, places a curse upon the king. Her words are not lyrical or symbolic, they are brutally direct. She declares that just as her son suffered before death, the king’s own son will one day endure the same fate.
This curse becomes the backbone of the film, stretching across generations and lifetimes. On paper, it is a powerful mythic device, one that should have anchored the emotional stakes of the story. In practice, however, the film struggles to build a believable emotional bridge between this origin and what follows.
A Sudden Leap Across Time and Tone
Almost without warning, the film abandons its ancient setting and leaps into the present day. The transition takes the audience from royal courts and spiritual curses to modern Africa, where Mohanlal now appears as a wealthy diamond merchant living a comfortable life with his son. This shift is clearly meant to reflect rebirth and destiny, the idea that unresolved karma refuses to stay buried in the past. Unfortunately, the execution lacks emotional continuity. Instead of feeling awe at the cyclical nature of fate, I felt a sense of detachment, as though two entirely different films had been stitched together without adequate care.
What weakens this segment further is the way Mohanlal’s modern character is framed. Despite being a powerful businessman, he is repeatedly shown performing domestic tasks like cooking chapatis in the kitchen. While such moments might be intended to humanize him, they unintentionally diminish the gravitas that the film insists on projecting. The result is tonal confusion. The film wants him to be revered as a mythic figure, yet places him in scenarios that undercut that very reverence.
The father son relationship is meant to serve as the emotional anchor of Vrushabha. It is positioned as the space where the curse manifests most painfully. However, the relationship feels artificial and overly polished, as though the emotional beats were rehearsed rather than lived. Conversations between them lack organic rhythm. There is a sense that the film is telling me that this bond is profound rather than allowing me to feel it naturally.
Emotional Conflicts That Never Fully Land
As the story progresses, tension begins to surface between the father and son. This tension is rooted in unresolved past life trauma and karmic consequences, but the screenplay does little to guide the audience into that emotional space. Dialogue stretches endlessly without delivering clarity. Scenes linger long after their purpose has been served. Moments that should have carried emotional weight drift into unintended parody because they are not grounded in believable human reactions.
By the time the interval arrives, exhaustion has already set in. The first half feels significantly longer than its actual runtime. The pacing drags, not because the story is dense or layered, but because it lacks urgency. The film feels as though it is pushing itself forward, scene by scene, rather than flowing with narrative momentum.
Reincarnation, Revenge, And Narrative Overload
The second half introduces additional layers involving reincarnation, destiny, and revenge. Instead of clarifying the story, these elements further complicate it. At this stage, I did not feel guided through a mythological journey. I felt forced to endure an accumulation of ideas that were never fully developed. The total runtime of the film is just over two hours, yet it feels monumental in length. Time slows down not because the film invites contemplation, but because it repeats itself without adding insight.
Technically, Vrushabha struggles significantly. The visual effects dominate the screen in ways that constantly remind the viewer of their artificiality. Green screens are overused and poorly integrated, making it difficult to suspend disbelief. Lighting fluctuates wildly, with characters appearing overly softened and bright in one scene, then flat and dim in the next. The inconsistency is jarring. At times, it becomes genuinely difficult to tell whether what I am watching is a physical performance or a digitally manipulated image.
Rather than enhancing the mythological tone, the visual effects strip the film of authenticity. Epic cinema requires a sense of physical presence, even when fantasy elements are involved. Here, that presence is largely absent.
Sound, Music, And Misplaced Spectacle
The background score, which should have elevated the emotional and mythic scope of the film, often becomes intrusive. Loud musical cues are used as emotional shortcuts, attempting to manufacture intensity where none has been earned. Instead of supporting the narrative, the music frequently overwhelms it. Songs appear without clear narrative necessity, disrupting what little rhythm the film manages to establish. I found myself wishing that these musical interruptions had been avoided altogether.
The ancient storyline introduces a crystal Shiva Lingam, described as a source of immense spiritual and material power. Its attempted theft triggers a series of action sequences that defy not just physics but basic cinematic logic. Characters paint themselves black, wear exaggerated masks, and charge into crowds that scatter in exaggerated fear. The queen enters combat wielding a whip enhanced by visual effects, and almost immediately afterward, she is shown giving birth. The abruptness of this transition is so extreme that it borders on absurdity.
Mohanlal’s royal entry on horseback is framed as a moment of grandeur. However, the execution undermines its intention. The horse is clearly digital, remaining unnaturally static while the actor performs. Arrows bend mid air, trajectories change directions, and one impossibly staged shot results in the death of an innocent child. While this moment reinforces the curse narratively, it raises unintentional questions about the internal logic of the film’s universe.
Rituals Without Emotional Grounding
Several rituals are presented as spiritually significant, yet they provoke discomfort rather than reverence. One particularly disturbing moment involves an infant being branded on the chest with a heated royal seal, with the father himself holding the child. The act is framed as sacred duty, but it is never emotionally contextualized. The film does not allow space for moral questioning or emotional reaction. As a result, the moment feels horrifying rather than meaningful.
As the son grows older, his arrogance and hostility toward his father intensify. Instead of addressing this conflict directly, the narrative detours into symbolic gestures and prolonged monologues aimed at divine objects rather than living characters. A tragic misunderstanding leads to the son killing his own mother, mistaking her for his father. In theory, this is a devastating turning point. In execution, it feels strangely hollow. The emotional fallout is rushed, underexplored, and quickly redirected toward destiny rather than grief.
The son vows revenge across lifetimes and commits suicide to fulfill his karmic path. This should have been the emotional peak of the film’s mythological arc. Instead, it feels like another narrative checkpoint, quickly passed over in the rush to reach the next incarnation.
A Modern Reincarnation That Lacks Authenticity
Back in the present day, the reincarnated son appears as a volatile young man. His interactions with his father feel staged and emotionally disconnected. The supposed weight of their shared destiny never truly manifests in their conversations. Romantic subplots are introduced with little care. A girl falls in love almost instantly, shares a brief connection, and then retreats into confusion. Their exchanges lack coherence, with questions and responses failing to align. It often feels as though characters are speaking without understanding themselves or each other.
The villain, portrayed by Ramachandra Babu, stands out primarily because of his willingness to embrace cruelty. His introduction, involving a lullaby followed by murder, becomes one of the film’s few memorable moments, largely because of its sheer oddity. Unfortunately, even this character is denied meaningful consequence. He survives the climax, a decision that feels less like moral complexity and more like misplaced leniency.
A Great Actor Trapped in A Flawed Vision
Mohanlal’s commitment to his role is evident throughout the film. Coming off a year of successful projects, he brings sincerity and effort to Vrushabha. However, commitment alone cannot rescue a fundamentally flawed vision. The film repeatedly glorifies him through titles, exaggerated reverence, and AI generated introductions, yet places him in situations that diminish his impact as a performer. Instead of feeling like a celebration of an iconic actor, the film often feels like a misuse of his legacy.
By the time the film reaches its conclusion, a strange realization sets in. Almost every character is portrayed as morally upright and well intentioned, yet everyone suffers endlessly. The tragedy feels unearned, the suffering repetitive, and the resolution emotionally unsatisfying. The only undeniable relief is the film’s duration. At two hours and seven minutes, it ends before patience is completely extinguished.
Final Thoughts
Vrushabha is not a film that can be casually recommended or casually dismissed. It is something that must be experienced to be fully understood, not because of its brilliance, but because of its peculiarity. It stands as a reminder that grandeur on paper does not guarantee coherence on screen, and that even the most revered actors require disciplined storytelling to truly shine.
Rating – 1.5/5
